Downtime

by Tamara Allen

  “Anything interesting in the paper?”

  I felt the startled reaction that ran around the table. Henry lowered the paper to cast a cold look at me. If he caught on that an apology wasn’t forthcoming, he still answered the question, directing his reply to Derry. “It seems that fellow’s still on the prowl over in the East End. I must say, these inspectors seem to be flailing about in it, don’t they?” He put down the paper and stirred his tea. “Someone knows who’s doing in those girls. If they’d simply offer an enormous reward—say, thirty pounds—I daresay someone would haul the fellow over within the day to collect it.”

  Kathleen raised an eyebrow. “There has surely been a reward offered already.”

  “Not that I’ve read. And it appears they haven’t asked a single medium in to assist. Can you believe it?”

  Henry looked pointedly at Ezra. Ez, intent on spreading an excess of strawberry jam over a biscuit, ignored Henry with a determination that made me proud. I gave Henry a cool smile. “Why don’t you go down there and offer your help?”

  “I just may do so.” He tapped the spoon on the edge of the cup. “I just may.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Kathleen took a seat beside her brother. “Nor will Ezra. It’s much too dangerous. If the police request Ezra’s help, they’ll go into Whitechapel with him. ’T’would be foolhardy to go alone.”

  Whitechapel….

  I could all but feel Sully smack me on the head, and I had never deserved it more. I snatched up the newspaper and scanned the page. God Almighty, it was him. And those cops who’d nabbed me, they’d thought….

  “They thought I was Jack,” I sputtered. No wonder the women had been so frightened. But they hadn’t feared me. They’d feared him.

  “Jack?” Derry’s voice at my elbow broke into my train of thought. “Jack who?”

  It didn’t seem possible. The Ripper was a long-cold case file, not a living, breathing man walking the same streets I’d been walking the past few days. Yet right before me in the newspaper were the glossed-over details of the most recent murder, and the latest police theories thrown in for good measure. “Jack the Ripper,” I said, still trying to grasp that I’d landed right in the son of a bitch’s midst.

  Derry looked at me blankly. “You’re not speaking of this fellow in the Times?”

  “You don’t recognize the name,” I said, surprised. Then I realized the paper hadn’t referred to him as the Ripper. “He’s—well, he’s something of a legend.”

  Aware of the dismay I was generating, I stopped myself from telling them anything more. Then I remembered that not everyone at the table knew that I knew a hundred years more history than they. Uneasiness shimmered in Kathleen’s usually implacable gray eyes.

  “Just what are you saying, Mr. Nash?” Her gaze flickered to the newspaper and I jumped in before she could form any mistaken conclusions.

  “I’m not the Ripper, Miss Neilan. It’s complicated—”

  “Who are you, then?” she demanded.

  “Just who you’ve been thinking all along. Morgan Nash. A regular guy, just like the rest of your boarders, ma’am. With one little difference.” I sighed. “I was born in nineteen sixty-nine.”

  Her lips parted for an instant, then pressed together in a thin line. She looked at Derry, who groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “We were meaning to tell you, love, truly. As soon as we’d figured out how.”

  Her gaze returned to me and she shook her head. “What sort of trick is this?”

  Derry and Henry both began to explain at once, until a grim statement cut through the chatter. “It’s my fault.”

  I realized Ezra had not said a word until now. He raised troubled eyes to Kathleen’s. “I should have told you myself. There was a book at the museum, a medieval manuscript full of incantations and the like.”

  Derry winced and I noticed Kathleen’s grip on his arm. Ezra let out a soft breath and laid clasped hands on the table. “We were just having a bit of fun. We didn’t honestly think anything would come of it. Henry was attempting to translate the Latin—”

  “I was doing all right,” Henry muttered, then choked at a glare from Ezra, who continued quickly.

  “I took the book, only meaning to assist, and I recited some sort of—well, I suppose it was a spell—aloud and….” He looked at me and the corners of his mouth lifted with a wry affection. “We pulled Morgan back through time over a hundred years.”

  “Gor’blimey,” came a small voice from behind Kathleen, and I looked past her to the pale face gazing upon me with wide-eyed awe. Kathleen was less awed than Hannah, and more skeptical. All the same, it took her a long minute to find her voice.

  “Derry, I would like a word with you. Upstairs, please.” Disengaging Hannah’s grasp on her sleeve, Kathleen left the kitchen. Derry, heaving a sigh, followed.

  “Well, that’s done it,” Henry said. “I think I’ll be off before she comes back down.” He left for work, and I asked Ezra if he was going to do the same.

  “Henry has told Mr. Brooke I’ve come down with influenza.” His lips quirked, a sparkle of guilt in his eyes. “Just for a few days. Until we find the book and send you home.”

  I shook my head. “Lying to your boss. The first step on the road to unemployment, you know.”

  “Losing my place would be inconvenient. Losing you to Newgate for six months would be rather worse.”

  “I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”

  “In your ability to annoy policemen, yes, my faith is unshakable.”

  I fought down a grin, not wanting to encourage him. “You going to visit me at the hotel?”

