“Byron?” She couldn’t help but smile.
“Do I know you? I do, don’t I?” He turned away from the door, rifling through a stack of papers and glancing over them. He turned back, looking her over.
“Or are you here for the job offer? Come on in, either way.” He stalked off into another room.
“Job offer?” With hesitance she entered, stepping over slips of paper, stacks of books, forgotten teacups, and other odds and ends.
“Ah yes. As you can probably tell, I need a secretary of sorts to keep everything in order.”
“Oh…no, I didn’t mean I was here about the job offer. I was just surprised that you didn’t remember me.”
“I do know you from somewhere, don’t I?” He put the stack of papers down and looked her over again. “Have I been solving your case? I can’t quite remember. I’ve misplaced my journal you see. I don’t know what’s in it, but I know it’s gone. If you help me find it, the job is yours.” He seemed distracted as he spoke, turning in circles and running a hand through his hair. She had never seen a man in such a state before. His suit coat was missing, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His attire was rumpled, and his hair stuck out in odd directions.
“Alright. I suppose I’ll start looking. Do you remember where you saw it last?”
“That’s the thing. I remember my name and that I forget things. There are some fuzzy memories in the back of my head, but they don’t seem to correspond with the date in the paper. I found a note saying that there would be a journal somewhere.”
“Oh…um…right. Well I’ll help you find it.” She turned in a circle, bewildered at the state of things. How would anyone find anything in such a mess?
“Perhaps if we picked up a little, we could find it.” She started arranging slips of paper.
“Right. Yes. Sorry. I’ve turned the house over trying to find it.”
They continued to pick up the place in relative silence other than the rustling of papers and books and the clinking of teacups. Some papers dictated cases, a few were just reminders. “You need to buy groceries this week,” and “There may be people coming for a secretarial job today. Make sure you read your journal before,” and “Make sure to retrieve all the notes out in town. They could get lost or destroyed, and then where would you be?” She read each note with interest and separated them into piles for later organization. Slips with reminders in one, slips about cases in another, random bits of trivia in another. She picked up a stack of books and moved to the bookshelf. There were books on physics, mathematics, history, Shakespeare, even a copy of Alice in Wonderland. She laughed a little at that as she placed the books on the shelves. She found a filing system full of different people and case files.
Once the sitting room was picked up, she noticed how nice it all was. There was a piano by the window. She sat on the piano bench, looking outside through the curtains. Not the best view, but not a bad one either. She looked back into the room. A few couches, an armchair, a large fireplace, and a door that she believed led into the kitchen. She could hear Byron moving dishes around in there. She moved closer to the window and sat on the window seat, her fingers brushing another book. A journal lay open on the seat. Picking it up she read the last few lines.
The girl at the cafe is named Mira Blayse. Scotland Yard had nothing for me today. I placed an ad in the newspaper to get a secretary. Hopefully they can help you keep things straight. Remember to write a note to remind yourself.
She closed it and moved into the kitchen. Dishes had been piled in the sink and a chemistry set sat on the table along with several other books and papers.
“Byron, I think I found it!” She set it on the only clear space on the counter. He whirled towards her.
“Thank you.” He picked up the journal to read it. He read a few pages then whipped his head back up to her. “Wait. How do you know my name?”
“We met yesterday. And the day before. And the day before.”
“How well do we know each other?”
“We only met recently. I would say we are acquaintances at most.”
He nodded and turned his attention back to the journal. It occurred to Mira that he must read it every day as well. It was a thick journal, but he shot through the pages, skimming through a shortened version of each day. He mumbled here and there and went out into the sitting room. She followed him, curiosity bubbling at the surface, and sat on the piano bench again. After about fifteen minutes, he closed the journal.
“Consider yourself hired. What was your name again?”
“Samira Blayse.”
“Ah! Mira. Right.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t exactly come here for the secretarial job.”
“Well, do you want it? You are the most qualified for the job it would seem.”
She paused in thought. “How am I qualified?”
“Well, the job entails helping me to remember the day to day. Making sure I read my journal. Keeping me professional in front of clients when I forget things. That sort of thing. Seeing as I have…” He paused to look at the journal then cleared his throat. “Seen you every day for the last three days at least—”
“Six days actually,” she interrupted. “This is day seven.”
“Yes, then you know a little more about me than anyone else and you have an excellent memory yourself.”
She thought about it for a moment. She really didn’t need a job. Of course, this would be a change from monotony, and aside from that if she worked with him, wouldn’t she technically be working with Scotland Yard? And they could work together on the case! She nodded. “I’ll take the position.”
“Excellent. Let me make a note of that.” He took out a pencil and added that to the journal. He closed it when he finished and looked up at her, studying her again. She averted her gaze to the window.
“Well Mira, you’ll have to deal with me now. We can discuss salary later. I would like it if you could get here early each morning.” He stood and moved over to her, taking something out of his pocket. He took her hand and placed a set of keys into it. “Mornings are hard for me, and I probably won’t remember you. You can come right in, make sure I read my journal, help me stay organized, etcetera. You’ll be listening in on cases, so I expect you to act with discretion.”
