The Devil's Ribbon by D. E. Meredith Page A

head with shame at his lascivious thoughts, and at the same time was cross that the young woman would appear, unannounced, to creep up on him like that. For heaven’s sake, couldn’t she see he was working? That he was a busy man and she was interrupting?
    ‘I am interrupting you,’ she said. ‘But your inspector is talking to Florrie for so long, and I came out here to think. My mind is tormented with questions, Professor, so many questions. Was there something I didn’t do, something I didn’t say, something I should have heard but didn’t? That in some way, Gabriel’s death is my fault. Please, Professor … do whatever you must …’
    She leant against the wall, as if she might faint.
    Hatton was aghast at himself. This was a young woman in obvious distress, and he was a doctor and should behave like one. She needed to sit, to have something for the shock, but not those damn quackery tonics used for feminine hysteria. A glass of brandy would be better. He would see to that in just a second, but before heading to find the maid, he took her arm and steered her to a milking stool, saying, ‘Please, Mrs McCarthy, rest awhile.’
    She looked up him. ‘Florrie gave me a draught and I’m not used to such things. I feel a little dizzy.’
    He took her wrist to feel the pulse. ‘Don’t take any more of that tonic, Mrs McCarthy. It’s full of morphine and Indian hemp. Overdoses are not uncommon, so I strongly suggest, steer clear of it.’
    ‘I will, Professor,’ she said, as he held her wrist and looked into her eyes for a second too long.
    ‘Ah there you are, Hatton …’ Inspector Grey was suddenly under the lintel. ‘I thought I might find you out here. We shall be off now, Mrs McCarthy, but I’ll be back the minute your brother returns, so as soon as he shows himself send a message to The Yard, clearly marked for my attention, Room Three, Second Floor, Criminal Investigation Department.’
     
    As they got into the waiting carriage, Grey was initially effusive, grabbing Hatton’s arm with, ‘The widow was a tap, a veritable tap. Far be it for me to say, but as a confirmed bachelor, I seem to have a way with women, a natural affinity with the fairer sex. Couldn’t stop the little woman talking … on and on she went.’
    Oh, do be quiet for once,
thought Hatton as Grey complied and lapsed into silence for most of the journey back to the city, only every now and then letting a self-satisfied smirk break over pencil-thin lips, as he remembered something Mrs McCarthy had done, or something she’d said.
    Hatton had to steel himself. It was a lonely fact that, apart from brushing past nurses on his way to the morgue, the demands of his work ensured he had little opportunity to enjoy the company of women. Until now, he’d rarely let this thought bother him, so intent was he on work, but as he looked out of the window, at the flat line of the sky and the density of buildings, he remembered:
     
    He’d been fishing in the brook for hours when he heard a long, low whistle, thinking it was the village dolt, Eddy Stoates, come to scare the fish away. But then a peep, peep, peep like a bird and the snap of a branch. He thought no more of it but cast his rod again, intent on
 
landing a trout, but then another flitter and a shower of tiny pebbles, breaking the surface of the water.
    That does it, he thought.
    It was time he taught that dolt a lesson. He loathed the village boys at the best of times. Their heads were full of nothing, and it was sheep that moved in a herd, not men. Addy dreamt of escape, a different kind of life, and this shady brook was his secret place, a place to be quiet and think about his future. He didn’t want to be a farmer, a life driven by the elements and seasons, the lay of the land, the bland demands of soil prices, hungry pigs to feed. He dreamt of higher things, but this thought was broken by another shower of pebbles and a girlish laugh.
    ‘Hey you!’ he cried, but she was gone