Downtime Page 14

  “Madame Corinna?” I made a face. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “The Theosophical Society has access to resources I do not. If there’s another copy of that book about, she’ll know. So be on your best behavior, for heaven’s sake, and refrain from any snide comments.”

  “You realize how much you’re asking.”

  “Oh assuredly.” Ezra smiled. “Nevertheless, I intend to persevere.” Gathering two umbrellas from the stand, he led the way out into the morning rain. After getting an eyeful of the damp, overcrowded conditions on the bus, Ezra decided we would walk, since apparently we had only a short distance to go. Although I was wary of coming down with something in the wet weather—it wasn’t a century I wanted to catch pneumonia in—I agreed and we hiked the half a dozen blocks to Madame Corinna’s cozy little abode.

  On the cleanest street I’d seen yet, it stood tucked behind an iron gate and overgrown garden. Ezra rang the bell, summoning a maid who deposited us into a parlor that made Kathleen’s look monastic. Madame Corinna did a lot of traveling, primarily to India, judging by the knickknacks crowded on every available space. Looking around, I had to sympathize with the maid who was in charge of dusting. The place reminded me of the apartment of an old antiques collector Sully and I had been assigned to trail. Though he hadn’t turned out to be the art thief we were hunting, he had been nutty as a fruitcake, and I suspected Corinna was the same, a harmless little old lady with a compulsive yen for every trinket she saw—not to mention cats. I hadn’t noticed it among all the furniture, plants, pillows and extraneous fluff at first, but there were at least five cats in the room, all curled up snoozing.

  One thing I didn’t see much of was books. “You’re sure she’s going to be able to help us?”

  “Not necessarily on her own, but she will enlist the aid of a number of colleagues,” he murmured, and turned away to greet the woman who stepped into the room. My mental image of the little old lady melted away, replaced by a statuesque figure in flawlessly draped blue silk. It matched her eyes, which were a light yet warm blue. Upswept blond hair framed a model’s face with full lips and high cheekbones. If I could’ve taken her into to the future, she’d be gracing the cover of women’s mags within a month. I could see why her little psychics club was so popular.

  Ezra introduced me as a friend from America and I caught on that we weren’t divulging the truth even to her. Removing a disgruntled cat from the sofa, she invited us to make ourselves at home. No sooner were we settled than servants appeared bearing tea and cake. It was a regular Alice in Wonderland setting. Ezra detailed exactly we were looking for and Corinna took in the information with a serene, benevolent smile.

  “Well, my dear, you do present a challenge for us. Unless you can recall a title, it will be quite difficult, you do understand.”

  I felt a twinge of disappointment and realized I had held out hope Ezra could hook us up with someone eccentric enough to be familiar with all these books and their contents. Ezra looked glum himself. “Might you ask Charles for me?”

  “Without mentioning who needs his help?" she added gently. "Of course. And you will do something for me in return?”

  “I…” He wavered and I guessed he knew what she wanted from him. He glanced at me and the hesitancy melted away. “Very well. When?”

  Her face lit up. “I will send you a letter to let you know just when.” She patted his shoulder. “Thank you so much, Ezra. It’s been so long. We’ve missed your lectures.”

  The trace of a grimace on his face vanished under an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid they were rather mundane, but thank you, Corinna. Oh, and—“

  “I know,” she cut in, oozing sympathy. “Not a word.”

  “Not a word about what?” I asked after we’d had our tea and been shown graciously to the door. "Who’s this Charles who’s going to help us without knowing he’s helping?”

  “A fellow medium. He’s rather deeply invested in occult studies, the darkest corners of it. I voiced my concerns once and he’s never forgiven me.”

  “Ah. So I guess that makes you something of a hypocrite.”

  He stopped walking and said with impressive patience, “Again, I did not imagine I was casting a spell. Truly, I’ve never thought such a thing to be possible.“

  “A skeptic as well, eh?”

  His laugh bordered utter resignation. “By faith, you are the most relentless man. A necessary quality, I suppose, for a detective, but it must leave your friends done in. Perhaps we should stop for lunch before we go back to the bookshops.” He looked around for a cab.

  “We just had tea and cake. God, you people eat constantly.”

  “Perhaps just a beer, then. Or several of them,” he added under his breath as we hopped into a cab. We returned to the shops and wiled away the rest of the morning looking for a needle in a haystack. I wholeheartedly wished for five minutes alone with Adam Whitby. If we had to search book by book throughout all of England, I’d be Ezra's guest for a long time to come.

  The same thought seemed to be troubling Ezra. He didn't let the bookworm in him sidetrack him but scoured the shelves with rapid efficiency, until he was covered with dust and squinting tiredly behind his glasses. Deciding finally to break for lunch, we walked down the street in search of a café. I wondered aloud if Kathleen had thrown my clothes into the yard yet and taken down the rooms for let sign.

  “She will let you stay tonight,” Ezra assured me. “It is late to be going to a hotel.”

