“I hope you are right, Uncle Bram.”
He patted her hand.
“I like him.”
“You do?”
“He’s firm but fair, he will treat us the same.”
Ellen looked around the stark brown walls and hoped he was right. The information they had could cause a great deal of trouble for her and her uncle.
“Hello.” Looking to the doorway, she found Detective Fletcher standing there. Ellen felt that jab of excitement in her belly seeing him again. Tall and somber in charcoal trousers and a black jacket. “If you would like to come this way.”
She held Uncle Bram’s hand as they walked along a hallway with more brown walls and little else adorning them. He then waved them into a room. Following, the detective shut the door.
“Please, sit.”
He took the chair behind the desk, and she and Uncle Bram the ones opposite.
“I gather this is what you wanted to discuss when you called at my house?” His voice was unemotional, his dark eyes passing over them coolly.
“We thought it better to come here so we would not be interrupted,” Uncle Bram said.
“Yes, it got a trifle busy in my house.” The corner of Detective Fletcher’s lip twitched. “Please, tell me what brings you here.”
“Have you nothing you could put on the wall to liven it up a bit in here?” Ellen said, looking around them. It was stark and empty. Not a terribly welcoming environment to work in daily.
“I come here to work, Miss Nightingale, not liven things up,” he said.
He’d been gentle with her when she panicked. That man was now gone.
“Right, at least we’ve established that then,” Uncle Bram said, shooting her a look that suggested she stay focused. “When you’re ready, Ellen. Tell the detective what you did.”
Now the moment had come. She felt nervous. What would he say or think about her hiding evidence?
“I found a knife under the body the night I came upon Mr. Nicholson dead in his bookshop. It looked the same as my uncle’s. I panicked and took it from the scene.”
The silence that followed her words filled the room. Detective Fletcher’s expression had not changed, but there was now tension in his shoulders. Ellen fought to keep any visions at bay. This man seemed to have them filling her head when he was close.
“And is it yours?” he asked Uncle Bram.
“It is. It was stolen from me months ago one night when I was returning home. I wrestled with my assailant, and he ran away. I hadn’t realized he’d taken the knife from my pocket with him.”
“You walk about London carrying a knife, Mr. Nightingale?” the detective said calmly.
“Don’t you?” Ellen demanded. Uncle Bram placed a hand over hers and squeezed.
“I always have a weapon on me, Detective Fletcher. On my travels I collected many and usually have one with me if I am to walk about London at night,” Uncle Bram said.
“Why do you walk about London at night if you don’t mind me asking, when there is surely a carriage available to you?”
“I enjoy it and am more than capable of protecting myself.”
“As you have taught your niece and nephews to do?”
“He did yes. My uncle, unlike many men, believes a woman should be able to protect herself,” Ellen said. “I learned at the same time as my brothers to defend myself.”
“It was not an insult, Miss Nightingale, but a query. If I had a daughter, I, too, would wish for her to defend herself. Had Miss Tompkins been able to, then Barney Forge would not have achieved what he did.”
