Robert was furiously shaking his head, unwilling to view this as an acceptable and viable concept. “It’s preposterous. A woman’s place is in the home, not out running businesses and ordering men around. It can only lead to trouble. Everyone knows that women are prone to hysteria.”
Elliot suddenly wanted to defend his friends, feeling disloyal for speaking out against them to Robert. “I have talked to Amy at length about the subject. She’s very easy to talk to. She explained that the upcoming World Wars changed women’s lives forever because females had to step into traditionally male roles while their menfolk were away fighting battles.”
Robert’s thick, dark brows dropped down into a scowl. “Upcoming World Wars? How is it possible for the entire world to wage war against one another?”
“It happened, as bizarre as it sounds. And it happened twice. Will happen, I mean, and automated vehicles will play a large part in the action.” This was becoming more confusing as he tried to bridge time and remember what had gone before against what was still to come.
Robert scratched at the side of his face, his eyes glazed with wonder as he stared into the ether. “Your story is ludicrous but I’m captivated by what you’ve told me. I want to believe it.” He spun back around to face Elliot. “How did you not turn into a gibbering idiot when faced with so many new inventions?”
“Ramona gave me an era decoder. It’s a translation device. I lost it once and I very nearly did turn into a gibbering idiot, a prime candidate for incarceration at Peckham House.” He shuddered, recalling the depth of his fear while he waited for Ramona to find and return the decoder.
“Incredible. And you’re back here now to continue trailing this Knave, who is in fact the Whitechapel Murderer and the same man who killed your dear Annie?”
“So it seems.”
“How did you stop yourself from tearing apart the man who ended her life? I’m not sure that I would have had your self-restraint.”
“At the time of our meeting, I was unaware that they were one and the same man. I was naturally shocked to hear it and I’m still unsure of what to make of it.” Elliot thrust his hand through his hair, picturing the Knave’s sneering face. Did he know that one of his victims had been Elliot’s fiancée when they spoke? Perhaps he did, which might explain why he’d written his bizarre letter and given his ridiculous warnings. It could be he was afraid of what Elliot might do once he did find out, but who knew for sure? “I guess there comes a point when we all have to face our own demons.”
Robert eyed him suspiciously. “That sounds remarkably peaceable of you. Have you turned into one of those crazy evangelists since you’ve been gone? I wouldn’t put it too far past you, considering what you’ve already told me.”
Elliot attempted to explain a concept that he was still coming to terms with himself. “The thing is, as both Darcy and Ramona have gone to great pains to explain to me, tampering with time has its consequences. They say there are plans already in place for the Knave and it isn’t up to me to change those plans. The corporation has been working on this project for many years.”
“I can understand that but I would also understand if you decided to take matters into your own hands. A man must do what a man must do. Speaking of which…” He glanced at the laboriously ticking grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the room and placed his hands on his knees to push himself up. “I’m sorry to hurry you along, but I’m stepping out with Miss Vermont in an hour. I’m taking her to the pleasure gardens.”
“Then I won’t stand in your way.” Elliot walked with Robert to the front door to retrieve his coat from the stand. “Would you believe this coat went on a journey of its own? I left it behind when I travelled forward in time, only to find it again in a 21st century charity shop specialising in vintage clothes.”
“How about that? It’s obviously a garment made to last.”
“It is indeed.” Elliot shook his friend’s hand warmly, pleased that he’d been able to share his story. For the most part, it seemed Robert had believed him or at least been willing to listen. “Give my best to your sister and enjoy your appointment with Miss Vermont.”
“I will.” His eyes twinkled with the thrill of the chase. “These two brash young modern women you’ve spoken about, your ‘friends’ – is there any romance in the offing?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” A superstitious fear prevented him from jinxing himself by revealing his hopes for a relationship with Ramona.
Robert nodded. “Don’t be a stranger.” He closed the front door as Elliot stepped out into the approaching gloom of the evening. Retreating into his own muddled thoughts, Elliot pushed his hands into his coat pockets and wandered through the darkening streets towards Darcy’s house.
Chapter Eleven
The Knave
A sense of impending doom, the feeling that trouble was waiting just around the next corner, had haunted him for days now. And he didn’t like it. He was used to chasing trouble rather than trouble chasing him.
He veered away from the main streets, away from the never-ending bustle and crush of humanity, carriages, and noise. The lanes and alleyways were as familiar to him as the embrace of an old friend, offering the reassurance of both darkness and silence, situations he always craved whenever his thoughts became too tenebrous and weighty for him to bear. It was neither Thursday nor Friday but he had considered paying a visit to Annie, to check on the progress of the repairs to the time machine and indulge in her light but wary companionship. However, he had come to the conclusion that his mood was too gloomy and introspective this evening for anyone’s company but his own.
Gaining access to the time machine had been an enormous bonus, a victory he hadn’t seen coming. He was man who made it his duty to be aware of what was going on around him, of the things that might benefit him, and of events that he could work to his own advantage. All it had taken was getting close to someone in the corporation, close enough to build trust and confidence, close enough to encourage pillow talk and other carelessly spilled words. From there, he had determined the location of the machine, asked the right questions and utilised his intelligence to understand the mechanics of the beast, and made what was to be the first trip of many.