  I was glad to hear it because I wanted to say good-bye to Hannah. I might not see her again once Kathleen had bounced me out. As we passed what looked like a gift shop, I slowed to get a look at the items in the window. Surely Kathleen wouldn’t mind Hannah keeping something pretty in that dreary storage that passed for her bedroom. Problem was, even though I had about sixty bucks with me, it was only good for lighting fires in 1888.

  “Hey, Ez?”

  He joined me at the store window. “What is it? Are there books?” He shaded his eyes to get a glimpse inside.

  “Maybe. Think you could lend me a few dollars? Or pounds, I guess.”

  He didn’t bat an eye. “There’s something here you fancy?” He studied the window display, mostly music boxes and other feminine trinkets, and gave me a sidelong smile. “A music box?”

  I cleared my throat. “A souvenir. You know.”

  “I thought you were concerned about changing history. Yesterday, with the roses.”

  “Well, sure, the roses. Those wouldn’t clear customs.” I gave him a grin. “A toy’s probably safe enough. What do you say?”

  I didn't want to tell him it was for Hannah. For all I knew, it might be some breach of etiquette to buy gifts for housemaids. Better to have everyone find out after the fact, when all they could do was let her keep it. At the risk of impugning my manhood even further, I picked out the most girly box I could find, with a tiny porcelain man and woman forever dancing in a little circle while tinny music accompanied.

  Casting a puzzled look my way, Ezra paid for the music box and we headed out for another shot at lunch. There, I made the mistake of burrowing into the newspaper for more articles on the Ripper while Ezra ordered. I had a definite aversion to eating food I couldn’t recognize, despite having done so in the past. And the smell was doing nothing to encourage me.

  “Think they have any ketchup?”

  "You don't care for stewed eel?" Considering our luck today, he was way too cheerful; probably because he’d slept the night through again. I liked him better cranky--although his cranky had nothing on mine. Sympathy shining through the amusement in his eyes, he asked if I’d like to order something else. I kind of doubted a burger and fries were on the menu. But after the big slab of cake, I wasn’t all that hungry.

  “There’s one thing I would like. To do a little more sight-seeing today.” When he shot me a questioning glance, I nodded at the newspaper. “I want to go over to Whitechapel and take a look around.”

  H
e downed his tea in one breath and wheezed, “Whitechapel?”

  “I know it’s a rough neighborhood. I can handle it.”

  He stared at me as if he thought it might be best for all concerned to lock me in a closet until he could send me home. “I can’t let you go alone into Whitechapel. If you can get yourself arrested in Bloomsbury, heaven knows what may happen to you further afield.”

  “You’ll have to trust me sometime.” I couldn’t resist following that up with a grin that probably didn’t do much to reassure him. “You want to come along?”

  “I don’t relish the idea, but the thought of having to hunt you down in Whitechapel after you’ve been mistaken again for this Ripper fellow is a good deal more daunting. I would appreciate it if we could confine this adventure to the daylight hours,” he added, a line of worry between his brows.

  A familiar voice intoned from behind me, “’Boldly they rode, and well, into the jaws of death…’” Jem Montague moved around the table to stand behind the vacant chair, hat in his hand, and continued cheerfully, “’into the mouth of hell.’”

  “Is that one yours?” I asked, to which he raised a reproving eyebrow.

  “Tennyson’s,” Ezra answered, greeting him with a handshake. “Do sit down, Jem.”

  Jem drew the chair well back from the table and settled his long frame into it. “Tennyson still your favorite?” he continued conversationally.

  Ezra smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Pity. I was rather hoping I would be, by now.” The remark was more flippant than heartfelt as Jem’s attention shifted to me. “Mr. Nash.” The trace of a considering smile curved his mouth. “You’re finding our fair city a welcoming place, I assume. Ezra has always been the consummate host.”

  I had my own opinion about that, but decided to keep it to myself. I also had an opinion about the luck involved in running into Jem Montague twice in a couple of days. Maybe it wasn’t luck. I noticed Jem had shown up sans his hyper boyfriend, Sid. He was on the prowl and his target, I figured, was Ez. “We’ve done a little sight-seeing,” I said. “And we’re hoping to do a little more.”

  Ezra shook his head, still uneasy. “I don’t believe roaming Whitechapel can be considered seeing the sights.”

  “Now, Ezra, we can hardly blame Mr. Nash. Murder fascinates even the most moral of us.” Jem shifted the newspaper around so he could see the article I’d been reading. “Regrettable, what's required to shake us out of our complacency.”

  “I think Morgan’s interest is professional, not prurient,” Ezra said with a little frown.

  Jem looked at me with new interest and I nodded. “It’s what I do. Back in New York. I track down bad guys.”

  “Indeed.” Jem tucked his walking stick under his arm and eased off his gloves as the waiter set a cup in front of him and poured tea. Intent blue eyes stayed on me. “Has Scotland Yard called you in? They quite need all the assistance they can rally.”

  “No, they haven’t and I don’t expect they will.” I sighed. “But who knows? Maybe the case will be cracked by a really talented psychic.”

