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

Chapter Eight: Elsie Danvers

From that moment on, Danvers never entertained another suspicion that Miss Cricket was going to attack him. He couldn't believe the thought had ever crossed his mind. In fact, he was beginning to suspect that they were both just what the other one needed. She had so many questions that she wanted answered, and he needed to be constantly talking to drive the memory of Miss Syal from his mind.

When she was strong enough to venture out of bed, Danvers wrapped her in his dressing-gown and led her to the sink to wash her face. She giggled when she felt the trickle of water over her hands, and tried to investigate where it had come from. She found the tap and poked her finger into it, causing the water to spray out on either side and splash her in the face.

Danvers gently removed her finger – even though she was still laughing – and placed it on the handle of the tap, showing her how to turn it off and on again.

"Where does it come from?" said Eve, when she had stopped and re-started the flow of water a few more times.

"There's a tank at the top of the house. It flows down here through a series of pipes."

"And where does it go?"

"Well, it flows through this drain," he said, guiding her hand to the plug-hole, "into a waste pipe. And, from there, it flows into the sewers, which are sort of underground rivers beneath the city."

"And where do they go?"

Danvers hesitated, realizing for the first time that he didn't know. Did they join up with the normal, overground rivers and flow into the sea? That seemed dreadfully unhygienic. No-one would ever go sea-bathing, surely, if there was sewer-water in the ocean?

He had to answer her, but he couldn't just guess. He didn't know why, but it seemed vitally important that he give her accurate information. It would be a poor reward for all that joyful curiosity if he just fobbed her off with the first answer that came into his head.

"I'll find out," he said, passing her a towel to dry her hands. She was entranced by the rough texture. 

After that, he became addicted to astonishing her. He searched for new things that would delight and amaze her. She was the perfect antidote, not just to his grief, but to his creeping certainty that the world was full of cruel, sordid people who would enslave young women in underground mines.

She walked her curious fingers over everything, even – to Danvers' acute embarrassment – his face and shoulders. The first time this happened, he had cleared his throat and gently removed her hands when they started to slide down his chest.

And then he had been extremely annoyed with himself for doing so, because she hadn't been conscious of any impropriety. She had just been trying to understand what shape he was, with all the joyful curiosity of a child. What would it matter if strangers misconstrued it? Why should she have to curb her exuberance for people who didn't know or understand her?

But she learned very quickly, because, to his vague annoyance, she hadn't tried to put her hands on him again.

She needed clothes – and perhaps some form of disguise – so he went out to the covered market, as soon as he could make her understand how vital it was for her to remain hidden. Once there, he went to Mrs Corder's second-hand clothing stall, and blushed and fumbled his way through the purchase of corset, drawers, gown and petticoat. He deflected any questions by saying that these items were for his sister, who was visiting from Winchester, but had left her luggage on the train. It was disturbing how quickly the lie came to him.

Still, nobody doubted him. They were too busy gossiping about last night's murders and the sudden disappearance of Eve. Apparently, Jack Cade was wanted by the police in connection with one or both of these crimes. Popular imagination favoured him as the murderer, at any rate, because it was well-known that he'd been engaged to the unfortunate young lady who'd been found dead on the steps of the Turl Street Music Rooms.