On a Night Black

by Cherie Mitchell

  “She told me the two of you once dated.” This intrigued him. It was obvious the couple were close platonic friends but he’d failed to notice any trace of a romantic connection.

  Darcy chuckled. “I could hardly call it a date. She swiped on my profile, we met for a drink, and we discovered a mutual liking for one another. She’s much too young for me.”

  “Does that mean that you lived for a while in modern times?”

  “It does indeed.” He pointed his crumb-covered butter knife at the pile of toast. “Help yourself.”

  “So why do you live back here?”

  “I like it. This era suits me.”

  Elliot had to agree with this sentiment. Darcy, with his white whiskers, round cheeks, and fondness for braces looked right at home in Victorian London. He took a piece of toast, more to be a courteous guest rather than because he was hungry, and set it down on his plate. “You were going to tell me about the plan the corporation have for me while I’m here.”

  “I was.” Darcy dabbed at his mouth with his napkin before sitting back in his chair and settling his intelligent gaze on Elliot. “How much has the knowledge that the Knave is also Jack the Ripper and the Whitechapel Murderer affected your stake in the game? I suppose it’s silly to ask given what you’ve lost at his hands, but I would like to hear it from you.”

  Elliot answered honestly. “I admit it’s a dilemma for me. Although I am not a violent man, I think if I had access to a gun or a knife and the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn’t hesitate to use the weapon to stop him forever. I detest him with every atom of my being. He ruined my life.”

  The older man sucked at his teeth. “That’s not what I wanted to hear. You were selected for this role because it was deemed highly unlikely that you would ever attack him yourself.”

  “Did the corporation never consider that I might find out that the Knave and Jack the Ripper were the same man when they chose me ahead of the other candidates?” What had Ramona said to him – the corporation had selected him because it was unlikely that he’d ever fall in love again? What did she rate his chances of doing so? 2%? He hurriedly shut down his thoughts, unwilling to explore them further right now. I’m not in love with her; I’m merely intrigued and interested. My heart is captivated, not captured.

  “I’m not sure if they did consider that. I’m afraid that’s not my department.”

  “Will I ever find out who the corporation is?”

  “Perhaps. Once again, that’s not my department. I have nothing to do with HR.”

  “But I do know that a member of the senior committee is Ramona’s father,” Elliot persisted. She hadn’t said so in so many words, but she had told him that the corporation was invested in the case because the Knave would eventually target someone related to a senior member of the team. He’d put two and two together himself after the Knave started following her and it had never crossed his mind that the parent would be anything but her father. Women, unless they were Queen Victoria or her royally capable descendant Queen Elizabeth, did not hold positions of authority or power. It was against the natural order of civilized society.

  Darcy blinked, clearly surprised by this information. “Ramona’s father? Did she tell you that herself?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Hmmm. That’s interesting to hear.” Darcy returned his focus to his slice of toast and for several minutes, the only sound in the room was the crunch and swallow of his chewing.

  Elliot took a small bite of his own slice of toast. “When do I start?”

  “Tomorrow, possibly. Maybe the next day.” Darcy gazed vaguely into the middle distance and Elliot noticed he had a small sprinkle of toast crumbs caught in his whiskers. “I’m waiting to get the go ahead first but we wanted you here on the ground and ready to begin.”

  “And I’m responsible for preventing him from attacking women again, just as I was in 2020?”

  “Something like that.” Darcy slurped noisily at his tea before returning the cup to its saucer. He pushed himself back from the table with the weary air of a man with a lot on his mind. “If you don’t mind, I might go and have a little nap. Time travel is tiring and it seems to be getting worse the older I get. Feel free to come and go as you please. I’m sure there are people you want to see.”

  “I will. Thanks Darcy. Sweet dreams.” It seemed it was impossible to get a straight answer from anyone involved with the corporation, but what else could he do other than show up and wait for further instructions?

  Chapter Nine

  Elliot was back in his old stomping grounds, roaming the streets of grimy, dank, olden day London. His hobnail boots rung out against the cobblestones and a low, thick mist dampened and chilled his skin as he walked. The stench of horse manure, pungent rotting vegetables, and human waste assaulted his senses, underscoring everything that he didn’t like about this era. However, he was back here now, he had a job to do and the sooner it was done the sooner he would be winging his way back to a time where there was far more to enthral and delight him.

  He strode in the direction of Robert’s house, light-hearted at the thought of seeing his friend after all this time. He hadn’t yet decided how much he would tell him about his adventures – he would let the overall mood of their reunion decide that. Robert was a man who liked to lead the conversation, to be the first to know of new experiences and new inventions, and he certainly wouldn’t enjoy knowing that he may have missed out on something exciting or important.

  Elliot stepped nimbly around a stinking pile of fresh horse manure and hurried across the street. London was a quagmire. He’d always known this but before his trip to the future he’d had nothing better to compare it with. He felt his lip curl at the sight of the endless mess and squalor stretching for as far as the eye could see in every direction. It was strange how a man could be completely blind to something before the new made him aware of the old.

