The Silent Woman. Terry Lynn Thomas

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      ‘It’s 1937. I’m not concussed,’ Cat said. ‘I’ve just been attacked.’

      ‘Can you stand?’ The man stood and held out his hand. ‘Take my hand, and I’ll help you up. Careful now. If you’re dizzy, just lean on me.’ She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. The man turned to the crowd. ‘All is well now. Carry on.’

      Cat allowed the man to lead her to a bench in the shade. He helped her sit down before he went into the closest shop and returned with a glass of water.

      ‘Drink this. It will soothe you.’

      Cat obeyed, letting the cool water run down her throat. While she drank, she noticed the man glance up and down the street.

      ‘I dare say she won’t come back.’ He studied Cat’s face. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have a black eye. Do you want me to take you to hospital? Maybe you should have that seen to.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ Cat said. She brushed off her skirt, dismayed to see the large rip at the elbow of her new suit. Her hat had come off and now rested in the street. Cat watched, helpless, as a lorry drove over it, mashing it beyond repair.

      ‘May I escort you home or at least arrange for someone to come and get you?’

      ‘No, thank you. I’m fine really. I need to run an errand and then I’ll see myself home.’ She forced herself to sound strong and sure. ‘You’ve been very kind. I’ve an appointment just down the street. I know I must look a fright, but I’m all right, really. When I’m finished, I’ll go and have a cup of tea to settle my nerves.’

      ‘We really should call the police,’ the man said.

      ‘I’ll go directly there and make a report in person,’ Cat lied. She had no intention of going to the police.

      ‘Here’s my card. You’ll give that to the police? Have them call me. I got a pretty good look at her.’ He reached into the pocket of his suit and handed Cat a card printed on thick milky paper. Thomas Charles, Historian. There wasn’t an address, just a telephone exchange. She thanked him, took the card, and said her goodbyes, setting out once again to fulfil her obligation to Reginald. With each step, the anger that had saved her – and prevented the theft of Reginald’s documents – was replaced by a relentless knot of fear.

      Fifteen minutes later she dropped off the envelope in the appropriate place. The secretary met her directly and – according to plan – excused himself and left Cat to her own devices. She was in and out of the building in less than five minutes. She resisted the urge to buy a new hat to replace the one that was damaged and turned her attention to more important matters, such as how she was going to explain her bruises to her inquiring sister-in-law and insolent husband.

      ***

      Thomas took a taxi to an antiquarian bookshop in Piccadilly, lodged between a tailor and an estate agent. A rack of old books stood in front of the shop. A man browsed through the titles now, his hat pulled low over his head. As a precaution, Thomas walked past the estate agent and circled back. When he returned, the man was gone. He stepped into the shop and breathed in the smell of the old books.

      He loved writing almost as much as he loved reading and books in general. He travelled Germany under the guise of being a writer, a cover that allowed him to move around without question. On a whim, Thomas decided that he would write a compendium on historical churches, a travel guide of sorts, in order to lend credence to his cover story. Thomas actually started the process of writing, jotting down a few paragraphs about the churches and sights he visited. The enjoyment he took from the process surprised and delighted him.

      When he submitted the book to a publisher, who snapped it up in exchange for a hefty fee, Thomas was surprised. He studied craft, read how-to-write books, and even took a correspondence course in writing professionally. His career flourished. His books were met with critical acclaim.

      The shop’s purveyor looked up from behind a desk and nodded, while Thomas continued to browse along the rows of the old books with their cracked leather spines and unique mustiness. He picked up a fine first edition of Ivanhoe when the bell jangled and Sir Reginald came in. Thomas tucked the book back on the shelf as the old man turned the closed sign to face the street and locked the front door. The proprietor nodded at Reginald and headed up a rickety flight of stairs at the back of the shop. Neither Reginald nor Thomas spoke until a door at the top of the stairs shut and footsteps creaked above them.

      ‘Were my suspicions correct then?’ Sir Reginald asked.

      ‘It’s Marlena X,’ Thomas said. ‘She’s been watching the house for the past week.’

      ‘Someone in that house is working with her,’ Reginald said.

      ‘Agreed.’

      ‘But you’ve never seen her make contact with anyone?’

      ‘No, sir,’ Thomas said.

      ‘And Mrs Carlisle?’

      Thomas turned to face Reginald. ‘Marlena made a run for the papers she was carrying, just as you expected.’

      Reginald took a deep breath. ‘And?’

      ‘Mrs Carlisle managed to thwart her by sheer willpower. She clung to that purse as though it were a lifeline. Marlena hit her. Mrs Carlisle fell to the ground, nearly passed out, but clutched at that damn purse.’ Thomas looked at Reginald. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, putting an untrained woman such as Mrs Carlisle out in the field against the likes of Marlena X.’

      ‘I’m taking a risk, I know,’ Sir Reginald said, ‘but I’ll stand by it. Finish your report.’

      ‘I made contact with Mrs Carlisle, gave her my business card.’ Sir Reginald faced him, staring at him with that penetrating gaze that had brought many a man to his knees. ‘As far as she’s concerned, she’d been mugged. A crowd had gathered around her. I had to get close to confirm the documents were safe.’

      ‘Understood,’ Reginald said. ‘Watch her. See that she doesn’t come to harm.’

      ‘What about Marlena X?’

      ‘Leave her be for now. Let’s give her a nice long rope, shall we?’ He stared at Thomas. ‘Is this too personal for you? This is not time for vengeance. Gwen’s death was a tragedy, but you must not let it sway you. Not now. Too much is at stake.’

      ‘No, sir,’ Thomas lied. He knew full well what was at stake. But he had a score to settle with Marlena X, and he intended to do so, with or without Sir Reginald’s approval.

      Sir Reginald unlocked the door, turned the sign back around to open, and without a backward glance, stepped out into the June afternoon.

Chapter Two

      One week had passed since Annie Havers had run away from her mother and lied her way into a service job in the posh Carlisle home. Timid Annie Havers had faced Isobel Carlisle and had told her that she was an orphan who needed a job. The minute she spoke the words, she expected the heavens to open and lightning to strike as punishment for her falsehood. At the very least, Annie expected Miss Carlisle to laugh in her face and send her back to Bermondsey.

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