A Curious Beginning by Deanna Raybourn Page A

menace Mr. Stoker offered? It was a chilling thought. But I remembered again my lessons in Corsica and shook my head stubbornly. I would not, could not believe that Mr. Stoker would be my doom.
    It was only much later that I decided my Corsican friend had much to answer for.
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    We changed trains at Taunton and again at Exeter before alighting at last at Taviscombe Magna. Here we were the only passengers to leave the train, and I was not surprised there was no one to meet us. Mr. Stoker gestured impatiently. “The night air is cold here. Have you a coat? Put it on.”
    I retrieved a long striped coat from my bag and buttoned it securely. He merely slung an untidy old frock coat over his shoulders, wearing it as a cloak, and as we moved into the moonlight, I smiled.
    â€œWhat is so bloody funny?” he demanded.
    â€œYou. I hope we do not meet with any superstitious countryfolk. They will take you for the ghost of a disheveled highwayman.”
    He muttered a curse and started off down the narrow lane that led from the village and into the countryside. The moonlight was our only means of illumination, and the going was difficult at times, the lane pitted and rough. We walked for some time without a word passing between us, but as the moon rose directly overhead, I stumbled and he put out a hand to steady me.
    â€œThank you.”
    He hesitated. “I suppose we could rest for a moment if you require it.”
    â€œNot at all,” I returned briskly. “The walking is sufficient exercise to keep me quite comfortable. We should be chilled through if we stopped. But you might tell me where we are bound, so as to pass the time more easily.”
    â€œWe are going to friends of mine. They are encamped nearby.”
    â€œEncamped! Are your friends Gypsies, then?”
    â€œThey are not. They are members of a traveling show.”
    I stumbled again and he swore softly. “Can you not keep your feet, woman?”
    â€œYou surprised me,” I said by way of apology. “A traveling show? I am intrigued. What sort of traveling show?”
    â€œYou will see soon enough.”
    He fell to a moody silence again, but I would have none of it.
    â€œMr. Stoker, I understand that you are mightily put out with me, and I daresay if the circumstances were reversed, I should treat you with the same unfounded suspicion. But I would like to point out that I have been very cooperative for a victim of abduction, and the least you can do is make a little polite conversation.”
    He stopped then and faced me squarely in the moonlight, his face thrown into harsh shadows. “Victim? When, for all I know, you ordered the attack upon the baron?”
    I gave him a pitying look. “I know you think it possible, but you are a man of science. You have been trained not to hypothesize until you have developed all of your data, is that not true? Therefore, you must also believe it possible that I am innocent. The baron himself entrusted me to your care. Would he have done so if he believed me to be a dangerous person? Did you yourself not say his precise charge was that I was to be guarded,
even at the cost of your own life
?”
    He said nothing for a long moment, emotions warring upon his face. “He did,” he ground out finally. “And yes, I will concede it is far likelier you are an innocent in all of this than a perpetrator. But you are the only possible connection I have to discovering what happened to Max.” His voice held a note that in another man might have sounded like a plea.
    â€œI understand that, and whether you want to believe it or not, I am deeply sorrowed by whatever calamity has befallen him. I knew him only for the duration of our journey to London, but I believe he was a kind man and he meant to help me, although I think if he could see you now he might question his own judgment at leaving me in your care.”
    His mouth opened,