  Sympathy flashed in Ezra’s eyes. “Derry may yet talk her into letting you stay. Don’t give up hope. If it comes to that, we will keep a watchful eye on you, you can be sure.”

  I knew Ezra would, anyway; he was still dealing with a hefty amount of guilt. Getting to my feet, I took the newspaper with me. I wanted to give the article a closer read. Jack the Ripper I’d always dismissed as a mentally ill sadist who got his jollies cutting up the few women who would, out of sheer desperation, spend any time alone with him. I’d never bought into most of the theories concerning Jack, and I wasn’t about to start. But the idea of working a little investigation of my own intrigued me.

  “Morgan?” Ezra brought me back to the present with a gentle poke in the ribs. He spared the newspaper a dubious glance. “I would advise you not to bring up the matter of the Ripper, as you call him, when we visit with Madame Corinna. She has not been consulted either, and like Henry, is not particularly pleased about it.”

  “Madame Corinna?” I made a face. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “The Theosophical Society has access to resources I do not. If there’s another copy of that book about, she’ll know. So be on your best behavior, for heaven’s sake, and refrain from any snide comments.”

  “You realize how much you’re asking.”

  “Oh assuredly.” Ezra smiled. “Nevertheless, I intend to persevere.” Gathering two umbrellas from the stand, he led the way out into the morning rain. After getting an eyeful of the damp, overcrowded conditions on the bus, Ezra decided we would walk, since apparently we had only a short distance to go. Although I was wary of coming down with something in the wet weather—it wasn’t a century I wanted to catch pneumonia in—I agreed, and we hiked the half a dozen blocks to Madame Corinna’s cozy little abode.

  On the cleanest street I’d seen yet, it stood tucked behind an iron gate and overgrown garden. Ezra rang the bell, summoning a maid who deposited us into a parlor that made Kathleen’s look monastic. Madame Corinna did a lot of traveling, primarily to India, judging by the knickknacks crowded on every available space. Looking around, I had to sympathize with the maid who was in charge of dusting. The place reminded me of the apartment of an old antiques collector Sully and I had been assigned to trail. Though he hadn’t turned out to be the art thief we were hunting, he had been nutty as a fruitcake, and I s
uspected Corinna was the same, a harmless little old lady with a compulsive yen for every trinket—and apparently every feline—she saw. I hadn’t noticed it among all the furniture, plants, pillows and extraneous fluff at first, but there were at least five cats in the room, all curled up, snoozing.

  One thing I didn’t see much of was books. “You’re sure she’s going to be able to help us?”

  “Not necessarily on her own, but she will enlist the aid of a number of colleagues,” Ezra murmured, and turned away to greet the woman who stepped into the room. My mental image of the little old lady melted away, replaced by a statuesque figure in strategically draped silk. It matched her eyes, which were a light yet warm blue. Upswept blonde hair framed a model’s face with full lips and high cheekbones. If I could’ve taken her into the future, she would have been gracing the cover of women’s mags within a month. I could see why her little psychics club was so popular.

  Ezra introduced me as a friend from America, and I caught on that we weren’t divulging the truth even to her. Removing a disgruntled cat from the sofa, she invited us to make ourselves at home. No sooner were we settled than servants appeared, bearing tea and cake. It was a regular Alice in Wonderland setting. Ezra detailed exactly what we were looking for, and Corinna took in the information with a serene, benevolent smile.

  “Well, my dear, you do present a challenge. Unless you can recall the title, it will be quite difficult, you understand.”

  I felt a twinge of disappointment and realized I had held out hope Ezra could hook us up with someone eccentric enough to be familiar with all these books and their contents. Ezra looked glum himself. “Might you ask Charles for me?”

  “Without mentioning who needs his help?” she added gently. “Of course. And you will do something for me in return?”

  “I….” He wavered and I guessed he knew what she wanted. He glanced at me and the hesitancy melted away. “Very well. When?”

  Her face lit up. “I will consult my calendar and send you a letter.” She patted his shoulder. “Thank you so much, Ezra. We’ve missed your lectures.”

  The trace of a grimace on his face vanished under an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid they were rather mundane, but thank you. Oh, and—”

  “I know,” she cut in, oozing sympathy. “Not a word.”

  “Not a word about what?” I asked after we’d had our tea and been shown graciously to the door. “Who’s this Charles who’s going to help us without knowing he’s helping?”

  “A fellow medium. He’s rather deeply invested in occult studies, the darkest corners of it. I voiced my concerns once and he’s never forgiven me.”

  “Ah. So I guess that makes you something of a hypocrite.”

  He stopped walking and said with impressive patience, “Again, I did not imagine I was casting a spell. Truly, I’ve never thought such a thing possible.”

  “A skeptic as well, eh?”

  His laugh bordered on utter resignation. “By faith, you are the most relentless man. A necessary quality, I suppose, for a detective, but it must leave your friends done in. Perhaps we should stop for lunch before we go back to the bookshops.” He looked around for a cab.

