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  There was a subject I didn't feel like exploring. I had enough on my mind. "You going to that Adelaide thing tonight?"

  Ezra blinked in surprise. "You remember that?"

  "Sure. Since you guys made a big deal of it at the time. At least, you did, grumbling about being the night's entertainment."

  "Yes, well, I did say I'd attend but I suspect I shall be declining those invitations more often in the future. I think Charlotte liked it more." He fell quiet, pushing a pat of butter idly around on his plate with the knife.

  "Do you miss her?"

  "I miss her friendship," Ezra admitted with a glance up at me. "You know, she may be there tonight."

  "Even if she knows you'll be there?"

  "Well, perhaps not then." He went back to pondering and I kicked him gently under the table.

  "Don't let it bug you. She'll meet someone else and get married and you'll see that it was the right thing to do, even if you have doubts about it now." I hesitated. "Want me to come with you?"

  "Tonight?" His face brightened with affection. "You seem to detest the parties. I thought you might prefer to stay at home."

  "Well, yeah, most of the people at these things are pretty unbearable," I agreed. "But there's always one person there I like." I hooked a finger around his and gave it a tug. "Come on. One more interview and we'll go home. We want enough time to clean up before the big blowout."

  Bemused but smiling, he paid for lunch and we hunted down the last name on my list. It led to a pawn shop in a busy square and I went inside without much hope of success. Pawn shop owners were generally a jaded lot and they wouldn't buy Ezra as a detective as easily as the other witnesses had. I took a different tack, presenting myself as the investigator to the shop owner, a middle-aged woman in a worn red shawl who sat on a battered sofa near the front window, knitting away. She looked me over with a jaundiced eye before returning to her work. "I've told my story to the police. If you want to hear it, you'll talk to them."

  "Yes ma'am. The police don't really like to share their information with independent investigators--"

  "As well they shouldn't." Ezra, at the counter, glanced around at me with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, then quickly looked away again.

  I cleared my throat. "I beg your pardon?"

  Ezra turned back and doffing his hat to the woman, favored me with stark disapproval. "It's from America you are?"

  "Yes, but--"

  "Aye, and what business is this of an American detective? You're thinking we cannot catch this fellow on our own?"

  I swallowed a laugh at the flawless imitation of Derry's buoyant brogue, noticing that Ezra's questions had caught the attention of several people and the place had gone dead quiet. The shop owner looked sharply from Ezra to me and I tried to stammer out a reply. "I was thinking you'd maybe appreciate a little help. That's all."

  "And that's fair reason to bother a good Christian woman in her work, is it?"

  "Well, I just wanted to ask--"

  "Questions the Yard's already asked her, yes, so I hear. Tell us, sir. Is it true, then, that manners are as unheard of in America as a decent cup of tea?"

  That brought a laugh all around and I decided it was time to go before I was lynched. "Look, pal, I'm just doing my job. You folks are obviously having a little trouble catching this guy and we're just trying to help out."

  "Helping out, are you? Pray, let me return the favor." He grabbed a handful of my sleeve and hustled me out the door and into the street. As the door shut, I could hear another round of laughter from inside. He'd endeared himself easily enough. I hoped he was as successful getting our questions answered. I had to grin as I ducked round the corner and dropped onto a stoop to wait. He'd make a detective yet.

  Twenty minutes later, he appeared at the corner, looking around for me. I waved him over and he came, with a Cheshire cat smile and an even more pronounced bounce in his step than usual. "What'd you get?"

  "Something of interest. Catherine Eddowes has been to the shop several times and, Mrs. Willowby told me, in the company of a gentleman who matches the descriptions given out by the press." He stopped walking and excitedly grasped my wrist. "He bought back some things of hers for her and Mrs. Willowby noticed quite the handful of notes in his purse."

  "Yeah?" Aware of footsteps and shadowy movement behind us, I kept track of it and kept Ezra talking while I did. "Did she add any details to the newspaper descriptions, by any chance?"

  Ezra eyed me with a curious tilt of his head. "Morgan, what is it?"

