A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7)

by Monique Martin

  Just the thought of the Crosses soured his mood. What was Travers thinking?

  Victor had heard about the Crosses. Few knew about them, but there were no secrets among those who did. Their record was good, he had to admit, but she was young, impulsive and headstrong. He was more calculating, but a fool where she was concerned. That was a dangerous combination. The Crosses were his cross to bear, for now at least. He’d help them, until they got in the way.

  He walked another block and stopped at a coster’s apple barrow. Finally finding one that didn’t have worms in it, he paid and slipped it into his pocket.

  Across the street, a boy cried out. A large man had cuffed him on the side of the head and then held him up above the sidewalk by his lapels.

  “You do that again, boy, and you’ll lose your hand, you will,” the big man bellowed, and then glared down at another, smaller boy who stood huddled nearby. “And don’t think I didn’t see you there.”

  “We wasn’t doin’ nuffink,” the boy protested. “We was just looking is all.”

  Victor had noticed them earlier. They’d been following the man and his donkey cart full of potatoes down the street, waiting for an opening.

  The man shook the boy and then tossed him aside. “Stay away!”

  Victor’s jaw tightened as he observed it all silently. He watched the big man urge his donkey cart on. The boys scurried away, but Victor saw the little one show his friend their prize, a small potato, before slipping it back under his jacket.

  The duo ran to the corner and around it, but their little faces peeked back around to watch the man disappear down the street. Gleefully, they ducked back into the alley.

  With a plan in mind, Victor dodged the traffic as he crossed the street. The boys were huddled together, the little one furiously gnawing on the raw potato.

  Victor stopped at the mouth of the alley, the other side a dead end.

  “You’re lucky he was as blind as he was fat,” Victor said.

  The boys bolted upright and looked ready to make a run for it.

  Victor held up his hands. “It’s all right. I’m not here to take it from you.”

  The older boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, didn’t move, but the younger one couldn’t keep his hunger at bay and dug into the potato again.

  “How’d you like to earn enough to buy a whole sack of those?”

  The older boy stared at him and then jutted out his chin. “Doin’ what?”

  “Running a few messages.” Victor took a shilling out of his pocket. “Of course, I need someone who can run fast. You look a little slow.”

  The boy stepped forward eagerly. “I’m fast. I can beat anyone on the street.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I can do it blindfolded.”

  Victor didn’t laugh at the boy’s bravado. “I need a man I can trust.”

  “You can trust me,” the boy said, eyeing the money and then raising his hand, crossing his heart and spitting twice. “I swear.”

  “All right,” Victor said. “Do you know where McNally’s is?”

  “Sure. It’s right up—”

  “Come by there in an hour and I’ll give you this to take a message to Brown’s Hotel. If you do all right, there’ll be more.”

  The boy’s eyes glittered as he nodded. A shilling would probably buy him food for a week.

  “What’s your name?” Victor asked.

  “Freddie, sir.”

  Victor watched him for a moment, then stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket as he turned to leave. He felt the apple, took it out and tossed it to the boy.

  “An hour,” he said over his shoulder as he left. “Don’t be late.”

  Chapter Six

  VICTORIAN MORALITY WAS STRICT, prudish and absurdly earnest. Repression was the name of the game, and history showed how well that always works out. The Victorians’ obsession with controlling all things sexual led to a fascination with it and a rise in the very debauchery they were so frightened of. At the beginning of the era, the mere mention of the word “leg” in mixed company could be considered inappropriate. Thankfully, Elizabeth thought as she looked around, things seemed to have loosened up a bit. A woman walking alone during the day only garnered a few hairy eyeballs and not a trunkful. Ah, progress.

  Elizabeth ignored the lingering looks that followed her as she made her way down Brook Street alone. A Victorian woman without any sort of escort, male or female, was a rarity. While everyone smiled and nodded politely in greeting as she passed, she could feel the askance in their glance. Their upbringing forced them to disapprove, but it also forced them to do it silently with only the narrowing of an eye or the quirk of lip. She could swear though, that not all of the lingering looks were judging her poorly. Aside from the occasional reserved, but appreciative expression, she also saw no small measure of envy in some.

  She would happily endure worse if it meant she could get out and about. The idea of being cooped up in the hotel while Simon was off actually doing things was unthinkable.

  Last night, they’d received a note from Victor with the address of his room and a request to meet Simon there the following day.

  Elizabeth scrunched up her nose at the memory. Just Simon, no mention of her at all. If he thought she was going to sit demurely by while they did all the work, that Frenchman had une autre think coming! Simon tried to soothe her and pointed out that he needed to find them appropriate clothes for tonight. He would probably need to go to places where a wealthy couple might draw too much attention.

  They both hated the idea of being apart, but would have to risk it if they wanted to succeed here. Reluctantly, she’d agreed not to go, but she wasn’t going to sit on her duff either. Young Katherine Vale and Charles Graham were somewhere in the city and she intended to find them. Simon had, predictably, protested until she reminded him that Graham was purportedly an expert on Jack the Ripper and young Vale didn’t hate them, at least not yet. They could be useful. That was, if she could find them.