  “Mister. Hey Mister!” Someone pulled at the back of his coat and he turned to see the boy who sold newspapers on the street corner grinning up at him. “I haven’t seen you around here for a long time Mister, but I’ve made sure to keep looking out for your sweetheart’s face on the front of the newspaper for you. I check every day.”

  Elliot pushed his hands deep into his coat pockets, feeling the small weight of his phone where it rested against his left hip. “I think we might have missed the edition that printed the photograph.”

  “I check every day,” the boy repeated, punctuating his words with a scowl and a pout. Elliot remembered him as a grave and sombre child, anxious to be taken seriously by the people around him. A boy forced to grow up too soon, as were most of the London brats.

  “Ah, but you don’t sell papers every single day. I can remember a number of occasions when you weren’t at your post.”

  The boy sniffed and rubbed his nose on his filthy shirtsleeve. “I get ill sometimes,” he muttered.

  Elliot suddenly wished he’d brought something from the future for this young lad, some small token to brighten his otherwise long and dull day. His fingers touched his phone before quickly moving away – it would never do to show such a device to the boy. However, there was something else in his pocket… He pulled out a forgotten tomato sauce sachet, a takeaway from one of the burger restaurants that Ramona had introduced him to, and dropped it into the startled boy’s hand. “Tear the sachet along the top and put some of the contents on your crust of bread. Take my word that you’ll like it.” He winked and turned away, leaving the child staring at the plastic sachet with undisguised astonishment.

  There was something different about Robert’s house when he reached it, but it took him a moment or two before he realised what it was. The front window now boasted a lace curtain, a feminine touch that seemed completely at odds with Robert’s conservative and utilitarian tastes. Robert owned the small house, a leftover asset from when his family had money and status and as far as Elliot knew, he’d always lived alone. Feeling slightly uneasy, he lifted and
dropped the brass knocker, a replica of a lion’s head with a ring held in its mouth, and waited for his friend to come to the door.

  Robert, looking rounder and ruddier than he’d been when Elliot saw him last but still a good-looking man who held himself with an innate sense of self-possession, opened the door and blinked at him in mute surprise.

  Elliot grinned in delight. “Robert! How are you?”

  “Errrr.” Robert craned his neck to peer over Elliot’s shoulder, as if expecting to see someone standing behind him.

  Elliot had a sudden flashback to the man who had bought the Knave’s letter to his apartment door, the neighbour with the nervous twitch and the sick wife. He frowned and lifted his coat collar as the mist turned into rain, as if that was its intention all along. This wasn’t the greeting he’d expected from his friend after being gone for so long. “How are you?” he asked again, at as loss as to why Robert wasn’t returning his excitement.

  “You’ve been gone a long time,” Robert said bluntly. “I thought the friendship was over.”

  “Friendships such as ours would need more than the passage of time to kill them,” he said jokingly, hoping to shift Robert out of his inexplicably sour mood.

  “Hmmph.” Robert looked him up and down, starkly reminding Elliot of Amy’s first and not-so-flattering assessment of him. “You’ve gained weight,” he said at last, his voice flat and unemotional.

  “That makes two of us. Are you going to invite me in or shall I continue to stand here, shivering in the rain until I am washed away?” This interchange was now mildly uncomfortable. It was as if he’d knocked at the door of a stranger and was asking for directions to the mill. Robert was acting aloof and standoffish, and this wasn’t how he remembered him. What had changed, and how?

  Robert finally relented. “Come in.” He stood back to allow Elliot to step into the musty, dark entrance hall. Elliot hung his coat on the stand and stamped his feet on the pelt mat while Robert watched on with gloomy disinterest.

  “The lace curtain is a new addition.”

  “Not so new.”

  “It’s new since I was last here. Have you found yourself a wife in my absence?” He was only half teasing. Robert was acting out of character and he couldn’t understand why.

  Robert gave him an odd look. “Eleanor hung the curtain. As you know, she’s responsible for the fripperies and fancies around the house. Lace curtains have nothing to do with me.”

  “Eleanor?” The name was unfamiliar but Robert seemed to think Elliot knew exactly who he was talking about.

  “Don’t be obtuse, man. My sister Eleanor. She’s lived with me for nigh on a year now, which makes it a year too long in my opinion.” He pushed open the door to the living room and walked into a room so crammed with feminine furnishings that it made Elliot’s eyes water.

  “Your calf leather sofa – it’s gone!” Nothing was making any sense. He’d never heard Robert mention his sister Eleanor and he certainly had no clue that she lived here with him. How could he have known the man for as long as he had without knowing about his sibling?

  “The sofa’s been banished to one of the back rooms,” Robert said glumly as he hefted his bulk into a frilly and delicate chair covered in swathes of flowery fabric. Elliot thought he looked as out of place on the piece of furniture as a bowler hat on a peacock.

  “I don’t remember you telling me that you had a house guest.” He too perched on one of the uncomfortable floral garden strewn chairs.

  “She’s hardly a house guest. As you well know, she took over as if she owned the place as soon as she moved in. I firmly believe her husband died purely to escape her nagging.”

