by Amy Cross
"Maybe I do," I reply, even though I feel as if maybe I'm getting in a little too deep. I was looking for some uncomplicated sex, not a Bacchanalian affair.
"Are you sure?"
I pause for a moment. "Yeah".
He stares at me, and I can see from the look in his eyes that I've caught his attention at last. "Are you really, really sure? There's no backing out, Elly. If you're in, you're in".
"I'm in," I say, though I'm starting to get kind of worried. What am I agreeing to here?
"Are you?" He walks over to me and stares straight into my eyes, standing close enough for our bodies to be almost touching. It feels like he's searching my soul, looking for something. We stay like this for what feels like eternity, standing in silence as he studies me. "No," he says eventually. "No, I don't think so". With that, he turns and walks back over to the door.
"Why don't you give me a chance?" I ask. "Are you really scared I'll get hurt? Or are you scared I won't get hurt, and that then you'll have to deal with me on level terms?"
"I'm not scared of anything," he replies. "I just think it would be wise to steer clear of unnecessary complications". He pauses for a moment. "I guess I've been leading you on a little. The truth is, I like you. I like you a lot. You have a look in your eyes that's very rare. You're smart, and you're beautiful, and I've allowed myself to still see you, probably because I liked to entertain the possibility that maybe..." He sighs. "It's my mistake, but I'm not going to make it again. Whatever you think my life is like, you're wrong. I came very close to pulling you into something that would have hurt you, or maybe even... I'm going to walk away, and I know you'll never fully understand what's been going on between us, but let me assure you of one thing. You must always be very, very grateful that I made this decision". He turns and opens the door, and then - without saying another word - he walks away.
"Well..." I start to say, but then I realize it's pointless trying to argue with him. He's clearly completely full of himself, and I'm starting to think that maybe he's right: maybe I am better off keeping away from his life. I mean, sure he's hot, and he's rich, but there seems to be something else going on that I really don't understand. I wait a few minutes, hoping to give him enough time to get the hell out of here, and then I head back through to the reception room. The guests are starting to drift back to their cars, and I see to my relief that Mark has already gone.
"Shall we get going?" my mother asks, smiling as she comes up behind me and takes my arm. "A few people are coming back to the house".
"Sure," I say, looking down at the small silver pot in her hand. "What's that?"
"It's your father," she replies.
"Oh". We walk silently out to the car park, where a taxi is waiting for us. I spot Mark's car pulling away, but I don't bother to watch him leave. It's pretty obvious that he's wrapped up in his own weird little world, and the last thing I need is to get caught up in someone else's drama. Whatever games he likes to play, I'd rather stay well clear.
Eight
1895
As soon as I walk into my office back at New Scotland Yard, I'm confronted with the most shocking sight. Piled up on my desk, I find more than two dozen notebooks of varying sizes, shapes and colors. Standing next to them, and with a rather self-satisfied look on his face, Laverty seems to think that he has uncovered something rather spectacular.
"Where did these come from?" I ask.
"You asked me to dig around," he replies, "so I dug around. I found forty-five cases in which a missing girl noted some reference either to Edward Lockhart, or to this Mr. Blue individual. Forty-five, Sir. Surely that's got to mean something!"
"How old are these?" I ask, somewhat in awe of the piles of journals.
"Some are recent," he continues. "Some date back as far as twenty years".
"Twenty years?" I pause for a moment. "That's not possible. Edward Lockhart would have been but a child".
"The older ones reference Mr. Blue, rather than Lockhart directly. It's my guess that the position was interchangeable, and that someone else once held the title Mr. Blue, in which case Lockhart's position within this game would have been rather more disposable". He smiles, clearly very pleased with himself. To be fair, he has done a good job.
"There might be something to this," I reply, picking up one of the journals.
"Were you inquiries of any benefit?" he asks.
"Not particularly," I say. "Mr. Lockhart is said to have left the country, though I have it on good authority from other sources that his departure might have been less than convivial. In fact, I would wager that he was forcibly removed from the equation".
