“What the devil is going on?” Byron’s hair was a complete mess and his suit disheveled. He, like her, slept in his clothes the night before. She stood there in shock for a moment. Wasn’t he going to leave himself notes?
“Well?” he said. A smirk stirred at the corners of Mira’s lips. His eyes brightened from the confusion and he looked more handsome because of it. She pushed that thought away.
“I suppose the first thing to say is, it’s nice to meet you, Byron.”
“What?”
“I mean, this is the first time for you at least. You’ve never seen me before in your life. Except I’ve met you every day for over a week.”
“What on Earth are you talking about?”
“You really don’t remember anything, do you?” She searched his face for recognition.
“I’ll have you know I have an excellent memory. But I do know one thing, I don’t remember you so if you’d care to explain what’s going on.”
“Right. There is quite a bit to tell you then.” She bit her lip.
“Such as?”
“Well, good morning is a good place to start.” She walked past him to look for his journal. She knew anything she said would likely make him more upset. His notes hadn’t worked to remind him. There were too many important things she might forget to tell him, even if he did believe her. The only solution was to find the journal.
“Good morning?” He was unconvinced. “How is it a good morning? You haven’t answered any of my questions! Where am I and who are you and,” His face flushed. “I didn’t give you permission to come into my room, if it is my room that is.” He turned watching her search.
“And I didn’t exactly give you permission to take me on this airship yesterday but there we have it.” Her voice trailed off as she looked under the bed for the journal. “Now where have you put it?”
“I beg your pardon, but we’re on an airship? And put what where? What are you talking about, Miss?”
“You usually call me Mira, and I am referring to your journal. Please sit down.”
“Sit down? How can I sit down while a woman I’ve never met searches a room I’ve never seen before?” He seemed to realize the ridiculousness of his statement as he spoke.
“If you sit down, you can calm down a little, think a bit more clearly, and find that all of this is obviously a dream, if it makes so little sense to you.” She moved to the other side of the room. He stood there pondering for a second before sitting down.
“Are you a dream then?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Do I look like a dream?” she responded. A puzzled look came over his face.
“This feels real. And I don’t remember dreaming about you before.”
“And that’s precisely the problem.”
“What are you talking about?”
She found the journal on the top shelf of the closet, retrieved it, and sat next to him on the bed, tracing the edge of the journal with her fingers.
“What is the last thing you remember, Byron?”
“Going to bed last evening. I had just received a lead on a case I was investigating. I was going to stop off at Scotland Yard first thing in the morning at noon to see if they had any additional information, and then I was going to go and head up the lead.”
“So, you don’t remember anything at all after that?”
“Not a thing. Not sure why I am telling you anything though. What is that book? And you haven’t explained what is going on.”
“You’re always telling me to use my observational skills Byron, and now you are off the hook?” She smiled, teasing him a bit. He clenched his teeth for a moment, then broke out in an enigmatic smile. She tensed.
“Mira is it?” She nodded, and he continued. “From what I can gather, considering that I am in a completely different place than I slept last night, you seem to know me, but I don’t know you…hmm. There are two options that could be at work here.”
“Go on.”
“Well judging by the state of your clothes, you’ve slept in them. I seem to have slept in mine as well. According to you, we’re on an airship. You are right in saying I’ve never laid eyes on you before. You are acting calm and collected indicating you’ve done something like this before. I’ve been getting close to the end of this case. It’s only logical that they would try to stop me, but why send you?” He stood and began to pace. “It just doesn’t make sense.” He stopped and turned defensively towards her, looking her over. “You don’t seem to be the mercenary type.”
She started laughing. “You can’t be serious.”
He stared at her for a few moments more. Looking her over. Really trying to determine who she was. He looked into her eyes and softened.
“No, I suppose I’m not. You couldn’t be one of them.”
“One of who?”
“No matter. What’s your name again?”
“Samira. Samira Blayse. You hired me as your secretary.”
“Why don’t I remember you?”
“Well what was your other logical option?”
“I’d rather not say.”
She stood and took a cautious step towards him, studying his face. His anger dissipated, but his confusion remained. “Just read this.” She held the journal out to him. He stood there for a moment before he took it.
She walked into the other room, attempting to calm the butterflies again. She made the bed and cleaned up the few belongings she had brought with her. With any luck they would be returning home today. She was arranging her tangled mess of hair when Byron came in.
“Miss Blayse I—”
“Mira. Please call me Mira.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, Mira.”
“Apology accepted.”
He stood there for a moment in silence. She could see him in the mirror, looking at her reflection. She finished brushing her hair and put down the comb. He cleared his throat.
“Hmm. Well, if you are ready, we ought to go and see how likely it is we can get back to London. After all, your cat must be missing you.”
She whirled towards him. “My cat? I never told you about Nero.”
