On a Night Black

by Cherie Mitchell

  He’d reached his destination now and he lifted his hand to rap on the Jones’ door, repeating a gesture that he’d made so many times in the past. However, it wasn’t pretty young Elizabeth with her doe-eyes who opened the door, nor was it baby-faced Henry who looked so much like his sister Annie. It wasn’t even Mr. or Mrs. Jones, with their careworn faces and troubled eyes. No, he had never before seen the stranger who answered the door.

  A wizened elderly woman scowled at him with rheumy eyes, plainly not happy to find a visitor waiting outside her door at this time of the evening. “Whaddya want?”

  Elliot took a step back, caught off guard by her glare. She certainly didn’t look as if she intended to invite him in and make him feel welcome. “Errr, I’m here to see the Jones family.”

  “Long gone.” She went to shut the door but Elliot pushed the toe of his boot into the gap to stop her. “Wait. When did they leave?”

  “Before we moved here. The father was offered work elsewhere and they up and left.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who wants to know?”

  He didn’t provide her with his name, intent on learning all he could from her before she shut him out. “They all went? Elizabeth and Henry and Mrs. Jones too?”

  “They didn’t give me a roll call but there certainly wasn’t anyone hiding under the bed when me husband and me moved in.” She pushed hard against the unmoving door. “Shift your foot away from me door or I might need to get me carving knife to hurry you along.”

  Elliot hastily pulled his foot away. “Thank you for your time. I wish you and your husband a good evening.”

  “Hmmph.” The door slammed, narrowly missing the end of his nose, and he ran back down the stairs before she could make good on her promise to fetch her knife. He stepped back out onto the night street. He was disappointed that he’d missed the family but pleased to hear that they’d taken the opportunity to move on. He knew he should have visited them long before now but grief could be a selfish mistress. Out here the rain had returned, uncompromisingly drenching and icy cold. He flipped up his coat collar and went back the way he’d come, walking quickly and avoiding the narrowest and darkest of the laneways.

  Oddly enough, it was a solemn young woman with deep blue eyes and a watchful face crowned with glossy black hair who invaded of his thoughts and accompanied him back to Darcy’s house, rather than a laughing, elfin-faced blonde girl who’d been taken far too soon from the ones who truly loved her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Darcy was tinkering with the time machine in his front room when Elliot walked in. He looked at Elliot’s damp clothes and reddened nose, shaking his head at the sight. “Tis no night to be out gallivanting around the streets. By the looks of you, you would give a drowned rat a run for his money.”

  “Which is why I came back.” Elliot nodded at the time machine, wrinkling his nose at the perfumed smell of the fuel that was as much a part of this room as Darcy himself. “Is everything ok with it? I will be able to get back, won’t I?” He was homesick for a place and time far from here.

  “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” Darcy resettled his glasses on his nose and went back to whatever it was he was so thoroughly doing with the control panel. “Did you reintroduce yourself to your old friends?”

  “I visited Robert. Annie’s family have moved away.”

  “Good, good,” Darcy said absentmindedly, as if he hadn’t heard a word spoken. “I’ve left you some supper in the kitchen. If you’re making yourself a cup of tea, I’ll have one too. Add an extra lump of sugar to mine, if you don’t mind.”

  “Coffee. I’m craving a coffee.” Elliot left the room and wandered through the narrow hall to Darcy’s kitchen. A plate with a cloth laying across it contained a congealing meal of greasy sausages and scrambled eggs, reminding him of how long it had been since he’d last eaten. He didn’t bother to reheat the food, instead forking it into his mouth as he stood by the sink and waited for the kettle to boil.

  He’d stared blankly at the wall in front of him for several minutes before he noticed that something had changed in here. Was he imagining it or were the walls a different shade since he’d last been here in this room? He roamed his eyes across the furnishings and paintings, sure that they were all in different places. Why would Darcy make so many small changes while he was gone? He didn’t strike Elliot as a man who paid too much mind to home furnishings. He pushed the thought away – it probably was his imagination. He was no great expert on home décor himself and the time he’d spent in this part of the house was brief.

