by Tamara Allen
“He wants you to find your way home.” His gaze still avoided mine. “I must confess some reluctance to see you go so soon.”
As he leaned back against the bricks, I joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Sooner or later, I’ll have to go. I shouldn’t be here and God knows what damage I’ve already done. You know that. You’ve always known.”
“I have,” he said, head bobbing in an apologetic nod. “And I should have told you he was back. I knew you were concerned for him.”
I gave his wrist a squeeze. “Guess we’ve complicated things but good.”
“If you’re meaning to suggest moving back to Derry’s room, please don’t.”
“I don’t think sleeping in separate beds will keep us apart,” I observed with a faint grin. Only a hundred years would accomplish that. The thought gave me a lonely feeling. But I’d gotten over guys before. Whether we were together or apart, the infatuation would burn itself out in due time. If I kept reminding myself of that, I’d get through it. I was a little more worried at the moment how Ezra would. “You okay?”
He smiled. “You’ve been a revelation for me, Morgan. If this is to end tomorrow, I shall not have any regrets.”
I leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek and he suddenly laughed. “Your Mr. Sullivan asserts he cannot seem to evade this—ah—bullshit, no matter where he goes.”
A slew of memories caught me off guard, of the way Sully would always groan and gripe whenever he got an eyeful of my greetings or good-byes with various boyfriends. I leaned back against the wall and laughed. “Hey, Sully. You better get used to it or they’ll be sending you back down to live that big gay romance I always warned you about.”
Ezra’s eyes widened, not at what I said but apparently at Sully’s response. “I do not believe I care to repeat that.”
“I’ll bet.” I grinned. “Sul, if you want me to get back home, tell us where the hell the book went.”
“He wishes to know if you think he knows everything,” Ezra relayed with the arch of an eyebrow.
I chuckled. “He sure thought he did while he was down here. What about this case? The Ripper?”
“He says—” Ezra frowned. “It’s irrelevant.”
“What? Like hell it is. Are you sure you’re talking to Sully, because he wouldn’t call a murder investigation irrelevant.”
“He says it’s irrelevant because you’re not going to stop him. You can’t stop him or you’ll change history.” Ezra seemed as confused as I felt. He shook his head. “I don’t understand….” He seemed to be talking to Sully. After a moment, his expression cleared. “It isn’t why you’re here, he says.”
“Not why….” I sputtered in disgust. “Okay, then why the hell am I here?”
“Why indeed.” His lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “Perhaps a holiday?”
I snorted. “Don’t get me wrong. You’ve made this place pretty damned tolerable. But a holiday, it ain’t. Sully, I could use a little help here. I’ve got no equipment, no experienced backup, not a goddamned thing—”
“Forget about the Ripper,” Ezra said, with the flavor of Sully’s world-weary patience in his voice. “Find the book.”
“We’re working on that,” I said. “We’ve got a pair of occult kooks from psychicland looking for it and if they can’t find it, I’m fucked. Why won’t you help me out?”
Ezra exhaled a tired sigh. “He says he hasn’t fought your battles for you since your father died and he’s not about to begin now.”
“What battle? This is just another case. We were partners, Sully. We worked together, remember?”
“This isn’t about the case,” Ezra said softly. “The case is—”
“Irrelevant,” I spat out. “You know what? You can tell Sully or whoever it is that I’m here in fucking 1888 and unless he’s got a way to get me home this minute, I’m working the case that’s here.”
The rain started, hard, and I glowered at a sky that had gone as dark and grim as the buildings around us. Too annoyed to stand still, I took off at a fast walk and kept it fast despite the cold wind in my face trying to slow me down.
“Morgan, for heaven’s sake.” The black dome of Ezra’s umbrella floated overhead, thwarting the stinging rain, and an arm slipped around mine. “Inviting pneumonia will assuredly put an end to your investigations.”
“Is he gone?” My voice was a harsh rasp and I sucked in a breath, trying to put a lid on my anger and frustration. Yeah, catching Jack would be changing history—for the better. I didn’t get why Sully didn’t see that.
Ezra caught my hand in a warm grip. “He’s gone. I imagine he felt he couldn’t do any more while you were angry.”
“Damn right I’m angry,” I muttered.
Affection flashed in his eyes. “Tea,” he said decidedly. “And a fire, if we can find one.” He pulled me along and I let him, too preoccupied with trying to get my bearings all over again. I didn’t think Sully’s attitude was just about me getting home as fast as possible to nail Leonard Gladstell. Maybe he thought I’d get hurt or killed, hunting down the Ripper. Or maybe he really was worried about the effect on history. Still, it bugged the hell out of me. Sully had always believed my dedication was an asset to the Bureau. Why he wanted me to give up on a case like this, I couldn’t figure out.
Ezra found a coffee house and, over tea and sandwiches, listened as I grumbled. Expecting him to side with Sully, I was surprised when he suggested we investigate a little more before nightfall. “We might hunt up that shopkeep your clerk mentioned. Perhaps she knew something of Miss Stride’s habits and can direct us to others who may know more.” He finger-combed his damp hair off his brow and poured another cup of tea. “We can go ’round to bookshops as well, if you like.”
