The Hourglass

by Barbara Metzger

  “Then is there anything you want for yourself? No bauble you covet?”

  “To do what with?” Effe thought for a minute. “I suppose I could ask for the Devil’s lucky bone. They say he was madder at losing it than losing you. You still have it, don’t you?”

  Ardeth reached into his pocket and held up the relic. “It does not seem to work well for me now, although I am reluctant to test it too far. But, here, you could give it back to him, in return for some favor you wish. You could make another wager like mine.”

  The hooded figure shuddered, backing away. “I avoid his company whenever I can. Besides, he’d never make another such deal.”

  “No, I doubt he’d let himself be tricked twice.”

  “If you must know, everyone thought you were brilliant, and they are all furious that he changed the wager on you. Now no one wants to play in Hell, so Satan is nastier than ever. But no, I would not touch his lucky charm.”

  So that avenue was closed to Ardeth. Some Deaths were prouder than others. “I do not suppose you would look the other way while I shook the hourglass?”

  “I cannot.”

  “But he is just a boy.” Ardeth had heard that millions of times.

  Effe gave the same answer. “They all were, once.”

  Ardeth leaned back against the wall, almost defeated.

  “Is there no one, nothing, here that you care about? Is there no one you have met in your wanderings who touched your heart?”

  Effe looked as sad as one with no face or features could look. His hood sagged. “Don’t you remember, Ar? We have no hearts. No one with feelings could do our work. Maybe that was your trouble. Someone erred at the indoctrination.”

  “No, I was as cold and merciless as any dark angel.”

  “Here now, I am not a bad fellow.”

  “Then help me! Help the child.”

  “You really do care.”

  “I do.”

  “He is not yours, is he? You have not been gone long enough.”

  “No, he is not mine, but he has a place in here.” He tapped his chest, where a man’s heart beat. “And I have to try.”

  Effe thought a minute. “Now that I recall, there was a soldier this morning, right here in London. Poor man came back from war to live with his widowed sister and her five children. He has no money, no job, no prospects. I had to collect the sister.”

  “I’ll make the man a generous gift, so he can hire nursemaids and tutors.”

  “That won’t do. He is a man. Pride, you know.”

  Ardeth bit back his own. “Then what can I offer?”

  “A job, a place to live, a mother for his new children.”

  “Done. Ardsley Keep needs good men. I can train him to keep the books, clean the stables, whatever suits his aptitude. The children can go to the new school, and my wife likes to matchmake.”

  “That might do.” Effe held the hourglass up. Only three or four grains of sand were left. “My stop before that was at the home of a miserly old woman.”

  “What, is her family destitute now, too?”

  “No, they were already counting her gold before I left. All but the lady’s companion. That poor woman was not even mentioned in the will, so she is left with no home, no position, and no references, with the old bird’s heart giving out so suddenly. Worse, she seemed to hold the skinflint in some affection.”

  “My wife can use a new companion. I’d wager Miss Hadley and Vinross will set up housekeeping on their own soon enough.”

  Effe ignored him, now that he was remembering. “And the one before that, a shoemaker, left his wife with no sons to take over the business. She needs help.”

  “Done!”

  Two grains were left. The child’s breaths were further and further apart.

  “Oh, and I did have to collect a vicar whose family will be displaced from the manse by the new occupants, and a flower seller with no one to claim her body for burial. Are you writing all this down?”

  “I am memorizing it. I will take care of everyone, swear. A wife, a position, a home, an apprentice shoemaker, a funeral. What else?”

  “The old lady who fell down the stairs worried about her cat.”

  “Tabby will eat fish for the rest of her life.”

  “That retired schoolmaster out in Kensington will be lonely without his wife. And then there is the Covent Garden whore who killed her procurer. Self-defense, naturellement, but she might hang. But can I trust you? You cheated the Devil, after all.”

  “I swear on my honor as a man.”

  Effe was growing pensive and philosophical, now that he had begun thinking. “Did I have any honor, do you suppose?”