  The spoon Ezra’d picked up to stir his tea clattered to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it and glared at me as he came back up. “I really think you will prefer Stonehenge, Morgan. I’d be pleased to take you. Today, if you’d like.”

  He was practically on his hands and knees begging, poor damn guy. I handed him a clean spoon. “Stonehenge tomorrow. Whitechapel today.”

  Jem chuckled. “You’ll do in poor Ezra. I don’t believe he’s ever been slumming. Oh, dear chap, by the by. Supper, tonight. You will join us, won’t you?”

  An invitation Ezra’d forgotten, judging by his expression. Jem did not seem offended. Blue eyes sparkling evilly, he leaned forward and murmured, “Imagine all the delicious intimacies I shall talk Charlotte into revealing if you’re not there to rescue her.”

  That couldn’t be much of a threat, I figured. But Ezra took it as one, gaze narrowing in exasperation. ”You are despicably underhanded.”

  A pleased smile spread across Jem Montague’s handsome face. “You’ll come. And bring your charming Mr. Nash.”

  The faint smile stirring around Ezra’s mouth vanished. “I believe Mr. Nash has another engagement.”

  Ah, the ambiguousness of a lie born in desperation. I grinned. “No, that was called off. I’m free tonight. As long as you’re not serving this.” I gestured at the now-cold glop on my plate.

  Jem clapped my shoulder with sincere commiseration. “I put forth every effort to please sophisticated English palates and unassuming American palates alike.”

  Damn. He’d honed flirtatious innuendo to as fine a point as Ezra. When he’d gone, Ezra regarded me with worried contemplation. I looked as innocent as possible, which, granted, wasn’t particularly innocent. “What?”

  “You did that deliberately.”

  “You didn’t want me to go?”

  He frowned. “I don’t think you’re prepared for the reaction, should you be found out. At any rate, you’ve nothing to wear. We shall have to hope we can hire you something on such short notice.”

  It turned out we could and did, at a shop in Covent Garden. I had to give Ez credit, he didn’t scrimp, even though I probably deserved it after the position I’d put him in. We headed for the house, both of us quiet in the cab, well aware of what we might be facing back at home. Ezra assured me he would make sure I got settled into a respectable hotel. Hell, as long as it was clean. I didn’t hold out much hope for room service.

  We found Derry repairing a loose spindle on the stairs as we came in. The answer to our unasked question stood all too clear in his expressive face.

  “Kathleen thinks I’m a demon too, huh?”

  “You’re not to blame. She’s frightened, you know.”

  “And angry at us for keeping it from her,” Ezra said with a nod.

  “Maybe if I talked to her,” I suggested.

  “It’s no good, lad. Once Kathleen sets her mind, no miracle of man or God can change it.” Derry tried to look cheerful. “We’ll find you a room as cozy as any here, won’t we, Ezra?”

  “Of course we will. Is she home?”

  “Aye, you know Kathleen when she’s upset.”

  “She’s cleaning?

  Derry groaned. “She is. It will be days before I dare let a crumb fall anywhere.” He looked at me, his warm eyes full of apology. “She wants you on your way in the morning. You’ll have your supper and a good night’s sleep. That I insisted on.”

  As we headed upstairs, I noticed the house was the calm-after-the-storm kind of quiet. If Kathleen was on a cleaning spree, Hannah was probably enlisted in the process. I hoped I’d get the chance to say good-bye tonight. I had a feeling there would be less opportunity for it tomorrow.

  Upstairs, I was left on my own to bathe and shave. Ezra took the bathroom after me, while Derry gave me a hand sorting out the odds and ends of my costume. Trousers and shirt I could manage. I sat on the bed and let Derry wrangle the collar and tie for me.

  “You always get so trussed up just to go out to dinner?” I winced as he fastened the stiff linen around my neck. A couple of guys back at home who were into bondage might have enjoyed it, but I didn’t.

  Derry scowled in concentration as he struggled with thick fingers to get the tie just right. “I don’t go to dinner often. Not the sort of dinners Ezra's asked to,” he amended with a wistful quirk to his lips. “I expect he’ll be kept busy with them now.”

  “Now that his family’s reeled him back in?”

  Derry’s fingers stopped fumbling and his eyes lifted to mine, sheened with sorrow. “You think it’s a mistake he’s making.”

  “I know it is.” But I suspected my reasons differed from Derry’s. “And I have a feeling Ezra knows it too, deep down.”

  Derry inclined his head solemnly. “He’s had a time of it since his father cut him off, and ‘tis little to do with the money. He misses his family. And that life, the one he k
new best. When we took him in, he was so lost, I feared he’d do himself more harm—“

  “More harm?” I repeated, shocked he’d done any.

  “He was doing himself no good, holed up in this room day after day, neither sleeping nor eating. It’s only recently I’ve got him ‘round to thinking he’s more blessed than cursed. Then you came along.” He brushed a hand over my hair with a brotherly affection. “I stand by the notion that the Lord has a sense of humor."

  Catching my wrist, he hauled me up and gave me a push toward the mirror. “You do clean up well, Morgan Nash.”