  He was way too alert to my body language. I took his arm and kept walking. "Don't look around. We're being followed." He started instinctively to turn and I tightened my grip. "Don't look. Keep smiling, like we're just having a friendly chat. We're going to walk to the end of the street and go around the corner and when they catch up, we'll get better acquainted with our new friends."

  A perfectly workable plan, I thought, until a carriage rolled into our path from the cross street and George Blanchard stepped out. If there was any doubt as to what was on his mind, the gun in his hand effectively eliminated it. Sour as ever, he gained a whole new holier than thou aura at the sight of us together.

  "In Whitechapel, no less. Well. I didn't wish to believe it, Ezra. Even of you."

  Itching to go for my own gun, I waited. He wasn't going to shoot us. He intended to leave the dirty work to the hired goons behind us. They'd grown to five in number; five and a half, if you considered one was as big as an ox.

  Ezra appeared oblivious to them and, as usual, to the weapon trained on him. He stared at Blanchard with pain he couldn't hide. "Charlotte. How is she?"

  Gun arm extended and none too steady, George advanced on Ezra. "You hurt her and humiliated her and you have the nerve to ask me how she is? She despises you."

  "That's bullshit," I said as I stepped between Ezra and Blanchard. "George is the one who despises you, because you took her attention from him."

  "Have a care," George snapped. "I could shoot you and no English court would hang me for it."

  "After all the work of recruiting your own gang of hoodlums? Seems a little impractical. What's the going rate for taking down a couple of innocent men these days? Or do you keep these guys on retainer?"

  "It's a job that needs be done but once and the cost is not so dear as you might imagine." George reached a gloved hand to the carriage door. "I told you I would make you regret what you've done to my family," he said, barely a quaver breaking his voice now. "I said you would pay for the humiliation and you make it all the easier, spending your days crawling through the mud with common thugs. A pretty tale to get around after they find what's left of you. Certainly one that Sir William will never live down."

  Just as he'd understood the gist of what I'd said, so I caught on to his meaning. He expected the press to have a field day after Ezra was found beaten--or dead--in an alley in Whitechapel. But that wasn't going to happen on my watch. I slammed an elbow into a soft stomach behind me, then turned to follow it with a right to the jaw.

  The blow which would've taken down any average-sized guy only had this one staggering. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another grinning goon approaching and I hoped Ezra was having better luck than I was. I didn't mind the occasional tussle. It kept me in shape, the trade-off being a black eye or swollen lip for a day or two. I was more concerned for Ez. I doubted he'd had a lot of experience in hand-to-hand.

  As George scurried into the safety of his carriage, trusting that the job he'd paid for would be done without his supervision, I ducked a wild swing and landed a solid jab to the big guy's gut. He doubled over and I finished him off as the smaller guy lunged for me. I suspected these guys had fortified themselves on George's dime before joining him in the hunt. Goon number two swung as wildly and it took only a fist to the jaw to drop him face down on the cobblestones.

  Confident he wouldn't be getting up in the next few minutes, I looked around for Ezra. He was still on his feet and holding h
is own with the help of his walking stick. He'd already laid out one man on the pavement and was closing in on a second. But three were a little too much for him. The biggest of the three got Ezra's arms behind him while the other, bleeding from a scalp wound, came at Ezra with the intention of returning the favor.

  George must have made it clear where he wanted the worst of the damage done. I was across the alley before the man's beefy fist drew back to deliver it. Getting a handful of his collar, I shoved the muzzle of my Glock behind his ear. He sucked in a breath and tried to turn his head to look at me, a move I discouraged with a little more pressure.

  "Ever seen what a bullet does to a skull at such close range?" Taking his wheeze as a no, I nodded. "It's messy, trust me. Now, I know yours isn't housing much of a brain, but I figure you'd like to keep it intact. Right?" I yanked him away from Ezra and swinging him around, gave him a hard encouraging push. "Get the hell out of here."

  I'd rather have arrested him, but I knew the cops would've probably dragged me and Ezra along too, something neither of us could afford to mess with. As soon as he took off running, Ezra broke free of his captor and shoved him in the direction of his cohort. The guy stumbled momentarily, then sped off after the other without even a backward glance.

