even though the 'Ripper' was no longer in evidence.
There were other perils, too. Accidents of all sorts could take place in a thick fog. The one great advantage that a horse-drawn cab had in this weather was that the horse's senses were keener than the driver's. You didn't get hansoms going into the Thames, and collisions between horse-drawn vehicles going at a reasonable pace were rare. There were more and more motorcars and motorbuses on the London streets, however, and the drivers seemed to Maya to be more than reckless when it came to taking a reasonable pace in bad weather. There was always at least one bad collision in a fog, and when one came up as suddenly as this one, there were usually more. Far more frequent were the instances of people being run over by drivers going too fast for the conditions. By the time she got to the hospital in the morning, the wards would be buzzing with tales of the latest horrific accidents. It wasn't just motorcars either. There were terrible bicycle accidents in bad fogs, for the riders were just as heedless of conditions as the drivers of motor vehicles, and it was as easy to break one's neck on the cobbles in a tumble from a fast-moving bicycle as it was to break one's neck by being thrown from a motor.
She turned away from the window and saw to her amusement that Charan, Sia, and Singhe were all waiting for her on her bed, wearing expectant—and slightly impatient—expressions.
So—it's going to be cooler tonight, and apparently I am supposed to function as a warming pan! she thought with great amusement as she got into bed. At least that means that it will be cooler tonight; they're fairly good judges when it comes to weather.
As she lay in bed with the mongooses pressed firmly, one alongside each leg, and Charan curled up in the crook of her arm, her thoughts drifted back to that odd interview at the Fleet with the police detective. Of all of the things that could have happened, she would never have expected something of that nature.
I wonder if Parkening ever turned up again? She might have felt a slight twinge of concern about him if his malady had really been heatstroke. As it was, she wasn't the least sympathetic. If she hadn't been able to give him a good thrashing for his beggarly behavior, it seemed that Fate had stepped in to give her a hand. It was a good thing that the policeman hadn't expected a show of 'womanly concern' from her, because she didn't think she'd have been able to produce a convincing expression for him.
And just how would I have explained that, anyway? 'Well, officer, the fact is he's not actually suffering from heatstroke. The man tried to force his attentions on me in that closet, and I used magic to knock him to the ground. So you don't need to worry that he's wandering about half-delirious somewhere. The worst he got from it was a well-deserved headache.' Oh, that would have sounded rational! If the fellow didn't bustle me down to the police station on suspicion, he'd have hauled me into a lunatic asylum!
She wondered if Parkening was the sort to contrive his own disappearance in order to get attention. If he hadn't turned up by now, he'd certainly be in all the papers, if only because of his connection to his uncle.
If he has engineered this, he'll likely materialize in a police station or hospital without coat or hat, and with some wild tale of abduction. By Chinese, of course— or perhaps by evil Hindu dacoits! The latter idea made her smother a cross between a snort and a chuckle. They will, of course, have lured him into their clutches with the promise of an Asian beauty— no, wait, that's not heroic enough. I know! He'll have seen the blackguards dragging some poor white girl away, meaning, no doubt, to sell her into White Slavery. It would have to be a beautiful and pure, honest serving girl—as if he'd pay such a scene a moment of his attention!—and he rushed to her rescue. They overpowered him, drugged him, and left him bound and gagged in some dank warehouse while they made off with the maiden! And of course, by the time he woke up and freed himself, they were gone without a trace. That would certainly be enough to make Parkening a nine-days' wonder in the newspapers—and to make life misery for the Chinese or Indian population of London until people forgot about his story.
I hope he is in trouble of his own making, and hasn't the wit to make up a tale, she thought, sobered. I’ll have to speak to Gupta about this in the morning, just in case. The wretch is mean enough and vindictive enough to make up just such a fantasy so that he can revenge himself on me through my household, and the only doubt I have is whether he's intelligent enough to think of doing so.
It occurred to her that if Parkening continued to plague her, it might not be a bad thing to gradually turn over most of her hospital work to O'Reilly. The Irishman was her full partner at the Fleet now and, thanks to her, a full surgeon as well. When the 'ladies of leisure' returned from their holidays and the theaters opened in full force, she would have plenty of paying patients to occupy her time without taking on the additional work in the charity wards, and besides, less time spent at the hospital would mean more time for the Fleet. Granted, she wouldn't get as much practice in surgery . . . and that was definitely a drawback. But she was doing surgery in the clinic, after all. If one of the patients from the Fleet were to be sent to the hospital, O'Reilly could take him in charge—unless, of course, the patient specifically wanted Maya.
But that would be running away.
The admonition stopped her spinning thoughts for a moment. The suffragettes don't run away. They let themselves be jailed, they even go on hunger strikes knowing that they'll be force-fed and might even die of it.
True, but sometimes it was a great deal wiser to run from a problem than to confront it. Parkening's behavior was not something she had any control over, and if he decided to enlarge his circle of potential victims to all those around her, wouldn't it be better just to take herself out of his purview and hope he would forget about her?
So long as he did forget. Some people continued to pursue even when the object of pursuit was well out of reach.
