Page 62 of Disturbing the Dead
That gaze continues to search before she gives a quick nod. “You are correct, Miss…”
“Mitchell. Mallory Mitchell.” I settle into my seat. “But you will have allies among the male students. Your husband certainly seems to be one.”
Her expression softens and she even smiles. “Yes, Emmett is truly an ally. He understands we are not competition, that there should be no competition in such a profession. We are all striving for the same purpose—to help others.”
“A noble goal,” I say. “And I am glad you have your husband’s support. That will make things infinitely easier. As for what you have experienced requiring police assistance, I presume it is harassment of some sort? From a specific quarter?”
“No, not a specific quarter. I would almost prefer that. An organized opposition gives us something to fight. This is so general that it is… well, discouraging.”
“It would be. Please understand that you will have allies in the police force as well. Detective McCreadie for one, and he can recommend others you should speak to. In the event of trouble, you need resources within the department. Going straight to the nearest policeman—or nearest police office—might not be useful in your situation.”
She stares at me long enough that I worry I’ve misspoken. That is how one reports crimes in this pre-911 time, isn’t it?
“Miss Mitchell is correct,” Gray says, a little tersely, as if annoyed she seems to be questioning me.
“Y-yes, of course,” Mrs. King says. “I only… I appreciate the suggestion. It is very wise and very insightful, in regards to, as you say, our situation.”
Ah, that’s the problem. I was talking like a cop experienced at handling such situations. I wish I could say that everyone in “such situations”—be it abuse or assault or harassment—could just expect their local police department to handle it properly, but no one pretends that this is the case in my day, and it certainly isn’t in this time.
“I will ask Detective McCreadie to provide you with contacts,” I say. “And, who knows, maybe someday there will be women among the police as well.”
She gives me a smile for that. “Perhaps there will be. Thank you, Miss Mitchell. I will admit that I am feeling rather defensive about being summoned to speak to the police regarding Sir Alastair’s murder. I understand that murder is far more important than harassment, but I cannot help but wish we received a wee bit of that time and attention.”
“It must rankle to have the police immediately on your doorstep for this when they ignored your own concerns. As for being on your doorstep, we had a murder last night at a home where you were situated outside.”
She tenses. “Yes.”
“We must ask whether you saw anything.”
She exhales a little, though she tries to cover it. “Oh. Yes. Of course. You wish to know what I saw.”
“We do.”
“Very little, I’m afraid. I went directly from the apartment I share with my husband. I walked to the Christie house and took my place outside and did not leave it until your Detective McCreadie made me realize perhaps I should.”
“But you did not go home, as you apparently heard of the murder and went to speak to Miss Jex-Blake.”
Mrs. King swallows. “Yes, I retreated, but I did not leave. I was angry. I paced. I walked away and came back. Paced some more, and then walked away and came back again. When the body was discovered, I was close enough to hear the screams.”
“And then?” I say.
“I… went to where the servants had left open a door.”
“Which door was that?”
She relaxes a little, apparently relieved that I don’t gasp in outrage at her getting closer after hearing screams. As far as I’m concerned, the only people who wouldn’t get closer are those who are afraid they might be called on to help.
“Down the steps on the left. There are two doors down. I took the one on the left, leading into the servant quarters.”
“You went inside.”
A pause as she realizes what she said. Then she lifts her chin. “Yes. They may say I can never practice medicine, but I have been training as a doctor all my life. My father is one.”
“So you went inside to determine whether help was needed, and what did you see?”
Again, she relaxes at my tone. “Not much,” she admits. “Servants came running down the stairs, alerting the others that the master was dead. I hurried out before I was discovered.”
The door opens, and I remember we’d asked Lorna to bring tea. She starts to pour, but I get to my feet.