This last journey, the one where he’d skipped back to 1888 and then hurriedly forward again to 1889, had been tricky to manage and the trip had not served the infinity device well. He suspected it had something to do with the short time span through which he’d jumped but there had been a very good reason for that. Elliot Cinder, the man he now knew to be wholly responsible for his eventual demise, had his own Achilles’ heel and it was imperative that he have access to the weakest link in the man’s psyche. It was what he needed to do if he wanted to first amuse himself by playing with him and then satisfy himself by killing him.
He felt several pairs of watchful eyes upon him now as he slunk through the shadows but no one dared to approach him. He’d learned long ago that it was best to show the world his dark side from the outset rather than wait for the world to beat him into helpless submission. In a dog eat dog world, brute strength and brutal actions were imperative.
The toe of his boot kicked against a pile of rubbish and the stench of mouldy food and human excrement rose up to meet his nostrils. He cursed and skirted around the disgusting heap, repulsed by the squalor and filth. He was a fastidious and vain man and if he had his way, he’d make a permanent home in a century far away from this dubious and smelly year. However, first things first and there were many loose ends to knot and tie neatly before he could settle into a retirement of sorts.
He passed under the yellow glow of a gas lamp and stopped, suddenly alert. A scent that never failed to excite and thrill him teased his nostrils. His eyes gleamed with freshly awakened lust. Blood. He could smell blood and his past experience told him that the viscous fluid had been recently released from a living, breathing body. He darted his eyes into the dark gloom hugging the side of the lane, away from the bright illuminati
on of the lamp. There. There was a shape of some sort, a small object thrown up against the red brick wall. He moved closer, his nostrils flaring with unrestrained excitement and agitation. Something newly dead lay there in the shadows, some deceased creature that was drawing him to it like metal to a magnet.
It was an alley cat, its plump grey entrails spread across the cobblestones and its blank, dead eyes staring at nothing. He stooped at the waist and inhaled deeply, swallowing the tainted air and tasting it on his tongue. He remained there for several minutes, relishing the sense of wholeness the sight and odour of the creature’s violent death, quite probably from the savage fangs of a stray dog, gave to him.
He moved a short distance away from the carcass and fumbled for his pipe, battling to tame his raging emotions with the salve of tobacco. He would have to kill again soon and he knew that with absolute certainty. He’d made a kill just a few nights ago, squeezing the last breath from a prostitute’s body down under a lonely bridge before slicing her throat and lapping at the deliciously spilled blood with the fervour of a starving man. His need was pressing, his desire heightened by his failure to murder any of his chosen targets during his recent stay in the 21st century. Elliot Cinder had thwarted all of his attempts but his revenge would be sweet when it came.
The flare of his match as he lit his pipe highlighted his face for a brief instant, revealing the merciless glint in his eye and the furious cast to his brows. It was said that no one could ever be sure for whom the bell tolls next, but the Knave was certain that he had more than enough insight to know. What was the point in having the means to manipulate time if a man didn’t make the most of the numerous benefits he found at his fingertips?
He spat on the ground and moved away, the smoke from his pipe leaving a dank trail behind him. He knew that Elliot would soon return to this year and time, but when? His source within the corporation had fallen silent, hushed either by the influence of others or through her own will, and without the time machine he was unable to travel. He wanted to choose where to find his own answers and tweak his own destiny – to a certain extent at least. He’d found out the hard way that not every minute of time was malleable, especially after Elliot foiled his recent attempts at murder.
He’d reached an intersection and he hesitated at the crossroads, wondering again if he should pay a visit on Annie. He liked to keep her on tenterhooks, never telling her the exact time or day when he would arrive, and it brought a smile to his lips now to imagine her apprehensively watching the door as she worked.
Using the time machine to return to the hour before Annie Jones’ death was a stroke of genius that he was still congratulating himself for, a flash of brilliance with the potential to steer everything to his advantage. He’d followed her when she left the Bryant & May match factory when Elliot failed to appear at the arranged time, just as he’d done in the previous version of events. For some reason known only to her, she’d chosen to take the shortcut home, the route she usually only walked if her sweetheart was by her side, which meant she’d played perfectly into his hands.
It hadn’t taken her long to realise that someone was following her but that had only served to add to his enjoyment of the chase. He fed on her fear, growing stronger as she grew weaker beneath the diabolical constraints of her growing terror. She had almost reached safety when he grabbed her, covering her mouth with his gloved hand while he hissed in her ear that if she didn’t want to get hurt she needed to do exactly what he said. She was a tiny creature, easy enough for him to overcome and subdue, and he’d hastened her through the night streets to the house where she’d resided ever since.
It had taken him longer than he’d thought it would to encourage her to believe that Elliot’s wellbeing rested entirely on her cooperation and her willingness to use her dexterous and clever hands, under his instruction of course, to work on the problems that had temporarily crippled the time machine. In the end, he’d had to show her a snapshot of Elliot embracing Amy at the British Museum to prove that her beau had moved into the future and was happily living life without her. She’d sobbed then, weeping bitterly into her hands for the first time since her kidnap and abduction. After that, he’d twisted everything around using methods tried and true in order to brainwash her, and he soon had her believing that Elliot would die a horrible, painful, and drawn out death unless she did exactly as he told her.
