Downtime

by James Allen

  He seemed to want to say something. Instead he nodded and walked ahead of me into the hall. It was almost too dark to move without bumping into the walls. "No electric lights? Flashlight? Candle? I'll take anything."

  "I'd turn up the gas," he said cheerfully, "but I think we've tested Kathleen's good will enough for the day."

  "Good will?"

  He caught the dubious note and laughed. "Oh you don't know, Mr. Nash. It's quite unusual that she agreed to have you. She doesn't take new tenants without an interview and she never allows guests without considerable notice. Derry had to do a lot of wheedling."

  "Isn't this his house?"

  "His, yes, but after he lost his wife, he left the care of it to Kathleen and she let rooms to keep them both from starving. He hadn't the will, for a while, to do much of anything."

  "His wife died?" I bit my lip, hoping they couldn't hear us in the kitchen. Lowering my voice, I asked, "When?"

  The hall brightened and I saw Ezra near a lamp on a narrow table parked against the wall. He considered the question. "It's been I think about three years now."

  "Is the little girl his?"

  "Little girl?" He looked puzzled. Then his mouth twitched into a grin. "Hannah Jolley is Kathleen's maid-of-all-work, Mr. Nash."

  We started up the stairs, Ezra devouring the roll as we went. The second floor seemed even darker and less inviting. I tried to ignore the forlorn feeling creeping through me and instead focused longingly on eight hours uninterrupted sleep.

  Ezra went into a room, leaving the door open for me to follow. As soon as he'd lit a lamp, I did, noting immediately that this room looked more lived in. In fact, cluttered was a good word for it. A wood frame bed larger than Ezra's was tucked in one corner, a gleaming wood trunk at its foot. A pair of cushioned, high-back chairs was in front of a small, smoke-stained fireplace. A lacy cloth hung over the mantle, held in place by a pair of candlesticks and a framed photograph. There were feminine touches all through the room, including a brown shawl draped over the far pillow on the bed. "You sure it's all right for me to stay here?"

  He turned up the lamp and fixed me with another even more curious stare. Okay, maybe I didn't look like the sensitive type, but he didn't have to seem so surprised that I'd noticed the evidence of a man still grieving. "I'm not so sure it's a good idea to disturb--his things. You can't put me up somewhere else?"

  "Derry would not have invited you to stay here if he was uncomfortable with the idea, Mr. Nash. It's all right. I do think it just comforts him to keep her things around." Ezra removed the shawl and, folding it, laid it on one of the chairs by the fireplace.

  I still wasn't at ease with the idea. It felt like an invasion. "There's not an unoccupied room upstairs?"

  "The top floor is Mr. Cotton, Mr. Tenpenny, and Dr. Gilbride. There are no other rooms."

  "What about that room downstairs, the one we passed coming up? I couldn't just sleep on the sofa or something?"

  His eyes widened. "In Kathleen's sitting room? You are a brave man, Mr. Nash." He gave me a light push toward the bed. "It will be all right," he repeated. "I think Derry is feeling a little guilty that we spirited you away from home, so to speak. This is his way of atoning."

  "And what about you?" I eased off the borrowed jacket and tossed it to him.

  He caught it and draped it over his arm. "What about me?"

  "How are you planning to atone for disrupting my life?" Though I had to admit to myself at least that I'd disrupted my life just fine on my own while safe in my own century. If Reese had called, and I was doubting now that he had, he'd probably given up on hearing back from me. I probably couldn't fix things even if Ezra sent me back right away. That I was sleeping in this strange bed instead of a strange hotel bed didn't seem worth complaining about. But I'd felt sick as a dog and was still wobbly from the effects of my little trip. That I could blame Ezra for, and did.

  The slew of excuses I expected didn't come. Ezra plucked at a loose thread on the coat sleeve, avoiding my gaze. He finally conceded, "I hadn't considered it, but I do think you're right. I owe you something." He looked up at me, dead serious. "Unfortunately, I don't have much to offer."

  A thought went through my head and I immediately stomped it down. That was about the last thing I needed right now. Just because I was missing home and Reese and things familiar was no reason to jump into a one-nighter, even if Ezra was amenable. Anyway, he was engaged, at least for the time being. Time to get the libido under control and get some sleep.

