They had two more days to figure something out. Two more days or Mary would die.
Footsteps shuffled down the hall and Mrs. Sherard came in, looking as exhausted as Mira felt. She sat beside her on the sofa.
“How is he?” Mira asked.
“Still sleeping, but he woke up when I came in. The glass of water I left on the nightstand was empty, so that’s a good sign. Where’s Byron?”
“I sent him up to bed. He was in that fuzzy state between wakefulness and sleep and his memory wasn’t particularly clear.”
Mrs. Sherard frowned. “I thought his memory had healed. Doesn’t he remember things from day to day now?”
“He does. But that doesn’t mean he remembers everything.” She let out a wistful sigh. “I do believe he will always be my forgetful detective.”
Mrs. Sherard smiled. “I’m so grateful that he has you.”
Mira’s breath caught in her chest. “You are?”
“From the moment I met you, I have seen how you’ve caredfor him.” Mrs. Sherard stood, moving to close the curtains. She paused at the window before turning back to Mira, straight-backed, hands folded in front of her. “Do you know why Mary dislikes you so?”
Mira swallowed. “I believe there’s a list.”
Mrs. Sherard shook her head. “It’s the detective work. It always comes back to that. If you had been any other girl, she needn’t have been so afraid. But you don’t merely encourage his work, you engage with it. I’m not sure you are aware, but I have buried three grown daughters, an infant son, and a husband.”
“Byron mentioned the loss the other day. He said that was why Mary was so protective of him.”
“Detective work is dangerous. We’ve always known that. But when the accident happened... He didn’t die, but we lost him just the same. Every time we would visit, he couldn’t recall anything we had talked about the time previous. He may not remember it, Miss Blayse, but we visited him every week for a year. When his external injuries had healed, he got the notion that he could go on the case again. That was when we stopped coming, because Mary couldn’t bear to see him destroy himself.”
Mira swallowed. Everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours only corroborated his family’s fears. They may have asked Byron to come investigate the theft of their jewels, but Byron brought the danger of Circe to them. Now Castel had been drugged and Mary abducted.
“That’s why you disapprove of the detective work?” Mira said. “It isn’t because of what society will think, but because it is dangerous?”
Mrs. Sherard paused, moving over to a set of drawers built into the bookcase. She opened one of the drawers and returned with a rectangular book, sitting next to Mira and handing it to her.
Mira opened the cover and found a page pasted full ofnewspaper clippings.
Detective Constantine Solves Meerdown Murder.
Princeline Diamonds Stolen. Constantine on the Case.
Constantine Finds Duke of Shirland, Missing Three Weeks.
At the bottom of one of the later pages was the advertisement that had initially brought Mira to Byron.
The Central News September 17, 1888
Something troubling you? Are people following you in the street? Sounds that can’t be explained? Mysterious letters in your postbox? Perhaps a loved one gone missing? Look no further. Come to 27 Palace Court, London. Can’t miss it. Oh, and yes, I’m a private detective if you were wondering.
She ran a finger around its edge, smiling fondly. “You’ve saved all of his cases...”
“The ones the papers wrote about. I’m sure there are more. I don’t disapprove of his detective work. He’s brilliant. I couldn’t be prouder of him. But it is one thing to lose a child to illness, quite another to violence.” She turned to look at Mira, her scrutiny not as intimidating as before. “I’m grateful to you because you’ve brought back his memories. And now I know there is someone looking out for him, someone who is brave enough to stay by his side and intelligent enough to keep up with him.”
Mira’s heart glowed as she closed the book and handed it back. “You mean, you don’t think it is improper for a woman to be a detective?”
“There is a superstition that it is bad luck to take a woman to sea.” A wry smile came to Mrs. Sherard’s lips. “But I have taken many voyages myself.”
Mira laughed. “How terribly I’ve misjudged you.”
“One’s character tends to show itself over time.” Mrs. Sherard’s eyes twinkled for a moment. But her gaze grew distant and her smile faded. “We ought to get to bed. We won’t do Mary any good if we aren’t well rested.”