  She assumed they’d also choose to stay at an upscale hotel, and so she’d set out wandering the streets of Mayfair in search of them. There was no shortage of possibilities. She’d started with the hotels on Albemarle—the York, Pulteney’s, Buckland’s—and was making her way north toward Claridge’s.

  She’d ask discreetly at the desk for both of them and then linger for a cup of tea in the tearooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. She’d seen photographs of Graham and knew she could recognize Vale, twenty years younger or not.

  So far, she’d had three finger sandwiches, two scones and no luck. The tea was up to her eyeballs by the time she reached Claridge’s and was seated in the elegant, high-ceilinged foyer. She ordered, and set about her usual routine of inconspicuously scanning the room. From her vantage point, she could see most of the tables, but sadly none of them had any familiar faces sitting at them.

  One good thing was that she’d finally gotten used to perching herself on the very lip of her chair. Since her bustle took up most of the actual seat, she had little choice. As far as victories went though, it was of the pretty sad variety.

  The waiter brought over a tray of cakes and éclairs. She turned them all away. It was a bad sign when an even an éclair couldn’t cheer her up. Elizabeth knew it was going to take some time and more than a little luck to find Graham and Vale this way, but she was disappointed nonetheless.

  Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d give it a few more minutes, then pack it up and head back to Brown’s. She sipped her tea and tried to overhear conversations, hoping against hope for the mention of her quarry.

  At the next table, a business deal was begin brokered, and at another a romance. Neither was going well. The third party was just breaking up. Two very well-dressed gentlemen stood and said their goodbyes.

  The taller of the two, nice looking and a little sad about the eyes, said, “I’ll see you in the park then, John. Sunday?”

  The other man, presumably Jo
hn, nodded and smiled affectionately at his friend. They shook hands, clasping both hands and lingering for just a moment longer than usual, before the taller man looked about nervously and pulled away.

  “Your carriage is waiting, Mr. Druitt,” a hotel staff member said.

  Perhaps more than friends? Elizabeth wondered.

  “Around two?” John said, as he put on his hat. “On the bridge?”

  The other man nodded and then his gaze slid again across the room to a table with two older women and their frowns of haughty disapproval. Whoever those two were, they’d noticed the same interplay she had and Did Not Approve.

  When Elizabeth turned her attention back to the man, she found him looking at her, a worried expression on his face. Perhaps he thought she was in league with the women or would gossip about what she’d seen. Eager to reassure him, she offered him an understanding and commiserating smile.

  Tentatively, he returned it before looking again at the older women and then back to her, his smile blossoming into something mischievous.

  “Well hello, my dear!” he said loudly, as he approached her, reaching out for her hand. “Please play along and I’ll forever be in your debt,” he whispered.

  Elizabeth offered her hand. “Well, hello to you, too,” she said hesitantly.

  “It’s so delightful to see you again,” he said as he kissed her hand and then asked if he could sit, doing so before she could reply. He tugged his chair closer to hers.

  “Thank you,” he said, casting a quick glance in the direction of the old women. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to do. The path of least resistance seemed to be the best choice for now.

  “One that involves sitting with strange women?” she said.

  His smile grew wider. “Whenever possible. My aunt, you see, she’s the one that looks like an owl with a touch of the dyspepsia, thinks of me as something of scoundrel, a ladies’ man. And, if at all possible, I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “You’re very forward, aren’t you?” Elizabeth said, unable to hide her amusement at his outlandish honesty.

  He shook out a napkin and laid it on his lap as he reached for a finger sandwich. “Far better than being backward now, isn’t it?”

  Elizabeth laughed. She liked this loon.

  He took a bite of the sandwich and then wiped his hands on the napkin.

  “So,” he said as he took out a cigarette case from his jacket pocket and offered her one. She declined with a shake of the head.

  After lighting the cigarette and exhaling toward the ceiling, he continued, “Whom do I have the pleasure of disgracing with my company today?”

  “Elizabeth Cross,” she said, holding out her hand, “and the pleasure is mine.”

  He shook it with a smile. “George Roxbury. And what brings you to London, my dear, and into my very lucky path?”

  Elizabeth knew their planned backstory well. “Traveling with my husband.”

  His eyes widened in false alarm. “Husband? Should I prepare to defend myself?”

  “If he were here,” she said, “you would know it by now, I assure you.”

  “Mmm. Good point,” he said, taking another pull from his cigarette. “He’s let you out to play on your own, has he?”

  “He doesn’t let me do anything,” she said pointedly.

  George smiled approvingly. “We are a pair then, aren’t we? Dangerous characters threatening the very fabric of society.”

  “Viva la revolución!” Elizabeth said raising her tea cup.

  George laughed. “I do love you Americans. You’re so wonderfully raw and unfinished.” He caught her slight frown and continued, “I mean that in only the very best way. You forge yourselves. You can be born a pauper and build an empire. Here, you see, we’re all born as we ever shall be. It’s all rather dull.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  He sighed dramatically. “I’m the third son of a baronet. You can’t go a mile in London without tripping over one of us. I’m hardly unique and unlikely ever to amount to anything more than I am at this moment.”

