She Returns From War Read Online Free Page B

pleased by her host's sudden acquiescence, Victoria fell into step behind him. He led her down a long corridor lined with closed doors. Some had names and titles carved into their ancient wood, but the doorman's pace was too brisk for her to get a good look. Their footsteps echoed through the empty building. Despite herself, Victoria pictured a procession of ghastly scholars with black robes and pale faces following them. Her skin prickled, and she pushed the thought away. She was here to speak with this James Townsend and learn from him how she might avenge her parents. Whoever he was, she was sure he wouldn't be impressed by a young woman who was frightened of echoes. He expected the bold, determined woman from her letters, and that was who she must be.
    Her silent guide led her up a flight of stairs and down another corridor. Dust danced about his shoes in tiny swirls. The back of Victoria's throat began tickling something fierce. She tried to swallow it away, but it persisted. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she coughed as quietly as she could. The sound seemed to fill the building like a locomotive in a tunnel, but the porter did not turn or even seem to hear.
    Some distance down the hall, he turned and approached a door indistinguishable from the others. She half-hid behind him as he rapped on the door with his knuckles.
    "Yes? Who is it?" The thick wood muffled the voice behind it.
    "You have a caller, Mr. Townsend," the man in the spectacles replied. "A young woman."
    There was a muted exclamation of surprise, and the door opened. The man on the other side was small and stout. Light from behind him glinted in his glasses as he smiled and extended his hand. "Mr. James Townsend, erstwhile professor of religious studies, University of Oxford."
    Victoria didn't smile as he kissed her hand. "Victoria Dawes of Oxford, daughter of the late Henry and Abigail Dawes."
    "Yes, of course," James replied, placing his other hand on top of hers. "My sincerest condolences for your great loss. Your father was a remarkable man, and your mother a most worthy wife to him. Please, come in." He stood to one side and waved a hand toward the room beyond.
    Victoria smiled her thanks as she stepped through the door.
    "Thank you, Benedict," James said to the other man. Benedict nodded without replying and began retreating down the hall, his footsteps fading into the darkness. Closing the door, James turned back to Victoria, who stood with her hands clasped in front of her. Her face must have reflected her distaste for the strange porter, because James let out a chuckle. "Oh, don't mind him. A queer fellow, to be sure, but harmless. You'd be hard-pressed to find a man in this building who wasn't a curious sort."
    Victoria's smile felt shaky. An uneasiness had been growing in her since she came into Blackfriars Hall, and neither Benedict nor this James Townsend made her feel any more comfortable.
    "Please, have a seat." James motioned toward a pair of high-backed chairs facing the fireplace. Victoria obliged him, settling gingerly onto one of the thick cushions. Electric lanterns filled the small room with a dingy yellow light, mixing with the sunlight glowing through the single window. The remains of a fire blinked at her with a dozen red eyes. Shelves on either side of the hearth sagged under the weight of the innumerable books piled on them. Victoria started searching for familiar titles, but quickly chided herself for expecting a scholar to own any of the Gothic romance novels she fancied.
    James went to the desk and rummaged through the drawers. After two failed searches, he produced a dark green bottle and a pair of snifters from a third drawer. Glass clinked against glass as he filled the snifters. Crossing over to the other chair, he offered her one of the glasses before sitting.
    "In memory of your parents," James said, lifting his glass. She touched hers against it and brought the liquid to her lips. Checking to make sure James was