Downtime

by James Allen

  “Merci,” put in Mr. Leveaux, from somewhere on the other side of Charlotte. I couldn’t see him, as he was hardly any bigger than she was. Mrs. Leveaux, across the table, looked less pleased.

  “Our inventiveness is not limited to cuisine, Monsieur Montague. You may thank Monsieur Michaux for the velocipedes you see everywhere in the streets.”

  “Yes, one can hardly go for a walk these days without being run down by them,” George Blanchard retorted with a roll of his eyes.

  “I quite prefer them to the train,” Charlotte piped up. “So smoky and noisy. More dreadful by the day.”

  "Maybe someday you'll be able to fly wherever in the world you want to go in a matter of hours. Maybe even to the moon," I suggested, giving her a wink which earned me George's sharp attention. Everyone chuckled at the comment except Ezra. He stared at me in uncertain fascination, his dinner untouched on the plate. But it was too late to take back my remark. George pounced on it with an eager viciousness.

  "I suppose you think you Americans will invent a whole new world, courtesy of your Mr. Edison. Just remember, if you please, that you owe a great deal to us."

  I couldn't hide a grin at all I knew that he didn't. "We're allies, George. Let's keep it that way, okay?"

  "Allies," Mr. Leveaux murmured. "You speak as though we're going to war."

  "If we ever do, I know we'll take good care of each other," I assured him, wishing someone would change the subject quick.

  Rescue came from an unexpected source. “Ezra, your Mr. Nash must be a writer. He has the most vivid imagination.” Jem, Sr. leaned back in his chair as a servant poured more wine. “Tell us, sir. Do you write novels, by any chance?”

  While I tried to think of a good lie, Jem took it upon himself to tell the God’s honest truth. “Mr. Nash is employed by his government.” His smile seemed to say he understood that he should not be more specific. But he’d already said too much. The comment garnered the attention of everyone at the table.

  “Oh how splendid,” Charlotte said, lighting up with new excitement. “Did you attend the wedding? Was it simply sumptuous with flowers? Is it true the guests were given satin-covered cake boxes?” She looked over at Mrs. Leveaux, who was equally aglow. “You know, Mrs. Cleveland was just twenty-one. My age.”

  “Will you have satin cake boxes? Such extravagance,” Mrs. Leveaux said without a hint of reproach.

  “And what, sir, do you think of your man’s chances of returning to the position?” Jem, Sr. inquired of me from the head of the table.

  The last thing I wanted to do was entangle myself in a politic discussion. These guys had to be more up on the facts than I was. I did have a vague memory of Cleveland losing, only to come back four years later and win. I just didn't know if that was now--or four years from now. “I think his shot at re-election is not as good as one might hope.”

  “Indeed. Would you say it’s this tariff issue that will do him in?”

  Ah damn. My high school history teacher would have laughed 'til she cried if she could have known how those facts I never bothered to memorized had come back to haunt me. “Tariff issue,” I repeated thoughtfully, digging like hell through mental file drawers in total disarray. “Well…” My glance connected desperately with Ezra’s and he knew. I don’t know how he knew but he did.

  “I think Morgan does not care to let it be known that he agrees with his employer,” he said with an impish smile at me. “His father farmed, as did his grandfather. He no doubt finds that money is rather more useful in one’s pocket than locked away in a government vault.”

  George managed to twist his mouth into an even more disdainful sneer. “Well-spoken by one who has learned from experience.”

  Apparently everyone knew the story of Ezra’s return to the fold, as an uncomfortable silence descended over the table, a silence the hostess did not allow to linger. She stood and everyone else followed suit; but as she left the dining room, only the women joined her, the men returning to their seats. As plates were cleared away, I looked across at Ezra, who was staring into a glass of wine, thoughts a million miles distant. I eased an orange loose from the fruit tower, out of Ezra’s line of sight. “Psst.”

  He looked up and I tossed the orange to him. Startled, he managed to catch it one-handed and hastily hid it in his lap. He tried to glare at me, but his eyes were too bright with humor for it to have any impact.

  “Looks like we scared off the girls," I noted.

  “They like to retire to the drawing room for tea. But I think we may have set them to it a bit quicker tonight.”

  The servant reappeared at my elbow, offering port and cigars, and I declined both. Talk turned to other things and I behaved myself the rest of the evening, even after we’d joined the ladies in the drawing room and Charlotte cornered me for the express purpose of prying out more details on my background and, I suspected, any contact I might have made with the rich and famous. It was nearly eleven by the time Ezra snagged me for a farewell to our host and then out into the wet, chilly night to find a cab. As we left, Jem came outside and shook our hands.

  “You do know how to liven up a dinner, Mr. Nash. Ezra, you must talk him into staying in London. I know I would like to see him again.”

