On a Night Black

by Cherie Mitchell

  Amy made a zipping motion across her mouth. “Ask me no questions…”

  “…And I’ll tell you no lies,” he finished lamely. “Thanks for nothing. I thought you were my friend.” They had reached a large glass display cabinet stuffed with a 19th century printing press, printing plates, stencils, and other paraphernalia. A small stack of newspapers caught his eye and he wandered over to have a look, reminded of his daily question to the newspaper boy before Annie’s death. His eye fell on the large black and white photo taking up most of the front page and the shock was swift and immediate. He staggered back, overcome with giddiness and quite certain that he was about to faint.

  “Elliot, what’s wrong? You look nauseous. Are you ok?” Amy, her face taut with concern, placed her hand on his waist and steered him over to a bench seat beside the wall. She helped him to sit down and then crouched in front of him, anxiously peering up into his face. “What happened? Are you feeling ill?”

  He lifted a trembling hand and pointed at the display cabinet, still unable to believe what he’d just seen. “Annie. Her photo is on the front page. A press photographer took a photograph of her and her friends outside the Bryant & May match factory during the big factory strike. I looked for the image for months, checking the daily newspaper whenever I could, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen it.” He shoved himself back onto his feet, determined to gaze at her lovely face once more. “It’s my Annie. It really is her.”

  Amy hurried to keep up with him as he marched back across the floor to press his face against the glass, oblivious to the curious stares of other museum visitors. “I’ve dreamed of her so often and now here she is.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Amy said softly. “I can see why you loved her so much.”

  Elliot could no longer see anything, not through the hot rush of tears that dampened his cheeks and blurred his vision. “I must have a copy to keep. I won’t leave here until I have it.”

  “I doubt the museum will let you away with that but we can do the next best thing.” Amy bossily held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

  A few minutes later, Elliot was beaming down at the perfect picture of Annie’s face on his phone screen. “This means so much to me. You have no idea how much it means. I’d convinced myself that the photographer never developed that particular image.”

  “Stop it. You’re making me cry now.” Amy dabbed at her eyes as she watched him. “You can keep her with you for always now.”

  Elliot nodded, unable to speak. The wonders of the modern world continued to amaze him and now, after all this time, he could keep Annie close to his heart again. He tucked the phone into his breast pocket and patted it fondly. “Neither one of us ever saw that edition. Finding it has made all the difference to me. Before this, I believed that the only image of her that ever existed was the etching made after her death at Jack the Ripper’s hand.”

  “Who we know is also the Knave. There’s no way I could ever put myself in your shoes and do what you’re doing.” She shuddered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms in an attempt to warm herself. “I can’t imagine how awful it was for you when you heard about her death.”

  He nodded again, unwilling to tell her that he’d accidently stumbled across the brutal scene of Annie’s death rather than hearing the terrible news from a friend or acquaintance. That scene was not something he wanted to remind himself of – not ever.

  Amy blew her nose loudly into her handkerchief before stuffing it back into her shoulder bag. She leaned in close and studied his face without a trace of embarrassment. “You’re still very pale. I think we need to take a detour through the coffee shop. I know I could definitely do with a sugar hit after that drama.”

  He took one last, lingering look at the photograph in the display cabinet, imprinting every detail on his mind, before heading off with Amy to revive himself in the invigorating embrace of a strong cup of coffee.

  Chapter Five

  With some judicious planning, the night of the party coincided with Elliot’s return to 1889. Darcy had scheduled the journey for the following day and Amy and Ramona had both agreed that tonight was the perfect occasion for his farewell party. Elliot was pleased to have his mind occupied with the festivities, as he knew he’d probably be unable to sleep a wink if he spent the night alone in his apartment.