"You think he's dead?"
"I think his disappearance is highly uncommon," I reply. "I dismissed the man's story when he first came to see me, but now I am starting to think that perhaps there was something to it. It is certainly possible that his co-conspirators got wind of his visit to me and decided to silence him". I pause for a moment, thinking back to Lockhart's ramblings; as he ranged over a variety of topics, including the deaths of several girls as well as the notorious Whitechapel and Jack the Ripper murders, I thought him to be quite insane. Now, however, I am beginning to give serious consideration to the possibility that the man might have been telling the truth. Surely his entire tale cannot be correct, but perhaps certain elements can be proven true.
At that moment, we are disturbed by a knock at the door. I turn to see my superior, Captain Elton, entering the room, and I can see from the look on his face that he has something of grave importance to discuss with me.
"Laverty, get out of here," he says.
Laverty glances at me before hurrying out of the room. Although he is a man who despises authority, and who bristles at being given orders and commands, Laverty nevertheless obeys dutifully whenever he is told what to do. Nevertheless, I am quite certain that he will complain loudly and bitterly to me later, regarding the abrupt nature of his dismissal by Captain Elton.
"Is there a problem, Sir?" I ask.
"I understand you've been investigating a gentleman by the name of Edward Lockhart," he replies. "Something to do with some missing girl, I believe?" He looks over at the pile of journals. "I take it that this mini-library you have collected is something to do with the case?"
"I am at the preliminary stages of -"
"It's a hiding to nothing," he snaps. "I can't imagine what has gotten into you, Matthews, but I hardly think you can argue this is a good use of police time. I took a look at the file and I fail to see what in blazes could have persuaded you to waste even a moment's thought on the matter".
"My initial reaction was to dismiss the whole thing," I explain, "but Laverty and I have come up with some puzzling connections that I believe demand attention".
"And for that reason," Elton continues, "you decided to go and make a nuisance of yourself at the home of Lady deHavilland". He stares at me for a moment. "I have been informed that you paid her a visit today, and spun your tawdry tale while presenting thinly-veiled accusations".
"I hardly think -"
"I don't want to hear your excuses," he replies, having clearly decided to come in here and read me the riot act. "Lady deHavilland is a highly esteemed member of London society. Her husband is a man of considerable nobility, and it simply will not do to have her bothered by such things, especially when I am informed that there was some indication of a sexual element to the investigation".
I sigh. "The only -"
"I don't want to hear it!" he booms. "You do not bother a lady with questions relating to criminal activity. Not unless you have authorization from me in the first place. I could have your badge for this, Matthews, and I must admit I gave the matter some thought. I have decided to give you the benefit of the doubt, but your investigation must end here. I order you at once to gather up these journals and have them burned, and then you will get on with some actual police work. Do you understand?"
"Absolutely," I reply, knowing full well that it would be futile t
o argue with him.
"Very good," he says, walking over to the door. "I hope not to have to reprimand you on this matter again," he adds, before leaving. I take a deep breath as I realize that I have just felt the full force of London's elite weigh down upon my shoulders. Although Lady deHavilland was polite to my face, she clearly decided to send a message to my superiors and get my investigation shut down. Perhaps she was merely aghast at the nature of my questions, but I would rather believe that she became a little nervous as I got too close to the bone.
"Problem, Sir?" Laverty asks, having returned to the room.
"We must cease our investigation into this matter," I reply. "Officially, that is".
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially, we shall keep digging". I turn and look at the notebooks, piled high on my desk. "I have an important job for you, Laverty. I need you to go into town and purchase forty-five notebooks of varying sizes. I need you to then come back with them, and take them to the charnel room and have them burned. Make sure the smoke rises high. I need Captain Elton to believe that these notebooks have been burned".
"Very good, Sir," he says, smiling as he turns to leave. After a moment, he looks back at me. "I was right, wasn't I? Them in power don't like having questions asked, do they?"
