Downtime

by James Allen

  Then Hannah broke loose and crashed into me with a ferocious hug.

  It seemed I was forgiven all around.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ezra and I were in complete agreement over the necessity of finding a new house and quickly. In Mrs. Nisbet's cramped quarters, it was hands off, for the most part, a maddening situation after a month's separation from each other. When Mrs. Nisbet took Derry and Kathleen to the office of a house agent she knew, Ezra and I shut ourselves in a bedroom and fell upon each other without preamble. He still expressed himself beautifully by kiss. And I could tell by his breathing that I hadn't lost my ability to bring out the sinner in him. Though we were pressed for time, I refused to rush. There was too much delight in exploratory kisses, the whispered banter that made him laugh, the love in his eyes that made me feel like the luckiest guy alive.

  Kids played in the street outside and from down in the kitchen came the crash of pans and the yelling of Mrs. Nisbet's cook. Above us the floor creaked with the back and forth of a rocking chair; a maiden aunt, I remembered, with particularly good hearing. We shushed each other once or twice, until we entirely forgot about the world on the other side of the blankets.

  Only the wafting smells of supper woke us back to it. We should have gotten up and dressed. We risked falling asleep in the comfort of each other's arms--and getting kicked out by an outraged Mrs. Nisbet when we were discovered. But I didn't want to move. He felt wonderful pressed close against me and I wanted to let us drift off to the first decent sleep either of us would have in weeks. But I didn't want to create problems for Derry and Kathleen. "Ez?" I nudged him gently. "I think we need to get up and run around the block."

  "Run?" He gave me a familiarly amused and confused glance. "From what?"

  "The sandman." I sat up and he tried to pull me back down. "Uh uh, wrong direction. Come on. We have nowhere else to go right now, thanks to me, and I don't want to push our hostess' good will to the breaking point."

  "Thanks to you?" That roused him. "You know perfectly well the fire wasn't your fault. For heaven's sake, you saved my life. And by quite miraculous means, according to Derry."

  "You wouldn't have needed saving if I hadn't turned your life upside down," I grumbled, irritated at myself by the thought. "I end your impending nuptials, break off your relationship with your father permanently, alienate almost all your social contacts, drag you through the darkest corners of hell on earth and you welcome me back like--"

  "I love you?"

  "Yeah."

  He laughed. "I do."

  "I know. I love you, too." I sighed and slid back down beside him. "I've got to ask you something."

  "Anything you like."

  "Do you remember what happened? When George showed up at the house?"

  Quiet for a moment, he finally sighed, a twist of frustration to his lips. "I'd been asleep--"

  "In your clothes?"

  He caught the note of sympathy and nodded ruefully. "Yes, just as usual. I woke to a great deal of shouting and breaking of glass--and the smell of smoke--and I thought the house was afire and someone had summoned the fire brigade. George was on the stairs, swinging a lantern about and I could see smoke coming up from belowstairs. He was lighting the whole place. I tried to stop him and he struck me--" Fingers went to the bandage at his hairline. "I don't remember anything after that. Only waking in the hospital--and then you." The sorrow in his eyes lightened. "You," he whispered and gave me a kiss.

  I couldn't bring myself to ask the other questions that had come to mind, but then Ezra, with his usual insight, anticipated them or maybe he could simply read it in my face. "Go on then."

  I shook my head. "You let me ramble endlessly about my work and we'll both be in trouble. You need a rest from it and I need to learn how to let it go." As hard as that would be.

  Affection lit his face. "I won't put a stopper in the compassion that drives your questions. Go on. It's all right."

  Granted permission, I plunged ahead. "George killed Mary Kelly, didn't he?"

  It had occurred to me after I'd given some thought to George's statement that no one would notice or care about my death or Ezra's; of course with the death of another prostitute dominating the news, even a suspicious death in the West End might not garner the attention it should. Ezra didn't seem surprised by the question. He knew the answer and now I knew it, too. And it made sense. Mary had been younger than the other victims by a good twenty years. George hadn't known that it was mommy dearest Sid had wanted to slice to ribbons. Intent on silencing Ezra without making the next day's headlines, George had picked the first young fresh face to come along; maybe someone who reminded him of sister Charlotte, who'd attracted all the handsome young men he wanted for himself.