  Sheathing the gun, I turned back to Ezra. "You all right?"

  "Right as rain." As he straightened up to prove it, he winced and put a hand to his side.

  "Never better, hmm?" I unbuttoned his vest and slipped a probing hand inside. He didn't resist but asked what I was doing. "Checking to make sure nothing's broken."

  His eyebrows lifted. "You're not a doctor--are you?"

  "No, but I've had enough ribs broken to recognize one." Or the effects of one, which I was pretty certain Ezra wasn't feeling. Bruised, maybe, but not broken, thank God. I buttoned him back up. On the last button, he caught hold of my hand and searched my face.

  "You put yourself between me and that gun."

  I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, he wasn't going to shoot us."

  "Then why did you?"

  "Part of my job."

  He gave my hand a brief squeeze before letting go. "Always on the job, are you?" he asked softly.

  "You want me to admit I have a personal stake in keeping you alive?"

  He fairly beamed. "You were quite magnificent, you know."

  "You weren't too bad, yourself."

  "Show me that strategy of yours?"

  Dear God. "I don't think you're ready to become a lethal weapon just yet, Ezra."

  We headed home with some trepidation. I'd lost count of how many times we'd come crawling into the house covered with bruises and dried blood. Kathleen and Derry might not question Ezra's sanity, but they had to be questioning mine.

  Derry, just in from the garden, stopped with an exclamation at the sight of us and it brought everyone running.

  "Okay, guys, just stay calm. We're fine, both of us. Nothing to worry about. Just a little scuffle."

  Kathleen frowned as she looked us over. "Are you in the habit of seeking out trouble on a daily basis? 'Tis the time spent in that part of town, no mistaking. Thick with thieves and ruffians--"

  "And George Blanchard," I put in, figuring a little clarification at this point would go a long way to ending Kathleen's lecture.

  "Charlotte's brother?" Kathleen shook her head in disbelief. "He did this to you?"

  "No, he paid five disagreeable fellows to do it for him," Ezra said, a wince betraying him as he shrugged off his overcoat.

  "You must go to the police," Kathleen said.

  "Devil take the police." Derry whipped off his gardening hat and threw it down on the table with his gloves. “I’ll give George Edward Blanchard the thrashing he deserves," he said and started for the door.

  I swung around and got a handful of his suspenders. “Whoa there, Bronson. Ezra's already lost a bundle, thanks to me. We don't want to add to his financial woes." And I sure didn't want to see Blanchard shoot Derry, because then I'd have to hunt down the son of a bitch and kill him myself.

  Derry reluctantly acquiesced and Ezra flashed me a thankful look. "If you will all pardon me, I have a dinner to dress for."

  "You're still attending?" Kathleen looked even more dismayed.

  "I told Adelaide I would."

  There was the stubborn soul I'd gotten so fond of. I flung an arm around his shoulders. "Is he hard-headed or what?"

  Ezra, with amused reproof, wriggled loose to go upstairs. Kathleen watched him with anxious eyes and the moment he was out of earshot, turned to Derry. "You mustn't let him go. They will cut him most terribly."

  "My dear, don't you think he knows that?"

  "Then you must go with him. You cannot leave him to face it alone."

  "I'm going with him," I told them and they looked at me with varying degrees of horror; Derry's the greater because he knew the whole truth. "Come on, guys. Ezra's tougher than you think. He knows he's walking into the lion's den, but at least he's going down fighting."

  And I was going to be behind him with every swing he took.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I didn't expect this little get-together to be any fancier than Jem's dinner party. But when the road widened into a vista of gardens and mansions that put Jem's chateau to shame, I realized I could be shortly hanging out with Queen Victoria herself. The thought made me grin.

  Ezra, with an instinct that had nothing to do with his psychic ability, turned away from the endless row of poplars along the road to look at me dubiously. "You do intend to behave yourself tonight?"