  The curve of his lips told me just how he’d like to see me. Jem obviously had no qualms about playing the field, even in front of other potential lovers. What had passed between us was not lost on Ezra. He bid Jem a quiet good-night and left me to follow when I was ready. Not one to burn bridges, at least not until I was more than halfway across, I flashed Jem my usual noncommittal grin and told him I was sure we’d run into each other again. I didn’t have any particular desire to pursue him and I knew why. I was feeling a stronger pull in another direction, one that would come with a few more complications than a one nighter or two with Jem Montague.

  Still, I couldn’t deny the pull as I climbed into the cab Ezra had flagged down and dropped onto the seat beside him. He stayed quiet as we headed down the dark street and I wondered if Jem’s flirting had pissed him off.

  “Not exactly fitting in, am I?”

  “Not at all,” he said absently.

  “Is that a ‘no, you’re not fitting in’ or a ‘no, not at all, you’re fitting in fine’?”

  The question was just irritating enough to stir him out of his thoughts. “Morgan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What you told us during dinner, about flying. Was it true?”

  So that’s where his mind was. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “The war, too?”

  Damn. “The war, too.”

  A spasm of pain crossed his face. “England and America…”

  “On the same side. The winning one.” I put my hand over his and gave a reassuring squeeze. I could feel the relief going through him at those words. The hand under mine was warm and I realized I’d forgotten to put my gloves back on and, in his distraction, so had he. My fingers moved all on their own, gliding my thumb along his wrist and under his hand to explore an even warmer palm. He sat very still and I knew the contact was doing to him the same thing it was doing to me. I could hear him breathing soft with awe at the discovery that anything in this world could feel so good.

  We already sat shoulder to shoulder and it would have been easy to lean in and prove to us both that a kiss could feel even better. I was a natural born pouncer, and God knew I’d pounced with even less attraction going than this. But this was a different world and even though I was usually more interested in playing by my own rules, the respect I had for his made me pull back and give him enough space to figure out what he wanted.

  “Still planning to get married?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

  He let out an unsteady breath and gently drew his hand from under mine. “It will be formally announced Friday night, at the ball Mr. Blanchard is holding for us.”

  “That must be what Charlotte invited me to.”

  “Of course she did.” Ezra slumped back in resignation.
Hefting the orange in one hand, he eyed it ruefully. “Do you think they shall reinstitute burning at the stake just for me?”

  “They strung up witches once in a while, didn’t they?”

  “You do know how to cheer a fellow.”

  “I’d give you one of my cyanide capsules but I left them in my other coat. Look, don’t worry. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Maybe there was one other thing he needed to know. “Just in case you’ve been wondering, I’m not going to rat you out to Charlotte. Your secret’s safe, at least in my hands. I’m not even going to remind you that what you’re doing to her, you shouldn’t.”

  “The thought crossed my mind that you could tell her, but I never believed that you would. My concern is that you will be found out, you know. You were hardly being what I would call careful, at dinner.”

  “No one thought I was foretelling the future. It was a joke to them.”

  “It isn’t a joke for us. I’m responsible for your presence here. How am I to explain you and evade the likelihood of both of us being packed off to Northampton?”

  “Northampton?”

  “St. Andrews. An asylum.”

  Now that history I remembered—the stories of what asylums were like, back in the not so good old days. Not very different from the prisons, as I recalled. And judging from Ezra’s terse reply, the history books were right. “I’m sorry about this evening.” I laid a hand on his sleeve this time. “Being here feels more like a waking nightmare than reality to me. I’m not going to get us in trouble, all right?”

  He put his hand over mine, a gesture with nothing more behind it than gratitude. “I think we will be safe if you keep to general topics of conversation and refrain from throwing fruit.”

  "That was a good catch, by the way." I grinned. "And thanks for rescuing me in there. I guess I'm not as up on history as I ought to be."

  "The wedding, yes. Hardly ancient history for us, remember. Talk of it went on for ages. President Cleveland and--I believe her name is Frances. Affectionately called Frankie. Not necessarily details I would have remembered myself, if they had occurred a hundred years ago."

  I suspected he was just trying to make me feel better. "I do remember Baby Ruth."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Their daughter. Had a candy bar named after her."

  His eyebrows lifted. "You remember that and you don't recall the tariff issue?"

  "I'm a sentimental guy at heart. Not much human interest in tariffs."

  "The farmers may disagree."

  "Just a democrat in expensive clothes, aren't you?"

  He snorted. “Tell me something. You haven’t really been to the moon?”

  I laughed. “No. Not yet, anyway. It’s a little more expensive than a train ticket to Whitechapel. And speaking of Whitechapel—“

  “Have you forgotten altogether about the book?”

  Shit. I had. “No, of course not. Okay, so we’ll look for the book tomorrow and go to Whitechapel Thursday.”

  “I do hope we find that book tomorrow.”

  He didn’t say it with much conviction. I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Going to miss me?”

  A serious blue gaze settled on me, but he didn’t come up with an answer to that one before the cab lurched to a halt and I saw the familiar parlor window with the lamplight shining through the drapes. As we went in, I wondered where I’d be sleeping tonight. I was nearly ready for it too, though the idea of another nightcap with Ez in the kitchen had its appeal.

