“Ow!” My knee slammed into a stone plinth. I thrust out my hands and managed to catch a terracotta vase before it toppled onto the floor. As I righted the plinth and set the vase back onto its stand, a shadow passed through the moonlight.
“Mina?”
I glanced up. A tall figure stood in the doorway leading out onto the balcony. In the dark, I couldn’t make out any features beyond a vague shadow, but I knew that voice anywhere.
“I came to find you.” I straightened up. “I thought we could talk.”
“Go back to the room. I’ll be along in a minute.” The figure disappeared.
Oh no, you don’t. I made my way to the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching Morrie. He leaned against the railing, staring out into the snow-cloaked night. In the gloom, I couldn’t discern his features, but the shape of him was unmistakable.
“Morrie?” I stepped up beside him.
“I’d prefer to be alone,” he said, without turning.
“Is that true, though?” I took another step closer. “You’re always alone, even when you’re with me. You hold something back and you fight against yourself. I think maybe you don’t know any better, but whatever the reason, you’ve built this space between us. I hate it. Tonight, you closed that space and let me see you, really see you. And I think you’re scared of that.”
Morrie didn’t speak for a long time. I took my chances and shuffled across the balcony to stand beside him. He wouldn’t look at me, so I leaned over the railing, trying to glimpse his face. His mouth set in a firm line and his eyes formed ice-crystals – cold and hard, but fragile. Morrie bit his lower lip, and I dared to hope that something I said got through to him.
“What’s going on with you? Why’ve you been acting so strange these past few weeks? Ever since we solved Mrs. Scarlett’s murder you’ve been surly and mean.”
Morrie drew a paper from his pocket, folding it and unfolding it in his hands. He sighed.
“I put you in danger.” He didn’t whisper or choke. His words came out clear, confident. Whatever he was about to tell me, he had a fundamental conviction that it was true.
“What do you mean?”
“When you went to Mrs. Winstone’s house and found her husband’s body. It took me too long to figure out there were two different killers, and I should have seen her as the killer immediately. All the clues were there – the missing husband, the conflict with Ginny Button, the walking stick attack that didn’t fit with the killer’s pattern. But I missed it.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“It doesn’t matter. We figured it out together and caught Mrs. Winstone and Greta. We solved the case thanks to your cleverness, and no one else got murdered.”
“Don’t you see? It matters very much. I should have figured it out, but I didn’t, and I’ve been racking my considerable intellect trying to figure out why. The terrifying thought occurred to me – that perhaps I was losing my mind. For the last couple of months, I’ve been addled, mixed up, stupefied. Perhaps it was an undiagnosed medical condition. I needed to find out, and the first part of the equation was to understand just how badly my brain was depleting.” Morrie handed the letter to me. “So I re-took the MENSA IQ test. I sat this test a year ago, for the sole purpose of winning a bet with Heathcliff, which I did in fact win. I tested with an IQ of 172.”
The envelope from MENSA. It was his test results. But he wouldn’t be this upset unless…
Yikes. I knew Morrie was clever, but an IQ of 172 was off-the-charts. Morrie’s lip quivered, and my heart ached from him as all his erratic behavior and snide comments came into sharp focus.
Morrie prized his intelligence above everything else, and if for some reason he was losing it, that would feel like losing a core part of who he was. I knew enough of what that felt like to know that it felt like utter shite.
“Morrie,” I touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I wish you’d said something. You don’t have to deal with this alone. I can help. I—”
He laughed, but the sound had no mirth in it. He held out the letter. “Read it.”
I took the paper, flipped it open, and scanned the results. The number leaped out at me.
Standardized IQ score: 173
Huh?
“Morrie, did you even read this? It’s one point higher than your last exam. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Of course I’m worrying. That paper proves that my brain is in perfect working order. The problem is that my heart is getting in the way.”
My own heart hammered against my chest. I had so many questions, but I kept silent. If I spooked Morrie now, he’d never open up again.
“I care about you.” Morrie rested his cheek on his hand, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe any of it. “I promised myself I’d never make that mistake again. I only cared about one other person my entire life, and, according to the record, he pushed me over a waterfall.”
By Isis, he’s talking about the Reichenbach Falls.
“Morrie…” I didn’t want to press him and spook him off, but I had to know. “Are you saying that you were in love with Sherlock Holmes?”
“How could I not be? He was the only one who ever vexed me, whoever made my life interesting.” Morrie looked up then. “Until you.”
My heart thundered in my ears. Morrie’s eyes locked with mine. The icicles inside them shattered to pieces. Here he was, my amoral criminal, stripped bare of all his bravado, and I understood his pain. Morrie’s emotions were a tidal wave, pulling him under. He needed to hold on to that tiny shred of control he had left, or he was going to drown. Admitting he cared meant admitting that he’d been wrong before, that he’d loved someone who he knew from a book committed the ultimate betrayal.
Arthur Conan Doyle only relayed what happened on the Reichenbach Falls through Sherlock’s short account to Watson. We never knew what had really been said or done on that ledge. Morrie didn’t know, either, because he’d been pulled from his story into our world before it happened. All he knew was that the man he loved pushed him over a cliff.