  Ardeth wanted to shake the bastard as he watched the next-to-last grain of sand fall. “You have centuries more to wonder. But I have enough honor for both of us.”

  Effe sighed. “I guess I am a gambler after all. I trust you.” And he turned the hourglass upside down. The light went out. Effe passed through the wall.

  Ardeth started to light more candles so he could see the boy better. Peter was breathing more smoothly, without any rattle. He opened his eyes, looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings and the tall man bending over him.

  “Olive?”

  “Yes,” was all Ardeth could say. Yes, the boy would live.

  But Peter was pointing toward the window, where the crow was tapping on the glass.

  “Alive?” Ardeth heard him caw.

  “Yes.”

  Olive hopped up and down, flapping against the window. Peter held his hand out.

  Ardeth took it, glad to feel the child’s grasp. “No, you cannot play with the bird until you are well and strong.”

  The boy looked at his new uncle with suspicion.

  “Soon, I promise.”

  Peter smiled and went back to sleep, Ardeth’s hand in his.

  Chapter 18

  Lorraine was crying, this time in happiness. Her husband was pouring champagne. Their son was sleeping peacefully, breathing easily, after having a bowl of porridge. They were celebrating in the sitting room between the master bedrooms, while the nursemaid watched over Peter in the baron’s dressing room.

  Ardeth refused a glass. “No, there is no time for celebration. And no telling what the future may bring,” he warned as he took another piece of paper from Genie, who was seated at the escritoire while he paced beside the desk. “Take the boy to the country in a few days, where the air is cleaner and easier to breathe. Let him play, but keep him away from feather pillows, maybe cats, and do not put flowers in his room. Then see what happens. Remember, there are no guarantees in this life, but a grean debt.”

  “I owe you,” Lord Cormack was saying, after refilling his own glass after another toast to his heir’s health.

  “No, the debt is mine and your son’s.” Ardeth was dictating a list to Genie, who did not understand where all these names and addresses came from, each on a separate sheet of Lorraine’s stationery. Ardeth had been nowhere but up in the boy’s room.

  Roger was just as confused, and possibly a bit drunk on champagne and joy. “A debt, you say? Peter is too young to wager,” he said, trying to make a joke.

  Cormack would be surprised at how much a life was worth. Ardeth thought, surprised himself that the French Reaper had remembered so much. By the time he was was finished reciting from memory, Genie had eight names on eight pieces of paper, with addresses. One name was Cat; one address was Newgate Prison. Oh Lord, her husband had performed a miracle, at the expense of his mind.

  Lorraine half echoed her thoughts, the marvel part, not the madness. “Whatever the cost of your wonder-working, we will pay it.”

  Ardeth ran his hand through his hair, allowing more dark locks to fall forward. “ ‘Sooth, I performed no miracle. I just tried some practical expediencies.” When Genie not so subtly cleared her throat, he added, “And ancient art of soothing, from my travels. And Peter will repay his share of the debt by being a good man.”

  Roger r
aised his glass again. “God willing, he will live to see manhood, thanks to you.”

  Embarrassed by the praise, Ardeth took the last of the cards from Genie and said, “I must go now, with much to accomplish before morning.”

  “All these people,” Genie asked, “we have to find them tonight?” It was already late afternoon.

  He ignored her “we” and put the papers in some kind of order. “Yes, they might be gone on their way by daybreak, and who knows where?” He looked at the top address. “Perhaps the river Thames. I will not have another death on my hands.”

  Genie could see Roger wondering how much brandy Ardeth had taken upstairs. He was not one to let his own debts go unpaid, however. Whatever Ardeth needed, he would get. “I can help.”

  Ardeth looked at the baron, a pleasant, sandy-haired gentleman with flushed cheeks, a man of the earth who was at home in London, but who would be happy to take his son back to his sheep and hogs. “Very well, there is enough to do for both of us.” He reshuffled the squares of paper with Genie’s neat handwriting. “Not the cat. Not the five children—that would be too much excitement for Peter.” He was clearly talking to himself, leaving the others bewildered. “What would a London swell do with a lonely old schoolteacher or a shoemaker’s widow?” He looked at the last two names. “Hmm, the funeral or the jailbreak?”