I wanted to slide around to his side of the table and kiss him hard. Instead I kicked him gently. “Stop feeling guilty about Sully. Hell, you’re only human.”
I had to wonder if I would really linger, once the book was found. Even the draw of nailing the Ripper might not be enough to keep me when I had the way home in my hands. Though my homesickness had been dulled by the events of the past few days, it surged now and then into painful yearning. I missed the comforts and conveniences and, even more, the familiarity of my own life.
Still, the thought of leaving this cold case uncracked bothered me. And saying good-bye to Ezra—I didn’t dwell on that at all.
The next morning, I headed out to the inquest for Elizabeth Stride, figuring if the police weren’t going to work with me, I might as well try to work with them. Gathering the names of witnesses and relatives at the inquest was a good start. Ezra tagged along with me and when the inquest ended, we came home to an altogether different sort of horror. Derry had finagled tickets to the opera for Kathleen, to, I figured, pay her back for not kicking us all out days ago. I’d never sat through an opera and that’s just how I wanted to keep it. But everyone else seemed delighted by the prospect, Ezra included.
Resigned to my fate, I spent Wednesday in the guise of silent partner to Detective Glacenbie, who went reluctantly along with my plan in order to question witnesses and gather more comparison prints. A fog had set in by the time we returned to the house to bathe and dress. I didn’t hold out much hope that the evening would do anything but put me to sleep, but it started out portentously enough with a crowd outside the Savoy buzzing about as if they could not bear the anticipation. But it wasn’t the opera that had them all in a titter. Someone armed with colored chalk had brought the Ripper’s handiwork to life in gruesome detail on the sidewalk. The crowd lingered over it with the same morbid fascination I was used to seeing back in my own time. People never changed.
I heard Ezra’s whispered, “Dear God,” and I nodded.
“Bad as the tabloids. Let’s spare the ladies, shall we?” I intercepted Kathleen and Hannah and, offering each an arm, headed for the theater entrance before either of them could get an eyeful of something that would spoil their evening. Kathleen
looked at me in mute concern and I shook my head, hoping she’d accept that I couldn’t tell her anything in front of Hannah. But Hannah, in her crisp white dress and new boots, copper hair beribboned and falling sleekly down her back, paid no attention to our exchange. Kathleen had transformed her from cinder girl to princess, and I think she had enjoyed the process as much as Hannah. I knew it wasn’t the new dress alone that had Hannah beaming like a carefree kid.
We gathered up the rest of the party and went inside, into the first really well-lit place I’d seen since my arrival in 1888. I realized the theater wasn’t gas-lit; the lights were electric. It felt like a step into the future, toward my own life. Okay, so maybe a little light seemed a small thing to be so cheerful about. But like all other conveniences, I’d taken it for granted until it was gone.
Ezra was smiling. He’d noticed my reaction. “I suppose the whole world is run on electricity in your time.”
“Pretty much.” I bumped an elbow against his. “It brings out the gold in your lashes. Not to mention your freckles.”
His gaze narrowed. “Is that meant as a compliment?”
I leaned closer and whispered, “I like your freckles.”
Apparently opening night was as big in the past as it was in my time. People of every description jammed the place, from the well-to-do dripping with fur and jewelry to folks who looked as though they’d scraped together their last few pennies to attend. Accustomed to the sea of unfamiliar faces, I was startled to see two I recognized. I gave Ezra a nudge and directed his attention to an impeccably dressed Jem Montague and, beside him, good old Sid, fitting right in.
Ezra’s eyes went wide with dismay. “What the devil is he thinking?” And suddenly I was let loose as Ezra slipped away through the crowd. Curious, I trailed after him. Ezra had pulled Jem aside as I reached them, but Sid hardly gave that any notice as his eyes lit on me and a wicked grin vanquished his bored look.
“Morgan Nash of New York,” he announced, savoring the words as if they were as sweet as chocolate. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d go in for this sort of thing.”
“The opera? I don’t.”
He looked me up and down, leer at full throttle. “A victim of Ezra’s persuasion, then? You poor, dear man. Shall we sneak away and make our own fun?”
I knew guys at home like Sid, who thrived on seeing how far they could push before the world pushed back. “Jem would be well within his rights to deck me, so I think I’ll decline the invitation. You don’t strike me as an opera fan either, Sid.”
At my remark, his smile faded and he shrugged. “Jem wants someone to go about with him. I suit, in the particulars.”
I had a feeling he’d do what he had to do to suit any particulars that paid the rent. “No love lost here, then?”
“Love?” He shook his head with a pitying good humor. “My dear Morgan, Jem is already in love and has been for ages.” He leaned toward me, voice fading to a whisper. “Don’t I put you in mind of anyone?”
Before I could avoid him, he kissed my cheek. Splaying a hand on his chest, I pushed him back. “A word of warning. Do that again and I’ll knock you on your ass.”
Fascination burned darkly in his eyes. “Would you?”