  He had run into an unanticipated problem when choosing his outfit for the evening; his patched old woollen trousers would not do up and his Victorian shirt, the one he’d once been so proud of, strained and pulled tightly across his stomach as the material stubbornly insisted that it would only fit the form of a far thinner man. He’d had to pay a hurried visit to the charity shop where he discovered his coat, sifting through the musty racks of clothes until he found something suitable. After wearing the clothes to the party, he would return to the past in them and they would be his one set of garments until he came back to modern times. This had once been completely normal and now it just felt odd. How would he cope without the joys of a bathroom with a flushing toilet and a hot shower? The 21st century had coddled him and made him soft and he’d gladly allowed it to.

  Ramona had offered the use of her apartment for the party and Elliot made sure to turn up right on time rather than incite her wrath by knocking on the door early. This would be the last time he would see her until who knew when and he wanted the memory to be pleasant for both of them. He knew well enough that pleasant memories were sometimes all a person had to hold close. To his surprise, Darcy opened the door in response to his knock. Elliot stared at him incredulously, sure he must be seeing things. “What are you doing here?”

  Darcy gave him one of his trademark smiles, his brow pink and damp beneath his ring of white hair and his green eyes alight with good humour. “I hate to miss a party and besides, I needed to bring the time machine back for your trip tomorrow.”

  “But what about you? How will you get back?”

  His eyes twinkled merrily. “I’ve added something extra to the capsule, a sidecar of sorts. There is now enough room for two people to travel at once. It was always on the cards but a recent necessity brought the addition forward.”

  “And Ramona and Amy managed to keep your return a secret from me.” He pumped the inventor’s hand, grinning stupidly.

  “Come in, come in. There’s no point in hanging around out there in the hallway.” Darcy pushed the door open invitingly wide.

  Elliot walked into the apartment and looked around in amazement. Candles burned from every available surface, creating a gentle and very familiar ambiance, the ambrosial scent of currant pudding filled the room, and Ramona’s dining table now had pride of place in the middle of the room with its regular work surface hidden beneath a starched white tablecloth.

  “Hi Elliot.” A smiling Ramona stepped forward to greet him. He scarcely recognised her. She wore her black hair in a bun at her nape, a white cloth cap, a long fawn-coloured gown, and a white frilled apron much like the servants in the toffs’ houses wore. She looked glorious, although if he had his way he would’ve selected the clothes of a high born lady for her rather than those of a servant girl. He told her so and she blushed beneath the admiration in his appreciative gaze. “I think I’m more used to working than being waited on.”

  Amy arrived then, wearing a silky pink gown and a fancy hat with a feather and playing the role of a lady to the hilt. She presented Ramona with a posy of wildflowers, dropped a curtesy to Elliot and Darcy, and giggled prettily when they complimented her on her outfit.

  At Ramona’s insistence, Elliot took his coat to lay it on the bed in her bedroom. He looked around curiously, wondering about the private quarters of this intriguing woman. Her living area was largely devoid of clutter, in keeping with her practical nature, but this room was entirely different. It seemed she was happy to reveal more of her true personality in here, from the artful rose-coloured lighting over the dresser mirror to the painting of plump cherubs frolicking on the wall, to the sumptuous a
nd colourful maroon and gold bed linens and satiny throw pillows covering the king-sized bed. Her musky scent, the perfume she favoured, infused every inch of the space without being too strong or cloying. The room was a haven and nothing like the bedroom that he’d expected his reserved and practical employer to design for herself. He gazed at the bed as he lay his coat across the end of it, imagining her sleeping as peacefully as a baby amongst the pillows.

  “Elliot! Hurry up! There’s a party happening out here!”

  Aware that he’d lingered in here for longer than politeness allowed, he hurriedly left the room and pulled the door shut behind him. More guests had arrived, each of them embracing the Victorian theme of the evening. Ramona had placed a large punch bowl of mulled wine on the benchtop and it wasn’t long before the party was in full swing.