"Apparently not," I say. "Therefore, we shall ask no more questions. Not in public, anyway. But we shall keep digging in the background, and I think perhaps we might actually turn up something of interest".
Once Laverty has gone, I walk over to the window and look out across the street. The idea of some secret society operating in London, playing a sexual game that claims the lives of young ladies, is almost impossible to believe. Nevertheless, impossible things do happen from time to time, and one must always keep an open mind. If Mr. Blue and Lady Red are really out there somewhere, I'm going to find them, and I'm going to put a stop to their little game before it can claim another life.
Nine
Today
"Elly," my mother says, "are you listening to me?"
Suddenly realizing that I've been daydreaming for a few minutes, I turn to her. "What?"
"I asked if you could put some more tea water on," she continues, clearly a little annoyed at me. "I'm afraid we're running low".
"Sure," I say, glad of any excuse to get out of this middle-class pressure cooker. I've spent the past hour sitting in the front room at my mother's house, listening as she and a few of her friends discuss my father. I feel like I have to stay, otherwise I'd seem rude, but at the same time I want nothing more than to just go out and get blind drunk. Damn it, I'm so desperate for a distraction, I've even been considering calling Rob and seeing if he's back in town. Thankfully, I realized what a huge mistake it would be to re-open that particular sore, but I'm still tired and frustrated. The day has been dragging on, and I just need some kind of release. Perhaps the worst thing is that the urn containing my father's ashes is currently sitting on the coffee table, as if my mother's making some macabre attempt to include him in the conversation.
The other problem is that it's hard taking my mind off Mark, and I feel a little annoyed that he apparently thinks I'm some delicate flower who can't stand to be touched. Everything about his behavior earlier, from his tone of voice to the way he insisted he wanted to keep away from me even as he was hanging around for a chat, made my blood boil. I don't think anyone has ever quite got under my skin the same way, and I keep coming back to the memory of that kiss the other night. I find it hard to believe that a kiss like that, so full of passion, could have meant nothing. Then again, I guess I just have to move on and forget about him.
While I'm waiting for the kettle to boil, my phone starts to ring and I see that it's Jess. Although I was planning to give her a call later, I was hoping to gather my thoughts together a little first. Still, I guess there's no time like the present.
"Hey," I say as I answer.
"Hey," she says. "So how'd it go?"
"The funeral?" I pause for a moment, trying to think of a single word that can sum up the whole experience. "Sad," I say eventually. "Sad and long, but at least it's over now. More or less. There are still a few stragglers in the living room. I swear, they're like vampires, feasting on the emotional energy". I pour boiling water into the tea-pot. "Also, I kind of slept with someone".
"You did what?"
I smile. I'm pretty sure I timed that little revelation to perfection. "Surprised?"
"You lost your virginity at your Dad's funeral?" she asks, sounding shocked. "Fucking brilliant!"
"No!" I reply. "Not at the funeral, you dip-shit. It was with this guy the other night. His name's Rob. It's nothing, really. He was just a one night stand. Or two nights, actually. Well, two nights and a few days. But either way, it's over, and before you ask, it was pretty awful".
"Small dick?"
"Small dick," I confirm, feeling a slight buzz as I realize that I never used to be able to have this kind of conversation before. "He didn't know how to use it much, either. He just kind of stuck it in and poked it around until it spurted. Still, it's done, so now I can go look for someone who has a few more ideas".
"Congratulations," she says. "About fucking time".
"I know," I reply. "Really, I should have just got it over and done with years ago".
"Your first time's always shit," she says. "You're just lying there, shocked that it's finally happening. Your second time, on the other hand... Well, let's just say, most people find that their second time is when it really starts to get good. No guarantees, though. Some people just have sucky sex their whole lives. Imagine that".
