Bainbridge frowned. “It’s hardly proper, Newbury! You don’t wish to sully the woman’s good reputation, surely?”
“Not at all, Charles. But I do wish to protect her from a murderous assassin who may be hell-bent on eradicating us all. Is it really worth the risk, just to protect a reputation?” said Newbury, firmly.
Veronica felt herself going red in the face. “I am here, you know, gentlemen! I rather think this decision should be made by me!”
Newbury sighed. “Quite so, Veronica. Of course. I apologise if I seem forward. It’s simply that I’m concerned for your well-being.”
“I understand your concern, Sir Maurice, and I rather think of it as an opportunity for us to look out for each other. I am, as you are only too aware, no shrinking violet, but I see the sense in your suggestion of strength in numbers.” She glanced over at Bainbridge, whose expression was one of scandalised amazement. “I shall take you up on your kind offer, on the understanding that I shall return to Kensington just as soon as the matter has been resolved.” She felt no small measure of relief at the chance to share her burden with Newbury. And, besides, it would give her an opportunity to judge precisely how frequent his recent spate of precognitive seizures had become.
“Of course,” said Newbury, smiling. “I suggest you go immediately back to Kensington and collect an overnight bag. We can send Scarbright for the rest of your belongings in the morning.”
“Very well,” said Veronica.
“In that case, I urge you both to take precautions,” said Bainbridge. “This matter is far from over, and as we find ourselves drawn deeper into the affair, we risk making ourselves more pressing targets. Perhaps you’re right, Newbury, after all.”
“I usually am,” replied Newbury, with a wry grin.
Bainbridge pushed himself up from his chair and went to reclaim his coat and cane. Veronica stood, too, smoothing her skirts. She turned to Newbury. “We can talk later?” she asked, in hushed tones.
“Indeed, we must,” he said. “I’ll be here when you return. I need some time to think. Perhaps Scarbright should come with you?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s only a short journey, and I don’t wish to alarm Mrs. Grant.”
“Very well,” said Newbury. He seemed distracted. She decided to leave him to his thoughts, and joined Bainbridge in the doorway as he returned bearing her coat.
“Forgive me, Sir Charles, but have you seen any more of Professor Angelchrist since we left the church?” she asked, trying to make it seem as if she weren’t interrogating him. She slipped her arms into her coat.
Bainbridge frowned. “Why, is everything quite well?”
“Oh, yes,” said Veronica, smiling. “It’s just that there was something I’d hoped to discuss with him.”
Bainbridge smiled. “I’m glad to hear you’re finally warming to the fellow, Miss Hobbes. He’s a good man. One of us.” He tugged at the corner of his moustache as if in thought. “Alas, I haven’t seen him since we met at the church. I’ve taken your advice, Miss Hobbes, and I’ve been observing from a distance. Wouldn’t do to get Her Majesty all worked up. The professor and I have an understanding.”
“You haven’t seen him since the church?” echoed Veronica, stifling her incredulity. She considered calling him out on his blatant lie right then and there, but decided against it. She needed to establish what he was up to, why he should wish to lie to her about his discreet visit to Angelchrist’s apartment. If she confronted him now, in front of Newbury, she risked being shot down. Not only that, but she’d be admitting outright that she’d been spying on the professor. “Well, I think you’re wise to take precautions, Sir Charles,” she said, diplomatically.
She glanced at Newbury, who was still sitting in his armchair, staring vacantly into the crackling fire.
“I think it’s best we give him some time to think,” said Bainbridge, under his breath.
Veronica nodded. Newbury withdrew a tarnished silver cigarette tin from his jacket pocket and popped it open. He extracted one of the thin white sticks, balanced the end of it loosely between his moist lips, and slipped the tin back into his pocket, close to his heart.
Bainbridge sighed. “Come along. I’ll help you find a hansom.” They pulled the door to the drawing room shut as they left.
Outside, fortune favoured them with two horse-drawn cabs almost as soon as they stepped through the door. Bainbridge helped her up into the first, then bid her good night, assuring her that he would see her the following day with any further information or findings.
“Where to, miss?” came the gruff voice of the driver, leaning down so he could hear her through the open window.
“Kensington High Street,” she said, leaning back in her seat and watching as Bainbridge’s hansom pulled away from the kerbside, trundling off into the evening. She frowned, then made a snap decision. She leaned out of the window and caught the driver’s attention. “On second thought,” she said, “follow that cab.”
* * *
As the hansom trundled down the familiar streets, spraying dirty gutter water in its wake, it dawned on Veronica that Bainbridge was, in fact, heading directly for his own home.
She couldn’t see the other cab from where she was sitting in the back of her own conveyance, but she’d promised the driver a half crown if he could follow behind at a respectful distance, no questions asked.
Now, however, she was feeling somewhat conflicted about the whole endeavour. What would Newbury think if he knew that, instead of returning directly to Kensington as they’d agreed, she’d set off in pursuit of Bainbridge, with the express intention of spying on the man? He’d certainly have disapproved, claiming it was a gross betrayal of trust. She supposed, in many ways, it was.
She considered for a moment telling the driver to stop and turn around, but the uncertainty continued to gnaw at her. She couldn’t bear not knowing the truth, and she’d be unable to face Bainbridge the following day with that incertitude unresolved. More than that, if he were involved in something underhanded, it would be best to get to the bottom of it. Steeling herself, she decided she had to see it through.
Nevertheless, her nagging doubts continued unabated as they raced down the rain-slicked street. It was the deep sense of disappointment, she realised, that a man she had until recently viewed as incorruptible might, in fact, be quite the opposite. That unease was coupled with the fear that if she did uncover something untoward, she’d feel compelled to tell Newbury about it, or possibly confront Bainbridge about it herself. The idea did not fill her with glee. She’d considered-she still considered-Bainbridge a good friend, a man she could rely on and who would go out of his way to protect the people he cared for, but all of that had been thrust into doubt in recent weeks. Now she felt as if she didn’t know him properly at all.
She sighed, trying to suppress a feeling of nausea. There was a part of her that would rather have buried her head in the sand and ignored her suspicions. It would certainly have been easier.
Still, however she felt about it, Bainbridge had clearly lied to her back at Newbury’s house. That fact in itself gave her cause for concern. He was continuing to work with Professor Angelchrist despite claiming he was not, which implied that he was actively and knowingly engaging in something suspicious. Why else would he choose not to divulge the truth to her and Newbury?
With a sigh, Veronica leaned back in her seat and watched through the window as the amber-lit streets flitted by in a hazy blur.
Presently, she heard the driver barking commands to the horses and felt the hansom slowly draw to a halt. She leaned forward, sliding the window open and peering out.
They were, as she’d anticipated, close to Bainbridge’s house. The rain had abated, although water dripped from the roof of the cab, spotting Veronica’s cheek and trickling down her collar like icy fingers as she strained to see through the semi-darkness.