  Lorraine poured herself another glass of wine.

  “No, I never get to see the funerals,” he muttered, handing the last sheet to Roger. “Here, you must know someone in authority. Or someone willing to take a bribe. There is a young woman in prison for killing a man. It was in self-defense. Go get her out of jail.”

  Lorraine was choking on the drink. “My husband”—cough, cough—”should associate with a murderess? Chance contracting jail fever?”

  Her husband came over to hit her on the back, looking no less horrified. “How do you know she is innocent?”

  “I did not say she is innocent, only that she had cause. The man was beating her. Your courts are not known for leniency nor understanding, especially when the murderer is a woman, a poor woman, a prostitute.”

  “’A pros—a pros—” Lorraine could not even say the word. “You want my husband to go bail for a…?”

  “Homicidal whore, yes. She will be loaded onto a ship for the penal colonies otherwise, unless she is sent to the prison hulks here in the harbor. Women seldom survive, you know, being used by the convicts and the crew alike.”

  Lorraine put her hands over her ears.

  Ardeth stood over her, glaring. If her eyes were not closed, she would have fainted at the threat in his. “Lady Cormack, you came to me. I told you I was no doctor, but you trusted me with your son’s welfare. Now you have to trust me again. This Daisy did not kill for the pleasure of it, nor for revenge. She wanted only to save her own life.”

  Lord Cormack put his arm around his wife. “We have our boy. We will do what we can for this woman. She will be out of jail and in our keeping before sunrise.”

  “But what should we do with her?” Lorraine wanted to know. Everyone could tell she was praying not to have the woman in her house.

  “Bring her to Ardeth House. I’ll leave instructions for the staff. Someone can drive her to the docks and Vinross can get her on a ship to the Americas, if she wants to go where her past will be unknown. But hurry. She deserves better than even one night in prison for ridding the world of the scum she killed.” He took another piece of paper

  from Genie, where she had written ship, colonies. “I will take care of the rest if you get her released. It might take a sum of money.”

  “I have it.” Roger kissed his wife and left.

  “I must go, too,” Ardeth said.

  “I am coming.” Genie snatched the papers from his hand and grabbed up another stack of blank sheets, plus a pencil. “You need me to take notes, send messages home, et cetera. And you need me to help if you have to accomplish so much in so short a time. You already look exhausted, after staring down death.”

  “No, I smiled at him.”

  She smiled, too, at his nonsense. “Well, I am sure your smile is enough to melt the hardest heart. But I already had Campbell come with the carriage to take us home, so you have no excuse not to take me. One of Roger’s grooms can walk Black Butch home. Unless you wish me to go by myself to rescue the cat?”

  “No, that is in an unsavory part of town. I will go. Lud knows what I am to do with it, since Olive would—”

  The crow showed what he would do, on Ardeth’s shoulder.

  They stopped at home for money, maps, and kippers, with hurried instructions to Vinross and Miss Hadley and the Randolphs. They were to prepare rooms, hire additional carriages, cook more food. He did not know for how many. Oh, and they should plan a funeral.

  Then they set out. Genie and the crow drove in the carriage. Ardeth chose to ride his stallion ahead, looking out for danger. Luckily sunset came later at this time of year.

  Their first stop was at Lady Wickersham’s house at Russell Square.

  “But the hatchments are up,” Genie said as Ardeth handed her out of the coach. “They are in mourning.”

  “They are in mourning, but they are not grieving. Furthermore, we are not calling on the family.”

  He asked for the companion, who came to the drawing room, red-eyed and trembling. “Miss Calverton?” Effe had been right: The fifty-year-old female looked desperate enough to drown herself. “I am Ardeth. This is my countess.”

  “Yes? If you are here to pay condolences, the family is in the front parlor.” Dividing up Lady Wickersham’s valuables.

