A Grave Robbery (Veronica Speedwell, #9)

by Deanna Raybourn

For Angèle Masters. Thank you for giving Veronica her voice.

am simply pointing out that if the intention of such a figure is to provide sexual gratification, she really ought to come fully equipped for such activities.”

“Yes. Yes it is. Would you mind holding this?” Without waiting for a reply, he thrust the portion of the torso into my hands and turned away to be lavishly sick upon the floor.

“Let us not brangle, my love. This is the point in the proceedings when I insist something must be done, and that we are the persons who must do it. I will make an impassioned plea for justice. I will point out that this nameless creature deserves a proper burial.

“Veronica, are you quite all right?” “I do not know,” I replied. “You are agreeing with me. It is a curious feeling.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I shall not make a habit of it.” “Don’t,” I begged. “It is distinctly unsettling.”

“Veronica, who? Who but us would undertake such activities? Do you really imagine London is full of natural scientists repeatedly and relentlessly distracted from their work by felonies and mayhem?” “It might happen,”

“You do not record our most sensational activities, do you?”

If, however, you are referring to the refreshing and healthful sessions of physical congress in which we frequently engage, I refer to them only obliquely, I assure you.” “You needn’t refer to them at all!” he thundered.

“Whenever I am called upon to describe your physique or your prowess, I am complimentary in the extreme. Accuracy demands it.”

It was an enchanted evening, walking in that glade, and as Stoker entwined his fingers with mine, I marvelled—not for the first time—at the whims of Fate which had drawn us together.

“I shall take that as agreement,” I said cheerfully. “Put on your coat. We are going to see your brother.”

“My god, Stoker, you have the appetite of an anaconda. I think there is a leg of lamb in the larder. Shall I fetch you the bone to gnaw upon or would you rather suck the marrow directly?”

will have you know those shenanigans have resulted in—” “Your near death and Veronica’s by drowning, stabbing, shooting, garroting, and—have I left any out?” Rupert asked pleasantly.

“Oh, and Veronica? “Yes, Lavinia?” “Ask if there is such a thing as an Anatomical Adonis, will you?”

am well acquainted with your stamina, Veronica.

Stoker, dearest, the American beaver has cause to grind its teeth in order to fell trees for constructing its habitat. From the sounds you are making, I can only think you intend to build a dam of your own,”

make no apologies. Stoker had, during the course of our previous investigation, made it quite clear that he wished to be seduced upon occasion, and I was simply taking him at his word. Once

“The female human is far more complex and therefore more interesting than the male, but then that is true of most species, don’t you think?”

They are not fit to hold the tip of your butterfly net.” I rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his nose. “Thank you for that. I will make every effort to throw off this fit of the morbs. Now, perhaps we ought to address yours.”

“If she did take her own life, one can hardly blame her. She must have felt she had no choice.”

“You are all the tonic I require,” he told me. (The interlude that followed does not bear upon the narrative, so I shall include no further comment except to say that it was gratifying indeed.)

“Thank you, but I am afraid I must decline. I am already engaged that evening.” “I haven’t told you when it is,” Lady C. replied coldly. “Upon which evening are you engaged?” Stoker grinned. “All of them.”

unjust, I suspected—that the day might dawn when her ambition would overrule her affection and my identity would be broadcast far and wide.

“I swear before the almighty god, Veronica, if this is another of your ridiculous and outlandish investigations—” she began. “Oh, nothing like that,” I put in hastily. “It is just that we seem to have acquired a

“Scorn the company of others! Thanks to you, I speak to entirely too many people, entirely too often.” “Exactly. You were practically a hermit when I met you.”

“Very well,” I said in a hoarse voice. “You fetch the feathers, and I will join you as soon as I have warmed the oil.” In the end, I was forced to agree that Stoker’s idea was a much more satisfactory means of sealing a wager than a handshake. Much more satisfactory indeed.

paroxysm

How many can there be? And if they are legion, then they are a bloody sight less likely to be caught than men. Women are too careful and too clever to be as easily apprehended, as we have known. Surely our experiences are unique.”

“Because you do not. You are deliberately attempting to provoke me in order to amuse yourself.”

went to sit on his lap. It was not a posture I adopted often, but Stoker was always highly appreciative when I did so. He wrapped his arms about me and rested his head on my shoulder. “Whatever did I do before you blazed into my life like a comet?”

“You knew what I was when you fell in love with me,” he replied. “Therefore, I would argue that it is your taste which is in question rather than my innocent befoulment.”

“Stoker? Dearest, if you mean to succumb to hysterics, I must warn you that I am without a vinaigrette and would be forced to slap you into sensibility.”

had no inclination to dally elsewhere. I might not believe in matrimony, but in the joys and powers of fidelity I had perfect confidence.

“Are you possessed by a demon? Shall I summon a priest for an exorcism?” I smiled innocently. “Can a lady not wish to defer to her inamorato?” “Not this lady,”

His tone had turned pleasant which I knew marked the most dangerous point of the conversation.

“Why do they all have such unfortunate names? First Parthenope Fleet. Now Undine Trevelyan. Why do we never meet a Mary Smith? I should like, just once, to meet a Mary Smith.”

“Not everyone of our acquaintance need be murdered, Veronica. In fact, some people find it preferable to make friends with normal folk.” “How very depressing,” I said, sipping again. “I pity them their small lives.”

“But I am prepared to make it up to you.” “How?” he asked, his gaze sharpening at once with an interest I recognised very well indeed. I primmed my mouth. “How would you propose?” I asked innocently. He told me. Reader, I did it.

“I know you are not supposed to reply, my dear, so pay me no mind, but you look ravishing,” said Lavinia Templeton-Vane. “Stoker, if it consoles you, I have not dropped my gaze below your neck, so you may spare your blushes when next we meet.” There was

“Are you missing something, beloved?” “My dignity,” he replied dryly.

woman with anything less than your courage. You are a lioness, Veronica.” I sniffed hard and he peered down at me. “My god, if you mean to weep, warn me so that I may stop the cab and leave you here upon this pavement.” “I do not mean to weep,”

I was merely reflecting on how felicitous it is to be understood and loved for oneself—really loved, with no design to alter or diminish the object of one’s affection. It is a rare thing.”

“I was jesting, you know,” he said in a low voice. “You may weep in front of me. I do not promise to enjoy it, but I will endure it.” “I do not care to weep in front of myself, ” I told him dryly. “You may imagine how little I like it with an audience.”

We were tiny players upon that stage, I realised, called upon to deliver a short line or two before taking our bows and exiting forever. And the distance between one’s entrance and one’s final curtain was a short one indeed in the scope of eternity.

“That is why you wish to find the Beauty’s identity, to lay her properly to rest. It is because she has washed up amongst strangers.”

“Stoker?” I whispered, uncertain if he slept. After a moment, he gave a low groan. “Veronica, I am only human. You will have to wait at least an hour or two.”

“Well, I forbid you to die,” I told him. “I should not like that at all, you know. I have grown far too accustomed to you to do without you. But I do not think you should have to do without me.

I continued to stroke his hair long into the night, reflecting that dying with him would be a very pleasant way to go indeed.

“I was treated with as much consideration as a hunter shows his best bitch.

“It isn’t your fault. I suspect it is a matter of genetics. Royal blood has a tendency to make a person high-handed, and heaven knows Stoker has six centuries of aristocratic ancestors looking down loftily at the rest of us.”