Page 38 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and addressed the artist. “Sally’s memory has returned. She’ll describe one of the men to you.”
Willie whipped back around. She went to follow him.
I grabbed her arm, halting her. “Not you. Sally needs to feel safe.”
“I ain’t going to hurt her!”
Alex closed the door and blocked it, arms crossed over his chest. “You can scare the moustache off a grown man without even trying.”
Willie sniffed then wiped her nose on her sleeve. With ahumph, she leaned against the central bench.
Mrs. Ling and Mrs. Bristow worked around her. Dodson left while Murray returned upstairs to make himself available to the police.
Bristow laid a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “You don’t have to work at a time like this. Nor you, Mrs. Ling. No one feels like eating.”
“I have to work,” Mrs. Bristow said without looking up from the kettle she was placing on the stove. “I need to keep busy.”
Mrs. Ling removed a jar of flour from a shelf. “As do I. I will bake something for the policemen.”
The idea of keeping busy appealed to me. I offered to help, and Mrs. Ling handed me a spare apron then set me the task of mixing.
When I caught Willie watching me, shehumphedagain and presented me with her back.
It felt like an interminably long time, but the artist finally emerged from the adjoining room.
Willie pounced on him. “Show me!”
He turned the sketchbook around. She studied the image of the man’s face then shook her head. Alex peered over her shoulder. He tugged on his lower lip, frowning, but didn’t say anything.
The artist took the sketch upstairs to give to Cyclops. Willie and Alex followed.
I removed the apron and handed it to Mrs. Ling, then I sought out Sally. She still sat at the table, dabbing the handkerchief to her swollen eyes. “Thank you, Sally. You’ve been a great help.”
“You will find him, won’t you, Miss Ashe?”
I managed a smile and a nod, but she didn’t look convinced.
Bristow followed me up the stairs. Before we emerged into the entrance hall, he withdrew something from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “You may want this back.”
I hesitated, then took it. “Thank you, Bristow.” I tucked my farewell note to Gabe into my skirt pocket.
We found Cyclops in the library, studying the artist’s sketch. The proximity of so many books comforted me a little, as paper in all its forms did, but the effect didn’t last long. The anxiety of those present was infectious.
Alex paced the floor, while Willie stared out of the window. Cyclops dismissed the artist and asked Bristow to leave us, too, and to close the door.
“Well?” Willie asked once we were alone. “Recognize him?”
Cyclops shook his head.
“Damn it. Nor do I.”
Cyclops watched his son pacing back and forth. “You do, don’t you, Alex?”
Alex stopped. “I think so.”
Willie strode up to him and poked him in the chest. “Why didn’t you say so in the kitchen?”
“Because I can’t recall where I’ve seen him.”