  I took off my gun and put it under the pillow, still not prepared to be separated from it. I'd stripped down to my pants before it occurred to me I'd be sharing a bed with a man I hadn't been intimate with. Pajamas might be called for. "Do you have anything I can wear to sleep in? PJs? Sweats? I'll take anything."

  He was staring again. I wondered when was the last time he'd gotten any. Amused, I waved a hand in front of his face. Rousing himself from his reverie, he hastily nodded. "I believe so."

  "And one more thing," I said as he started for the door. "Where's the head?"

  He threw a bewildered look around at me. "Whose head in particular are you inquiring after, Mr. Nash? You appear to be still in possession of your own."

  I swallowed down a smile, refusing to like him or his sense of humor. "The head. You know. The john? Bathroom? Lavatory?" I was running out of synonyms. "Outhouse--"

  "Yes, I have caught on, thank you. The water closet is two doors down, on this floor. I'll get you a nightshirt."

  I didn't like the sound of that. "You have anything with pants?"

  There was a knock and Derry slipped into the room and closed the door. "Ezra, you've got company downstairs. Mrs. Hastings."

  Ezra's smile vanished. "She's Henry's client, not mine."

  Client? Since when did museum employees have clients?

  "She wants to see you," Derry said with gentle emphasis.

  Whoever Mrs. Hastings was, Ezra was going to be stubborn about it. "She's paying Henry."

  "She's upset, the poor dear." Derry sat on a chair and proceeded to remove his boots. "Kath has her in the parlor with some tea. No doubt that will soothe her nerves and she'll be on her way home soon enough."

  "She's upset?" Ezra frowned. "Very well. I'll go, then. And I hope you'll explain to Henry when he comes after me with a fire iron."

  "I'll have only good things to say at your wake," Derry promised and I saw the sparkle in his eyes.

  Ezra glared at both of us. "Mr. Nash needs a nightshirt," he said and shut the door energetically.

  Derry chuckled. "The poor love. Henry won't be half livid."

  "Yeah? Over what?" It had to be more innocent than the conclusion I'd drawn.

  "A nightshirt you were needing?" Derry got up and went to rummage in the wardrobe.

  I wondered what he was suddenly hesitant to discuss. "They're not involved in anything illegal, are they?"

  His protective instinct kicked in, just as I'd hoped. "Ezra won't take a shilling, Mr. Nash. Not a shilling. He's got the gift, but he'd never harm a soul with it." Derry produced a neatly folded article of clothing and shook it out. "Here you are. Will this do?"

  A goddamned nightgown. But I couldn't sleep in my briefs; I didn't think Derry, even as friendly as he was, would be too wild about the idea. I thanked him for the nightgown and with a resigned sigh put it on. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the dresser, I was glad for the first time that I was more than a hundred years from home. The ribbing I'd have taken if anyone had seen me wearing a nightie would have been merciless.

  I dropped onto the bed and felt as though I'd sunk into the center of the earth. Really soft downy earth. I was going to have the backache from hell in the morning. Rolling onto my side, I looked over at Derry as he shrugged off his coat. "The gift? Of what? Being thoroughly obnoxious?"

  A smile twitched his lips and he shook his head solemnly. "He converses with those that have passed."

  "You're kidding." In a
way, it made sense. I could tell Ezra had something of the scam artist in him. Henry was a little harder to believe. "Not making enough at the museum to pay the rent?"

  "I know what you're thinking, Mr. Nash." Derry stripped down, draping his suit over a chair. He was as solid as I'd imagined, his meaty arms and thick waist taking away nothing from his smooth musculature. He gathered back his hair with a big fist and tied it, then sheathed himself in another nightshirt. "I know it's hard for some to believe. But I've seen it with my own two eyes. It's no trick, I promise. And it's very real to Ezra." He climbed into bed and sank back on the pile of pillows with a sigh. "A sure blessing it is," he murmured, closing his eyes.

  The last time I'd slept in a bed with a man I hadn't had sex with, I'd been four years old. As if being hurtled backward through time to the near-Dark Ages wasn't bad enough... "Henry chat up the ghosts too?"

