Downtime

by James Allen

  That brought his smile back briefly and we went on inside. At first we attracted no notice; then either my hearing suddenly failed or there was a definite lull in the chatter. Above the conversations that struggled on, I heard someone call to Ezra. A woman I could only assume was our hostess parted the crowd like a battleship breaking the waves. Snow white hair piled high on her head and white silk billowing about her ample figure, she had to be pushing eighty but moved as energetically as a woman much younger. As imposingly as she shimmered in her silk and diamonds, her warm green eyes welcomed us as if she were greeting her own grandchildren.

  "It's a beautiful evening, isn't it? I was afraid that fog would never lift. Come along, come in and have something to eat. Ezra, you are entirely too pale. A failed romance is not the end of the world, dear. You'll understand that better when you get to be my age, of course. Youth takes everything so to heart."

  As we hurried to keep up, Ezra introduced me and I got in a brief hello before she launched into a recitation of the evening's entertainments. "You missed the loveliest piano recital, gentlemen, but never fear. Mrs. Boudreaux has agreed to an encore after supper. Ezra, my dear, are you quite up for a table rap this evening?" She smiled at me. "The poor dear man. So talented, but his constitution was never the strongest. I'm afraid it is the curse of the psychically gifted. Poor John Leslie, he's dying of consumption they say. I guess one is not meant to live in two worlds at once." She patted Ezra's arm. "No doubt it was due to that winter he spent in St. Petersburg. One will tempt fate if one winters in Russia. And I daresay you've eaten very little recently. You men will quite forget to eat and drink when love goes awry. But I'm sure we women are just as overwrought in such straits. Some champagne will hearten you. Some champagne and, I think, a bit of duck. Come right along."

  We came right along, into a crimson-wallpapered dining room brightened by six chandeliers. There was enough silver on the table to reverse the debt of several third world countries and maybe enough food to feed all the inhabitants therein. Others were filtering into the room to partake, but I didn't see any familiar faces and hoped I wouldn't. If I saw George's face, I might feel obliged to rearrange it, and I didn't want to spoil Adelaide's get-together. She left us on our own to eat and sailed off to make sure her other fragile guests were stuffed with food and drink.

  When she'd gone, I let Ezra see my grin and he made a face at me. "I know precisely what is going through that mind of yours. My constitution has always been adequate. She has that impression because Father would never let anyone see me until I was old enough to understand that one does not converse with spirits in public as one would converse with the living. He would simply tell visitors I was ill with one thing or another."

  "Chatting with ghosts as soon as you could talk, huh?" I handed him a glass of champagne.

  "From earliest memory," he admitted wryly and led the way to a corner sofa where we could sit and eat and, I noted with satisfaction, keep an eye out for any potential trouble from certain interested parties.

  The food was good; twenty-first century good, and besides the duck, we had our pick from chicken, goose, and lamb, sauces and salads, soups, and an array of desserts. During the course of dinner, Ezra greeted several people and was greeted without any hint of open hostility, at least to my eyes. But he hadn't cheered up much since our arrival and I wondered if he saw more in their reactions than I did. After we'd eaten, we wandered in the direction of violin and piano music drifting from another room. It was a journey interrupted by a familiar face I was expecting and another I wasn't.

  "There you are," Jem said triumphantly, throwing one arm around a startled Ezra. "I knew you wouldn't stay away." He nearly drained the glass in his hand and kissed Ezra's cheek with moist lips. I didn't know how much champagne the guy had downed, but I had the suspicion at least one empty bottle could be attributed to him.

  Sidney grinned at me with a knowing wag of his head. "And Morgan. A very naughty fellow, from what we hear."

  "Yeah?" I grinned easily back. "And just what do you hear?"

  "Why, my dear, that you are compromising Ezra quite as thoroughly and unrepentantly as I've compromised Jem."

  Jem sobered at that and flashed a look of warning at Sid, who would not be cowed.

  "Now, Jem, we are all men of the world," he said with a sly wink at me.

  "Not all," Jem returned. "Ezra is still a gentleman. He cannot yet enjoy the luxury of bad manners."