“You have cat fur on the hem of your skirt, and besides,” he gestured towards the bed where her sketchbook lay open, “a drawing like that must have come from a live subject. Nero? That’s a good name for a cat. Does he play the violin?” His eyes smiled at her as he turned back into his room leaving Mira at a loss for words once again.
The weather had cleared up sufficiently that the airship could take flight. They landed in Bristol, and the captain informed everyone that the ship would be grounded for a few hours to check on the canvas of the balloon and to make repairs. Byron paced in the observation lounge, back and forth along the front panel of glass.
“Shall we go for a walk? The airship isn’t going anywhere for a while.” He stopped and turned to her.
“Alright. Lead the way.” She stood and followed him out.
At the ramp he offered her his arm, and she took it as they strolled through Bristol. The city was smaller than London, but it still bustled with activity. She could see steamships being loaded from a lower dock like the ones in London. A train sped by on a path back to London. It was nice to be in a different setting.
“Shall we get something to eat?” Byron stopped walking. A small teahouse stood in front of them. Mira nodded. She got the sense that he was trying to apologize for the morning. While they waited for their breakfast and tea, Mira decided to take a chance.
“Byron, you know we never actually talk about you.”
“Hmm?” He looked back to her from the window, struck from his reverie.
“You’ve asked all about me, and I’ve told you, but you’ve never told me about yourself. Just that you were a detective working with Scotland Yard.”
“I haven’t? Well, I suppose it never was important.”
“Do you have any family?”
“Everyone has family, Mira.” He chuckled a little. “I have four siblin
gs. A sister and three brothers. I don’t really talk to them much. They’re all older than me.”
He looked at her, an expression Mira didn’t recognize crossing his face. He seemed hesitant to tell her something. He looked away again and continued.
“My father died a few years before my memory loss started. My mother lives in Hertfordshire, and I try to visit her often. If I remember, that is.” A sadness came to his eyes. Mira paused, not certain if she should keep questioning.
The waiter brought out two trays of food. Byron nodded in thanks. They ate in silence for a few minutes.
“Have I really never talked to you about my past?” He looked up at her for a moment then back at his omelet.
“No. I suppose I’ve never asked, either.” She nibbled at a piece of toast.
“You can ask any question you’d like. Just know there are some questions I won’t answer.”
She hesitated again. “Well, I was wondering about something. Yesterday you mentioned that it was an accident that caused your memory loss.”
“Yes. It was.”
“Were you very young when it happened?”
“I was twenty-three. So, based on the dates in my journal, over four years ago.”
“Were you already working with Scotland Yard then?”
“Hmm? Well, yes. I suppose. Puzzles had always been a hobby of mine all throughout school. When I came to London, I happened to come across a few police reports, and I sent in a few anonymous tips. Fred Wensley helped with a few, before he was an officer of course.” He stopped. “You do know about Fred, don’t you?” When she nodded in the affirmative, he continued. “I started coming in and talking to Thatcher. He wanted me to go to police school. I thought that was rubbish. I was eighteen when I solved my first full case. And of course, my family wasn’t necessarily supportive of my becoming a detective. I suppose the chief inspector is the closest thing I’ve got to family at this point.”
“And he doesn’t know what happened to you either?”
“That’s the one mystery neither of us have ever solved. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out, but I just can’t retrace my steps if I don’t remember them.”
After breakfast, they walked back to the airship. The scaffolding differed from the Mooreland docks in London. She clearly saw the side of the ship. There were all sorts of seams and rivets holding different pieces of metal together, almost like dozens of doors along the side, although they likely couldn’t be opened. They went up the ramp and back onto the observation deck. Mira sat down in an armchair and Byron sat across from her.
“Have you ever had a secretary before?” She broke the silence again.
“No. I never thought I really needed one. I suppose it came on a whim one day, but I don’t remember how it happened.”
“Do you think I’ve helped?”
He paused for a moment. “My journal seems to dictate that.” He went silent and looked out the window. She bit her lip and looked down.
Soon enough they were touching down in London. The airship finished its journey, alighting gracefully at the dock like a bird perching on a branch. Byron escorted Mira down the ramp to the dock. He was quiet and contemplative as they walked, while her own thoughts preoccupied her. Eventually they came to the cafe, where Byron stopped, looking up.
“This is where we met,” he said in a matter of fact sort of way.
“Yes, it is.” She searched his expression for meaning but found none. Suddenly he turned towards her and grabbed her arms, pulling her closer. Her eyes widened, looking up at him.
“Mira. Every day I forget you. Every day you watch me in my forgetfulness.”
“Well, yes.” She tensed. What was he getting at? He released her arms and stepped back.
“Am I ever a different person?” He looked away.
“A different person?”
“Every day, am I different? I’m sure I respond differently, years of my life I don’t remember…” He trailed off.
