A Thousand and One English Nights (Book Three of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Six: Miss Cricket

Dr Petrescu had gone out just before dawn, while the Eve creature was still sleeping. Danvers hadn't been able to summon the energy to protest. Somehow, the quiet of the morning had confirmed in both their minds that Miss Syal was dead. There didn't seem to be much point in worrying about what would happen when the mother of the demons woke up.

But Dr Petrescu hadn't returned. Instead, there had been the newspaper on the doorstep, proclaiming what Danvers already knew, and, at about noon, a telegram from the doctor – sent from the police station – containing three words: 'Keep her hidden'.

Danvers hadn't really needed telling. He was feeling particularly hostile to the outside world this morning, and wouldn't have dreamed of letting Miss Cricket venture into it.

But, without Dr Petrescu to consult, it was difficult to know what he should do with her. She was unmarried and unchaperoned in a bachelor's apartments. This would have been bad enough even if she wasn't a demon. But, because she was, people would be frightened as well as scandalized. Danvers wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't frightened himself.

He found himself wondering whether she would rip his throat out the instant she awoke, or summon a flock of bat-winged demons through the window to tear him limb from limb.

But then he reminded himself how helpless, how lost, she had been when he'd picked her up in Christchurch meadow. He remembered the way she had clung to him with chattering teeth, and begged him to take her somewhere safe.

And she didn't look particularly savage. She had a little mouth, pointed at the corners, and wavy blonde hair of the same Cotswold-stone colour as Mrs Darwin's. 

He realized suddenly that he didn't have any clothes for her – or any of the baffling cosmetics and accoutrements that women seemed to require. He had nothing more than lye soap and a shaving brush. He'd never even had a sister. He had literally no idea what she would need.

So he let her sleep, guiltily half-hoping that she would never wake up.

And then, as he started to doze in the chair beside her bed, he began to hope that he would never wake up, because Miss Syal was dead, and the world was full of sordid, violent, mean-spirited people. Miss Cricket – if she didn't decide to rip his throat out the instant she awoke – deserved a better advocate than him. She deserved someone who wasn't so tired.

When he woke, she was sitting up in bed, looking perfectly alert, in spite of the bandage over her eyes. The bed-sheets had fallen away, and of course, she couldn't see that she was naked. Perhaps demons didn't worry about nakedness in any case. But, to his unspeakable relief, her hair was falling over her shoulders and covering up most of her chest. Although there was part of him that wished it wasn't.

She seemed to have been waiting for him to wake up, because, as soon as he stirred, she said "John Danvers, at your service" in a faint, flat voice, as though she was repeating something she didn't understand.

"Yes," said Danvers, trying to shake himself into a state of greater alertness. "Yes, I'm here. What can I do for you, Miss?"

"What am I, John Danvers?"

Danvers sighed. He had really been hoping they were past that question. He made a brave attempt at a smile. "Well, you're not bleeding all over the place anymore."

"I have you to thank," said Miss Cricket. It wasn't a question – nor did it seem to be a 'thank you'. It was just a statement of fact.

"It was Dr Petrescu who bandaged your arms and performed the transfusion," he muttered. "I wish he was here to assist with your recovery. I'm afraid I don't have much experience of nursing. I would hire a sick-nurse, but I couldn't guarantee her silence or her good-will. You see, there are some who might consider this arrangement... scandalous."