  "Ezra is a gentleman, and Morgan and I are not?" Sid was more amused than outraged. He linked arms with me, no doubt to imply a unified front of degenerates. "One wonders just how many gentlemen one must bed before one is allowed to come out in society."

  "One ought to do it," I mused.

  Sidney smirked. "One, indeed. An especially delicious one." I thought he referred to Ezra, considering the baleful look Jem speared him with; but Sid didn't even look at Ez, instead leaning closer to me to loudly whisper, "It's not every man what's pricked a prince."

  "Enough, Sid." Jem's usually sharp blue gaze was clouded by alcohol and something else--pain. He offered a weary apology. "One requires amusement in this miserable life, though it's begun to seem a game no longer worth the candle."

  If Jem's disapproval had ever kept Sid in line, it didn't any longer. "If it's a candle you fancy, there's always a penny to pay. And I am not so dear to keep as some."

  "Go to hell." Jem finished his drink and shot Sid a look of disgust before turning away.

  "Go to hell?" he called as Jem stalked off. "My love, I was born there."

  Ezra looked at Sid in exasperation. "Will you drive him to utter ruin?"

  "He doesn't need my help," Sid answered with a mild shrug. "He was well begun before he ever plucked me out of the gutter."

  "At least take him home, for God's sake. Spare him any further humiliation."

  "You'll have to fetch him back, then. He won't come with me."

  Ezra sighed in frustration and looked at me. "Morgan--"

  "I'll hang onto Sid. You drag Jem back and we'll stick them in a cab."

  Ezra brightened in relief and with a quick clap on my arm, took off after Jem. I wondered how much information I could weasel out of Sid in the interim. He was clearly wondering what he could get from me. He leaned in closer to breathe in my ear, "Do you love him very much?"

  "Ezra? I've known him two weeks."

  "Not the romantic, are you, dear boy? Fancy a little Brahms?"

  I stayed with him as he meandered toward the music room. If there was a real person behind Sid's flamboyant facade, I was in no frame of mind to ferret him out. I was more interested in details about Jem Montague. "Who's Jem in love with, Sid?" I asked, hoping he'd confirm Ezra's suspicion.

  The question didn't seem to surprise him. "A fellow he tutored a few years back."

  "Who?"

  "Just a fellow..." Sidney twirled a hand in the air. "High up. Very high up."

  "Eddy?"

  Sid peered around the drape that framed the doorway, gazing over the guests poised attentively on chairs and sofas within before he finally bothered to reply. "It was quite the wild romance for a while. Until his mum put paid to their--communications."

  "Jem say anything about wanting to get back at her for it?"

  One question too many. Sid turned to study me face to face. "Do you think to fit the suspect to the crime? Whyever Jem?"

  "A few reasons. Anyway, something strange is going on with him."

  "And which little bird told you that? As if one couldn't guess."

  "It has nothing to do with Ezra."

  "No? Jem's a bit mad, I should say. That he fancies that high-blown dollymop, there's proof enough. You've saved Ezra from that cold bed--clever lad that you are--but I shall not be so lucky." Grinning, Sid leaned close. "Here's your lovely boy at last."

  Said lovely boy did not have Jem in tow and looked glum as he pulled me away from the doorway and whispered, "He refused to come back. I suppose he'll go home and leave Si
d to his own lookout. We'll have to give Sid cab fare and make sure he goes..." Worried blue eyes shifted past my shoulder. "Damn it all."

  Sid had apparently concluded he was on his own and had taken off. We snuck into the music room on the chance he was looking for another potential ride home. There was no sign of Sid, but cozy front and center on a sofa with other birds in the same bright feathers sat Charlotte. Ezra stared at her until I gently nudged him. "You okay?"

  He gave me a distracted glance as if he hadn't heard me, then slipped out of the room, leaving me to run after him. I caught up in the corridor, snagging a handful of his coat to slow him down. I didn't want to let on that I was fighting an irrational concern he'd discovered stronger feelings for Charlotte, so I kept it breezy. "I thought you were a fan of Brahms."

  Humor flashed in his eyes, taking the sharp edge off his distress. "That was Mozart."

