20

Sunday, June 13, cont.

I was teasing James for the serious expression he wore while he ate his ice cream. “Really, James, most people smile when they enjoy an ice. Why do you scowl so?”

“I’m not scowling, I’m thinking about my ice cream.”

“I never considered it a meditation. You must become quite philosophical with chocolate.”

James fumbled with his keys, trying to keep the melting confection from dripping onto his vest.

“Here,” I said, leaning forward to take his cone. I heard a hollow thunk and the brick beside my head exploded into fragments, showering us with debris.

“Get down!” James shouted, drawing his revolver, while I shoved a stunned Elizabeth to the ground before pulling out my derringer, my heart racing.

I saw a man across the street resting a rifle over a cart just as James fired, lighting up the street like a bolt of lightning. My first instinct was to fire at the man with the rifle, though it would be pointless at that range. But I would not go down without a fight. “Get inside, Elizabeth!” I shouted as I rushed forward to the right to flank him.

The flame from the revolver startled Herman. He’d never been fired upon before and flinched, causing his next shot to go high, knocking off the man’s derby. Herman felt the cart shudder as the heavy bullet from the Webley’s second shot smashed into it. He was reloading to finish the man with the pistol when another gun fired to his left and he instinctively ducked.

Windows were thrown open and shouts rose all around, and Herman knew his chance was gone. He grabbed the case, but as he turned, he tripped on the strap and fell face-forward. He felt the flask in the butt snap, and the bark of escaping air caused James to throw himself onto the street, thinking it was a bomb.

Herman cursed while jumping up, grabbed the case, and ran into the darkness. James leapt up and charged after him, running from shadow to shadow, ignorant that his enemy was now toothless.

Herman sped down an alley and into a secluded courtyard before stopping to catch his breath. His chest heaving, he listened for the sounds of pursuit. There was much shouting, followed by police whistles, but he seemed safe for the moment. He quickly disassembled and stored the remnants of the rifle. Then he shouldered the case and did his best to look like a tradesman making his way home as he trudged toward the nearest Underground at the Marble Arch.

I had no illusions that I could hit the man with my derringer at that range and in the dark, but I was pleased to see him duck down when I fired, at least buying us some time. I was about to fire again when there was an explosion, and I crouched down beside a building. James was up and after the assassin before I had a chance to rise. He ran to the corner we’d seen the sniper dart around, then disappeared in hot pursuit.

Running was no longer in my repertoire but I hurried with a will after James, my weapon held high. After rounding the corner, I saw him about eighty yards away standing in the middle of a street showing his badge to two police constables, who had apparently accosted him for running down the street with a drawn revolver. After a brief conversation they blew their whistles and the three of them set off in blind pursuit of the rifleman.

There was a time when I’d have gone after them, but that time was past. My chest was tight and with the danger past, I felt light-headed. I sat down on the street curb and tried to slow my breathing.

It wasn’t long before I saw James returning, empty-handed, with the constables.

“What’s all this about, then?” one asked as James led them back toward me and the scene of the attack.

“Someone fired at us from behind a vendor’s cart,” James pointed up the street in my general direction. I walked back around the corner ahead of him and looked closely at the sausage wagon, when something on the ground caught my eye and I picked it up. Some sort of brass flask, the neck ruptured, its shattered top looking like the petals of an opening flower.

My back was turned and I must have been shrouded in the shadows as I heard James continue his conversation with the bobbies as he rounded the corner.

“I’ll go off with you in a moment to make a report. Just let me see to my family first.”

Family? I thought. He’d said it without thinking. Still...

“He’s gone,” James said as he came up to me, still wheezing from the exertion of the chase. He looked at his revolver. “I’ve been an inspector for almost sixteen years, and this is the first time I’ve ever discharged a weapon anywhere but at a firing range, and never at night. It does make a light, doesn’t it?”

Then he pointed to my derringer, which I still had in my hand. “Though you certainly made a contribution to the fireworks. I didn’t know you were armed, but I’m glad you were. I think your shot from the side drove him off. Well played!”

Elizabeth came out of the building James’s hat in her hands as though holding a wounded pet. “Your hat, Father. Your favorite hat. I’m so sorry.”

Elizabeth stuck her finger through the hole in the front of James’s wounded derby. “It missed your head by only a couple of inches.”

James chuckled. “And to think of all the times you blocked it for me. The hat, I mean,” and our fright was released in a burst of laughter that brought tears to our eyes.

James hugged Elizabeth then, to my surprise, me. He looked at me, then nodded toward his daughter. “Thank you for seeing to her safety.”

I said nothing in response. There was no need. We’d faced danger together, like a family, just as James said.

Our laughter faded as we realized how fortunate we were to be unharmed, and James became businesslike when I showed him what I’d found on the ground.

“This was behind the cart, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

James peered at it closely. “I think this made the sound we mistook for a bomb. I’ll take it along to headquarters and see what they can deduce.”

He gestured to the apartment building. “Let’s get you ladies inside, then I’ll accompany these constables to their station to make a report that my superiors can disregard with their morning tea.” He rubbed his chin. “Though being fired upon may convince them there was something to my concern after all. I doubt our sniper will return, but do not use any lights, please, and for goodness’ sake don’t stand by the windows! I’ll be back before daylight, if only to bathe and change my clothes.”

I was (and still am) unused to taking orders, but these were sensible, and for the moment my major concern was making sure Elizabeth recovered from the fright. The quiet confidence in James’s voice after the attempt on our lives was reassuring, and I liked the character of the man who stood before me—and between his “family” and danger.

“Right you are . . . Inspector. We’ll be good girls until you return. Now go do what you have to do.”

My stress on the title “Inspector” gave James pause, as I’d intended. It was a mild rebuke that I was not his to command. He tipped his wounded hat and followed the two constables into the night.