“I hope tomorrow I’ll greet you as a man who is impossibly in love with you.” He smiled at her as he continued.
“Impossible because I can say that and have it be the truth, even though I’ve only met you today.”
“I wonder, how is that possible?”
“It doesn’t take a brain to love someone, Mira. The Order of Circe may have taken my memory from me, but they can’t take my heart. That belongs to you.” He kissed the top of her head, and she smiled.
They walked a bit further, just enjoying one another’s company until she yawned. Then he called for a carriage and helped her in, settling into the seat next to her. They rode in silence back to Swan Walk, but neither of them minded. They only minded once it pulled up in front of her uncle’s house and their time together came to an end. Byron paid the driver and helped her out of the carriage. The dark household loomed above them. She looked up at it and sighed.
“I don’t want today to be over yet.”
“Neither do I.” He squeezed her hand. “But it has to be. Both of us need rest.”
“You’ll forget all of this.”
“I’ll be certain to write as much of it down as possible before I turn in for the night. I promise.” She nodded and let go of his hand. He pulled her hand back.
“But just in case I don’t remember, just know that I love you, Samira Rose Blayse.” He kissed her hand softly before letting her go.
She paused and studied him for a moment before heading up the stairs and slipping into the house. All seemed still and dark. She crept up the stairs to her room counting to seventy-nine. Nero greeted her at the top of the stairs with a rub around her legs and a contented mew. She looked out the window onto the street. Byron stood looking up at the house. Then he trudged down the road. She let herself drift into the void.
The next morning, the sun crept over the windowsill and woke Mira from her slumber. Weary from the night before, she sat up, every inch of her aching. Nero jumped onto the bed and mewed. He wanted fish. She slipped off the edge of the bed and realized she still wore the remains of Walker’s clothes. She groaned and dressed in her own clothes, examining the bruises she’d accumulated from the day before. She blinked, remembering. So much happened, it was hard to keep track. It felt like it had been a week’s worth of days crammed into twenty-four hours.
She brushed through her hair and winced as she touched the injury on the back of her head. Byron’s injuries would be worse than hers. Was he even up? He would be so confused if he didn’t remember anything. After all, if she felt sore, he likely felt ten times sorer. And he had a black eye. Perhaps it would help corroborate her story if he didn’t read his journal before she got there. Hopefully, he could manage until then. She laughed a little to herself. She never would have thought Byron could have fallen for her. But if he could, she would have to figure out her own feelings. Did she love him back? When she determined her hair would not cooperate, she steeled herself and went down the stairs.
Her uncle could be a reasonable man. She knew that. Landon even more reasonable. Despite that, she knew if she told either of them that she had jumped from a moving train, broke into someone’s house, shot someone, and then got into a fist fight, that she would never be allowed to leave the house by herself again. Gratefully, most of her bruises were out of sight and her hair covered her neck. She just needed some explanation as to why she was back.
She walked into the dining room and sat down quietly. Her uncle read the newspaper and didn’t notice her come in. Landon brought a tray of breakfast food out and looked at her with a knowing glance. She smiled and helped herself to some food. Her uncle absentmindedly placed some toast and eggs on his plate. He glanced up at her.
“Good morning, Mira.” He immediately went back to his newspaper without a second thought.
“Good morning, Uncle.” She quietly nibbled on some toast and hoped he would continue to not completely notice her presence. He paused in his reading for a moment and then folded the newspaper and looked at her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came back.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are supposed to be in Bradford.”
“I know, Uncle, I just—”
“No. It isn’t safe for you here.” He interrupted.
“It is now, Uncle.”
“You received word from Constantine then?”
“…yes. The suspects were all arrested.”
Her uncle relaxed. “Good. Good. In that case, welcome home.” He picked up the newspaper again and looked through it.
Mira smiled and finished her breakfast.
As she walked out of the dining room and into the front entryway, Landon stopped her.
“Lying to your uncle, hmm?”
“I didn’t lie. All of the suspects have been arrested.”
“But you were involved, weren’t you?”
“Well, yes. But will it hurt him not to know?”
“I assume you won’t be telling me what happened either?”
“It won’t hurt you not to know.”
“Very well. Oh! Before I forget, a letter from your brother came for you.” He handed her the envelope, and she placed it within her sketchbook.
“Now, off you go. Just don’t get into trouble,” he said.
“You know I will.” She smirked and walked out of the house. Landon shook his head and went back to dusting.
She decided to walk to Palace Court. The cool fall day glistened, the leaves crisped under her feet, and Kensington sounded marvelous to her. She walked past the reflection pond in front of the palace and watched the ducks playing in the sun-speckled water. The air smelled of dirt and frost, and she loved it. Sounds of geese flying overhead caught her attention. She sat on a park bench to read Walker’s letter.
My dearest Mira,
We have returned from the Alps! And I’m rather disappointed to see that you haven’t been writing. I’m hoping that it is because you are so busy that you have forgotten, rather than you not having anything to do.