  Sid's education was far from complete--as was mine. I doggedly stuck to the relevant subject. "What's wrong? I'm guessing not a ghost this time."

  "I am the ghost," he said ruefully, with a backward glance toward the room where faint strains of music still issued. "That world that was mine. I hadn't realized..."

  "That you've left it behind?"

  A corner of his mouth twisted. "I was thinking that it had left me."

  "You're the one moving forward. Take my word for it."

  He looked at me with an eloquence no words could match. The silent relief that someone was there for him, the gratitude, it hit me hard. I knew that tongues would wag and I didn't give a shit. Ezra did, though. We were leaving behind the shattered remains of what had once been his life and even though he'd been the one to complete the destruction, it had to hurt. I would eventually go back to the life I knew, the one that was familiar, the one I was so homesick for. He could never return to his.

  Ezra was silent all the long walk through the house and the garden, down to the street where lamps shone with ghostly light through another fog that had settled over the world. It wasn't until I'd hailed a cab and we were safely inside it that reaction set in.

  "I'm sorry to act such a fool."

  He looked so blue I put an arm around his shoulders and pressed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

  "I've gotten into the habit, I suppose because I believed there was something wrong with me. Father was so sure of it."

  "What about your mother? What'd she think?"

  "I never knew. She was always unwell and gone away to the country for a rest. I thought it must be my fault, because I could see things I was not supposed to see. I pretended for a while I couldn't, but it didn't save her. Father sent her to St. Andrews. He said her mind was not right and that I had inherited her weakness." He slumped back against the seat and stared ahead into the darkness. "When I asked if I might visit her, he said he expected I would be there myself, soon enough."

  Comprehension hit me with disturbing clarity. "She died there." I clung hard to Ezra's hand, another question on my lips that I couldn't bring myself to ask.

  But Ezra knew. "She did come to me after and she was with me for a while. I saw her less and less as the years passed. When I was about twenty, I saw her for the last time."

  "Did your father ever know?"

  "I told him once and he vowed that if I said such a thing again, he would send me away."

  A shiver went through me at the realization that what love and affection Ezra had known in childhood had come from a dead woman. I wrapped my arms more securely around him and rested my chin on his shoulder. "If your dad was always gone and your mom was ill, who the hell looked after you?"

  "Looked after me? There were servants. I had a governess and a tutor."

  That didn't sound particularly warm and cozy. "They were nice?"

  "She was very kind. And certainly patient," he added with a wry twist of his mouth. "I believe it disturbed her to have the care of a child who always appeared to be talking to himself. Samuel was a jolly chap who somehow had my father thinking he was quite serious and severe. But then when Father had gone, we spent more time getting into mischief than poring over history lessons. He was rather more like an elder brother than a tutor, I think. Or perhaps there is less difference between the two than I know."

  So Ezra was an only, after all. "Samuel sounds like an okay kind of guy. Did your dad sack him?"

  Ezra's smile faded. "No, he died when I was twelve."

  I wondered if there was any time in his life Ezra hadn't been suffering the loss of someone he loved. "Did your father hire another tutor?"

  "Not at that point. He sent me away to school."

  "Figures. What the hell's wrong with the guy, anyway?"

  His lips twitched. "I'm not sure that anything is wrong with him. He just has very certain ideas about what is wrong with the rest of us."

  "Oh yeah? He must be damned near perfect, to be so comfortable passing that kind of judgment on his own son."

  "He's done quite well for himself, really. He's popular in parliament and hoping, so I've heard, for a promotion to the cabinet. The worst that may be said of him is that he has indulged in some questionable business practices, which I discovered when I assisted in auditing the building society's books. I've not been permitted to see the books since, so I cannot say if he is still rather inflating the assets. But I suppose such a practice is more common than not."

  "A guy can end up with a prison sentence for something like that."

  Ezra nodded. "I did warn him, but I imagine he's too intelligent to fall to such an end. He will only let those into his confidence he can trust."

  "What about you?"

  "I've not been in his confidence for some time."

  "He's not afraid you'll blow the whistle on him?"

  "Blow the whistle?"

  "Turn him over to the police."