“Anything else I should know?” She looked up at him.
“Well, other than the fact that I forget every day, I don’t think much else is important.”
“What were the notes for?”
“Ah, those were a sort of exercise. I’d follow the clues until I made it to Scotland Yard. A doctor said it might help my memory to recover. Obviously, it was of little use,” he said, almost bitterly. “And leaving those notes in the elements was not the wisest course of action. I realize that now.”
She nodded. The pieces of the puzzle fit together now. The notes, him forgetting her, why he would always leave.
“And the airship operator case is the one you are currently working on?”
“Indeed, it is. Although I seem to have misplaced that case file.”
“I’m sure we can find it.”
“Hmm. Yes. But first, would you like a cup of tea?”
He made his way into the kitchen and she followed. He filled up a kettle and placed it on the hob before leaning against the counter and looking at her. She shifted her stance, trying to squelch her unease. Then he turned his gaze to the opposite side of the kitchen, still silent. She usually didn’t mind silence, but this kind was unnerving. She tried to catch glimmers of what others thought but for whatever reason, Byron was impossible to read.
It was then that she realized she was the one staring now. Her cheeks heated, and she looked away. He cleared his throat.
“Mira, while I am a detective, I can’t quite figure something out.”
“What?”
“Why would a fashionable young lady like yourself look into a secretarial job?”
“Oh. Um…” She paused formulating her answer. After
all, she hadn’t exactly come looking for the job to begin with. The kettle started singing, and he turned back towards the stove to prepare it.
“Curiosity?” The word escaped from her tongue. He raised an eyebrow as he placed items on the tea tray.
“That sounded more like a question than an answer.”
She followed him back into the living room and sat on a couch opposite him. “Well Byron, I didn’t exactly come here looking for the job. I came to get help with a case of my own.”
Byron frowned. “And you ended up being my secretary? I don’t remember writing down a case in my journal involving you. Could you explain?” He handed her a cup of tea and she paused in thought. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a sip of tea.
“Do you have your pen ready?”
He looked at her with curiosity for a moment, then smiled and pulled out his journal, ready to write.
“Are you familiar with the airship accident of 1870?”
“To a point, yes. I was a bit young to be investigating it when it happened.”
“My parents died in that accident.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“And what exactly needs to be investigated?”
“I don’t think it was entirely an accident. Something about this doesn’t add up. The fact that the airship had been tested once before without a problem, that only two people died in a massive explosion,” She trailed off before finishing. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t happen to have any proof or other clues?”
“I’ve tried looking on my own. I truly have. The last month I’ve been searching through my parents’ journals, newspapers, I even went to Scotland Yard. Everything came to naught.”
“Scotland Yard wasn’t able to help?”
“Only those who work with or for the Yard have access to recent case files.”
“Hmm.”
Byron finished writing in his journal and went silent for a few moments. Then he looked up at her.
“I’ll take it.”
“You will?” Relief filled her voice.
“It’s a fascinating problem. Attempting to solve a ‘cold case,’ so to speak. I am in the middle of a case for Scotland Yard currently, but seeing as it involves airships, we might be able to work on it concurrently.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes. Well, I’ll see what I can do. I must warn you the original case takes precedence. I have a policy that unless there is a threat of someone dying, the case I am currently working on comes first. Understood?”
“Yes, of course.”
He nodded as he picked up his own teacup and took a sip, turning pensive.
“That still doesn’t answer the question of why you agreed to be my secretary.” He looked up at her again.
“I suppose it doesn’t. I’m not quite certain of it myself. I do need something to occupy my time, and all of this is just so fascinating. And aside from that I’d like to help solve my parents’ mystery myself rather than stand on the side lines.”
“Mira, this is dangerous work. You’ll want to consider that. Why don’t we do this on a trial basis?”
“I could agree to that.”
“Cheers to our agreement then.” He smiled and teasingly gestured with his teacup. She tipped her cup in his direction, and they both took a sip.
“Am I to start tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow. Yes.” He gave her another scrutinizing stare and set his teacup down. He looked around at the room.
“Thank you for helping me organize. When I can’t find something, it does become a mess.”
“I was happy to.” She finished her tea. An awkward stillness settled between them as she set her cup down. She stood.
“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She started for the door, fingering the keys.
“Indeed, you shall.” He beat her to the door and opened it for her.
“Good day, Byron.” She stepped out onto the street.
“Good day, Mira.” He smiled and closed the door.
She moved down the street, mulling everything over. This was exactly what she had been waiting for. Not only did she know definitively who Byron was, and what he had been doing, but she had an ally. And a job, for that matter. She smiled and began the walk back to Campden Grove. It was much quieter than her journey to Palace Court, but she liked that. Her thoughts were noisy enough.