I smile. Jess has always been very open about these things, and it's good to talk to her. I kind of want to talk to her about Mark, but I'm not sure how I'd even bring up that bed of worms. I guess I'll need a few days to think over what's really going on, and then I can talk to Jess face to face when I get back to Bristol. I know she'll be fascinated by the sordid details, and she'll love picking over the bones of everything that happened. She'll inevitably offer me some advice that makes total sense. Shame it's too late...
"I have to go," she says after a moment. "Some guy's coming over and... Well, you know".
"Sure," I reply. Jess always seems to have a guy coming over. She's the least boring person I've ever met. "I guess you need to pre-heat your panties. I'll see you on Thursday".
Once the call is over, I take the tea back through to my mother and her friends. I still feel like I'm sticking out like a sore thumb, but I guess I can handle a few more hours of boredom. Picking up the local paper, I start flicking through, reading various stories about libraries and parks. It doesn't seem like there's very much of interest going on in this part of London, but eventually I come across a story about a missing woman. Someone named Christine Briggs vanished a few days ago, and her family are appealing for information. It's all the usual stuff, and no part of the story is particularly surprising, given that London is generally a pretty dodgy place even at the best of times. However, the image of the woman is strikingly familiar. As I stare at her, I can't help thinking that she looks like the woman who was with Mark at dinner the other night.
"Elly?" asks a quiet, timid-sounding voice nearby. I turn to see Felicity Haughton smiling at me. I've never actually met her before, but I've seen her around a few times and I know a lot about her. She's the woman who was apparently my father's first love, and I've always kind of suspected that he regretted not marrying her. Sure, he was happy with my mother, but I reckon he often wondered if he could have been happier with Felicity. I asked him about her once, not that long ago, and he just smiled and told me to stop listening to idle gossip.
"Hi," I say, putting the newspaper down.
"I just wanted to tell you that your reading at the chapel today was really lovely," she says. "It was a genuinely touching moment".
"Thank you," I reply. There's something about this woman that I really like. In the heart of all the insanity that's been swirling around me l
ately, she's an oasis of calm. Loads of people have paid me compliments today, and they've all sounded false, but somehow Felicity Haughton seems totally genuine.
"I often find these things to be far too mawkish," she continues, "but you really hit the sweet spot".
I smile. There's that word again: mawkish. Felicity and my father are the only two people I've ever heard use that word.
"Well," she says, after an awkward pause, "I really must be going. I just wanted to say hello". She gets to her feet.
"I'll show you out," I say, following her through to the hallway once she's said goodbye to my mother and the others. "So you knew my Dad years ago, huh?" I ask, figuring that this might be my only chance to find out a little more about my father's younger days.
"Yes," she says. "We were at university together. He was always the brainy one, of course. I used to tell him he'd be the next Einstein". She smiles. "Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he was certainly a very clever man".
"So what do you do now?" I ask. "Do you do research work, like he did?"
She shakes her head. "I drifted out of all that," she explains as she puts her coat on. "I got married and had children, and before I knew it, I was too old to get a proper position anywhere. So I ended up teaching, which has been rewarding in its own way". She smiles again, but I can't shake the feeling that there's real sadness in her heart. I want to ask her about her true feelings for my father, and to find out if they were ever truly in love, but I don't know how I'd even begin to bring up that question. I guess it's more appropriate to simply let things settle. After all, my father was happy enough with my mother.
"Thanks for coming," I say as she opens the door and steps out into the driveway.
"Oh, I had to," she replies. "You know how it is. One must always say goodbye when the time comes". With that, she turns and hurries away, leaving me to stand and watch as she goes. It's weird to think that she and my father might have once been friends, and that in another life they might have got together and I'd never have been born. I guess the world is full of people who miss their connections and end up either alone, or settling for someone who wasn't their first choice. I don't know if my father and Felicity Haughton were star-crossed lovers, exactly, but I get the feeling there was definitely something between them, and it was something that never really worked out. Maybe they were too scared to see if they could make it work? Maybe they chose the safe, boring option and married people who were more readily available?
