Page 6 of Disturbing the Dead
“Only if she works out,” he murmurs.
“You don’t think she will.”
“I remain optimistic. But I have brought a proper present.”
“A pony? Tell me it’s a pony.” I head into his office and lower myself onto the chair. “As a kid, I asked for a pony every year, and every year, I suffered vast disappointment.”
He frowns. “Your parents did not buy you a pony? They were quite well off, were they not?”
“We lived in the city. With a yard smaller than yours. And no stable.”
“That is no excuse. If a girl wishes for a pony, and her parents can afford one, she should have one. It is only right.”
I shake my head. I can’t tell whether he’s joking.
When I first arrived here, waking up in Catriona’s body, I’d found Duncan Gray dour, stiff, and forbidding. It was a long time before I suspected he might be capable of smiling, and even then, I wasn’t sure. Now I’ve seen him smile and heard him laugh, but I’ve also learned to interpret the barest of lip twitches and glints in his dark eyes. Right now, though, he was already relaxed and in a fine mood, which means it’s impossible to tell whether he’s kidding.
He might not be. Gray grew up in a world where girls—and boys—of the upper middle class do indeed get ponies. I can tell him stories of the twenty-first century, including the lack of horses, but he can’t quite picture it. It’s like me, having come here after seeing the Victorian era portrayed many times and still feeling as if I’d walked into an alternate version, where little was as I expected.
Gray lifts a wrapped package and places it on his office desk. “Not a pony, I fear.”
“Part of a pony?”
His lips twitch. “That would be wrong. One should not give parts of anything as gifts. Or so I am told.” A definite glint in his eyes now.
I look down at the package. It’s wrapped in brown paper, as so many things are in a world without plastic or other wrappings. I envy Gray’s ability to wrap packages. I know how odd that sounds, but when we’ve been on crime scenes, I’m at a loss, looking about for some way to transport evidence, and I’ll still be looking after he’s wrapped it in a waterproof parcel so pretty it makes bloodstained-knife evidence look like a Christmas present.
Of course, if the knife doesn’t have blood on it, he and McCreadie are just as likely to stuff it in their pocket. Chain of custody for evidence isn’t really a thing when courts don’t yet admit fingerprint evidence.
“It’s too pretty to open,” I say as he watches with obvious impatience. “I think I’ll just put it beside my bed.” I pick up the parcel. “Yes, that seems like a fine idea. I will display this beautifully wrapped package by my bed, never to unwrap it.”
“I realize you are teasing me, but I would die of shock if you managed to leave it there, without peeking, for more than a day. Also, I would not suggest storing it by your bed, given the… nature of the contents.”
I look at him and arch a brow. “Interesting. So it is perishable? Can I eat it?”
That lip twitch, stronger now. “I believe there are laws against such a thing.”
I eye the package. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
He reaches to take it away. “If you do not want it—”
I snatch it from his hands. Then I take a knife from his desk and cut the twine. It’s not just brown paper. It’s waxed brown paper, suggesting the contents are indeed perishable.
I keep unwrapping it and—
I clap my hands to my mouth with a squeak of girlish delight. “Oh, Dr. Gray! You have brought me a body part!” I wag my finger at him. “Such a tease. You said parts aren’t proper gifts, and so I barely dared hope. But no, you have brought me…”
I reach and pick up the pickled appendage. “A third hand. This will make cleaning the chamber pots so much easier. I no longer have to use my own hands. I can use this one.” I let out a deep sigh of happiness.
“You no longer need to clean chamber pots at all,” he says. “We have a maid. Not that I expected you to clean them before that, as you well know.”
I don’t rise to the bait. That has been an ongoing issue since Isla and Gray realized my real identity. I’m an educated professional woman from the future. I should not be cleaning their chamber pots. That’s their opinion. Mine is that chamber pots needed cleaning, and it was hardly their fault the universe threw me into the body of their housemaid.
“I know you are making light,” he says, “but I realize it is hardly a normal gift. I only thought…” He clears his throat. “I thought it was an intriguing specimen, one we might examine together to determine why it is in such condition.”
I smile up at him. “I might have wanted a pony when I was five, but at my age, nothing is better than a puzzle.” I set the hand down. “It is interesting.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
