THIRTY-ONE
I spin just as a dark-cloaked figure lunges out from behind the drapes. He claps a hand over my mouth. I elbow him in the ribs and then wheel and slam my fist into his stomach.
Before he doubles over, I catch a glimpse of an average-sized man with a black mask. Then I realize the “mask” is dark hair falling over his face as he doubles over in pain. I grab his hair and wrench his head up.
“Simon?”
“Surrender,” he croaks, raising his arms. “I acknowledge defeat, fair maiden.”
“What the hell?” I say as he rises, still holding his stomach.
“Nicely done, Cat,” he grunts as he catches his breath. “I suppose I deserved that, trying to spook you.”
“By leaping from behind the curtains? Two days after I was attacked and nearly killed in the streets?”
He hesitates. “Two days? It has been a week.”
“I was attackedagaintwo days ago and spent the damned night in jail for fighting off my attacker.” I back up to the desk and fold the papers.
“I-I heard nothing of that,” he says. “I do apologize then, Cat. And I cannot help but be grateful I escaped with my life.” He rubs his stomach and makes a face. “Who ever taught you to fight like that?”
“The experience of nearly being killed twice in a less than a week.”
“No doubt, and again, I do apologize.” He glances behind me. “What are you writing?”
“Nothing.”
He tries to snatch the pages, and we do a couple rounds of that before he sees I’m serious and stops. He perches on the edge of the desk as I secret the pages away in my bodice.
“What are you doing in here?” I say.
“Uh, it is the house where I am employed?”
“I mean you’re inside. At night. How’d you get in?”
“With my key. Because it is… the house where I am employed? I came in search of food. I was up late and grew hungry.”
“The kitchen is two floors down.”
“Yes, but I heard someone moving about as I was in the stairwell. I came to see who it was and warn that I was in the house so that I did not startle them.”
“Instead, youintentionallystartled me?”
“Because you are special.” He grins. “You ought to have seen your face. Now, if you are quite finished with the interrogation, I have a proposition.”
“Uh-huh.”
He leans over and whispers, “I have a penny stick in my rooms.”
Is that the Victorian equivalent of inviting me to his room to see his etchings?
“I don’t think I need to see your stick,” I say. “Not tonight.”
“See my stick?” he sputters. “How hard was that knock on your head? I mean I have a penny stick of opium.”
I blink before I manage to say, “No, thank you. I’m having quite enough trouble keeping my mind clear these days. That hit on the head is affecting me more than I expected.”
I look over at him. “I know you said you had no idea who might have attacked me, but would you mind if I asked you a few questions? About myself? Filling in the holes?”