  "Ah. No, I don't believe he's afraid of me. At least not in that regard." He smiled wryly. "I think because he imagines me mad, he believes everyone else sees me the same way. So any accusation I may level against him would be viewed as the ravings of a lunatic."

  I studied his somber profile. "That's how you see yourself."

  It took him a moment to answer. "I used to imagine what it might be like to end as Mother did, locked away, to die among strangers. For the longest time, I tried to ignore the spirits that spoke to me. And the feelings that came over me when..." His grip on my hand tightened briefly and he met my eyes with the faint gleam of tears in his.

  "When you met a bloke you fancied?"

  His mouth twisted, somewhere between smile and grimace. "You make it seem like the most reasonable notion in the world."

  "Your feelings aren't lunacy. Some people might want you to believe they are, but time will prove all those people wrong. Take my word for it."

  I think he wanted to. Whether he was able to was another matter. I decided to switch to a more cheerful subject. "You up for a funeral on Saturday?"

  "A funeral?"

  "Yeah, Elizabeth Stride's. I'm curious to see who might show up."

  "You think he will?" Ezra said with a little awe at the prospect.

  "I think it's possible."

  A carriage stood parked at the curb when we arrived home. Ezra seemed unworried by it so I figured it was nothing to be concerned about--until just inside the doorway I heard the officious tones of either a government official or cop. Two policemen accompanied by two glum-faced guys in dark suits crowded the foyer. At the alarmed look Kathleen shot me, I followed a sudden gut feeling and firmly shut the door in Ezra's face.

  "May I ask what this is about?"

  Before Kathleen could answer, the taller of the two plainclothes spoke up. "I am Franklin Botting and this is Mr. Wilton, of St. Andrews Hospital. Might you be Mr. Ezra Glacenbie?"

  I locked down the anxiety stirring in my gut and slid into an easy smile as I moved to Kathleen's side. "No, sorry. Morgan Nash." I held out a hand and the fellow shook it with all the warmth and
charm of a DOJ attorney. "I think Ezra's gone on a holiday," I continued as Derry came in through the kitchen hall. "Isn't that right, Kath?"

  My familiarity caught her off-guard and she answered yes in a sardonic tone that masked her own anxiety. Derry took in the scene as he swept off his gardening hat and brushed a sleeve across his forehead. The situation sized up, he tossed the hat and his gloves onto the table and offered a hand to Mr. Botting. "Gone to America, he has, and I'm not half envious. I'd have gone with him if I'd the funds. And who wouldn't? I ask you."

  The two policemen exchanged a dubious look, but Botting and Wilton bought the story and stared at Derry in dismay. "America?" Botting repeated. "For how long?"

  Derry blew out a considering breath and looked at Kathleen. "How long did he say? A year?"

  Kathleen was at her most impassive. "I believe so."

  Botting smoothed his lapels with poorly disguised irritation. "We were not warned of this possibility..."

  I heard the door open behind me and my heart stilled in response. Suspicion lit Botting's eyes and I jumped in before Ez could make the fatal error of introducing himself.

  "Ah, Professor Meisterburger," I hailed him with a bow. "Guten morgen. Sie füehlen gut, Ich hoffe."

  Ezra had taken in our audience, but if he was frightened, he didn't show it. ""Guten morgen, Herr Nash." Reaching my side, he clapped me encouragingly on the shoulder. "We are still going to the pub for a beer, yes?"

  "As promised," I said, turning him back toward the door.

  "Ja, gut. Auf Wiedersehen," Ezra said with a bright wave as I hustled him past the policemen.

  We made it to the door, which opened abruptly in front of us to admit Henry, who'd sent his regrets to Adelaide and gone to supper with his lady friend instead. "In trouble again, are we?" he inquired facetiously as he shrugged off his coat. "Or forming a vigilante committee now? Never mind, I don't think I care to know. Ezra..." He pulled a letter from his coat pocket and, oblivious to the color draining out of Ezra's face, handed it to him. "This came for you just after you left." He seemed to finally take notice of how deadly quiet everyone had become and he cleared his throat nervously. "Perhaps I do care to know?"