Free Prospero's Daughter by Elizabeth Nunez

“It’s no matter,” he said vacantly.
    “And the young man . . .”
    “As I wrote to the commissioner, the young man, as you call him, is safely locked up in the back of the house.”
    “Yes, yes. But your daughter, sir?”
    “My daughter has gone to Trinidad for a few days.”
    The commissioner had not told him that, and Mumsford wondered whether he knew.
    Gardner seemed to read the puzzlement on his face. “It so happens that her intended . . .”
    “Her intended? Is she engaged, sir?”
    “I didn’t say so, Inspector. Her intended, the man who intends to marry her . . . It so happens he is here on holiday.”
    “She is fifteen, isn’t she, sir?”
    “She is fifteen, Inspector.” Gardner stated the fact bluntly, his eyes challenging Mumsford to make more of his statement.
    Mumsford looked away. “A bit young, don’t you think, sir?” he asked. He softened the inflection at the end so his question would not sound as harsh as the thoughts that ran through his head:
Fifteen?
    “I am her father,” Gardner said. “I will be the judge of that.”
    “I was just saying, sir . . .”
    “You said it. You think she is too young, but let me tell you, Inspector.” Gardner put his glass down on the table. His movements were measured, as were the next words that came out of his mouth. “If . . .” His hand was still on the glass and he twirled it between his thumb and middle finger. “If you don’t direct the hormones when they start jumping . . .” He left the sentence hanging in the air, unfinished.
    “Jumping, sir?” Mumsford pushed him to complete his thought.
    “Have you forgotten when you were fifteen, Inspector?” He picked up the glass. “Yes, jumping. I can’t have her hormones going in the wrong direction, toward the wrong person, can I, Inspector?”
    Mumsford did not like the coarse reference to hormones, but he shrugged off his discomfort. “And I take it, Dr. Gardner, the young man here on a holiday is the right person?” There were no traces of sarcasm in his question. He was simply seeking clarification.
    “A medical student,” Gardner said.
    “Studying to be a doctor, like you, sir?”
    Gardner swallowed a mouthful of the blue liquid. “Yes. Like me, Inspector.”
    Mumsford came closer to the edge of his seat. “This may seem an impertinence, sir, but I assure you none is intended. Is she alone with him, sir?”
    Gardner reddened. “It is an impertinence, Inspector Mumsford.”
    “He is in Trinidad, is he not, sir?”
    “The young man comes from a good family, Inspector. From Boston. They have kept the old ways in Boston.” Gardner spoke in clipped tones.
    “American?”
    “From New England. You’ve heard of New England, haven’t you, Inspector? It is as it says.
New
England.”
    “And your daughter, sir, is with this American from New England?” Mumsford’s pen moved rapidly across his notebook.
    “Not by herself, as you seem to want to imply, Inspector. She’s well chaperoned. By Mrs. Burton.”
    “Mrs. Burton?” Mumsford raised his head.
    “An Englishwoman. And the young man is not here alone. He is with his father.”
    “With his mother, too, I take it, sir?”
    “No. Not with his mother, Inspector. His mother is dead.”
    Mumsford pursed his lips.
    “The young man is quite respectable,” Gardner said.
    Mumsford scratched the side of his head.
    “Quite respectable. Father and son are staying in a hotel and my daughter is staying with Mrs. Burton.”
    “Indeed, sir.”
    “They would all be here if that devil had not attacked her.” Gardner threw back his head and drained his glass.
    Attacked
was a specific word. Mumsford prided himself on being thorough. He had been properly trained.
Attacked
indicated action. Violence to a person.
    “Attacked, sir?” he asked.
    “
Attempted,
Inspector.” Dr. Gardner corrected himself and put the empty glass on the table. “As I said to you before, that beast Carlos
attempted
to put a stain on my daughter’s