  He walked past the stairs with the two steaming cups of hot liquid and was about to step back into Darcy’s workroom when he thought he heard a movement on the landing above. He peered curiously up into the murky darkness, half-expecting someone to appear at the head of the stairs, but there was no one there. He walked into the front room and sat the teacup on the table in front of Darcy. “Is there anyone else staying here?”

  “Hmmm?” Darcy peered at him with muted surprise, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t here alone. “Oh Elliot. There you are. Did you reintroduce yourself to your friends?”

  “We’ve already discussed this. I spent some time with Robert but a few things have changed. His sister now lives with him, although he assured me that she was living with him the last time we spoke. The funny thing is, I can’t remember him ever mentioning her name.”

  A brief look of concern clouded Darcy’s good-natured features. He pushed his glasses up on top of his head and picked up his teacup. “I did worry that something like this might happen,” he muttered. “Fiddling with time is sure to have consequences somewhere along the line.”

  “You were worried that something like what might happen?” A vision of the dismal room at Peckham House drifted across Elliot’s mind before he chased it away. It seemed that blips and glitches were integral to travelling through time. Darcy concentrated his focus on his cup of tea and didn’t immediately reply. “What’s happened now and more importantly, can it be fixed?” Elliot prompted him.

  “Everything can be fixed,” Darcy said with forced joviality. He darted his eyes across to the door and away again. “It’s just that sometimes the fixing isn’t quite the same as the original.”

  “Darcy…”

  The older man sighed and clattered his teacup back onto the saucer. It was a feminine-looking tea set, decorated with painted red roses and a gilded rim, quite different from the earthenware cups and saucers they’d sipped from previously. However, Elliot had been unable to find the earthenware set in the cupboards and had opted for the finicky bone china instead through necessity rather than choice.

  “I have another guest,” Darcy announced without preamble, as if this was the exact topic they’d been discussing all along.

  He hadn’t imagined it. He had heard someone moving around upstairs. “The more the merrier. Is your other guest from this current era or is he from some time in the future?”

  “Definitely from this era. An old and dear friend who I have missed terribly.” He was hiding something, purposely avoiding meeting Elliot’s gaze as his cheeks reddened with what might be construed as guilt in the right circumstances.

  Elliot eyed him suspiciously. “I feel as if I’m waiting for you to deliver a punchline. Why do I feel like that, Darcy?”

  Darcy heaved a sigh and darted another transparently guilty look at the door. “I think you’re expecting a male guest. Our visitor is a lady. She went upstairs to refresh herself after we had dinner and I’m expecting her to return at any moment.”

  For a few brief and happy seconds, Elliot thought Darcy was going to announce that he’d brought Ramona to join them. His pulse raced and he turned to grin at the door as light footsteps hurried down the stairs. He would enjoy showing Ramona around his London, taking her to his old haunts and strolling with her through the pleasure gardens. What a wonderful surprise!

  Except it wasn’t Ramona who walked through the door.

  A woman a few
years younger than Darcy stepped into workroom. She was thin in a way that suited her, with long, elegant limbs and a flat-chested figure. Her face was soft and pretty, without a trace of haughtiness, but with a certain something that hinted at higher breeding. She’d piled her curled hair on top of her head, allowing a few tendrils to escape and delicately frame her face. Her gown and shawl too spoke of gentility, made of quality fabrics in muted colours tailored to suit her shape and form. She reminded him of someone but he was unable to immediately bring the name to mind.

  “My dear.” Darcy was by the woman’s side in an instant, fawning over her as if she were the Queen of England herself. “Are you rested?”

  “I am.” She gave Darcy a tiny smile before shifting her gaze to Elliot. “Is this him?” Her voice was refined and cultured, in keeping with her appearance.

  Elliot bowed his head in response. “My name is Elliot Cinder, ma’am.”