  “Will I need ID to check into a hotel?”

  Ezra stopped on the stairs. “Damn,” he murmured. “I’d forgotten about that.” He turned to me, about to say something else, when the parlor door opened, shedding warm light over us. Kathleen, grim-faced even for her, came into the foyer and put the lamp on the table. A small shock went through me at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. Ezra slipped past me to come back down the stairs.

  “Kathleen, what is it? Is someone ill?”

  “No,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “No. It’s…” She pressed her hands to her waist. “You may as well know. I’ve had to let Hannah go. If you want coal tonight, you’d best take some up with you.”

  “You fired her?” I couldn’t believe my ears. She couldn’t have had a better little slave than that poor kid. Why in the world…

  Ezra put a hand on Kathleen’s arm. “Why? What happened?”

  Kathleen looked hesitantly at me before she answered. “She’s taken something that wasn’t hers and she has lied to me about it. I didn’t wish to discharge her, but when I could not even get the truth after catching her in a falsehood, I had no choice.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Hannah at all,” Ezra protested, more to himself than to Kathleen.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  At my assertion, Kathleen looked at me as if she were convinced Hannah’s sudden delinquency was due entirely to me. I might have thought that too, but as wayward as I might sometimes be myself, I didn’t believe I’d lured Hannah into becoming a hoodlum in just a couple of days. “What did she take?” The moment the words left my lips, I remembered the music box I’d given her. Maybe this was my fault after all. “Was it a music box about so big?” I held my hands about six inches apart. “With two dancers twirling around to the music?”

  Kathleen’s dark brows drew together. “How do you know that?”

  "I gave it to her. I just wanted to get her a little going-away present. Because I was going away.”

  “I don’t understand. You bought her a gift? But she refused to tell me—“

  “Of course she did. She knew I was already in trouble with you. She probably thought telling you would get me into more trouble.”

  Kathleen's expression blossomed into all-out bewilderment. “You don’t know the girl. You aren’t her father and you aren’t…” An uneasy light came into her eyes. “You aren’t anything to her.”

  “I’d like to think she thinks of me as a friend. I know I think of her that way. She’s made all this a little easier to take, this being dragged out of my own life and into yours. I wanted her to have something in that forsaken little hole in the wall where she sleeps, something to send her off into sweet dreams after lugging coal and sweeping floors from sun-up to sunset. Jeez, you guys. She’s just a kid. Maybe she has to work, but she doesn’t have to exist in drab misery just because you’ve got some outdated notion that servants don’t have any real feelings to be concerned about.”

  Ezra’s fingers wrapped gently around my wrist and I looked at him, expecting reproval and seeing only sympathy for both me and Kathleen. “We’ll sort this out. Kathleen, if you will allow me to talk to Hannah—“

  “No. I will talk to her, myself. Mr. Nash is correct. I am strict with Hannah, but she has always been a thoughtful and dutiful girl. That was the shock of it." She exhaled a weary breath, face drawn with regret. “I suppose I should have not been so quick to think the worst.” She went without further discussion, leaving the lamp behind for us.

  Ezra let go of my wrist and patted my shoulder. “You'll have to stay with me again as Henry's likely already asleep.”

  I had no objection to that. But we were hardly halfway to the landing when Kathleen reappeared, white and distraught. “She's gone. I told her to wait but--she’s left.” The woman could hardly get a word out, her voice shook so bad. Ezra ran up the stairs without a word and I knew he’d gone to check for Hannah in the rooms. Kathleen grabbed the banister for support and looked at me, heartsick. “I told her Derry would take her home in the morning and that she must wait. Why would she go? Saints, it’s nearly midnight and in that neighborhood—" She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh dear no. God protect her.” Kathleen’s more subdued brogue asserted itself in her anguish. “Oh, Mr. Nash, what have I done--what have I done? How will she get home when he’s out there?”

  I took Kathleen by the arm and led her into the parlor, scooping up the lamp along the way. The woman who had seemed so damned indomitabl
e up until now sank into a chair and lowered her head into her hands.

  “Come on, Kath. I need you to stay focused with me on this, all right? Does Ezra know where she lives? Give me an address and a general idea of the neighborhood.”

  Kathleen gathered herself together and in a faint but steady voice gave me all the information she knew. I headed upstairs for my gun and met Ezra coming down. “No luck?”

  “None. I take it you intend to find her?”

  “Yeah. You coming with me?”

  “I will wake Derry,” Kathleen said, moving to the stairs.

  Ezra stopped her. “Let him sleep. Morgan and I will bring Hannah back.” He’d slipped his hand into hers and I saw him give it a squeeze. Kathleen trusted Ezra, I knew, in a way she trusted few others. She let us go and I had the feeling she’d be pacing the parlor until we got back. Maybe mothering didn’t come naturally to her, but she cared more about Hannah than she’d let on. I just hoped Hannah got the chance to know it.