“Well, I suppose, you are a little different each day. But ultimately you are Byron, Byron.”
“Is it hard?”
“Is what?”
“Watching me forget. Not remember you.”
“Um…well…I…” She bit her lip. He turned away from her. That was enough of an answer for him. He hesitated for a moment then lowered his head. He started walking away from her and the cafe.
“I think it’s best if we continued on Monday,” he called back. “Same time as always, whatever that may be.”
“Byron—”
“Good day, Mira,” he said firmly. “Enjoy your Sunday.”
She stood there in the street for a moment as he ran off once more. It was hard. On one hand it was incredibly wondrous to wake up every morning and not know what awaited her at Byron’s. But on the other it tortured her to only have the memories to herself. Then again, how was it for Byron? It hadn’t even occurred to her how hard it would be for him. She wanted to know what he was thinking. How he was feeling. But he was unreadable and stoic. She watched until he turned the corner out of sight. She felt her stomach turn in knots. It wasn’t fair. For either of them.
Mira painted over her sketch of an airship with a wash of blue watercolors. She finished the sketch in the morning before she went to St. Paul’s for the midday service. It had been impossible to concentrate. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the previous days with Byron. How exciting they all had been! The exhilaration from the airship flight was exactly as she dreamed. And she met a family friend and found out more about her parents’ deaths. She frowned as her sketch smudged under the wash. Why were her parents there? If it was murder… She set her sketchbook to the side with a huff. It wasn’t a question of “if” in her mind. Her parents were murdered. Why did that give her so much peace? She stood with a huff. Why was she hoping for that? That wasn’t right. But, then again, if it was the truth, it needed to be made clear. Hopefully the professor would have some answers.
She looked at the clock. Nearly time to go to her uncle’s for dinner. Oh, how she wished she was going to Byron’s. But he needed some time and so did she. The day before was a confusing mess. She felt butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it. No. Not butterflies. Byron was her friend; she was his secretary. She couldn’t possibly have feelings for him. Could she? She stood and moved over to the window. Even if she did, they would have to wait. Not only was it foolish to think he could ever fall for her with his memory problem, but they had mysteries to solve. Was it even possible to fall in love in such a short time? Well, it was possible. But that kind of love rarely lasted. Her parents had courted over several years after their initial acquaintance.
Was that what these feelings were? Her trying to fill the gap her parents left? The one her uncle and brother and Landon couldn’t even fill? If she did like Byron, was it for him or for the idea of him? She shook her head. She shouldn’t even entertain those thoughts. She didn’t have feelings for Byron, and that was that. She had no reason to worry. Of course, she had to keep repeating that to herself as she walked to her uncle’s house.
“Good afternoon, Miss.” Landon opened the door before she knocked once again.
“How on earth do you always know when I’m here?” She walked past him and took off her coat.
“I suppose it just comes with being a butler.” He had a twinkle in his eye. She laughed.
“Is the professor coming again today?”
“He is already in the front room.” He took her coat and hung it on the hook.
“Fantastic.”
The professor sat in an armchair reading a book when she entered. It hadn’t been her plan to discuss what happened in the previous week with anyone other than Byron, but she needed to talk to someone.
“Hello, Professor!” She sat in an armchair opposite from his. He looked up and smiled.
“Why, hello Mira!” He closed the book.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your reading, but I’d like to talk to you.” She glanced at the do
or. “If possible, without my uncle hearing?”
“What is it?” His tone turned serious.
“About what we spoke about last week—”
“What about it?”
“It seems I’ve found a lead or two.”
“You have?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“With help, of course. You remember the man from the cafe, the one I sketched? He’s a private detective.”
“Please tell me you haven’t asked him to help you.”
“You don’t want me to lie, do you?” Her eyes lit up. He set the book aside.
“What have you found?” He rubbed his temples.
She bit her lip. “The police report mentioned that you identified the bodies.”
The professor paled.
“Is that true?”
“Yes. It is.” He looked down.
“What happened?”
“Do you really want me to describe it to you?” He looked up at her with wet eyes.
She glanced away. “I suppose not.”
“I assure you; it was them.”
A heavy silence fell over the two of them. The professor stood and moved to the window.
“I’m sorry if I was your only lead. But that’s all I know.”
“No need to apologize. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Mira’s voice cracked.
“So, I was your last lead?” He turned back towards her, a mixture of emotions flooding his expression.
“Well, we did find an inconsistency between the police report and an eyewitness.”
“You’ve located an eyewitness? After eighteen years?”
“Yes. Mr. David Graham. He worked with my father. He said my father was running late that day, and my mother shouldn’t have even been there.”
The professor paced across the room. “How does that prove that it wasn’t an accident? People are in the wrong places at the wrong time quite often. And why didn’t the police find anything?”
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 10