I caught a glimpse of his flat, hard mouth just before he turned away. A gate behind him opened, and he walked through, melting into the shadows.
Miss Holmes
Wherein Our Heroine Encounters Creatures of the Four-Legged and Finned Varieties
As we strolled along the crowded path in New Vauxhall, my hand curved around Dylan’s arm. As requested, Evaline inserted herself into a conversation with Mr. Ashton. I hoped she didn’t forget she was actually supposed to obtain information. She seemed more interested in smiling up at him and making flutter-eyes. Anyone watching would think the two of them to be engaged, or at the very least sparking.
After we extricated ourselves from the midst of some energetic harlequin-garbed jugglers, I saw that Evaline, Mr. Ashton, and Dr. Norton had stopped to listen to a violinist. The musician wasn’t particularly good—frankly, the screeching notes were torture to my ears, and I couldn’t understand the attraction—but at least my partner was still with her quarry.
“I need to speak with Mr. Treadwell,” I murmured.
Dylan bent closer to me than was strictly necessary, and I found myself surrounded by a pleasant male scent as he replied, “Shall I distract Miss Norton for a few minutes? Get her to walk on ahead with me?”
“If you can dislodge her from Mr. Treadwell’s side, yes. And Miss Ashton and her aunt as well.”
“And then afterward, maybe we can take a boat ride. Just you and me, you know, if it’s proper. I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’d like that.” My tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of my mouth. A boat ride. Alone? Under the moonlight?
It wasn’t proper at all . . . but I didn’t care. Hardly anything I’d done in the last month or so had been strictly proper.
“Cool. I’ll approach Willa and Amanda, and—”
“And I’ll pretend to have a problem with my shoe,” I said. “Mr. Treadwell seems gentlemanly enough to stop and assist while you move the others on ahead.”
Things worked precisely as planned—no surprise, given my foresight in waiting until Miss Ashton and Miss Norton were safely in Dylan’s presence before I pretended to trip.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Treadwell,” I said when I had “fixed” my heel. “The Gardens are lovely, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been comfortable walking along this path alone. I see the others have left us behind. Although there are several other people about, I prefer to be with ones I know.”
“I don’t know where Mr. Ashton and Dr. Norton have gone off to.” He glanced back. “Or your friend, Miss Stoker. She seems to have disappeared.”
I was about to reply when a small creature bounded out of the shadows in front of me. Startled but not frightened, I halted, still clinging to Mr. Treadwell’s arm.
It was a spotted dog with floppy ears that nearly dragged on the ground. He was running about, barking as if released from some sort of confinement. His long ears went every which way as he dashed about, making awkward figure-eights on the path around us and the others in the vicinity. One of his rear legs was a mechanical one. It gleamed in the moonlight, making a soft metallic click as the limb leapt and bounded. He stepped on one of his ears and tripped, tumbling onto his face in a somersault, then twisted back onto his feet and dashed about some more. I could hardly contain a giggle.
“Angus!” called a voice from the shadows. “Angus, where are you off to?” Thrashing sounds and vibrations amid the shrubbery commenced.
As a rule, I don’t care for animals, but this particular creature was utterly endearing with its too-big ears and stubby legs. I empathized with his ungainliness, having tripped over my own two feet (or skirts) more than once. I released Mr. Treadwell’s arm and crouched on the path, calling for the beagle to come to me.
“Come here, doggie.” I felt the unfamiliar strain in my legs and ankles from such an unusual position. My corset felt uncomfortably tight at the same time; I’d have to adjust my Easy Un-Lacer in the future. The green lace of my overskirt poofed out in a circle around me. “Oh, there you are. Nice doggie.”
He settled on the ground, right on the edge of my lacy skirt, writhing in some expectant manner. His ears lolled about like a child’s arms when making snow angels, flopping back and forth. His round white tummy was exposed and his mechanical leg fell wide from his torso, still moving reflexively. I got the distinct impression he expected me to rub his belly.
“Angus!”
Recognizing the voice, I looked up as the beagle’s apparent owner emerged from the bushes. “Inspector Grayling!”
He looked from me to the beagle, then over at Mr. Treadwell, and then back down to me. “Miss Holmes. I do believe this is the first time I’ve found you crouched over something other than a dead body.”
“Dead body?” Mr. Treadwell said with a horrified expression. (Of course the demure Miss Ashton would never be caught crouching over a dead body.)
I gave Grayling a quelling look, then replied to my companion. “Don’t mind him, it’s only a jest.”
“Would you like some assistance?” Grayling offered me his hand as I began to struggle upright.
“No, thank you.” I patted the canine creature on the head once more. Despite the weight and awkwardness of the layers of petticoat beneath my skirts, I was able to pull to my feet gracefully, without—for once—embarrassing myself. “Is this your dog, then?”
By the way Angus was jumping up on Grayling’s legs and panting enthusiastically, the answer was obvious.
“Yes. The little menace slipped his lead and took himself off when we were walking through the park.” But now there was affection in his voice as he bent to scratch the dog, who’d flopped on his back once more and fairly wriggled in ecstasy. “It’s no wonder ye lost a leg, you little blunderbunt. Always getting into trouble, aren’t you, boyo?”
“This is the beagle from last week in Glasner-Mews—who caught his leg in the metal hasp on the streetwalk. You got him free and had his leg fixed.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I saw him trapped and crying, and then you . . . erm . . . you came out of Mrs. Yingling’s window and jumped down a whole level to save him. Foolishly, I might add. What if you’d missed and fallen all the way to ground level?” The memory of his neat vault over the streetwalk railing was still embedded in my brain.
Grayling’s expression changed into something unfathomable. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “You . . . er . . . saw that?”