  Derry laughed a tired laugh. "Good night, Mr. Nash." He leaned over and shut off the lamp.

  It took me a while to fall asleep. The house must've had paper thin walls, because I could hear almost everything going on, from footsteps creaking high above to soft, unintelligible chatter far below. At one point, I heard what sounded like a violin, but I might've drifted off and dreamed it. I dreamed of other things, too. London and Leonard. New York, a Mets game, and a bottle of beer. That was the good dream. One brief disturbing dream had me waking to feel under my pillow for my gun. It was still there. And I was unfortunately still here, years and years from where I was supposed to be.

  In the gray light of dawn that peeked through the bedroom curtains, I could see the lump of quilt that was Derry and hear his soft steady snore. It was weirdly comforting, really. If I'd been alone, the room would've felt even more alien than it did already. I looked over the edge of the quilt at the hand-carved mahogany and flowery upholstery that would be cluttering antique shops in my time and tried to convince myself this wasn't really any different than staying at a bed and breakfast. It didn't help. I might not know how I'd gotten here, but I knew where I was. The age of uncomfortable clothes and stifling manners. Slow travel and provincial entertainment. Infrequent bathing and untreated water. Cholera and tuberculosis.

  Bleak enough. But throw in the attitude toward sex--evil, unforgivable, damn-you-to-eternal-Hellfire sex, treated as if it were an invention of man on par with murder--and it was too damned depressing to think about. And that was just sex between men and women. Any other kind and a guy could find himself serving time or worse.

  The whole damned planet was Third World, with no safe, clean America to run back home to. Knowing I wasn't going to get any more sleep, I eased up out of the big pillow that was Derry's bed and waited a heartbeat to make sure I hadn't wakened Derry. He slept on peacefully and I started to look around for my clothes. The chilly room, the floorboards under my feet, and a dire need to find a bathroom gave me a Boy Scout camp flashback I wasn't in the mood for. Ezra had all my stuff, including the suit he'd lent me.

  Taking my gun, I crept to the door and peeked into the hall. Dark and quiet. With a vague feeling it was inappropriate to be wandering around in only a nightshirt, I headed for the room Ezra had designated the water closet. I tapped lightly at the door and when no one answered, I went inside. Half expecting a wooden board with a hole carved in it, I was relieved to find a fairly regular-looking toilet. A shower and a shave was probably too much to ask for, though. I'd just do that when I got home.

  I went up a floor to Ezra's room and knocked. He came to the door already dressed. "An early bird," I noted. "Well, that figures." Most of the people I didn't get along with turned out to be morning people, including Leonard--well, and Reese, but I'd put up with it for the sake of supposedly true love, not to mention really excellent sex.

  Ezra swung the door open so I could come in. "I detect a note of contempt," he remarked, "but you're up already, too."

  "If I were home, I'd be in bed another five hours. I don't sleep as well in a strange bed."

  "You have my sympathy. What are you doing?" he added as I reached for my jeans. "You aren't going to breakfast in those clothes?"

  "I'm wearing my own stuff, pal. If Kathleen doesn't like it, she can kick me out." I dragged on the jeans and tugged my shirt over my head.

  He didn't say anything until I'd dropped onto his window seat to put on my sneakers. "If we should meet with any difficulty in sending you back--"

  "You won't."

  "But if we do--"

  "You brought me here. You're sending me back. If you have to spend the whole day reading every word of that book, you're going to. If we need to spend the night in the damned museum to get it done, so be it. That's the plan and there's no Plan B." Double-knotting my laces, I got up, strapped on my gun, and pulled my jacket on over it. "Are you ready to go?"

  He sighed. "The museum isn't open yet. Do you mind if we have a bite of breakfast?"

  I could live with that. "You sure Kathleen will feed a disreputable slob like me?" I picked up the comb on the dresser and ran it through my hair.

  "If I told you no, would it make any difference?"

  I tossed down the comb. "Not really. I'm sure there's a restaurant or two out there that won't turn me away."

  "Even though you can't pay the bill?"

  He seemed to enjoy trying to provoke me. I could provoke right back with the best of them. "Maybe since you're the one who brought me here, you could pay it with the cash you scammed off Mrs. Hastings last night."