  “How lovely. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her voice was perfectly rounded and modulated, as if she was born to a role in high society or perhaps she had enjoyed the benefit of a speech tutor in her younger years. Her smile broadened, revealing a row of small and perfect teeth. She really was beautiful and Darcy was clearly smitten, if his dancing eyes and rapturous, beaming face were anything to judge the man’s feelings by.

  “Elliot, this is the lovely Miss Hortense Bevier.” Darcy lingered lovingly on her name, as if the moniker was his favourite sweetmeat and he wanted to savour every delectable mouthful.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bevier.” Elliot took the woman’s gracefully offered hand, catching a spark of devilment in her eyes as he bent to press a quick kiss on the back. He didn’t generally bother with such effusive greetings but there was something in the woman’s manner that told him she expected no less and he was happy to comply.

  Darcy was babbling now, tripping over his words in his rush to explain Hortense’s presence. “Hortense is the talented artist responsible for the paintings scattered throughout the house. Her ability to exactly mimic the scenes and creatures I have described to her is unsurpassed.”

  Elliot released Hortense’s hand. “I’ve seen the pictures. Darcy is correct – you’re immensely talented.”

  Hortense modestly inclined her head, allowing another small smile to hover across her lips. “You’re too kind. I enjoy painting. It gives me a chance to leave the trials and tribulations of this world behind and immerse myself in fantasy.”

  “Beautifully spoken.” Elliot looked between Darcy and Hortense, attempting to guess at the context of their relationship. Darcy’s emotions were clear – the man had either loved her once or he loved her still – but it was harder to tell with Hortense. “How did the two of you meet?”

  “Haven’t you told Elliot anything about me?” Hortense scolded Darcy lightly. She turned to the inventor as a frown puckered her clear brow. “Should I be offended?”

  Darcy cleared his throat and hurriedly began to make too many excuses. “We hadn’t yet got around to it, my dear. Elliot has been out visiting his friends, as I told you over dinner. He’d only just returned before you came back downstairs and there was tea to be made before we could have a conversation. You certainly shouldn’t be offended.”

  Hortense skimmed her eyes over Elliot’s damp clothes. “The rain is a bore.”

  “That’s London for you.” He redirected his attention to the pink-faced Darcy. “Enlighten me. How did you and the enchanting Miss Bevier meet?”

  Strangely, Darcy suddenly looked as if he could think of a hundred different places he’d rather be than right here, right now. He coughed again, trying without success to move along a frog that appeared to have taken up permanent residence in his throat. “I think we should move into the parlour to continue this conversation. It’s probably best if we all sit down for this.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elliot hadn’t been in this room before. Darcy had ushered them into his parlour, the room next door to his workroom and a space tastefully decorated in contrasting shades of misty blue and chocolate. It was colder in here and the area felt empty and unloved, as if the room wasn’t often used.

  Hortense (please, call me Hortense) chose a velvet covered chair and draped herself elegantly upon it, pulling her finely knitted shawl tighter around her chest and rolling her shoulders in a pretty shiver. “Darcy, it is a touch too chilly in here. Could you start the fire? I have the feeling we may be here for some time.”

  Darcy crouched in front of the grate and busied himself with stacking balls of newspaper and sticks of kindle onto the metal grill. Elliot, not yet ready to take a seat, wandered around the room to look at the numerous paintings that decorated the walls in here. “Are these all your work, Hortense?”

  “Some of them.” She aimed a pointed stare at the back of Darcy’s snowy white head. “Although Darcy found himself another artist to create some of the paintings for this room.”

  “It was through necessity, my dear. There’s no need for any jealousy on your part. You know that better than anyone.” Darcy put his hands on the tiled hearth and leaned closer to the grate, blowing on the meagre flame to encourage it into spluttering life.

  Elliot ignored their mild and friendly banter as he inspected the framed pictures. He could see Hortense’s creative style in the paintings of whimsical and fantastical creatures but there was clearly another hand at work here. He gazed at a portrait of a solemn boy with pink cheeks and startling green eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that this was a likeness of a young Darcy.