I wanted to tell him that I’d never do that, but I knew, and he knew, that reassuring someone you weren’t going to hurt them wasn’t the answer.
“Caring about someone doesn’t make you weak,” I whispered. “It makes you human.”
“Humans are weak,” Morrie said, in that cold voice. “I cared once before, and it cost me my life. This time my caring nearly cost you yours, Mina. When I look at you, all I see is my weakness. I’ll be driven mad by it if I don’t—”
His gaze slid to the side, following something across the courtyard below.
“What?” I turned my head too, but I couldn’t make out anything in the dark. Frustration welled up inside me that I couldn’t share in the interesting thing he’d seen.
“It’s Christina Hathaway.” Morrie lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. He dropped low behind the balcony so only the top of his head was visible over the railing. I dropped down beside him, caught up in the excitement of the moment. Give Morrie a puzzle to solve, and he’s happy.
I crouched down beside him, my heart hammering. “What’s she doing?”
“She’s with that journalist. They’re walking under the trees at the far end of the courtyard, talking in low voices.”
That’s not exactly exciting. “Don’t change the subject. They probably just went outside for some air. Or a cigarette. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Miss Perfect Regency lady was a secret chain smoker?”
“She has a secret all right, but it’s not a nicotine addiction.” Morrie grinned. “They’re kissing.”
Chapter Fifteen
“What?”
“Yeah.” Morrie leaned over the balcony and peered out to the end of the courtyard, where I could just make out two shapes huddled under one of the trees. “It’s a pity you can’t see. There’s some serious snogging going on. We could get tips.”
“Morrie!” I grabbed his hand and dragged him back into the house. “
We shouldn’t be spying on them. They deserve a bit of privacy.”
“Relax, gorgeous. They have no idea we’re up here, otherwise they wouldn’t have been so desperate to eat each other’s faces.”
“Do you think Christina’s father knows?” I found it hard to believe a man like Hathaway with his adherence to Regency values would approve of his daughter’s apparent sexuality.
“I doubt it, otherwise they wouldn’t feel the need to venture out into minus four-degree weather in order to lock lips.”
“Interesting. I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the story Alice is working on. She’s definitely trying to bring down Hathaway—” I shook my head. “No, I’m not doing this. It’s none of our business what people get up to behind closed doors.”
“Or under trees.”
“Yes. Or under trees. Speaking of which,” I punched him in the arm. “You can’t keep running away every time you get emotional. I can’t deal with this on top of everything else – you’re either in this, or you’re out.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…” I closed my eyes. Was this really what I wanted? If I pushed Morrie too much, I might end up pushing him away. But on the other hand, Morrie wasn’t the only one who was getting emotionally entangled against his better judgment. A certain master criminal had already got under my skin, and the more time I spent with him, the harder I fell – not for the cocky guy on the surface, but the broken man underneath. I needed Morrie to trust me enough to show me more of that guy. “It means that I want all of you or none of you. You have to give in to what you’re feeling for me, or you’re out. No more sex. No more… what happened tonight—”
“It’s called an orgy,” Morrie said. “Or a foursome. A harem in reverse. Some people prefer gangb—”
“Don’t be crass.” My face flushed. “You were the one who started this, Morrie. And you’re right. I don’t want to choose. I want you, and Heathcliff, and Quoth. I want you not just because you’re clever, but because I care deeply about you. I maybe even possibly love you.” My tongue slipped on the word, a word I’d been dancing around, not yet ready to say to any of them, even though it was probably true. I’d loved very few people in my life, and apart from my mum, they either abandoned me or stabbed me in the back. “And you’re not the only one throwing your heart on the line here, or the one with a monopoly on pain. I get your heart, or you walk away. That’s my final offer.”
I spun around and stalked from the room, leaving a stunned and silent James Moriarty on the balcony, his icicle eyes boring into my back.
Chapter Sixteen
“Get up, get up!” A pillow hit me across the face.
“Croak, croak, croak!” A raven hopped across the bed, flapping its wings frantically.
“Er, um, what?” I reached up to rub my eye. Black and white feathers sailed through the air around me.
“How dare you sleep in here with my escort, and on the day of the ball, too!” Lydia smashed me in the head with the pillow again.
“What’s going on?” Morrie muttered, opening his eyes. “How did she get in here? We locked the door.”
“Morrie taught me how to pick a lock!” Lydia screeched, hitting Morrie over the head for good measure.
“Ow! That was because you were annoying and I wanted you to shut up for twenty minutes,” Morrie cowered under the blankets. “You weren’t supposed to use it against me.”
“Well, she did, and now she’s trying to murder us with goose down.” I pulled a feather from between my lips. “Lydia, hold on for a sec. Lydia!”
She whomped me over the head again, muffling my words with 400-count Egyptian linen. I tore the pillow from her grasp and hugged it to my naked chest. Lydia glared at me from the end of the bed.
“Sit down.” I jabbed my finger at the lounge suite arranged under the window. Lydia flopped onto the sofa and glared at me defiantly. “Let me find some jeans, then I can explain.”
“You are not even wearing bloomers?” Lydia screeched.
