Page 65 of The Business of Blood
I hissed an irate breath through my throat. “There are two reasons I won’t dignify that question with a response. First is that the query is vulgar and discourteous. Second, because I believe the answer should be evident by which profession I ultimately chose.”
“Fair enough.”
My fingers itched to claw the dark glint of salacious speculation from his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was mentally placing me in some alternate reality. One in which I’d made the opposite choice.
Did Croft ever pay for pleasure?
I snuffed the offending question like a match, lest it start a fire I couldn’t put out. “If we could focus on these ludicrous notes, please.” I made to snatch the paper from him, wishing I could rip it into shreds.
His fingers tightened as I clutched at it, and the thin paper slipped right through my gloves. At least I’d succeeded in wiping whatever ridiculous thoughts he’d harbored from showing on his features.
Argh. Men.
“The initials are especially significant.” He pointed to each with a square finger, returning to the task at hand. “FM. Fiona Mahoney, of course. FS, Frank Sawyer. MK, Mary Kelly. But look here. JR and JtR. Why do you think he made a distinction? Was it a mistake, or a coincidence? Do you know anyone else with the initials JR?”
I took a moment to flip through my very limited list of connections. “None that I can think of. And what a bog-licking blighter that he should even speculate that I’d be linked with such evil as Jack the Ripper. Why would he suppose any such thing?”
“That’s an excellent question.” He ran his finger down the paper to caress one word near the bottom of the note.
Lovers.
“Were you and Mary…?” He let the word draw out as his cavernous voice darkened. Lowered. As though the thought of Mary and I carrying on didn’t revolt him.
Quite the opposite.
“No, you rank pervert, and if you ever say different, I’ll blast you for libel.” This time, I really did put the desk between us. “I told Comstock I loved Mary, not that I wasin lovewith her. She was my friend. My only friend at the time. That’s the extent of it.”
He held his hands up as though the finger I jabbed at him were the dangerous end of a pistol. “All right. Stand down. I believe you.”
“Do you? Do you believe me, Inspector? It’s about bloody time!” I hoped the ice in my glare frosted his nethers as I turned and stomped out of Comstock’s office.
The clacking of typewriters froze as I stormed away, clutching my umbrella like a cudgel. I dared not meet the stunned gazes of any number of newspapermen, lest they take the opportunity to question me.
Croft caught up with me two flights down, but I couldn’t stand to look at him, so I didn’t acknowledge his presence.
Once I escaped onto Brompton Road, I didn’t find any hansom cabs in my immediate vicinity. I wrenched my umbrella open, determined to walk the several blocks back to Tite Street. My temper was so sweltering, I was sure the rain would simply steam off me.
“Miss Mahoney, where are you going?” Croft demanded.
Home sounded like too tolerable an answer. “That’s none of your business, Inspector.”
“It’s raining. Let me at least hail you a—”
“While your powers of deduction are astounding, I’m also aware of the weather, and I came prepared.” I pulled my umbrella low over my hat, knowing the edges would poke him in the neck should he attempt to come any closer.
“Dammit, Fiona—”
“You may call me Miss Mahoney, I’ve not given you leave to be so familiar, sir.” I sniffed my prim disdain, hoping to drive him off with what he would consider obnoxious female behavior. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“You have to admit, your claim of surviving a Ripper attack was more than a little—”
“I have to admit nothing, as we found I’m neither a suspect nor a victim. Good day, Inspector.”
“But youarea victim. Comstock did accost you, held a knife to your throat. He cut you and knocked you unconscious.” His temper seemed to build, as well, as he listed the atrocities performed against my person. “His notes prove that, don’t they? And now we don’t know where he is. Don’t you realize—?”
“Perhaps you should use your astonishing deductive skills to findhim, then, and leave me in peace.” I could hear Croft—feel him—pacing behind me in the rain, looking for a place safe from my umbrella whilst dodging the rest of midday foot traffic.
“I’m trying to protect you, woman. You could be grateful rather than giving me grief.”
