Victor scrubbed his face with his hand and winced as he felt the fresh bruise growing near his eye. He needed to sleep for a few hours, to clear his head, and so started back toward his room.
He stopped by a fish market and paid a farthing for a bag of ice. It stank of herring, but it would do.
Finally, back at his boarding house, he trudged up the stairs and as he reached for the doorknob, he heard a man’s voice inside. His body tensed until he heard another sentence and recognized the accent and the entitlement—Cross.
~~~
Elizabeth focused on finishing the buttons of her blouse and shook her head. “I still feel guilty.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Simon said for what must have been the eleven hundredth time.
Somehow, that didn’t matter, she still felt guilty. If she hadn’t had her memory lapse, they would have been able to do what they needed to last night. But she’d up and gone all Memento on him and they’d missed their chance. Again.
“There’s nothing either of us can do about those events, Elizabeth.”
She was about to protest, when the door to the room opened. She gasped in surprise as she turned to see Victor looking like fresh hell.
He stood in the doorway for a moment and eyed them both tiredly. “You are still alive.”
He didn’t sound all that pleased, but then he never sounded pleased about anything.
As he walked further into the room, she could see that his right eye was swollen and dried blood streaked his face from the eyebrow above it.
“You’re hurt,” she said and started toward him.
He waved her away and put a sodden bag on the dresser. He took the cloth off of the pitcher and poured some water into the basin, before turning back to her. His eyes dipped to her unbuttoned blouse and then narrowed in disgust, his assumption clear.
Elizabeth blushed despite herself. What must he think of them to suspect they’d make love while a woman was being slaughtered?
Simon caught Victor’s expression as well and started toward him, but she put her hand on his arm. “We weren’t…doing that. We went to Whitechapel, but I screwed it up.”
“Elizabeth.”
“I had one of those time shifts,” she said, fresh guilt stinking up the room like too much rosemary.
Victor looked at her and nodded. It was as close to an apology as they were likely to get.
“It was awful,” she continued. “Have you had any?”
He looked at her, his face unchanged, except for something in his eyes. He cleared his throat and turned back to the basin, her question unanswered.
“Did you see him?” Simon asked. “Did you see Ripper?”
Victor splashed water onto his face and wiped away the dried blood. “No,” he said, letting out a long breath. “I did not.”
He took the towel and patted his face dry as he turned back to them. “I was accosted by friendly neighborhood vigilantes.”
“Damn,” Simon said softly.
He wiped his hands dry. “It seems the universe does not want us to know.”
Simon snorted, but he’d said something similar himself just a few hours ago.
Victor prodded his eyebrow with a dirty finger and then winced as he felt along the back of his head.
“Let me,” Elizabeth said, stepping forward. The gash on his head was ugly and matted with dried blood and hair. She motioned for Simon to bring the water basin over.
“I don’t need your help.”
She started to argue because clearly he did, but Simon shook his head and Elizabeth relented. Victor’s pride had suffered enough.
“Did you see anything that might help?” Simon asked.
Victor shook his head.
Simon frowned. “Nothing?”
“Graham was there, only minutes before the murder. Perhaps he managed to see something useful.”
Simon nodded and then sighed. “How can so many of us learn so little?”
Victor made a sound in his throat that earned him a glare from Simon, but neither one was in any position to throw stones.
“Did you learn anything yesterday?” Simon asked.
“I followed Chapman, but she did little else than drink, I’m afraid.”
Victor grunted as he probed the back of his head with his fingers, wincing.
“She did go along with a friend to the hospital, but she didn’t even go inside. I saw you—”
“Hospital? In Whitechapel?” Simon said. “What time was this?”
Victor shrugged. “Eleven, eleven thirty.”
“And she went with a friend?”
“Elizabeth Stride.”
The name sent a shot of adrenaline through Elizabeth. “Lizzy!”
Victor turned to her in question.
“We were there, inside, about to interview Dr. Blackwood when we heard the end of an argument he was having with a woman named Lizzy.”
“About this tall?” he asked holding up his hand up to about shoulder height. “Grey eyes?”
“Yes,” Simon said. “Elizabeth Stride, the fourth victim?”
Victor nodded.
“Do you know why they were there?” Simon asked.
Victor frowned. “I overheard them talking about some sort of plan. Some sort of revenge.”
Simon started to pace. He liked to move as his mind moved. “It’s got to be more than a coincidence that Stride and Chapman were both involved. But what’s the doctor’s connection?”
“She said something about how he thought he could get away with it,” Elizabeth said, remembering the bit of the argument they’d heard.
“Maybe he did,” Victor said.
Elizabeth turned to him in question.
“Maybe he got away with murder.”
~~~
Elizabeth was sure she’d never get used to the first floor being the second floor, at least to an American. She and Simon were meeting Graham and Vale for dinner at the Wellington, an upscale restaurant on Piccadilly just a few blocks from their hotel. Apparently, the preferred and more private dining salon was too good for the ground floor and up the stairs they went.