  “There we go. We now have a fire and the room will soon be toasty warm.” Darcy pushed himself to his feet and chose the chair next to Hortense. “Elliot, come and sit down. You’re making the place look untidy.”

  Elliot took one last look at the painting of child Darcy before lowering himself into a horsehair armchair with wooden arms and a spongy, springy seat cushion. “Have you always lived in this house?”

  “Mostly.” Darcy shared an unreadable glance with Hortense and elegantly crossed his legs. The fire snarled and crackled in the grate, the burgeoning flames already sending a small burst of warmth out into the room. Elliot noticed with amusement that his wet trouser legs had begun to steam.

  “I feel as if I’m about to be invited into a deep secret,” Elliot joked when no one else spoke to fill the silence. “What’s on your mind, Darcy?”

  Darcy settled his cat-like green gaze on Elliot. “You mentioned that your friend Robert has his sister staying with him, a circumstance you were unaware of before you travelled forward to 2020.”

  “Yes… but what has this got to do with how you and Hortense met? That interests me more than talking about Eleanor Hepworth, a woman who I can’t remember either meeting or hearing of before.”

  “Calm down and rein in the horses. I’ll get there. We’ve recently discovered that the past can be altered just as the future can, although more constraints exist when moving backwards in time rather than jumping forwards. Naturally, there are more people affected when moving backwards and there’s a lot of conjuring involved if we want to avoid a terrible mess.”

  Elliot was struggling to understand the intent behind Darcy’s words. “Are you telling me that I’m now in a different version of 1889?” This would explain many things, including details as simple as the altered colour of the kitchen walls, but how could he possibly believe it?

  Darcy nodded gravely. “So it would seem.”

  “Does this happen often?”

  “Not too much but more often than we would like.”

  This was an extraordinary idea to grapple with and Elliot fought against a quick burst of anger. “Why wasn’t I told about this before now? Can I choose an alternative version of the past and future myself?” Annie. Ramona. His mind was conflicted as to which direction it should leap first.

  Hortense spoke up now, her voice soft and kind as she added her own thoughts. “It’s a lot to take in all at once but as Darcy has just explained, th
ere’s the potential for a great deal of trouble if time manipulation isn’t handled correctly.”

  Darcy nodded, the hasty gesture supporting Hortense’s words. “We’ve been notified that the Knave may have also corrupted time, which of course leads us into highly dangerous territory. A man with such loose morals would never stop to think of the implications of his skulduggery and manipulations.”

  “You said ‘also’.” Elliot was finding it hard to sit still. “Are there more than two versions of the current time and place?”

  Again, Darcy and Hortense shared a worried glance. “We’re still working on that but yes, it appears that might be the case in some incidences.”

  “This is insane. Is that why the time machine took us to Peckham House?” Now this made more sense than anything else that he’d heard. “In one version of the current time, we’re both classed as lunatics and institutionalised, aren’t we? It’s ok, I can handle the truth.”

  “What is this? Peckham House? Why haven’t I heard anything about this?” Hortense sat up straight and glowered at Darcy. “Darcy, have you been keeping something important from me?”

  “Join the club,” Elliot muttered darkly. “There’s a few of us here.” His mind was reeling with as yet unspoken possibilities and he scarcely knew where to begin.

  Darcy hurried to smooth over the suddenly fragmented atmosphere in the room. “There’s nothing to worry about, my dear. Elliot and I jumped into a cell at Peckham House but we jumped straight out again. We were never in any danger.”

  “The lunatic asylum? Oh, Darcy.” Hortense weakly fluttered her hand in front of her face, creating a small breeze and fanning herself.

  Elliot needed answers. “Let me get this straight. If we use this as an example, Hortense is here now but if someone hadn’t altered time, would she be here or would she be someplace else?” This was a simple enough place to start, before he moved onto the bigger and tougher questions.