If Mr. Dorian noticed this rejection, he did not comment on it. “Here we are,” he said once we reached his coach. The driver had climbed down from his perch and opened the door for us. Tommy moved to climb in, but Mr. Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, ah. Ladies first, Tommy,” he said, and my son immediately fell back.
I raised an eyebrow at Mr. Dorian, reluctantly impressed. “Thank you,” I said, as I picked up my skirt and allowed the driver to hand me in.
Mr. Dorian was right. His coach was warm and cozy. Far more so than I had noticed on the night of the murder. As I settled into the plush seat, Tommy clambered onto the bench across from me. Mr. Dorian was right behind him, and I was surprised when he slid next to me. Then he pulled out a soft cashmere blanket that had been tucked in a corner by the door and wordlessly spread it over my lap. It was only when he tilted his head and gave me a questioning look that I realized I had been staring at him in openmouthed surprise.
“Thank you,” I muttered, then quickly turned away as the coach rocked to a start.
But since Tommy was eagerly staring out the window, he could not provide the distraction I sought. Luckily, the trip should not be terribly long, so I settled for staring out the window as well.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I came to see you?” Mr. Dorian murmured once we had been traveling for some minutes.
I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the passing street outside. “No.”
He hummed, as if giving my short answer great consideration. “Because you don’t care or because you have already deduced the reason?”
I pursed my lips and resisted the urge to roll my eyes, lest Tommy see such an obvious display of contempt. “A little of both.”
Mr. Dorian let out a soft chuckle. “Indulge me then, Mrs. Harper.”
That elicited a scoff from me, and I whipped my head to face him. Of course, unlike me with my stiff posture, the man was practically lounging beside me, one arm slung across the back of the seat, his hand dangerously close to my person. “I assume you came to scold me,” I whispered as I darted a glance to Tommy, who seemed blissfully unaware of our exchange. “Which is neither your place nor your concern.”
Mr. Dorian said nothing for a long moment as he stared back at me intently with that dark gaze of his. This silence was nearly as maddening as his presumption, and I was on the verge of saying so when he finally spoke: “You are wrong,” he said smoothly. “On both accounts.”
I frowned and sat back. “You overreach, sir.”
Anger sparked in his eyes then, and he leaned towards me, just a little. “Well, someone needs to protect you from yourself,” he hissed.
A strange combination of anger and embarrassment began to spread through my chest at his words, and I turned away. There was nothing more I could say to this man in front of my son. But though I could not see Mr. Dorian, his presence was like a lodestone around my neck. Heavy, stifling, and impossible to ignore. I stared out the window, seeing nothing, while his words echoed in my head. As the minutes ticked by, the coach seemed to become smaller and the air stuffier until I thought I would burst if I could not get out.
Then, all at once, the coach came to a stop.
“Here we are,” Mr. Dorian drawled, as if the last quarter hour had been nothing more than an amusing little diversion rather than a particular kind of torture.
“Mama, look!” Tommy gestured out the window.
I blinked. It felt as if I had just woken from a dream and noticed that we had arrived. I had forgotten how much the museum looked like a cathedral.
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Mr. Dorian said, as if he had read my thoughts. But he did not wait for my response and instead opened the door. Tommy practically leaped after him, and together they stood on the pavement waiting for me.
I forced a smile as I climbed out of the carriage. There was already a group of people out front waiting for the doors to open.
“Have you been here before?” Mr. Dorian asked as we ascended the steps that led to the grand entrance, where two towers flanked the arched doorway.
“Once. Not long after it first opened,” I said. “My brothers were a lot like Tommy as a boy. Jack, the MP, loved fossils, but Samuel was absolutely mad about all sorts of animals. Sea creatures in particular.”
I inadvertently smiled at the memory and Mr. Dorian returned it before his gaze followed Tommy racing just ahead of us. “What does he do now?”
“Samuel works for the Foreign Office. He joined at the same time as—as my husband. Only he was stationed at the embassy in Istanbul. But now he is in Bombay.”
I hoped Mr. Dorian hadn’t noticed my slight hesitation when speaking of Oliver. It remained something of a sore point between us, given the accusations he had made against my late husband.
Somewhere above our heads, a bell rang out the hour, and the doors to the museum were opened. We slowly moved through the entrance alongside the other visitors.
“Tommy,” I called out. “Stay with us, please.”
He reluctantly returned to my side, and together we made our way into the Great Hall. I only had a vague memory of my last visit here of a cavernous space full of sunlight and oddities. But as we entered the room, I saw that my memories were not so very far off. The Great Hall was massive, with a ceiling that stretched towards the heavens and really did resemble a cathedral. Only instead of an altar and religious relics, this was a monument to earthly creations. A massive skeleton was displayed in the center, while glass cases containing all manner of flora and fauna surrounded it.
