A Perilous Undertaking (Veronica Speedwell, #2)

by Deanna Raybourn

It almost worked, not least because I pretended to be entirely inexperienced in the matter. Men, I had often observed, were never happier than when they believed they were imparting wisdom.

His lordship’s housekeeper put me in mind of unripe quinces—plump and sour.

ALIS VOLAT PROPRIIS. “‘She flies with her own wings,’” I translated.

“You find your own sex tedious?” “Invariably. We are educated out of common sense, curiosity, and any real merit. We are made to be decorative and worthy of display, with occasional forays into procreation and good works, but nothing more.”

“You think the common man cares about such things? No, child. The common man cares about a full belly, warm feet, and a sound roof. But I like your idealism. It’s charming, as long as you promise to lose it before you turn thirty. A woman past thirty cannot afford ideals.” “A cynical view, I think,” I told her.

It is the greatest advantage of getting old, you know. I can say precisely what I like and everyone excuses it because I knew Moses from his bulrush days.”

The clergyman turned to me. “I am the Reverend Cecil Baring-Ponsonby. Not a connection to the Bessborough Ponsonbys,” he added firmly. I cudgeled my brain a moment before recalling that Ponsonby was the surname of the Earl of Bessborough’s family, a clan noted for its eccentricity since the beginning of the century when one of their young ladies became the mistress of Lord Byron and sent him her nether hairs in the post.

“When one is as old as I am, it is amusing to shock people, but you do not seem perturbed by anything. I shall call you the Unflappable Miss Speedwell.” “I am shocked by murder,” I said simply. “Decency must always be shocked by the indecent,” he replied.

“I must say, you are taking this all awfully well.” I shrugged. “Can his lordship reconcile the competing theories of evolution proposed by Darwin and Lamarck?” The fellow shook his head in bewilderment. “No, I am certain he could not.” “Then he is by far the least interesting of the Templeton-Vane brothers to me. His opinion therefore matters not at all,” I assured him as I tossed Stoker a quick smile. Stoker had written a paper upon that very subject that was still the finest I had read.

That was the true measure of his character; even at the height of his irritation he would never let me fall.

KEEP OUT OF THIS OR YOU’RE EYE IS NEXT I peered closely at the letters. “They seem to be in the same hand as the first note. Something peculiar about the letter E.” Stoker curled his lip. “We need to be menaced by a better class of criminal. This one cannot spell.”

“I need to get out of this city,” I said finally. “I need adventure again.” He stared at me in open-mouthed astonishment. “Veronica, we are hunting a murderer. What more adventure do you require?” “I cannot say,” I told him peevishly. “I only know I am ossifying. One morning I shan’t show up to work and you will come to find I have turned entirely to fossil.”

The hardest lesson I had learnt upon my travels was patience. There are times when every muscle, every nerve, screams for movement, when every instinct urges escape. But the instinct to fly is not always a sound one. There are occasions when only stillness can save you.