  At one point Elliot excused himself from his conversation with Lani, who tonight was dressed like a queen complete with a plastic golden crown pushed into her wild hair. He wanted speak to Ramona, who was fluttering around in the kitchen and fussing with the roasted turkey and bread sauce. He leaned up against the bench to watch her as the noise and hub dub of the party, led riotously by a slightly drunk Darcy, continued behind them. “You should come out and join us. You’ve gone to so much trouble and you deserve to have some fun.”

  She pushed a stray strand of hair off her face and grinned at him. Her cheeks were very pink from the heat of the kitchen. Not only that, but she glowed with an inner warmth that she didn’t often reveal. Or at least not to him. Was she like this with others, with her friends and family? He’d never met any of them, nor had he ever seen her interact with anyone else save for Darcy, and she wasn’t out there in the heart of the celebrations tonight. He needed to put a more concentrated effort into wooing her and discovering the real Ramona, and he would do exactly that when he came back. He would find some way to convince her to say yes to his offer of dinner and to view it as a real date, or his name wasn’t Elliot Cinder.

  “I am having fun. I’ve had so much fun planning this, more than I thought I would. I’ve enjoyed the chance to step away from the serious work of the corporation and jump into something entirely different.” She opened the oven door and hefted the tray holding the golden-skinned turkey back inside. “It needs another half an hour or so before it’s done. How’s your drink?”

  He lifted his glass of mulled wine to show her that he still had plenty left. “I hope you’re going to take the chance to stop and socialise.”

  “Soon. Just let me finish up here.” She turned away from him to rearrange a dish of sugarplums and he suddenly had the urge to move in close and press his lips to the tender white nape of her neck. He cleared his throat and took a hasty gulp of wine before speaking again. “The decorations look good.” He glanced at a bunch of greenery pinned to the top of the curtains now drawn across the window. “Is that mistletoe or holly?”

  Her blush might have deepened or it might have been the heat from the oven. She set the plate of sugarplums to one side, avoiding his grin. “Holly. I don’t know how you can mistake them.”

  “The two could be interchangeable at a pinch,” he teased. “My grandmother, who as I told you was a flower maker, used to make holly berries from peas dipped in red wax to meet the demand from the big houses at Christmastime. London could be a bleak place when it came to greenery in the winter because most plant material ended up on domestic fires, but the upper class still wanted to decorate their living rooms. People can be very inventive when necessity strikes.”

  Now she was interested and he had her full attention again. “I did some reading when I was planning the menu for tonight. I found a recipe for the spice and currant pudding you liked so much. The only difference is that I haven’t boiled it in the washroom copper.”

  He was touched that she’d remembered about the pudding. “I could smell it as soon as I walked in. I’m sure it will be superb.”

  “Are you happy to be going back to the 19th century now that you’ve had enough time to think about it? I know your family has gone but there must be people still living back there for you to miss.”

  “I will enjoying catching up with my friend Robert Hepworth, although I don’t know how many of my adventures he’ll be willing believe.” This was pleasant, standing here away from the crowd and talking about the things that were once so important to him. He could almost imagine that they were a Victorian husband and wife, chatting about tonight’s dinner party while their guests entertained themselves in the parlour. Strangely enough, such a thing felt possible…

  “Will you tell him about travelling here to the future?”

  “He’s a close friend and he has been for many years. I can’t see any reason not to tell him, although I expect he’ll accuse me of drunken ramblings and of making everything up. Not that I blame him – I certainly wouldn’t believe him if he was the one who had been here and I hadn’t seen for myself how wonderful 2020 is.” He allowed his eyes to soften and he held her gaze for long enough for her to understand his meaning.

  She flicked the tip of her tongue across her lower lip and she didn’t look away. Elliot was about to seize his chance, for the first time almost certain that she’d let him get away with stealing a kiss.

  “Guys!” Amy rushed up to swing playfully from Elliot’s arm, oblivious to what she’d just interrupted. Her fancy hat was askew, with the plumes of the feather covering one eye and she absentmindedly shoved it back into place as she spoke. “We’re going to play one of the party games. You have to come and join in.” She spun away again, dancing back into the other room where the couch had been pushed up against the wall to make more space. “Both of you and hurry up.”