  Elliot decided to let this perplexing subject go for now. Although it seemed unlikely, he could have overlooked previous conversations about Eleanor. It had been a most unusual year with his engagement to Annie, followed by her death and the terrible time afterwards. He knew he wasn’t always capable of investing his interest in the lives of others during those brain-fogged months.

  Robert’s eyes again settled on Elliot’s midriff. “You’ve obviously been eating well. Has your Annie been feeding you up for the winter?”

  Elliot stared at his friend, unable to accept that he could make such a cruel joke and deliver it so blithely without a flicker of concern or sympathy on his face.

  “How is Annie?” Robert continued, patently unaware of Elliot’s shock.

  “Are you quite mad? Annie has been gone for eight months or more now.” Unwanted and unbidden, the scene of her death flooded his mind, along with the coppery stench of spilled blood so real he could taste it. He angrily shook his head to rid it of a black memory that had no place in his mind and glowered at Robert.

  Robert’s mouth hung foolishly open. For a long moment, he appeared to have forgotten the art of speech. The colour had left his face, leaving his skin waxy and pale, as if he were a mannequin rather than a robust and fit man. He stuttered something unintelligible before finally managing, “Why didn’t I know of this?”

  Elliot slumped back against the chair, at a loss for words himself. What in the devil’s name was going on? He seemed to have walked back into a world turned upside down and inside out.

  Chapter Ten

  Robert had made them a pot of tea, after roaring for Eleanor to do it before he remembered she’d gone out to see a friend. He was still shocked and dismayed by what he swore was the previously unknown news of Annie’s death, although some of the colour had returned to his cheeks. Elliot had come to conclusion that his friend had suffered a memory loss of some kind, although Robert protested that he felt fine and hadn’t needed to see his physician in months.

  Elliot was hesitant to tell Robert about his trip to the future now. If the man’s mental state was already in doubt, how would he react to the strange and unbelievable tale of a time machine and a journey to the 21st century? He sipped at his tea, taking comfort from the bitter taste and soothing warmth, as Robert berated him again for staying away for so long.

  “I’ve been busy.” Elliot set his teacup and saucer down on the frilled and frivolous petticoat table beside his chair, wondering how much he should reveal of his adventure. “I was selected for an unusual assignment that I didn’t know I’d volunteered for.”

  “Are you sweeping the chimneys at Buckingham Palace?” Robert looked a little less flabbergasted now, his recovery helped along by the tea and time. He was a tall man, close to 6 feet in height, with dark hair and mutton chop whiskers that gave him a certain presence and had done him no harm when it came to capturing the attention of young ladies. Robert Hepworth had gained somewhat of a roguish reputation as a bedswerver, a man who was quite literally capable of charming the pants off the fairer sex before casually moving onto the next. Elliot knew that several young women had set their hat at him but none of the ladies’ endeavours had been successful. Or at least that’s how Elliot remembered the situation.

  “No, no, nothing like that. I met someone, an inventor. Darcy Darcel – have you ever heard of him?”

  “An inventor? I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the man, although you know that new inventions always fascinate me.”

  “In that case, what would do you think of the idea of a machine capable of propelling a man through time?” He’d made up his mind. He would delve lightly into his story and only continue to the end if Robert showed ongoing interest and a modicum of belief. If there was any sign of another emotional or mental breakdown, Elliot would hastily backtrack and simply tell him he’d made it all up.

  “I think it is a marvellous idea. I would use it to propel myself to the end of a horse race to view the winner and then I would return to a time before the race has run to place a wager on the winning nag.”

  Elliot grinned, pleased to hear that his old friend now sounded a little more like himself. “Funnily enough, I’ve never thought to use it like that.”

  “Have you seen one of these fantastic machines?” Robert leaned forward eager
ly, caught up in the concept now. “I’m intrigued by these new-fangled horseless carriages and I’m hoping for a time when automobiles are within the reach of the common man. I can see such a circumstance one day unfolding, especially if they find a way to speed up the production of the parts. Perhaps they can train a school of blacksmiths to work on the intricacies of the motor.”

  “Now that you mention the wonder of automobiles…” Elliot began to explain what had happened to him since he first climbed into Darcy’s time machine.

  “Stop.” Robert, who had been listening in awe-filled silence for the past twenty minutes, held up his hand as Elliot spoke about his meeting with the Knave. “There is so much for me to take in. Either you have developed a superb talent for storytelling during your absence or you’re telling me the truth. To be honest, I’m sitting on the fence at the moment as to which way I should lean.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Elliot said solemnly, his hand on his heart. “I’ve been to the future and I’ve seen wonders you can only dream of.”

  “You need to take a step back while I try to organise my thoughts. This woman Ramona – she’s your employer?”

  “Yes. Women have a very different position and status in the future. That aspect of society was probably the most difficult one for me to adjust to and it still is. As you know, I’ve always believed that women hold their place in the natural order of things for a reason.”

  “And there’s a very good reason for that. Men have always been superior in both wit and strength.”

  “Oh, I agree. You won’t find any argument from me on that point. However, my friends Ramona and Amy are helping me to view the changes from a different perspective. They are bold and clever women, more than willing to take on tasks traditionally given to men.” Elliot smiled as he thought of them now.