  “Poor butterfly,” she said not unkindly.

  He tried to force an affronted frown onto his face, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Now you’ve ruined my lament. Feeling sorry for myself is the one area in which I truly excel.”

  “I’m sure there are others.”

  He laughed out loud. “Ah, Mrs. Cross. How glad I am that we’ve met.”

  ~~~

  It was after one in the morning when Simon had the night man at Brown’s summon a cab for them. As they waited, Simon rolled his shoulders to try to dispel some of the pent up anxiety that had taken residence there over the past few hours. It had been nearly unbearable. Hours dragged by, each slower than the last, until, finally, the time had come to begin.

  Simon felt a wave of relief and prickles of adrenaline as the hack pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel. He helped Elizabeth inside and gave the cabbie the address a few blocks away from Victor’s boarding house. There was no reason to think anyone was watching them, tracking their movements, and yet, he felt he’d be a fool if he didn’t assume the worst. Repeatedly.

  Elizabeth leaned back in the seat as far as her ridiculous clothing would allow. She offered him a weak smile and then looked out of the carriage window as the dark streets of London rolled past. She’d been quiet all evening. He had as well, but quiet in Elizabeth was something altogether rare. Not that he blamed her. His thoughts had been filled with images of the night’s horrors yet to come. None of them were things either wanted to give life to by speaking about them, but they would come to be whether they kept silent or not.

  Tonight, Ripper would find his first victim. Tonight, Mary Ann Nichols would die.

  The streets grew darker and dirtier, and Simon could smell the East End before they reached it. A few gas lamps, yellow and faint, lit their path toward Victor’s. There were still plenty of people about and Simon felt acutely aware of the attention they drew as they passed through the lower-middle class streets. His already heightened sense of alarm ratcheted up a notch higher.

  He put his hand over Elizabeth’s as it rested on his arm and she looked up at him, supportive, nervous, reluctantly resigned to what they had to do.

  Finally, they reached Victor’s. The building was quiet except for one loud fight on the third floor.

  Simon rapped sharply on Victor’s door. It opened almost immediately, the Frenchman as pleased to see them as Simon was to see him.

  “You’re late,” Victor said with a frown.

  Simon glared at him. They were not late, and even if they were, it was a matter of minutes.

  “We had to wait for a cab,” Elizabeth explained and it galled him that she felt she owed this man an explanation.

  Victor grunted and stepped aside, gesturing for them to come in.

  The little room was as pitiful as Simon remembered, but the clothes he’d purchased earlier were laid out and waiting for them.

  “We should leave here soon,” Victor said.

  Simon gave him a cursory nod and re-examined the clothes. They were rough, shabby and filthy. An unfortunate, but necessary, guise.

  Simon shed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Elizabeth began work on the absurd row of buttons that ran up the front her blouse when she looked up and cast a nervous glance toward the door. Victor casually leaned against it, as he pushed a plug of tobacco down into a rough-hewn clay pipe.

  Simon cleared his throat.

  Victor looked at him and then at Elizabeth. He arched an eyebrow. “I have seen people naked before.”

  Simon stood a little straighter. “Not my wife.”

  Victor puffed out a bit of air in that infuriating way the French did and looked at Elizabeth once more before shaking his head. Dropping his pipe into his pocket, he offered a mock bow before leaving. Simon heard his footsteps as he took the creaking back staircase.

  Elizabeth laughed l
ightly. “That was very ‘grrr.’”

  “What sort of man stands there while—”

  “It’s all right,” she said with a patient smile. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Simon let out a breath, knowing he needed to calm his already jangled nerves. Victor would undoubtedly be the least of their problems tonight.

  The clothes were an awkward fit, each piece a little too large, but the effect was as he’d hoped. They both looked like they could use a good filling out and that would help them fit in with a group of people for whom a good, solid meal was a rarity.

  Elizabeth set about rearranging her hair and finally turned to him in triumph. “What do you think?”

  It had been transformed from an elegant bun to something that might secretly house a nest of some sort. He nodded in approval, but couldn’t keep a worried frown from his face.

  “What?” she asked as she stepped closer.

  He hadn’t wanted to bring this up, but as the time grew closer, he had no choice. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She started to argue, but he continued. “I know you want to and I’m not questioning your abilities, it’s just that…”

  “It’s dangerous?”

  “Well, yes, but that’s never stopped you before. I have no reason think it would now.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head to the side. “So what is it?”

  Simon pushed out a breath. “Are you truly prepared to do what we must do tonight?”

  She nodded, and waited, knowing he had more to say.

  “That what we must do is…watch,” he said, and the images of the files he’d read just days ago flashed across his mind.

  He walked to the window, but couldn’t see through the dirty glass. “We will have to stand by, quietly, while an innocent woman is savagely murdered.”

  He turned back to her. “Can you do that? I’m not even sure I can.”

  She swallowed and then nodded. “Yes. We have to.”

  He crossed back to her. “You, who risks her neck to save every innocent creature that crosses our path? Can you stand in the shadows, stay in the shadows, while this man…” his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat of the bile that started to rise. “While this man brutally murders someone not twenty feet away?”