Simon had tried to contact Graham earlier in the day, but hadn’t heard back until the afternoon. Graham had invited them to dine that night and they’d accepted, hoping they could find an opportunity to talk with him alone.
The maitre d’ escorted them through the small, but elegant dining room. While the downstairs crowd paid six shillings for a prix fixe menu cooked by the English kitchen, the upstairs crowd paid an extra two for French. Elizabeth was so hungry she would have eaten just about anything.
Across the room, Graham waved to them and stood as they approached.
He smiled broadly in greeting. “So glad you could make it.”
“Thank you,” Simon said as he waited for the maitre d’ to help Elizabeth into her chair before taking his own.
For her part, Katherine Vale smiled tightly. Elizabeth knew that look—the slight squinting of the eyes, the firmness of the line of the mouth, the slightly off-color complexion. She was in pain, but trying to pretend she wasn’t.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked, before remembering that she shouldn’t care. This was Katherine Vale, after all.
Vale let out a quick breath and smiled an almost genuine smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit of a lingering headache.”
She touched her temple and laughed lightly shaking her head as she picked up her menu.
Elizabeth studied her for a moment, wondering if that’s all it was, before picking up her own menu to study the offerings.
“Wow.”
“It is quite a lineup, isn’t it?” Graham said.
He wasn’t kidding. The meal included soup, fish, an entree of meat, some sort of roast duck or goose, an appetizer thing she couldn’t translate, potatoes and peas, rum cake, assorted fruits and nuts, and finally petit fours. It was gluttonous.
The waiter appeared and they made their selections of entrees, and Graham ordered a b
ottle of wine for the table.
“That second murder,” Vale said when the waiter was gone. “Ghastly, isn’t it?”
Simon and Elizabeth shared a quick uneasy glance. Had Graham told her who they were and why they were there?
“Surely, you’ve heard about it?” Vale continued. “Every newspaper in town is covering it.”
“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said, relieved.
Vale picked up her wine and took a sip. “I’m surprised your editor hasn’t wired you, begging for a scoop.”
“I’m sure he will,” Elizabeth said. “He never met a gruesome murder he didn’t love.”
Everyone laughed, but it died quickly.
“I’m sure Charles could help you with it. A story on the murders, I mean,” Vale said and then looked as though she’d crossed some line and tried to retreat. “Of course, if he has time, he’s terribly busy.”
Charles smiled kindly at Elizabeth. “I would be happy to help.”
Elizabeth caught Simon’s eye again and thanked Graham for the offer.
“I read something about a psychic who’d been to the police, but they ignored him,” Vale said, her excitement at the idea obvious.
Just as obvious was Graham’s displeasure with it. He frowned and took a long drink of wine.
Katherine noticed and laughed a little nervously. “Charles thinks it’s nonsense, but I think all sorts of things are possible.”
“Like fairies and the Easter Bunny,” Graham said with a quirking smile.
Not to be put off, Vale continued, “Supposedly, he went to the police before the crimes—described them perfectly.”
“Perhaps he’s the killer,” Graham said.
“It would be silly of him to go to the police then, wouldn’t it?”
Graham nodded. “Or it’s a clever place to hide, in plain sight.”
“Well,” Vale said. “I just thought you might find it interesting. Apparently Robert Lees, that’s the psychic, is a friend of your Dr. Blackwood’s, or his wife anyway.”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“When exactly did you hear this?” Graham asked, a bit of irritation showing in his voice.
Vale laid a placating hand on his arm. “It just came up at the meeting this morning, is all. I thought it was interesting. Lees and Madame Blavatsky are going to try to reach out to the poor deceased victims later this week.”
“Ridiculous,” Graham muttered.
Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair. “You mean a séance?”
“Yes,” Vale said, a gleam in her eye. “I think it would be fascinating to see.”
“Hocus pocus,” Graham said. “That woman, and I’m sure this Lees as well, are delusional. At best. At worst they’re preying on people’s fears to make money.”
The waiters came with the soup course and conversation waned until they’d left.
“I just thought it might be interesting,” Vale said finally, as she dipped her spoon into her consommé.
“I think it would be,” Elizabeth said, earning surprised looks from both Graham and Simon. “Stranger things have turned out to be true.”
“And besides,” she continued, tucking into her soup, “it’d make a great angle for the paper.”
Vale smiled at her, both pleased and in solidarity. Both were unnerving. While it was probably nothing more than a show, there was always the chance they might learn something. Vale’s future Madame Petrovka persona was a charlatan, most mediums they’d come across were. However, Elizabeth, as a time traveler who’d saved ghosts and had dinner with vampires, didn’t write anything off.
The rest of the meal progressed without any more talk of Ripper or the murders. Finally the last course had been served and removed.
Vale’s excitement from earlier had faded and her expression was once again the pinched and tired one they’d seen at the start. Her fingers idly massaged her temple and her eyes grew tighter around the edges.
“Port?” Graham suggested.
Simon and Elizabeth accepted, but Vale shook her head.