  “We just had tea and cake. God, you people eat constantly.”

  “Perhaps just a beer, then. Or several of them,” he added under his breath as we hopped into a cab. We returned to the shops and wiled away the rest of the morning looking for a needle in a haystack. I wholeheartedly wished for five minutes alone with Adam Whitby. If we had to search book by book throughout all of England, I’d be Ezra’s guest for a long time to come.

  The same thought seemed to be troubling Ezra. He didn’t let the bookworm in him sidetrack him, but scoured the shelves with rapid efficiency, until he was covered with dust and squinting tiredly behind his glasses. When the sun came out, we decided to finally break for lunch and walked down the street in search of a café. I wondered aloud if Kathleen had thrown my clothes into the yard yet and taken down the rooms-for-let sign.

  “She will let you stay tonight,” Ezra assured me. “It is late to be going to a hotel.”

  I was glad to hear it because I wanted to say good-bye to Hannah. I might not see her again once Kathleen had bounced me out. As we passed what looked like a gift shop, I slowed to get a look at the items in the window. Surely Kathleen wouldn’t mind if Hannah kept something pretty in that dreary storage that served as a bedroom. Problem was, even though I had about sixty bucks with me, it was currently only good for lighting fires.

  “Hey, Ez?”

  He joined me at the store window. “What is it? Are there books?” He shaded his eyes to get a glimpse inside.

  “Maybe. Think you could lend me a few dollars? Or pounds, I guess.”

  He didn’t bat an eye. “There’s something here you fancy?” He studied the window display, mostly music boxes and other feminine trinkets, and gave me a sidelong smile. “A music box?”

  I cleared my throat. “A souvenir. You know.”

  “I thought you were concerned about changing history. Yesterday, with the roses.”

  “Well, sure, the roses. Those wouldn’t clear customs.” I gave him a grin. “A toy’s probably safe enough. What do you say?”

  I didn’t want to tell him it was for Hannah. For all I knew, it might be some breach of etiquette to buy gifts for housemaids. Better to have everyone find out after the fact, when all they could do was let her keep it. At the risk of impugning my manhood even further, I picked out the most girly box I could find, with a tiny porcelain man and woman forever dancing in a little circle while tinny music accompanied them.

  Casting a puzzled look my way, Ezra paid for the music box and we headed out for another shot at lunch. There, I made the mistake of burrowing into the newspaper for more articles on the Ripper while Ezra ordered for us both. I had a definite aversion to eating food I couldn’t recognize, despite having done so in the past. And the smell was doing nothing to encourage me.

  “Think they have any ketchup?”

  “You don’t care for stewed eel?” Considering our luck today, he was way too cheerful; probably because he’d slept the night through again. I liked him better cranky—although his cranky had nothing on mine. Sympathy shining through the amusement in his eyes, he asked if I’d like to order something else. I doubted a burger and fries were on the menu. But after the big slab of cake, I wasn’t all that hungry.

  “There’s one thing I would like. To do a little more sightseeing today.” When he shot me a questioning glance, I nodded at the newspaper. “I want to go over to Whitechapel and take a look around.”

  He downed his tea in one breath and wheezed, “Whitechapel?”

  “I know it’s a rough neighborhood. I can handle it.”

  He stared at me as if he thought it might be best for all concerned to lock me in a closet until he could send me home. “I won’t let you go alone into Whitechapel. If you can get yourself arrested in Bloomsbury, heaven knows what may happen to you farther afield.”

  “You’ll have to trust me sometime.” I couldn’t resist following that up with a grin that probably didn’t do much to reassure him. “You want to come along?”

  “I don’t relish the idea, but the thought of having to hunt you down in Whitechapel after you’ve been mistaken again for this Ripper fellow is a good deal more daunting. I would appreciate it if we could confine this adventure to the daylight hours,” he added, a line of worry between his brows.

  A familiar voice intoned from behind me, “‘Boldly they rode, and well, into the jaws of death….’” Jem Montague moved around the table to stand behind the vacant chair, hat in his hand, and continued cheerfully, “‘into the mouth of hell.’”

  “Is that one yours?” I asked, to which he raised a reproving eyebrow.

  “Tennyson’s,” Ezra answered, greeting him with a handshake. “Do sit down, Jem.”

  Jem drew the chair well back from the table and settled his long frame into it. “Tennyson still yo
ur favorite?” he continued conversationally.

  Ezra smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Pity. I was rather hoping I would be, by now.” The remark was more flippant than heartfelt as Jem’s attention shifted to me. “Mr. Nash.” The trace of a considering smile curved his mouth. “You’re finding our fair city a welcoming place, I assume. Ezra has always been the consummate host.”

  I had my own opinion about that, but decided to keep it to myself. I also had an opinion about the luck involved in running into Jem Montague twice in a couple of days. Maybe it wasn’t luck. I noticed Jem had shown up sans his hyper boyfriend, Sid. He was on the prowl and his target, I figured, was Ez. “We’ve done a little sightseeing,” I said. “And we’re hoping to do a little more.”