My professor suggested another inventor for me to apprentice under. After my final exams, I’ll have my certificate and be able to join you and Uncle for a little while. I look forward to that. I hope neither of you have touched my room or my things. I’d like to come back and find everything how it was.
I love you, my dear Mira, and hope you’ve gotten further in our case. Write me as soon as you are able!
Much Love,
Walker Blayse
Mira laughed a little and placed the letter back in the envelope. She’d practically shredded some of his clothes the day before. Hopefully they wouldn’t be missed. Even if they were, she could ask for forgiveness when he came to visit. She stood and continued her walk across Kensington.
About halfway across, she caught sight of the mysterious man who stopped her the last time she walked through Kensington alone. Her high spirits dwindled. He sat on a bench feeding the ducks. She walked a bit faster and shot another glance at him to make sure it was the same man. He looked directly at her and then stood, throwing the rest of the bread into the pond. She tried to calm herself, but her thoughts jumped to and fro. What if this stranger was one of the Whitechapel killers? Of course, he couldn’t kill her here in broad daylight. And he hadn’t killed her when he had talked to her before. There were people around, and they were her safety. She turned towards a couple walking their dog. Running footsteps followed her and soon the man walked at her elbow. He put his hands in his pockets in a nonchalant fashion.
“I hoped you would be walking through here, Miss Blayse.”
“What do you want?”
“Is that any way to greet a friend?”
“I thought we established that you weren’t?”
“Will acquaintance do, then?”
Mira stopped and looked at him. “I don’t even know your name. How could we be acquaintances when we haven’t even been properly introduced?” She turned back on her course across the park. He fol
lowed.
“Perhaps another time. I do need you to do something for me though.”
“And why would I do that?”
“It concerns Byron Constantine.” She stopped again and turned towards him. He smiled.
“I thought that would get your attention. I need you to give him something.”
“Something?”
“This.” He handed her a small envelope that was sealed shut with wax.
“Just a letter?”
“Just a letter.”
“Alright.”
He tipped his hat to her and walked back towards the pond. She watched him for a few moments and then looked at the envelope. It seemed normal enough. She turned it over and looked at the seal. A standard floral pattern decorated it. She placed it in her sketchbook and continued to Palace Court.
Music flowed from an open window. She smiled as she unlocked the door and walked in. Time to meet Byron once again. The piano continued, and she walked into the front room. He looked up at her and smiled. She saw the journal sitting on the arm of his chair. The room looked just as she had left it the day before, except for some roses sitting on the table and several new notes pinned up to the wall. She went to examine them.
You solved a crime yesterday. Thatcher will likely come visit you today.
Buy roses early tomorrow.
She smiled and took a seat in her own chair to listen to the music. She opened her sketchbook to sketch the roses. Everything felt right. The music swelled and then it came to its resolution. Byron closed the lid on the piano and took a seat in his armchair across from her.
“I know this sounds ludicrous, but I have to make sure you are—”
She interrupted him. “Mira? Yes.” She smiled, and he took a breath of relief.
“For a moment I thought a beautiful stranger had entered my house.”
“You’ve read the journal then?”
“Indeed, I have. It was very informative.”
“I suppose even if you didn’t, the notes on the wall are the most important things.”
“Especially the second note.” He smiled.
“The roses are nice. Although it is rather exciting to have solved a case.”
“That was your first one, was it not?”
“Yes, it was. If you count my parent’s case, I’ve solved two.”
“It only gets better from here.”
“How many cases have you solved?”
“According to my journal these two make forty-three from the time I lost my memory.”
“And before that?”
“I lost count. Well over a hundred.”
“Brilliant.”
He smiled and nodded, then walked over to the window, pensive. He turned back towards her.
“You seem to have become more than just a secretary, Mira. You really are an extraordinary girl.”
“I’m glad you think that.”
“I’m serious. Not many women would be willing to go through what you have.”
“It’s worth it just to know what happened to my parents.”
“So now that that case is solved…?”
“Oh no. Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily.” She smiled.
“You’ll stay on then?”
“Of course. After all, I’d like to learn more about the man who is in love with me.” She gave him half a smile as he turned a bit pink.
“I did say some rather ridiculous things yesterday, didn’t I?”
“Who is to say that they are ridiculous?” Her smirk softened to a smile.
“You are alright with them then?”
“As long as you understand that I’m still trying to understand my own feelings.”
“Of course.”
“I see no problem with them, then. As long as what you told me was true.”
“I hope you know by now that I would never purposefully lie to you, Mira.”
“I do.”
“Why don’t we go out for a little bit? You could show me the cafe that we met at, and we can get brunch.”
“I would love to.”
He stood and offered her an arm. She took it happily, and they left Palace Court en route to what had become her favorite cafe. They each ordered a plate of French toast and a pot of tea to share and talked about all the happenings during the last few weeks. When they finished their French toast and conversation, Byron checked his pocket watch.
