A/N: Thank you for taking the time to join me, my friends, and for your kind words. :-)
Prompt at the end for this one too.
Worth
"Mrs. Calderidge?"
The woman in question lifted her head, painted lips beneath a lace veil turning downward. Her blue skirts shimmered and rustled as she shifted in her seat. She reminded Lestrade of a peacock, sat poised on the cushioned seat with her hands folded gracefully in her lap. The window beside her offered a blurred view, white-covered homesteads and fields shuddering by intermittently.
She watched him cautiously as he stepped into the first-class compartment and stood before her.
"Who wishes to know?" she asked softly, guarded.
"I am Detective Inspector Lestrade."
"I see." Her tone grew weary. The ruby lips pressed together in displeasure. "I was under the impression I had this carriage to myself. I do not desire company, you understand. Your timing is most unfortunate."
"My apologies, Mrs. Calderidge."
"I no longer bear that title, Inspector."
The emphasis was not lost on Lestrade. He inclined his head. "Of course. Please permit me to–"
"Who are you?" Her gaze travelled to the door. "What is the meaning of this?"
Lestrade shifted his feet, caught Burton's quick glance. The constable nodded, the motion so slight that anyone else would have missed it.
"It is alright, ma'am," Lestrade assured. "He is with me."
"Is that so." The words were not delivered as a question. The lady smiled, eyes glinting behind soft lace. "And what has this lost little lamb come to tell you, Inspector Lestrade?"
Lestrade sensed rather than saw Burton stiffen, could picture a slow, gentle scowl screwing onto the young constable's face.
"Nothing of which you are not already aware."
Her expression darkened. "I do not know what you are implying, Inspector."
"I think you do," Lestrade said. "You are not widowed, Mrs. Calderidge. Your husband yet lives."
"That is impossible," she snapped.
"Is it? My constable here informs me he is very much alive."
She stood fast. The revolver she pulled from her skirts shook as she held it aloft. Lestrade already had his own gun out and aimed at her, his hand steady in comparison.
"This close, I cannot miss," she warned.
"Nor can I," Lestrade returned. "Put down your weapon."
Mrs. Calderidge smirked, her face twisting into a grotesque kind of beauty. The face of a woman who would kill her husband in cold blood, had tried but not succeeded. Her revolver swung away from him, settled on Burton. Lestrade watched it happen as though in slow motion, stark contrast to the rapidly moving world beyond the window.
"Perhaps I should rid you of your lamb?" she intoned cruelly.
Lestrade's heart turned, stuttered as the breath held in his lungs. Icy blood quivered along his veins, in sync with the vibration of the tracks beneath them. His fingers tightened on his gun. He did not look at Burton. Could not.
"Come now," said she, "surely you would not shoot a woman, sir?"
"If you shoot my constable," Lestrade said, voice low, "I will not hesitate to shoot you."
"I see." Her gaze flickered. She titled her head, considering, a determined clench to her jaw. "Then one of us shall be disappointed, no?"
A single shot echoed far along the carriage.
End
Prompt 02: From Book girl fan – A train ride.
A/N II: *Pauses to take another sip of angsty-brewed tea* … Mmm, s'got a funny aftertaste, me thinks …