  But that was conjecture on my part and I decided to keep it to myself.

  "Sid wasn't involved, was he?" The strangest look crossed Ezra's face, one that made me uneasy. "Ez?"

  He drew a soft breath. "Sid is dead. He died just after they shut him up in Hoxton."

  Goddamn. George and Sid both dead. Jack was a cold case once again and the mystery of Whitechapel lived on. "How do you know?" I asked, not sure I wanted the answer to that one.

  "I saw him, just for an instant. He seemed to want to say something, but then he was gone without a word. I did have the distinct feeling that he was ready to go on, whatever he might have to face in that world. I don't think I shall ever forget the look in his eyes," Ezra finished, more to himself.

  I pressed a comforting kiss on his brow. "Did Jem take it hard?"

  "I haven't been able to talk to him. His family's taken him away for a rest and have quite discouraged me from contacting him."

  "They're protecting him..." I bit back the comment a little too late as I remembered Ezra didn't know what I knew about Jem.

  "Protecting him?"

  "Well, yeah. You know. If it got out about his relationship with Sid..." I avoided the penetrating gaze in vain.

  "How did you learn of the fire?"

  Damn. He knew. "I looked a few things up. But--"

  "About all of us?"

  "No. I found out about the fire by accident. It was mentioned in the newspaper. And Jem's bio is mentioned because of his poetry," I added, hoping Ezra would leave it at that. For a long minute I thought he would; but I guess it was only natural that he'd want to know.

  "Is it very bad?" he whispered, shifting a little closer to me.

  "He's going to spend some time in St. Andrews." I said it as gently as I could but there was no way to ease the shock. He let out an audible breath.

  "When?"

  I wished now I hadn't looked it up. "In a couple of years." I couldn't tell him the rest, the terrible news of Jem's death, which would shortly follow Prince Eddy's--so I quickly tried to change the subject. "It's not all bad," I promised, getting up to fish the copy of a photograph out of the bottom of my pocket. He sat up, looking glum as I handed it to him. The transformation in his eyes when he realized what he was looking at was wonderful to see. I knew it still weighed on his conscience, what he'd done to Charlotte. The burden of that guilt lifted as he drank in the evidence of what was to come for her. "James Weatherley, of all people."

  "You know him?"

  "Oh yes. A wonderful head for business, though he's quite the shy fellow. I had no idea he fancied Charlotte."

  "She must not have nabbed him too long after your engagement ended."

  Ezra nodded, still soaking in the image before him. "She does look happy, doesn't she?"

  "She's not the only one." I draped an arm around his shoulders. "Take a good long look at it, because we're going to have to burn it. Sully let me come back to you. I owe it to him to try to keep history from unraveling because of it."

  "They must have felt certain your presence here would have no impact to speak of," he answered distractedly.

  No impact to speak of. "Oh, thanks. It's comforting to know the world can get on so well without me."

  He
grinned as he handed back the photo. "The world may, but I certainly cannot," he averred and brushed a kiss on my shoulder.

  "You must be the smartest guy in 1888." I pushed him down and rolled on top of him to kiss him. "Ez?"

  "Yes?"

  "Do you smell cinnamon rolls?"

  As it turned out, I wasn't developing any psychic ability of my own; Mrs. Nisbet seemed to think I was something of a hero for hauling Ezra out of a burning house and, learning from Kathleen my fondness for them, had her cook whip up a batch of the gooiest buns ever seen. They went a long way toward easing the horror of meeting Mrs. Nisbet's house agent, Mr. Hambly. The guy was a bundle of effusive energy and as full of unabashed shit as any of his modern-day counterparts. It wasn't long into the arduous process of house-hunting that I was ready to plant him under the cobblestones of the nearest "fashionable" street and handle the rest of the search myself. He managed to redeem himself at the last moment, finding a newer place facing the park with bedrooms and bathrooms to spare.

  Leaving poor Derry to deal with Hambly's incessant chatter, I snuck upstairs with Ezra to a bright airy corner room whose two windows looked out on a row of stately elms.

  "Halleluiah." I shut the door and leaned against it. "No air-conditioning, but at least what air we get will be fresher. What do you think?"

