“I will. Good day, Miss Blayse.” He kissed her hand.
“Good day, Mr. Constantine.”
She decided to take a walk through Kensington Gardens before going home. It was always more beautiful after the rain. The trees shone with a greener hue, the water a more vibrant blue, and mist rose from the dew-tipped blades of grass. She walked around the pond as swans swam in circles around each other. Despite the serene atmosphere, she felt uneasy. Her mind was on tomorrow and what the Pit might bring. Could they trust Selene? Or was this all a trap?
A man and his young daughter walked by the side of the water. They threw breadcrumbs in for the swans to peck at. One swan reached out its long neck and pecked at the little girl causing her to cry. Why did things that were so beautiful and wondrous have to hurt? The girl’s father picked her up and walked away.
“Unfortunate, isn’t it?”
Mira jumped and turned to find a tall man with a long face and sharp features looking at her. He wore an elegant top hat and carried a cane. His demeanor made Mira’s stomach turn. A feeling of discomfort and caution swept over her.
“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was referring to the young girl with the swan.” He gestured with his cane.
“Oh, yes. It is unfortunate. I hope she wasn’t injured too badly.”
“Yes. You would think she would have heeded the warnings.”
“What warnings?”
“Perhaps they aren’t as obvious to some people. But they have been made very evident to you, Miss Blayse.”
Mira bristled and took a few steps back. “Who are you?”
“If I said a friend, would you believe me?”
“Not especially, no.”
“Someone who shouldn’t be reckoned with, then.”
“Are you threatening me, then?”
“Of course not. Obviously, threats don’t work on you. However, I am inviting you to rethink your acquaintances.”
“I believe that is up to me to decide.”
“Indeed, it is. Just remember, all decisions have consequences. I would consider those consequences before something tragic happens.”
He tipped his hat to her and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. Mira felt ill and hurried back to her uncle’s house as the clouds threatened rain again.
“Back so soon Miss?” Landon looked up from his feather duster when she came into the front room.
“We finished what we needed to do for the day. He told me to get some rest.” Mira trailed off, still processing what had happened in the park.
“You don’t seem as happy as you were this morning.”
Nero came in and jumped onto her lap. She stroked him gratefully.
“I’m just worried.”
“About what?”
“About tomorrow.”
“Doing something dangerous then?”
“Well…”
“I don’t need to know. Just stay safe.”
“I’m not entirely certain what I am getting into.”
“Does Mr. Constantine?”
“I don’t know if he does.”
“Hmm.”
She went into the parlor to wait for dinner to be served. She moved over to the far wall and knelt in front of a cabinet, opening it. She looked towards the door. Her uncle was likely in his study. Gently she pulled a small box out of the cabinet and lifted the lid. A small frame with a photo of her parents, herself, and Walker lay on the bottom. She took it out and dusted it off with a piece of her dress. Sometimes it felt like that time in her life was only a dream, that she had always lived with her uncle. But this photograph proved the opposite. She found it in a box in storage when she was sixteen and hid it in the parlor where her uncle wouldn’t find it. Her parents looked so happy in it. She looked so happy. The photo had been taken only a few months before their accident. Their murder. Even if it wasn’t for Pennington, she had to keep investigating for her parents.
The door opened, and Professor Burke walked in. “Good evening, Mira!”
“Oh, hello, Professor.” She quickly placed the photograph back in the box and placed it in the cupboard. The professor frowned and walked over to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh nothing.” She stood and walked over to the window.
“I can clearly tell that something is the matter. Is this about you investigating things with that private detective?”
Mira folded her arms. “Yes. To a degree.”
“Your uncle told me about what had happened with the kidnapping and death threats. I’m very surprised he’s allowed you to continue.”
“I am, too.”
“What’s happened now?”
“I just received another warning. I man I’ve never met before stopped me in the park.”
“Mira, this is serious. After all of this, you are still continuing?”
“Yes, I am. And don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
“You could get hurt, and I’d hate to see that.”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“Mira, I—”
The door opened, and her uncle came in to invite them to dinner. The professor sighed slightly, then smiled at his friend as they went into the dining room. The meal was tense despite the topics being relatively benign. After dinner Mira quickly excused herself. She reached the stairs when she heard the door to the dining room open again.
“Samira.” It was the professor. He rarely used her full name. She turned to face him.
“Yes, Professor Burke?”
“Does my advice matter at all to you?”
“It does, but—”
“I’m advising you to stop this. It’s too dangerous.”
“You don’t think I can handle myself?”
“No. You are very capable. But if anything happened to you, I could never forgive myself. And I don’t think your uncle could take it. Please just consider that.”
