Free Prospero's Daughter by Elizabeth Nunez Page A

honor.”
    After
Daughter in hotel with boyfriend,
Mumsford wrote in his notebook
No violence with the colored boy.
    “Still writing, Inspector?” Gardner stretched his neck in Mumsford’s direction.
    “Just notes, sir.”
    “The inspector on duty,” Gardner said drily. He glanced once more at Mumsford’s notebook and then closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he was still fixed on the point of establishing the propriety of his daughter’s trip to Trinidad. “The young man would be here,” he said, “if it had not been for the present situation. You understand? The attempt.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And he and my daughter will be here as soon as you remove that savage from my premises. Don’t you think I know about fire i’ th’ blood?” His eyes bored into Mumsford’s.
    “Fire in the blood, sir?”
    “Sexual passion. Carnal lust. You understand passion and lust, don’t you, Inspector?”
    And in truth Inspector Mumsford did not understand, not in the way he felt Dr. Gardner implied. He had read books about carnal lust, dirty books he still stuffed under his mattress, for he lived with his mother, though it was the other way around now that she had followed him to Trinidad. But he had no experience with carnal lust. He had never been to a brothel.
    “I have given the young man strict instructions,” Gardner said, when Mumsford did not answer him. “He is never to ask her to his room. They can go for walks, meet in the hotel lobby, that sort of thing. Public places only. Oh, he swore to me that he would respect her. That he would not touch her before they were married. But you know, Inspector,” he lowered his voice, “the strongest oaths are straw to fire i’ th’ blood. I told him so.” He examined his fingernails. “One must avoid all situations where the temptation may be too great or it is good night your vow,” he said.
    Did he imagine it, Mumsford wondered, or had he not detected a trace of sadness in Gardner’s voice? “Yes,” Mumsford said, “it is always best to avoid temptation.”
    “It’s her greatest treasure, you know.” Gardner raised his eyes to him again.
    “Her treasure, sir?”
    “I speak of her virginity, Inspector. It is the jewel in her dower.”
    Mumsford’s neck felt hot. It throbbed with the rush of blood that rose from his chest.
    “Yes, yes, no need for double-talk, Inspector. I will be plain. It is her jewel. I said so to Alfred. That is the young man who wants to marry her. Break her virgin knot, and it is all over. Nothing can follow but disdain after that. I told her that, too. A man may promise you the stars, but if you surrender to him, that which made you so special will be tarnished. Light winning makes the prize light. You understand? We are hunters, Inspector.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, the nuggets he had for eyes hard and shining.
    Every instinct in Mumsford urged him to recoil—the man was making him uneasy—but he held his ground. He was here on police business. He was a professional. He would remember that.
    “I would agree with you,” he said to Gardner. “Anthropologically speaking, sir.”
    Gardner slapped his thighs and let out a loud guffaw. “ ‘Anthropologically speaking, sir?’ ” he mimicked him. “ ‘Anthropologically speaking, sir?’ ”
    How had he allowed himself to feel pity for this man? Why did he think he seemed sad minutes ago when he talked of oaths and temptation? “Are you making fun of me, sir?” Mumsford asked.
    “Did they teach you to speak like that in police school?”
    “Am I amusing you, sir?”
    “No, no, Inspector. It was a good word.
Anthropologically speaking.
Those are good words. Precise.” Gardner wiped his eyes on the shoulder of his shirt. “And anthropologically speaking, Mumsford, as you know as well as I do, there is no sport after the kill.” Gardner was no longer smiling. The hardness had returned in his eyes. “Yes, it is her jewel. They will both hate each