  "I think Derry will be quite done in by the cost of it. And he will not let you pay it all--"

  "We can always move to New York."

  "--but I shall endeavor to talk him into it," Ezra finished firmly.

  "Aw come on." I hooked a finger under his watch chain and maneuvered him toward me. "You'd like New York."

  He came warily. "I will consider it, if you cannot find work here that suits you."

  "Think Scotland Yard's hiring?"

  "I don't care for that idea. I won't have you done in by another sort like the Ripper."

  "Ezra." I got my arms around him and pulled him even closer to look directly into a worried blue gaze. "That's what I do, chase bad guys. Just ask Sully."

  "He's not here."

  "No? Good." I nuzzled his neck. "You know, you're not too bad at chasing the bad guys, yourself. We might make a decent team, as detectives go."

  "You are the wiliest devil."

  "Mess around with spells and that's what you get. Should we christen the room?"

  "Morgan." His smile softened the reproof. "We haven't the keys yet. We can't lock the door."

  Laughing, I slid to sit on the floor and pulled him down with me. "I've led you seriously astray."

  "I've let you. You know, I've never felt quite like this about anyone else."

  I leaned forward and kissed him on the nose. He started, then smiled at me in chagrin. "You do not think me a fool?"

  God love him. "I think you so damned wonderful, I don't know how to begin to put it into words." So I expressed it in a way he'd taught me himself. When we drew apart, his eyes were bright.

  "Dear man. I am sorry you had to go through so much."

  "You went through worse. And anyway I got back to you. That's all that matters."

  "But knowing I would die and you could not prevent it," he said softly.

  "Well, yeah. That was bad." And not something I really wanted to think about ever again.

  He seemed to know. He interlaced fingers with mine and gave my hand a squeeze. "I am rather glad that since you've changed history, you do not know what will become of me."

  "Oh but I do." I looked at him solemnly. "You know that daft FBI agent you conjured up on a slow day at the office? You're going to settle down together in a quaint Victorian house across from the park and share a room with way too much flowery yellow wallpaper." I wrinkled my nose at it and he laughed. "You'll catalogue books together by day and chase criminals down by night and when you have time off, he'll teach you to play baseball and you'll teach him the mysteries of cricket. He'll get used to warm beer and stewed eel..." I grimaced. "And with any luck, you'll get used to interpreting his twenty-first century English. You'll discover as-yet unappreciated virtues in dark streets, cramped cabs, theater boxes, and foggy days..." I winked, "and the two of you will live happily ever after. Sound good?"

  Derry stuck his head in and gasped, "We're signing away our lives on this one, then? Tell me quick, lads, or fetch us away from the place."

  "Said like a man in love," Ezra noted.

  "It's the garden," I said. "I don't think he can resist it."

  Derry groaned, confirming my suspicion. "Swear you'll back me up when Kathleen gets here."

  Mr. Hambly was all smiles as he peered over Derry's shoulder. "Gentlemen?"

  "Ez?"

  His hand was still in mine, out of the agent's view, and I felt a gentle tickle against my palm. "It does sound good," he murmured.

  "I guess we've got ourselves a home."

  Derry all but bounced in relief. "Bravo. I'll go down and wait for Kath. Mr. Hambly, if you will, you may regale my sister with the same pretty tales," he said as he backed out and shut the door. I had a feeling Kathleen wasn't going to put up with any regaling. But she and Hannah would like the house--and all the "modern conveniences".

  I was growing fond of it myself. Hell, with Ezra's arms around me, even yellow wallpaper had its charms. I noticed his amused glance in the direction of the door. A bright shiny key poked from the lock, a key that hadn't been there before.

  "He doesn't have much faith in our ability to restrain ourselves, does he."

  "Well, he did have to shoo us from Mrs. Nisbet's pantry yesterday," Ezra reminded me as he got up to lock the door.

  He had a point. "But Kathleen will be here--"

  "In about twenty minutes." He tossed me the key and dropped onto my lap, draping his arms around my shoulders. "Perhaps thirty."

  "Thank God for old-fashioned, poky transportation."

  His forehead rested against mine. "Whose world is the more advanced now, eh?"

  "You've got it all over us," I conceded.

  Thirty minutes was never better spent.

  end