“Turn down the volume,” Heathcliff muttered. “Some of us are trying to get our beauty sleep.”
“I’d give up now, because not even a decade of sleep is going to help you any,” Morrie said.
“Croak!” Quoth hopped in circles around the bedsheets.
“Right. I’m sorting it.” I grabbed Lydia by the hair and dragged her into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
“Ow. Unhand me, you harlot!” Lydia raked at my face with her hands. I slapped them away. “I’m going to tell everyone about your scandalous behavior—”
“No,” I said, dropping her on the bed. I went over to the mini-bar under the desk and pulled out a small bottle of whisky. I tossed one to her, and broke the cap on the other. “You’re not. Drink that.”
Lydia stared at the bottle in her hand, and then at the fridge. “Is that some kind of… futuristic icebox?”
“That’s exactly what it is.” I held up my bottle. “And it is one of the many joys of the modern world. Bottoms up.”
“Why are we drinking? You’re supposed to be explaining why I found you in a compromising state with my escort. You have your own escort – the grumpy one. Why did you have to take mine, too?”
“I’m getting to that. I just need a little liquid courage first. And you might want a little too, for what I’m about to tell you.”
“Very well.” Lydia held up her bottle to me, and knocked the whole thing back, slamming the glass down on the table. I tossed mine back too, the cheap whisky burning all the way down. I tossed the bottle on the desk and leaned forward.
“Here’s the thing, Lydia. A lot of stuff has changed since Jane Austen wrote your story. For one thing, we have refrigerators now, and we can keep our shitty whisky cold for occasions like this.” I coughed as the alcohol burned through my chest. “We also have feminism, which means you don’t have to find a husband in order to lead a rich and secure life.”
“Not this feminism lark again.” Lydia’s lip curled back. “It sounds horrible.”
“I can assure you it’s actually quite fun. Feminism means that you don’t have to make decisions based on how amicable and eligible you will be to men. For example, you don’t know this yet, but when you ran away with Wickham, your family had to tear up and down the countryside to find you because they were worried about your reputation. Now, you can do whatever you want, and your reputation is fine. You could go to bed with Wickham and talk about it with your girlfriends the next day, and it would make you no less desirable as a wife. You can go to bed with anyone you choose and you don’t have to marry them.”
Lydia’s lip curled back. “Is this true?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. People love to gossip. They might say mean things about you behind your back, and call you a slut, because we haven’t quite smashed the patriarchy yet. That’s a whole other conversation.” Sensing Lydia glazing over, I gestured to the door that separated our rooms. “”The point is, Morrie may be your escort, but he’s already taken. By me.” At least, I hope he is. I thought of the ultimatum I’d given him last night. “And so is Heathcliff. And Quoth. I’m not married to any of them, but that doesn’t mean we can’t date and sleep together. We could even live together if we wanted.”
Lydia’s eyes were so large and round she should have had orbiting moons. “I never believed such a thing would be possible.”
“Why not? Lots of old stories have men with harems of women. Why shouldn’t it be the other way around? That’s feminism – equal rights for all. Now, the thing is, this having multiple partners thing is still not entirely socially acceptable. It’s the kind of thing we all know happens but we don’t talk about it.”
Lydia’s face perked up. “Oh, yes. Like how Father caught my sister Mary kissing Maria Lucas behind the stables.”
Okay, wow. I stifled a laugh. “Yes, exactly like that. It’s very important that you don’t tell anyone about me and the guys. This town is small, like Meryton, and some pe
ople won’t approve. Their disapproval could hurt all of us, including you.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I just said.” I rubbed my temple, where a headache had started to blossom. “By Isis, it’s too early in the morning for this. It’s that patriarchy thing I told you about. I’ll give you a book to read when we get back to the shop. For now, let’s just say you can do whatever you want, as long as you aren’t flaunting it. Think of it this way – knowing Morrie is off the table only frees you up to enjoy any other man you might desire. Or a woman,” I added, thinking of what Morrie and I had unwittingly witnessed last night, and of what Lydia had just told me about her sister. “You could even have a woman, if you so chose.”
“Women freely cavort with other women?” Lydia gasped. “My mother is at this moment rolling in her grave, and I love it.”
I grinned. “Lydia, I think you’re going to really enjoy being a teenager in these times. There’s a reason ‘It’s complicated’ is the most popular relationship status on Facebook. Now, will you stop holding on so tight to Morrie – there’s a ball tonight, and a whole house filled with weird costumed freaks who would love to bed an actual Regency lady.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Lydia threw open her suitcase and started throwing dresses over her head. “Help me into this outfit. I need to look sensational today if I’m to fill up the rest of my dance card for tonight. And we must hurry, for I don’t want to miss an opportunity to speak with David over breakfast.”
* * *
Lydia dressed in the muslin gown she’d arrived in, pinned her hair and adorned it with silk flowers she’d purchased from the market in Netherfield. As soon as she was satisfied that she was ready to receive an onslaught of gushing admirers, the three of us rose to make our way to the day’s activities. I kissed Quoth goodbye, running my hands through his black hair. “I’ll think of you all day long,” he said between kisses.
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