  “No, we came to see you. We are sorry for your loss, of course. But some good has come of it. Before she died Lady Wickersham took a chance at the lottery we set up for the widows’ and orphans’ fund.”

  “We did?” Genie stared at him.

  He stepped on her foot.

  “Right, we did.”

  “She did?” the companion asked, staring at both of Aem. “That does not sound like Lady W.”

  “Oh, my husband can be very persuasive,” Genie said, rubbing her toes together under her skirts.

  “Yes, you might have heard we are collecting money. Anyway, she put the ticket in your name, perhaps out of gratitude for your years of service, for your caring.”

  The woman clutched her hands to her bony chest. “She truly did think of me?”

  “Yes, and you won.”

  “I won?”

  The earl handed her a leather purse, a heavy leather purse. Money did not always cure a heavy heart, though, so he added, “There is also a cottage as part of the prize, near our estate in the north. We will be traveling there within the week, but we invite you to stay at our town house until then.”

  The faded companion might not have trusted a tall, severely dressed gentleman, but his red-haired wife was smiling and seconding the invitation. They needed Miss

  Calverton’s help, Genie said, in settling all the other prize winners. “Please come.”

  “What about Lady W.’s funeral?” Miss Calverton was expected to be gone from the house, the only home she had had for the last thirty years, an hour afterward.

  “We are holding a funeral in the morning,” Ardeth told her. “It is not necessarily your mistress’s, but you can say your prayers then. She will understand.”

  The old nipcheese had not understood about pensions or bonuses. Miss Calverton went upstairs to pack. She had so few possessions, she was back in minutes, while Ardeth and Genie were discussing their next destination, the home of the soldier with the orphaned infants.

  “Do you like children?” Ardeth asked, handing the companion into the coach.

  “Oh no, pesky, dirty little devils.”

  “So much for Effe’s plans to kill two birds with one stone,” Ardeth muttered. Olive squawked at the saying, and again when the earl announced they would fetch the cat first.

  “There is no help for it.” He opened the hamper at Genie’s feet, the
smell turning her already-uncertain stomach. “Here, have a kipper.”

  Miss Calverton daintily reached for the fish. He’d meant the bird.

  Ardeth rode ahead, out of Mayfair into narrower streets, with houses leaning against one another and garbage in the road. He ordered Campbell to stop at a rickety house at the corner that showed no light, no activity.

  “Stay here,” he told the women.

  Genie did not. Neither did Miss Calverton.

  Ardeth found the abandoned, hungry, mewing cat. So did Genie. So did Miss Calverton. They took them all, in case. Olive hid in the folds of Ardeth’s cloak.

  The retired schoolteacher in Kensington thought the Devil himself had come to call at his one-room flat, with his black cape and crow. He had a hard time believing the fellow was an earl, much less handing him a lottery win.

  Genie showed his name on her scrap of paper.

  Ardeth showed him the gold. “Your wife must have bought the ticket, but it has your name and address.”

  “Damn fool woman always was one for taking chances. If she hadn’t been such a deuced gambler, I would have my savings still. Serves her right that I can’t even pay for a decent funeral. Good riddance, I say.”

  So much for Effe’s concern that the man would be lonely.

  “Well, you need not worry about that now. We will hold service in the morning. Another part of the lottery win is a cottage at Ardsley Keep if you want it. We will be starting a new school there, and need help hiring instructors.”

  The man collected his books before his cat—a striped one—could lick its ear. He and Tiger took a seat in the coach beside Miss Calverton.

  Olive took to shaking.

  The shoemaker’s widow wept at her winnings. She did not recall her husband purchasing the ticket, but she raised her eyes to Heaven, where the dear man was cobbling for the cherubs, she insisted. Now she did not have to worry about keeping the shop or trying to earn a living on her own. She blessed Ardeth and Genie and Campbell, for carrying her trunks out to the extra carriage Ardeth had hired.

  They stopped back at home to deliver the new guests into the waiting arms of the Randolphs before proceeding to the vicarage in Chelsea.