The sun filtered through Mira’s window the next morning. She stirred, then jolted out of bed, dressing as fast as she could and grabbing a bite of breakfast before running out the door. “Don’t want to be late!” she called back to Nero, who curled up in a patch of sunshine.
Now knowing how close Palace Court was to where she lived, she set out on foot. Her walk through Kensington Gardens was beautiful, the air a little misty, but she didn’t mind. The time was about half past nine when she arrived at Byron’s. She fingered the key in her pocket for a moment and then knocked on the door instead.
The door opened to reveal Byron holding his journal, a finger marking his place on the page. He was dressed, but not wearing his suit coat. His messy hair looked like he hadn’t had time to tame it yet.
“If I know you, I’m sorry, I can’t remember.” He looked her over.
“You hired me yesterday to help you keep track of things. I’m sure if you keep reading, you’ll find me,” she said.
His eyes narrowed, and he looked back at the page he was on, then to her again.
“I hope you aren’t lying.” He stepped aside so she could come in. As soon as she stepped across the threshold, he closed the door and leaned against the wall, continuing to read. She hung her coat on a hook in the hall and went into the sitting room. Everything was as she had left it, other than a few notes pinned to the wall next to the fireplace. She moved across the room to examine them.
“Still low on food. Get some before end of week.”
“The secretarial position has been taken. Mira Blayse. She might just come in.”
“Meeting with witness in the airship case. 12:30. Scotland Yard.”
She turned and leaned against the wall, glancing back at Byron who had moved to the doorway. He turned away as soon as her glance passed him, and he started to pace with his journal, tapping the end of a fountain pen against his cheek. Eventually he sat down in the heavy armchair near the fire, set the journal on his lap, and looked up at her.
“Alright, Mira. Just give me a second to write something down.”
He uncapped his pen and opened the journal to the next empty page. But instead of writing, he first looked at her, eyes flicking from her hands to her hair, settling on her skirts, scrutinizing every detail. After a few moments he took the pen to the page, fountain pen delicately sliding over the tooth of the paper. He wrote a few paragraphs then set the journal to the side for it to dry.
“Well, we ought to get started.”
“You mean just like that?” she said, surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“Well you just offered me this position yesterday, and you don’t know anything about me.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“You couldn’t know more than my name, Mr. Constantine.” Especially since he never seemed to remember her.
“Is that a challenge?” His mouth turned up at the corners.
“I…suppose?”
“Hmm.” He looked her over. “I know that you like to write or draw. Your left hand is more dominant, although you are ambidextrous in writing, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “You also are painfully shy, but for whatever reason, you seem comfortable around me. Perhaps these last six…no seven days you’ve come out of your shell more than at the beginning, but seeing as I don’t remember, I wouldn’t know. I can tell just by interacting with you that you are uncomfortable talking with people, but I would say you’ve found a way to push past that in the name of propriety. You are probably
too curious for your own good, but that should work out nicely for our arrangement. Your demeanor shows you are a young lady with some wealth.” He paused and examined her again. “I have noticed you do some things quite atypical of a lady of your age. Perhaps you are a bit rebellious. Stubborn.”
Her mouth hung open in an unladylike fashion and her eyes opened wide with confusion. “Stubborn?”
“Yes.” He capped his fountain pen and placed it next to his journal.
“How can you possibly know all of that?”
“Observation is the key to what I do each day, Mira. All I have is what I can get with my senses in any given day. The more I observe, the more I can write down, the more I can remember. Because of the need for observation, I’ve become rather good at it. Now shall we move onto the case?”
“You mean, you gathered all of that information just by looking me over?”
“Exactly. I gather that I was right then?”
“Well yes, but how?”
“The fact that you draw is painfully evident by your sketchbook, and the graphite on your hands. I say hands because you use both to draw and sketch, however you have set your sketchbook to the left side, indicating a preference. Shy because of your tendency to blush. Curious because you couldn’t help but read my notes. Your demeanor is obvious, I shouldn’t have to say much on that, but you do go about town on your own and wear your hair down which isn’t exactly what is considered proper currently.”
Mira opened her mouth, but no words came. She furrowed her brow looking at her new employer. Just what had she gotten herself into? She found herself sitting on one of his couches in disbelief.
“That should be enough to be getting on with. Now, to fill you in on the current case.” Byron moved to the filing system to retrieve the case file. He cleared his throat and sat down in the armchair again.
“Since you read some of my notes, you’ll know that this case involves a certain airship operator. Scotland Yard has been stumped in the matter. When they are in doubt, they call me. For whatever reason, I’m really not quite sure.” He looked at her and his eyes seemed to be laughing. “I work primarily with Inspector…” He looked back at the paper. “Excuse me, Chief Inspector Raymond Thatcher. How could I forget?” His voice trailed off to a sad mumble. He cleared his throat and continued. “He is the one who presented this case to me but is a bit busy with another urgent case now and so this one falls to me. Now here are the facts…” He stood and paced the room with the case file, referencing it as needed.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 5