Some might call it blackmail but he preferred to think of it by the softer and sweeter name of emotional coercion. Someone had even coined a natty title for it at some time in the future – Stockholm Syndrome. Chuckling out loud, he took another satisfying drag at his pipe and slid away into the darkness. He just needed to shake off this nasty, sticky feeling of approaching trouble and everything would be right with his world.
Chapter Twelve
Elliot had changed his mind about going straight back to Darcy’s house after leaving Robert’s home and his amicable company. His mind was too restless, too crammed with conflicting thoughts to consider making friendly conversation with the inventor over yet another cup of tea. He told himself that his next hot drink would be the wholehearted embrace of the bonny wench caffeine, a maiden bound to restore his vigour and send the blood rushing through his veins.
He was still confused as to how Robert had missed hearing of Annie’s awful death, and how he himself knew nothing of Robert’s sister arriving to live with him, but he’d been told often enough that even one small change to the past or future had far reaching effects. He’d leave the intricacies of how it worked to the experts, the mysterious corporation and their complex machinations.
He looked around, rousing himself out of the harness of his thoughts so he could gain his bearings and work out where he was. To his surprise, and some trepidation, he realised was close to the Jones’ family tenement house. He wasn’t proud to admit this, especially not to himself, but he hadn’t visited the family much since Annie’s murder. He’d tried at the beginning, finding some ease for his own grief by being near to her loved ones, but then it had started to feel just too hard. Memories of her were everywhere – in the sadness of their eyes, in the familiarity of their lodgings, and in the delectable smell of the barley and vegetable soup that Annie’s mother loved to cook whenever he went to have dinner with Annie.
Their tenement building was only two blocks away from here – should he pay them a visit and apologise for leaving it so long? They were very nearly his family after all, or they would have been once he and Annie married. He’d missed Elizabeth and Henry too, Annie’s younger sister and brother. It would be respectable and courteous for him to call in and see how everyone was faring.
Certain now, he ducked down an alley that he knew would take him almost to the tenement door. And then he stopped, overcome with the crippling sense that something was terribly wrong. There was a badness down here, a sure sense that trouble and strife lurked in the gloom, edged with a penetrating aura of sorrow and despair. This wasn’t the alley where Annie had met her death and he knew that much for sure. There was nothing about this laneway to remind him of past miseries or wrongdoings, so why did he feel as if he needed to get out of here as fast as he could?
Something moved up ahead of him and he realised he wasn’t alone here. A figure dressed all in black strode confidently down the alley, heading away from him. There was something about the person’s arrogant walk, something about the way in which he held himself… A sudden coldness swept through him, chilling him to the bone. Had he inadvertently stumbled across the Knave without even trying? Remember me on a night black.
“Hey! You!” Elliot sped up, hoping to catch the man before he reached the end of the alley. He had no idea what he’d say when he reached him but his body was now moving faster than his brain and he’d address that part when the moment came.
The man didn’t hear his shouts or if he did, he pretended not to. He whisked around the corner without looking back and by the time Elliot reached the next intersection, he was gone. Elliot l
ooked in both directions, wondering if he should hunt for the stranger, but there was no guarantee the man he’d seen was the Knave. He could run in circles and find nothing or he could go and visit Annie’s family as he’d originally planned. He took a few steps down the street, in half a mind as to whether to start searching before he halted his stride once again. It was dark now and while the earlier rain had gone, the sky remained clouded and black, threatening another downpour. Was this the sort of place and circumstance in which to meet the Knave again? The man was dangerous, there was no denying that, and he was most definitely mentally unstable. Certifiably so – if ever there was a case for admission to Peckham House, the Knave was it. He might also be carrying a knife or another weapon whereas Elliot was unarmed. No, this was not the time for a meeting with the man.
He hurried away, anxious to put the alley and its bleak atmosphere behind him. The warm, candlelight surrounds of the Jones’ family home suddenly felt infinitely inviting and he couldn’t think of anywhere else where he would rather be at this minute.
He reached the door at the bottom of the shared stairs and paused, overcome with a mountain of memories. How many times had he lingered here with Annie when she came down the stairs with him to say goodnight, whispering sweet nothings and talking about their hopes for the future before her father appeared at the top of the steps and yelled for her to get back inside? He was almost sure he heard the faint echo of her giggle as he squared his shoulders and made his way up the stairs.
The unavoidable stench made by several humans living in the same small, close-packed place, crammed in like sliced peaches in a mason jar, wafted past his nostrils when he reached the top of the stairs and stirred up yet more memories. An irresistible longing for his own apartment in the year 2020 plucked at his heartstrings. How long would it be before he saw it again? He didn’t enjoy the solitude of the apartment too much but he certainly enjoyed the cleanliness and the space. Oh, and the hot showers!
On a Night Black Page 6