“Chief Inspector Thatcher will be coming to Palace Court soon. We probably ought to get back.”
“How do you know he’ll be coming now?”
“I’d love to say that it was my deductive reasoning and brilliant observational powers…”
“But?”
“He sent me a telegram this morning saying he would stop by around one. It is around noon now, which means we can have a nice leisurely stroll through Kensington Gardens on our way back.” She laughed a little and then remembered what happened earlier that morning.
“Oh! I nearly forgot. On my way to Palace Court this morning, a mysterious gentleman stopped me. The same that had threatened me on my way home two days ago.”
“I didn’t read anything about this gentleman.” His tone turned serious.
“I forgot to tell you about it yesterday. Things were a bit hectic.”
“Did he threaten you again?”
“No, and I suppose the other time was just a warning. He gave me a letter to give to you. It’s back at Palace Court.”
“Then it can wait there until we arrive.” He held onto her arm protectively and kept his guard up as they walked through Kensington.
The sun rose high in the sky over London, melting the frost away and warming her back. She leaned into Byron a little. She felt entirely content. They watched squirrels running up and down the trees, the birds flying south for the winter, and the other couples walking past. They reached Palace Court and found Inspector Thatcher waiting outside.
“Good afternoon, Detectives.” He smiled and his eyes sparkled.
“Good afternoon, Inspector Thatcher! How are you doing?” she offered him a smile. Byron took out his key and unlocked the door.
“Very well. Very well indeed. We’ve gotten confessions out of the Shadow and the two men found with her, and apprehended the other woman you mentioned. She did, in fact, have the blueprints.”
“Wonderful news, Thatcher!” Byron opened the door. They all walked into the house and made themselves comfortable in the living room. Byron went to the kitchen to make some tea.
“And how are you, Miss Blayse?”
“I am quite content.” She smiled.
“I am very glad to hear that. I need to thank you. Your work has been invaluable in helping to solve this case.”
“I was more than happy to help.”
Byron returned with the tea things and poured them each a cup. Inspector Thatcher sipped at it gratefully.
“So, Thatcher, have you been able to make any headway on the smuggling part of the case?”
“Indeed, we have. My men were able to uncover quite a few clues this morning. We should have the whole thing broken open by the end of the week. The inquest is planned for the middle of next week.”
“Marvelous!”
“Of course, that wouldn’t have been possible without that package you sent us, Miss Blayse.”
“Package?” Byron looked at Mira.
“Before I came to Vale street, I made up a letter with all the facts, addresses, portraits I had drawn, practically everything I knew. I sent it to Scotland Yard in the hopes that if something happened to either of us that the case would still be solved.”
“And the post was faithful. We received it this morning.” The chief inspector set his teacup down in the saucer.
“I’m so glad it helped.”
“It is likely the link that will have solved this entire mess. I can only hope that the ‘Dear Boss’ letter that was received in relation to the Whitechapel murders will prove as useful. Then Scotland Yard can take i
t easy for a little while.”
“‘Dear Boss’ letter?” Byron’s curiosity piqued, and his gaze turned serious.
“Yes. It was a letter from the killer. Signed Jack the Ripper. Quite a chilling title for a mass murderer. But we’ll have caught him soon enough, now that we have a handwriting sample.”
Byron looked at Mira, recognition crossing his face. He picked up his journal and rifled through it, looking at his last entry. Mira felt a chill go up her spine, a feeling of nausea spreading through her.
“Inspector, I don’t know if the letter will solve this particular case. There are several killers.” Byron read the final page.
“Several killers?”
“Yes. Molly, the Shadow, she mentioned that there were multiple killers.”
“Oh! The letter!” Mira remembered and looked around for her sketchbook. She found it on the side table. She opened it, took out the mysterious envelope, and looked it over again. Thatcher leaned forward.
“What letter is this?”
“A man gave it to me in the gardens. He told me it was for Byron.” Mira handed it to him. He examined the seal and turned it over a few times. Then he stood and went to the mantle to retrieve his letter opener.
“Now let’s see.”
Byron slid the letter opener delicately into the envelope and tore through the seal. He hesitated before pulling out a single piece of paper and turning it over. He frowned and handed it to Mira. On the page was a triangle with a circle around it. Three smaller circles were drawn at each of the points of the triangle. The symbol of the Order of Circe. Below it there were three words.
We live on.
Thanks to the mystery authors who came before me. You've written significantly better murders and gotten away with it. However did you manage? Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Dorothy L. Sayers, I hope I’ve lived up to your legacy. Of course, you’re dead, so unless you haunt me there isn’t much you can do about that. Did the lights just flicker? Do it again so I can be sure!
Next, Mason, my RPG buddy! Byron started with you, and I thank you for giving him to me. I hope I did you proud. This book wouldn’t have made it far without your idea of an amnesiac detective.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 29