  Ramona looked back at the dishes spread across the bench and Elliot could see she was about to excuse herself to keep working. He impulsively grabbed her hand and dragged her across to the living room, ignoring her mild protests. “You’ve done enough work in the kitchen for now. It’s time to let your hair down and live a little.”

  Chapter Six

  Amy had outdone herself in planning the Victorian games. There was a raucous game of Blind Man’s Buff, which was quickly shut down when Darcy, unable to see where he was going because of the blindfold tied tightly across his eyes, crashed into table and nearly sent the entire evening flying. A more subdued but still hilarious game of Charades followed. Jason threw himself into the role when his turn came and he proved to be a master at acting out the names of movies, plays, and books. Elliot watched the interactions between Jason and Ramona closely until he’d satisfied himself that they really were just friends and nothing more, although he did catch Jason sending several longing but unrequited glances in Ramona’s direction.

  After the game of Charades was over, Ramona insisted that the entertainment be put on hold until after dinner and soon the table was groaning beneath the weight of the food she carried out proudly from her kitchen. Elliot made sure to grab the seat next to her so he could make the most of her company. He complimented her as often as possible on the authenticity of the meal she’d made, thrilled that she’d put her heart and soul into this evening. She had to care about him if she’d spent so much time on a party for him, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  “All hail Queen Victoria!” Alan, Lani’s friend and a man with a large moustache and even larger nose, raised his glass of mulled wine in an exuberant toast and Elliot was immediately transported back to the last Christmas he’d spent with Annie and her family. That meal had not reached the luxurious level of this one but the merriment and laughter around the table certainly had. Mrs. Jones had managed to buy a plump fresh rabbit from a market stall and she’d padded the meal out with roasted potatoes and turnips. The tenement room was fragrant with the smell of sage and onions, and a dish of mince pies and a doughy but delicious pudding waited for the family’s enjoyment after the main course was done. And then of course there was Annie, with her sparking eyes filled with promises and the joyous sound of lau
ghter on her lips.

  “Are you ok?” Ramona asked quietly, dipping her head and leaning in close so that only he could hear her words. “You look pensive.”

  He hurriedly roused himself out of his thoughts. The past was done with and this was his now. “I was just thinking of days long gone by and friends long lost. This party is wonderful. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.” The mulled wine had stained her lips red and again, he had the urgent desire to kiss her. He knew he would have done so if they were alone. How was it possible for a man to think of two so very different women in a matter of minutes and yet feel close to them both?

  “It’s no bother. I probably should put the effort into doing stuff like this more often but days go by and...” She shrugged her slim shoulders and pushed back her cloth cap from where it had fallen forward. “Work tends to consume me sometimes. Do you have any concerns about being close to the Knave again?”

  “To be honest, I’m worried about what I’ll do if I find myself standing toe to toe with the man. I disliked him before but now that I know that he is the man who killed Annie, it changes everything.” He was acutely aware of the phone tucked into his pocket, along with Annie’s photograph, but Annie in the flesh no longer existed. Ramona was part of the here and now, whereas Annie would never walk through his life again. He widened his mouth into a broad smile, determined not to ruin the evening with his grim thoughts. “We don’t need to talk about this tonight.”

  “You’re right.” She raised her glass to clink it against his own. “Here’s to a new adventure and safe travels.”

  It was Darcy, red-nosed and merry from the effects of several glasses of mulled wine, who suggested the game of Truth or Dare after dinner. He called it by the Victorian name of Questions and Commands, announcing that anyone who failed to either answer a question or follow a command would have their face blackened with soot. Ramona put a quick stop to that line of thought, reminding her friend which century they were currently in and suggesting that a refusal could mean the perpetrator had to do the dishes instead.