I checked a sigh, realizing the stupidity of threatening a guy who obviously got off on creating a scene. I wasn’t prepared to embarrass Ezra, Derry, and Kathleen by being thrown out of the theater or, worse, arrested. Jem Montague spared me the decision, however, as he swept past with a quick, polite apology and hauled Sid away. I looked around at a troubled Ezra as Jem and Sid vanished into the crowd. “What the hell was that about?”
A rueful glint sparked in his eyes. “You may call me a snob, if you like, but Jem has already done irreparable damage to his reputation. If he persists, it will do him in, and he seems not to care a whit.”
I couldn’t help it. I had to ask. “Who’s Jem in love with? Not Clara, I’m guessing.”
He frowned at me. “I rather hoped I would not have to perpetuate that rumor.”
“Which is?”
Ezra sighed. “Jem tutored the prince a while and it is my understanding they became quite close. Whether he returns Jem’s feelings, I’ve never learned, but Jem has not quite gotten over him. If anything, it seems a hurt that has led him to act more and more imprudently since. Perhaps has affected his mind,” Ezra added softly.
That Jem had set his sights too high and gotten burned made me feel for the guy. But I couldn’t deny the sudden relief that swamped me—even though I hadn’t entirely accepted the thought that Jem might be in love with Ezra, or vice versa. They weren’t right for each other and if Jem was heading for a big fall, he didn’t need to drag Ezra down with him. Jem and Sid, on the other hand—well, if they could shake off all the game playing and really look at each other, maybe something could come of it. I didn’t hold out much hope for them. Sid might be amusing at parties, but if there was anything underneath all that bullshit, I’d yet to see it.
Ezra pulled gently at my arm. “We’ve only a few minutes. Sidney didn’t pester you too much, I hope.”
“I’ve seen Sid’s type before. He doesn’t bother me.” I focused on Ezra. “How about you? Jem didn’t listen to what you had to say?”
“I’m afraid not….” He trailed off as Derry and Henry hurried toward us. “Don’t mention it to anyone, Morgan, please,” Ezra whispered.
“We shall have to bell you like two wayward toms,” Derry said cheerfully as he stalked around behind us and gave us a push toward the stairs. “Henry, you’ll have charge of that one.” He handed over Ezra, then caught hold of my arm. “I’ll keep this one and we shan’t lose them again.”
Ezra exchanged an amused look with me. “Terribly optimistic, aren’t they?”
The house was packed, the chatter deafening. The seats, however, were comfortable and I slid down into the one beside Ezra’s and wondered who would really notice if I dozed off, mid-opera. When the scene opened on a striking re-creation of the Tower of London and a young woman began to sing charmingly—and mercifully—in English, I decided I could stay awake and see if it panned out into anything worth watching all the way through. I’d never been a Gilbert and Sullivan fan, but it was intriguing to be present on the opening night of one of their operettas. The theater crowd was energetically vocal and as involved in the unfolding drama as if they had a personal stake in the outcome. They called for a considerable number of encores and the troupe obliged. When the composers came out to greet the audience, I had to think the thunderous applause could be heard in the street. By the time we were swept with the crowd out into the lobby, I felt as wired as after a rock concert. Derry, beside me on the stairs, raised his voice to be heard above the din. “You found it to your liking after all.”
“Gilbert and Sullivan I can tolerate. It’s the long-winded caterwauling that ends with everyone lying dead on the stage that puts me to sleep.”
“Ah. Yes, the singing is sprightly enough. But the jester fared none too well, poor chap.”
Sid and Jem passed us on the crowded steps, and I noticed the way Jem moved, as if he wanted to get out of the theater as fast as he could. Sid, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the crush of the crowd. He saw me and, pulling loose the rosebud from his dress coat, threw it to me. I knew it was no use trying to warn him to behave. He didn’t know the meaning of restraint. As I tossed the rose to the carpet, Jem turned to make sure Sid was still with him and noticed me as well. There was a distinctly troubled look in the deep blue eyes. He hardly seemed to even recognize me. Grabbing Sid by the arm, he nearly dragged him along and they disappeared from sight.
Derry plucked at my sleeve. The ladies were already downstairs, Henry and Ezra with them.
“Shall we dine next door?” Ezra asked, as soon as we were within earshot.
“It will be terribly crowded,” Henry said. “I say we walk further down and see what we may find.”
Kathleen looked alarmed. “In this fog?”
I knew what she was thinking. “We could hold hands,” I suggested and gave Hannah a wink. As Hannah tried to smother a giggle, Kathleen looked at me reprovingly.
“I have put time and good effort into teaching Hannah proper manners. Do not undo all my teaching in a matter of days, if you please.”
It was not her sternest tone and even Hannah realized it, smiling at me with a bit of girlish triumph. Deciding I’d better cool it before I turned Hannah into a top-notch twenty-first century rebellious teenager, I turned to ask Ezra where we should get some supper—and knew the moment I saw his face that his thoughts were elsewhere. And not a good elsewhere. Careful to not startle him, I put a hand on his arm. “Ez?”
The blue gaze remained fixed on some point beyond my shoulder. I tightened my grip and he let out a breath and with it, two quiet words. “He’s here.”
Chapter 18
