Miss Morgan and the Gypsy

Eighteen: Apprenticeship

"It is me they are after. Isn't it?"

Nicu's gaze lifted to the mirror that hung over the mantel. His eyes connected with Harriet and her hands were indeed trembling as they clasped one another. Her mouth pressed in a firm and fearful line that caused a tightness in her lovely features.

He noted her unusual hair color. The transparent gold was more like a pearl than the typical sought after yellow. Her soft, feminine eyes where the corners tilted up in a beautiful way. The image of Gracie's corpse flashed in his mind. The slight scaring around the angled eyes.

How had he not seen it?

"Yes," he finally answered. "The reasoning as to why I am not sure, but they have been making it so painfully obvious that I missed it."

Harriet took a timid step forward. "But you don't miss anything."

"I do when I'm too obsessed with examining the minute details. But even with that, for me to miss it..."

"You do not know why they want me?"

"No," he replied, "I can only concur that you are the target and that all these odd women who have come around, even Gracie, were designed to look like you."

"But why?" Harriet questioned, her eyes shifting down as if searching for an answer in the intricately patterned rug beneath her feet. "I have no dowry. I'm of no important family, nor am I regarded as a beauty. I am simply a normal spinstress. I do not understand."

Sighing, Nicu dropped his hand from the mantel and turned to Harriet. He took long strides until he was towering over her. Her cheeks reddened as she looked up at him in confusion. "I am about to speak in open honesty with you, Miss Morgan. You are naïve. You have not come out into society and have chosen a life of seclusion as a spinster at a respectable finishing school. You may be capable of drawing to the obvious conclusions, such as wealth and lack of aristocracy. But when it comes to your appearance, I promise you... If you would've entered into society. You would've been highly regarded as the season's beauty."

"The-the season's beauty?" she exclaimed with a stutter. "Sir, I mean, Detective Rowe, there is no possible way that I—"

"Harriet," Nicu interrupted, "it is possible in every way. I have no reason to lie to you and I believe, it is the very reason I think the girls were reconstructed to have your appearance. You are the epitome of the perfect lady with your mannerisms, intelligence, and appearance."

"The epitome of a lady?" Harriet reiterated. "I just simply follow the rules."

Nicu stepped back. "Irritatingly so. It is why we are constantly at odds."

Harriet flushed and bit the inside of her cheek. "You really believe that is their reason. Whoever this person may be?"

Taking a deep breath, Nicu held up the doll. It's hair such a soft blonde, but the person who had stitched it either didn't do a good job, or the doll had been purposely battered, which concerned him greatly. He tossed the thing to the red furnished chair, parting with it for now. "I'm not sure. It is only a hypothesis. All I know is that you're in danger and the key to solving this case."

"Where do we go from here? Should I find another place to stay? Go into hiding or something?"

"Is that what you want?" Nicu questioned.

Harriet shook her head. "As terrified as I am. It is not. I desire to be there for the girls this London season. I wish to help and support them in any way I can."

"Even if it costs you your life?"

Harriet's eyes locked with his. "What would you have me do?"

"You will remain with us at Lord Rathborne's London home.