  "That depends on how you define behave. I'm not going to let anyone trash you. Treat you badly," I clarified as his brows came together in puzzlement. "Let me put it this way. If they behave, I will, too."

  He didn't look reassured. I leaned against him shoulder to shoulder and patted his knee. "You think Jem'll be at this thing?"

  "I daresay. Lady Marchmont tends to invite anyone she finds entertaining. It would have taken a greater scandal than a broken engagement to cause her to revoke my invitation."

  "Yeah? How about rumors of indecent behavior?" I murmured, gliding my hand from his knee to more northern regions.

  He seized my wrist and struggling not to grin, shook his head adamantly. "I would like to remain presentable. And yes, indecent behavior of the sort you're meaning, if it isn't kept strictly under wraps, does get a fellow left on the fringes." He studied me. "You're still suspecting him, aren't you."

  "Jem?" I shrugged. "I think he's a less likely candidate than your average poor Joe in Whitechapel. Of course, there is the little matter of his friendship with Sid. Obviously he's not averse to hanging around in the poor part of town or hooking up with someone who just wants a meal ticket. Even you have concerns about his emotional stability. And he's a big guy. He could easily overpower a woman, silence her and cut her throat so violently as to nearly decapitate her..." I sighed. "Sorry. Not a cheerful subject just before a party."

  "You needn't apologize for being dedicated to your work. It does appear to be rather closely tied with who you are. And I rather like who you are."

  "Usually I don't apologize for it," I said, realizing just how true that was. I couldn't account for Ezra's ability to get things out of me no one else did. Even more puzzling was that I didn't mind it. I would have blamed it on the really good sex, ordinarily. But there was a sense of something more, a connection between us that was one of the better ones I'd ever made. Certainly one of the better ones I was destined to lose.

  Holland Park, I decided as I stepped out of the cab, was where I wanted to go when I died. The lantern-lit gardens in the twilight seemed as pristine and serene as any corner of Heaven. Ezra had gone too far inside himself to notice any of it. I made an attempt to draw him back out. "This Adelaide Marchmont, she sounds okay. How long have you known her?"

  "She attended my christening."

  "Oh yeah? So she knows your folks pretty well too, then."

  "She was a friend of my
mother's."

  "Until she met your dad?"

  Ezra smiled. "No, it was my mother's passing that ended the friendship. Not anything my father did."

  So much for distracting him from his worries. "If they toss us out, want to go run through the fountains?" There were three round pools with marble nymphs posed playfully beneath the arching sprays. A question that a week ago would have made him look at me as if he thought I was nuts now made him laugh. I felt reassured to see the cheerful Ezra of old under that mask of uneasiness.

  "If they toss us out, it may be into the fountains," he observed, with a glance around the garden as if only now noticing it.

  I turned my attention to the imposing stretch of marble stairs that swept to a terrace and the long row of French doors open to the cool evening. Inside, I could see the glitter of chandeliers and hear the chatter of voices. I wasn't under normal circumstances easily intimidated, but this scene disturbed me. Though Adelaide didn't sound too judgmental, she might succumb to peer pressure and denounce us under the icy glares of London high society.

  I'd dealt with this kind of crap before and in another time and place, I wouldn't have put up with it. But I didn't think Ezra was ready to jump a hundred years of prejudice to stand up for his rights just yet. His rights weren't even an issue in a world that considered him too sick to be allowed to live free. I sensed Ezra wanted to take their reaction with a similar grain of salt, but I knew how hard that would be. When all the people in your life turned against you as one and treated you with revulsion--if they acknowledged you at all--it wasn't something you could just shrug off. For his sake, I decided to put on a charming smile and my thickest skin, keeping in mind that time would eventually bring at least the beginning of acceptance.

  As we climbed the mountain of steps, I slid him a glance. He was straightening his tie with fumbling fingers. "It's not too late to get the hell out of here," I whispered, a conspiratorial elbow in his ribs. "You already have family who loves you for who you are. You don't need this pack of hyenas passing judgment on you. They don't even really know you. And I can think of half a dozen better ways to waste this evening," I added with a wink.