He went back into the dining room. Mira stayed on the steps for a moment thinking it over, then climbed up to her room and moved over to the window. The policeman strode up and down the street still. Probably a different officer than before, but he represented the same thing. Working with Byron meant danger. She didn’t need Byron, or Landon, or Professor Burke to remind her. This all started with her investigating her parents. At the time, it seemed harmless enough. But they all were right. She had been kidnapped. Her home had been ransacked. That man in the park somehow knew her. This whole mystery involved an underground crime syndicate. Why on Earth did she keep going back? It was insane. And this wasn’t just about her. Doubt clouded her mind. About the plan, about the theory, about Byron? No. He was one thing she was certain of. And if she didn’t doubt Byron, why should she doubt or be afraid at all?
Nero meowed and curled around her feet. She sat on the bed, and he jumped up into her arms. She doubted herself. Doubted her abilities. Doubted her safety. Her reasons for coming back. Her feelings for Byron. Anxious thoughts clouded her mind. She lay back on the bed. That man had something to do with the death threats. The notes carved with a knife. The devastation of her property. She was certain if she had met the man walking home at night that he would have killed her.
And yet tomorrow she was going to willingly walk into more danger? If she didn’t know better, she would say that she was going mad. Except, does one know when you are losing your sanity, or does it just happen? Why would she want to go into danger? Then again, why would Byron? He had understood exactly why she kept coming back, because he felt the same way. He felt a thrill every time they found a new clue. It wasn’t her reasoning that made him want her to stay at home. He just didn’t want her getting hurt. The passages in his journal came to her mind, and she smiled. He liked her. Despite his memory problems, he liked her. And if he could go into danger and not have a problem, she could too. She just had to prove to him and the others that she could keep herself safe. The more she knew about Circe, the more she would be able to protect herself. She needed
to get to the end of this. She needed to know what happened. And that meant going with Byron, no matter what. Nero mewed and brought her out of her own head. She went to the window and closed the curtains on her thoughts.
Mira left the house before sunrise. She wanted to tell Byron about the man in the park. Perhaps he had made a note of him at some point before, or maybe he had a file on him. Of course, it would be difficult to figure out who the man was if she didn’t have a name. Nonetheless, he might know something, and then they could figure out who the man was.
The carriage came to a stop, and she headed up the stairs. None of the lamps were lit. She frowned. Didn’t he ask her to come early? She unlocked the door and came inside. The door closed behind her, shutting the early morning sounds outside. She went into the living room, sat down, and relaxed. It was early enough she could let him sleep a while longer. She looked over towards the stairs that led up to his bedroom. She thought of him sleeping. Him forgetting. He’d wake up and come out. What would she say to him this time? She heard a rustling coming from the room. She’d see his response soon. Her anxiety rose with each passing minute. The light filtering through the window intensified. The clock on the mantel ticked bit by bit, bringing the future into the present. The door to his room opened.
He came out with bags under his eyes and a bit of an unsteady gait. His messy hair fell into his eyes. He fiddled with his tie, trying to straighten it. He looked up from it and saw her. His brow furrowed.
“How did you get in here?”
“Through the door.” She glanced over at the front entry. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. Once again, it was going to be a harsh remembering this morning.
“Are you a client of mine?”
“No. I’m your secretary.”
“I don’t have a secretary.”
“Well, you do. You see if you just read your journal—”
“I don’t keep a journal. It’s easy enough to remember things from day to day. Anything important can go into my filing system.”
“Well actually—”
“I’m afraid I have a case to solve so I’m going to have to ask you to—”
“Listen to me!” Her voice rose higher than she meant it to. She could feel her face flushing as she stood. Based on the stunned look on Byron’s face, his attention was fully on her.
“You have a problem with your short-term memory. You think you are going to go follow a lead to find the Order of Circe today, but you aren’t! It’s been years since that time. You hired me several weeks ago to help you with your memory. To make sure you read your journal every day. That is why I am here.” He considered her for a moment and then shook his head.
“You are either mistaken or, forgive me for my brashness, insane.”
“Insane?” She laughed. “I thought about this long and hard last night and I concluded that I’m as sane as you are Byron. Read your journal.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Let me find it for you.”
“You won’t find anything.”
“Then will it hurt for me to look?”
He pondered on that sentence, studied her face and then shook his head.
“Then excuse me while I do so.” She started at the piano, checking inside of the bench and then on the windowsill. Then she checked around the armchair, under the couch, in the side tables and on the mantel. He watched her with a sort of peeved curiosity for a few minutes before stepping forward and grabbing her arm.
“I’m guessing you aren’t finding it. Why don’t we—”
“I’m not finished yet.”
She pulled away from him and went into the kitchen. She checked every cupboard and counter before moving up the stairs and into his office. She checked every bookcase for it, every drawer. She checked the guest room. She came back down the stairs and found him standing in front of his bedroom door.
“Excuse me, Byron.”
“If you haven’t found it yet, then you won’t. I’ve been a good sport and let you have your fun, but I’m afraid I can’t allow you to search my room. I must ask you to leave before I contact the authorities.”
