“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
Thirty-six
A few weeks had made a night journey a much more pleasant prospect than it had been last time. The wind was gentle against Mina’s face, and the night, for once, was clear. She could even see a crescent moon hanging overhead as she and Stephen got out of the carriage.
“No stars, though,” Stephen said when Mina pointed it out.
“Of course there are. There’s one over there—and another—” She gestured, squinting against the lights of the city.
“They don’t hide so much at home,” Stephen said. “A night like this would look like a spill of diamonds in Loch Arach.”
“Sounds lovely,” Mina said, picturing it. It wasn’t the first time in the last few days that Stephen had mentioned his home. Talking with Colin must have made him miss the place, she thought, and no wonder. Everything he said made it sound halfway to Eden. “Not much like here. We’re just lucky there’s no fog. Though it might hide us, if there was.”
“Aye,” said Stephen, “but I rather enjoy breathing.”
Even without the fog, Mina didn’t think they’d be too obvious. People had come out to enjoy the night—walking to music halls or dances, or down along the river, trying to sell refreshments to the strollers, or just sitting on their front steps and talking. High laughter drifted through the evening air, and the need to let a group of young women pass pushed her closer to Stephen’s side.
He didn’t step away, even after the crowds had passed, but rather put an arm around her shoulders. “Disguise,” he explained when Mina looked up at him. “May as well look as if we’ve a purpose in being out here, aye?”
“Might as well,” said Mina, and leaned against him. After all, they were in public.
Meandering, they rounded a corner, and Stephen nudged her gently. “That one there,” he said, looking toward a narrow brick building on the corner. The doors were closed, the windows shuttered, and it looked both thoroughly respectable and totally anonymous.
No light came from under the shutters, or at least none that Mina could see from outside. Either the building was abandoned or the shades were very good—or Christopher Ward was at his best in darkness these days. She felt the weight of the revolver in her pocket, a new addition to her wardrobe, and was glad of it.
“You can stay out here, if you’d like,” Stephen said, “or we can find a place where you’ll be more comfortable. A tea shop, perhaps—”
“No,” said Mina. “We’ve talked about this already.”
“That we have,” he said. “I just wanted to know you were sure.”
“Thank you,” she said and smiled, both because his intentions were good and because she was glad he’d asked. Having to say her will aloud had made it stronger; she felt her feet more firm on this path, whatever it was.
“Now,” said Stephen, and they started forward, both still trying to look casual, both inwardly anything but.
***
The door led to a dark, narrow stairwell where the harsh smell of carbolic soap lay thinly over years of mold. Following Stephen up the steps, Mina kept her hands at her sides and stayed to the center, well away from the walls. She didn’t look down, either. All the cleaning in the world wouldn’t keep rats out of city buildings, and though she was too familiar with them to be precisely afraid, she had no desire to see one of the creatures scurry past.
Instead, she counted steps: one-two-four-six-eight-twelve and a landing. Two doors flanked them there; Stephen didn’t stop at either. Twelve more steps went past and another landing, and they kept going. On the third floor, Stephen stopped, hesitated, and then turned right.
There was no light from under the door. Stephen bent and pressed his ear to it and then, after a moment, straightened up with no sign of alarm on his face. Still, Mina held her breath as he turned the key in the lock and let the door swing slowly, quietly open.
Nothing moved in the room beyond. Mina let her breath out in a not-quite-silent sigh of relief.
Inside, Stephen lit the gas lamps on the walls, which did nothing much for the room’s appearance. It was a cheerless place with graying white walls. Someone had scrubbed those walls well, though. The smell of soap was much stronger here than it had been in the hall. A shining mahogany monster of a desk, all pigeonholes and drawers with brass fittings, sat near the window.
“I don’t envy the woman who has to polish that.” Mina eyed the pigeonholes, many stuffed with paper. “I’ll take the right side, you take the left. Anything that looks odd?”
“Or that mentions a particular place. You’ll know as well as I.”
“Oh,” she said, and turned to the desk so she could hide her smile. She’d never thought to hear those words from Stephen.
Taking a sheaf of paper from one of the pigeonholes, she shook it hard, tapping the bottom edges of the papers against the top of the desk. “Centipedes,” she explained when Stephen gave her a curious look. “And similar. They like paper, and they love old buildings.”
“Do they?”