“None for me,” she said.
Graham nodded. “Your head again?”
She smiled wanly in apology. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“I don’t want to break up the party.”
Graham thought for a moment. “How about this? I’ll take you back, get you settled in, and I can rejoin the Crosses in the bar for a nightcap?”
He glanced at Simon. “What do you say? It’s not far.”
Simon nodded.
“Very good,” Graham said, as he stood and helped Vale up.
Simon, always the gentleman, even to the evilly endowed, stood as well. “We’ll see you shortly.”
Vale offered Elizabeth another apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I’m such a wet blanket.”
Elizabeth kindly waved off her apology. The sooner she went to her rooms the sooner she and Simon could get Graham alone.
Graham took out several bills and put them on the table. “I’ll see you in the bar.”
“Get some rest,” Elizabeth said as Vale and Graham left the table. “And why am I being nice her?” she added quietly once they’d left.
Simon turned to her and covered her hand with his. “Because you pity her?”
She did. Despite everything, seeing her this way, it made Elizabeth wonder if not for the Grace of God…
Simon looked toward the door. “Just don’t forget who she really is.”
“She tried to kill me. And you. More than once,” she said. “That’s not the sort of thing one forgets.”
“Or forgives.”
“I just wonder if things had been different,” Elizabeth said, “would she be? Different, I mean.”
Simon’s eyebrows went up and he let out a sigh. “We will never know, will we? It’s our job to make sure things aren’t different. For her or for us.”
Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “We’re lucky.”
Simon nodded. “Let’s make sure we stay that way.”
~~~
About ten minutes after they’d found a table in the corner of the Hyde Park Hotel salon, Graham came back as promised. Simon had been growing more and more impatient as the evening wore on. A long dinner with your arch enemy, who was artfully playing the victim, did little to quell his nerves.
He nearly yanked Graham down into his chair when he arrived and wasted no time on preliminaries.
“Did you see him?” Simon asked.
“Ripper?” Graham said, gesturing for the waiter to come to the table as he took his seat. “No.”
Simon clenched his jaw. What the bloody hell was going on?
“Sherry,” Graham said. “Harvey’s, if you have it.”
“What happened?” Simon asked.
Graham sat back in his chair and tugged at his cuffs. “I take it you had no luck either?”
Simon grunted out a no.
Graham crossed his legs casually. “I’m starting to think the universe doesn’t want us to know.”
Simon, and Victor, had both said the very same thing. “What happened?”
“Vigilance. Vigilantes more like it. I’d barely even gotten to Whitechapel before they cracked me over the skull,” he said, gesturing to the back of his head. “By the time I came to, it was too late.”
Damn vigilance committee. They were doing more harm than good, even if they didn’t know it.
“I suppose it’s just as well. Kat’s headache kept her home,” Graham said. “What kept you away? Did they stop you, too?”
“No, we ran into other trouble,” Simon said, hoping Graham wouldn’t push.
Graham shook his head and frowned. “Curious thing, isn’t it? I’m starting to believe it’s no accident no one’s ever discovered his identity.”
“You mean like a conspiracy?” Elizabeth asked.
“No, not necessarily that. It’s just, well,” he smiled, a small shared sec
ret smile, “time has a funny way of taking care of itself. Perhaps we’re not meant to know.”
Simon hadn’t considered that; that their knowledge of who Ripper was could be a change itself in the time continuum.
“Not that I’m going to stop trying,” Graham said, taking his drink from the returning waiter.
“To better luck next time,” he said, holding up his glass.
Simon drank, but he did not want to rely on next time. Whether it was the universe, or a man, or just plain bad luck that was keeping the secret, he was not planning on waiting three weeks to find out.
“Did you see anything that might help? Any leads at all?” Simon asked.
Graham took another sip of his sherry and put it aside. “I did hear a rumor. It’s only that though.”
“What?” Elizabeth asked.
“About your doctor. Supposedly, and I’m getting this second hand mind you, he was in Whitechapel last night. Helping deliver a baby.”
“A baby?” Elizabeth frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Dr. Blackwood.”
Graham shrugged his shoulders. “They could be mistaken. I just thought it a bit odd.” He turned to Simon. “And you? No other leads?”
“I’m not sure,” Simon said. “Possibly, but…”
It was maddening having so few leads and so many obstacles.
“I think you’re right to keep on the doctor’s scent,” Graham said. “I’ll do a little poking around myself. See what I can turn up.”
Simon let out a heavy breath. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear, but better another pair of eyes than not.
“So,” Graham said, eyeing them both with a curious smile. “A husband and wife team? That must put a strain on your relationship.”
Simon laughed. “It puts a strain on my blood pressure, but the other,” he added looking fondly at Elizabeth, “no.”
Graham breathed in deeply through his nose. “I wish I could say the same. I thought this would help bring us together, but…I’m not sure she’s cut out for this life.”
Simon managed to keep a straight face and took a drink of his scotch. “It’s not for everyone.”
A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) Page 15