  The corners of his mouth turned up in what seemed embarrassment. "Derry told you. He tends to make more of it than it is."

  "Yeah, I'll bet. You know, I've arrested conmen like you before. You're just about one of the lowest forms of life around. Taking money out of the pockets of grieving people--damn, I don't know how you live with that. Looks like you even managed to con your buddy, Derry."

  The flash of pain in his eyes caught me off-guard. Usually when I hauled someone in, I didn't bother to lecture them. They knew they'd broken the law and they knew they were going to be paying the consequences. Railing at them seemed superfluous. But there were one or two types who brought out my dad in me and con artists were one of them, especially cons who took advantage of people who were already hurting. When I did give them hell, I invariably got a whole pathetic spectrum of attitude, from assertions of innocence to a revolting righteousness that I had no appreciation for the special power God had bestowed on them.

  But this was a new one. Genuine pain, as if I'd actually hurt the sorry bastard. "I suppose now you're going to tell me you were just trying to reassure him that his wife was waiting for him somewhere just around the corner."

  Ezra's lips parted, then he swallowed whatever he was going to say and turned away. "We'll leave after breakfast."

  I let him go, doubting I'd done anything to prick his conscience and make him give up the scam. I'd never met a reformed con artist. Once it was in their blood, it was there to stay. And there was not much else I could do. I couldn't arrest him or drag him to the future to spend a little time in the can. I sighed in disgust and scooped up my useless cell phone. I was ready to blow this place.

  I made my way back down to the kitchen, to find that Ezra and I weren’t the only ones already out of bed. Henry was at the table, along with a bespectacled man he introduced as Dr. Silas Gilbride. Dr. Gilbride greeted me with the weary pronouncement that there were three new babies in the world as of two-fifteen this morning, before he pushed himself out of his chair and left his half-eaten breakfast to head up to bed. Three babies too many, in his mind, I guessed. I looked around to see what was for breakfast. The ham was back on the table, along with a pitcher of milk, thick slices of lightly toasted bread and what I was guessing was butter, and some of the cinnamon rolls from last night. I started with the bread and butter, wondering if there was any coffee to be had.

  Derry joined us and Ezra shortly followed, but he didn't seem to have much of an appetite. Maybe I’d gotten to him this morning, after all. If
he’d suckered everyone in the house into believing he communed with the dead, he was one persuasive son of a bitch; but he couldn’t keep them on a string forever. It might be a naïve era, but these men weren’t stupid, nor was Kathleen. Maybe I could put the first glimmer of doubt in their minds. “By the way. How did it go last night with Mrs. Hastings? Reach out and touch anyone?”

  If he’d had a mouthful of food, he’d have choked on it. He fixed wide eyes on me with a silent plea, but I had no intention of letting him keep up the charade. “Bet you got paid all the same, didn’t you.”

  The clatter of a fork against a plate drew my attention across the table. Everyone sat silent and uneasy, braced for Henry’s reaction, but my revelation didn’t produce an explosion. Nothing more than a faint flush on his cheekbones gave away Henry’s wrath.

  Ezra shot me a reproachful look and tried to repair the damage. “She asked for me, Henry. I could hardly leave her down there in tears.”

  “I thought we’d reached an understanding.” Henry pushed his chair back and rose. “Apparently not.”

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  “You could have held your tongue—“

  “He was standing right in front of me, for God’s sake,” Ezra interrupted, rising. “She just wanted a word. You aren’t being fair.”

  “If you continue to go on this way, we shall neither of us be credible in this field. I have a reputation to protect. I will not have it brought down by a…” He stifled whatever he’d been about to say and the red in his cheeks heightened, though he was suddenly avoiding Ezra’s stare.

  “Go ahead,” Ezra told him in a flat tone. “You’ve been thinking it long enough.”

  The rivalry evidently wasn’t rancorous enough to push Henry into saying whatever he’d been thinking. Too damned bad, because I was really curious to hear it. Henry drew in a long measured breath and stalked out of the kitchen. Ezra sat back down, picked up his fork, poked at the food on the plate, and put the fork down. “Damn it,” he muttered.