“Go ahead and get Inspector Thatcher here. He knows I’m telling the truth.”
She pushed past him into his room and started to look. He grabbed her shoulder to pull her back and then thought otherwise. He stepped back against the wall to watch her. She checked in his closet, his dresser, under the bed, on the side table. Then she saw the trunk. She moved over and pulled on the lid. Locked.
“Where’s the key to this?”
“Now you are going too far.”
“Byron, this is important. Crucial even. If we don’t find that journal you will have lost all your memories from the last year. All your memories of each case. Of the people you’ve met.” She thought of herself as she spoke, and her voice cracked. “Please.” He studied her again and then went to his dresser. He opened a drawer and pressed a loosened piece of wood on it. The bottom of the drawer popped open, and he grabbed a small key. He moved over and opened the trunk. “Look, but don’t touch.”
She looked inside. There were several leather-bound journals on the top of some old clothes and papers. His eyes widened.
“These weren’t here before.”
“These are your journals, Byron.”
He picked one of them up and looked through it.
“This doesn’t make any sense. How did you know about this?”
“As I told you before, I’m your secretary. Now we just need to find your current journal.” She picked one of them up and started to look through it. He grabbed it out of her hands and snapped it shut.
“I think if these are mine you shouldn’t be looking through them.”
“Byron—”
“Who are you?”
“Mira. My name is Mira.” She could feel herself getting desperate and tried to keep her voice steady.
“Very well, Mira. Now you say that you are my secretary. You also say that I have short term memory loss. But that doesn’t give you leave to look through my journals.”
“I just need to see the first page of each. Then I can tell you which one is your current one.”
“Just the first page?”
“Yes.”
He thought about it a moment and then stepped aside. She picked up the first journal and looked at the first page. No note. She picked up the next one. No note. She looked at the first page of each. None of them were right. She set the last one back into the chest.
“Well?” Byron looked annoyed.
“It isn’t there.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m afraid I really should turn you over to the police. Obviously, you—” She interrupted him.
“Then let’s get there quickly. Get ready. I’ll wait in the front room.” She walked past his stunned silence and closed the bedroom door behind her. She took a deep breath. He didn’t remember her. He wouldn’t remember her. His journal was gone. She went down the stairs and took a seat on her sofa in the sitting room. Of course, he didn’t know it was hers. He didn’t remember anything. The case or her. It was up to her to remind him. It was up to her to make sure that he saw the case to the end. Everything was on her.
Byron’s door opened, and he stepped into the room, scrutinizing her. Gathering her courage, she spoke.
“Byron, seeing as you think I am insane, could you humor me?”
“How, exactly?”
“Can you listen to a case that I believe we were working on together?”
“I really think we ought to get to the police station.”
“It won’t take long. I could even explain it on the carriage ride over.”
“Very well. But we need to get going.”
She grabbed her sketchbook and the bag of clothes from the day before. He walked to the door and opened it, waiting for her to leave first. He glanced at the bag and frowned.
“What is that?”
“Something we’ll need for today’s investigati
on.”
“Hm.”
She walked down the steps and he joined her, waving a carriage down. He paused before telling the driver where to go. Mira swallowed and took a deep breath, recounting the case once again. Byron stared out the window. Was he even listening? She continued, hoping that something would spark his memory.
“How long have we been investigating this Pennington issue?” he asked once she was finished.
“I’ve been working with you on the case for almost two weeks. I don’t know how long you’ve been investigating it. But he died on the tenth of last month.”
“Hm.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Not entirely. It seems implausible that I forget so much every day. But perhaps if Inspector Thatcher can corroborate your story, then I will believe you.”
She nodded and went quiet. Why couldn’t he just remember? Not even the case, but her. The acceptance she often saw in his eyes faded away to nothing. His demeanor constructed a chilled wall between them. Mira shivered and looked away from him to hide the tears forming in her eyes. What happened to the blind trust they had built over the last few weeks? What if he never trusted her before? What if he only trusted what he wrote about her?
The carriage slowed to a stop in front of Scotland Yard. He offered a hand to help her out. She stepped down, ready to pull away, but he kept a firm hold on her wrist. He marched her right in and up the stairs but turned down the wrong hall.
“Byron! It’s this way.” She tried to pull him in the other direction.
“I know the way to the Inspector’s office. That hallway takes you to the main offices. The chief inspectors are there.”
“But he is a chief inspector!”
“You’re delusional. I don’t know how you know so much about my life, but I’ve known Raymond Thatcher for years. I would remember if he got a promotion.” He dragged her down the hall and she attempted to keep up with him. They reached the end of the hallway and he stopped with a frown. Releasing her arm, he turned slowly in a circle and examined the nameplates. Mira rubbed at her wrist.
“It should be here.” He turned and paced back down the hall, face flushing. They came to the Inspector’s “new” office. Juliet stood as they approached.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 23