Downtime (15 page)

“I’m just borrowing them for a minute.” I fished out my notepad and began writing down names. Catching sight of his expression, I grinned. “Sully taught you that one.”

“I imagine it’s a natural development of time spent with you.”

“Relax.” I bent down and pushed the cards under the door. “The maid will think the cat knocked them off the table. No harm done.” I eased out from under my coat another item I’d borrowed from the Whitby household, a small silver picture frame with a family photo behind the glass.

Ezra looked at me in disbelief. “Do tell me this is still illegal in the future.”

“What?”

“Robbing people of their personal belongings. You will return it?”

“When I’m done with it, sure.” But first I had some questions to ask, and people who didn’t remember names would remember faces. Adam Whitby’s face in particular. “You wouldn’t know which bookstores Whitby frequented?”

“The same ones we all frequent.”

“Okay. We’ll just have to work our way through them. You coming with?”

“With you? Yes. I can hardly let you go roaming around London on your own again.”

“I can manage. You ditch work and you’ll lose your job.”

“No matter. It’s more an amusement than necessity.” He seemed sobered by the thought.

“You mean since you got engaged like a good little boy and your dad took you back under his wing?”

He answered matter-of-factly. “Yes, that is what I meant.”

Part of me regretted the harsh comment, but it was difficult to hold back. He had no business getting engaged, no matter how much dough he might lose if he stayed single. “Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“Does she know you don’t love her?”

“It’s an arranged marriage. Of course she does.”

He wasn’t putting me off with a flip answer. “Does she know you probably never will?”

“I may come to love her, given time….” Ezra stopped walking and looked at me for the longest moment, apparently struggling for a defense of the indefensible. “Certain—behaviors—may be more accepted in your world, but here, one must live a particular way or remove oneself to some isolated shore where others will not be unduly troubled by one’s….”

“Certain behaviors?”

He smiled at that, but regret sparkled in his eyes. Denial didn’t run so deep that he wasn’t acutely aware of exactly what he was doing. “I do keep giving you reasons to disapprove of me, don’t I? If my company troubles you, I believe Derry might be at home, in which case—”

“I’m not letting you off that easy, pal. You got me into this and you’re getting me out.”

We took a cab back to the Row and went from shop to shop, where I showed off Whitby’s picture to the proprietors. Stony nonresponsiveness was the order of the day, as I thought it might be. We found out that news of his arrest had already gotten around and no one seemed inclined to implicate themselves as co-conspirators. I was ready to talk Ezra into putting up some cash for bribes. The shops were starting to close and we were no nearer to finding the book than we’d been yesterday.

“Are you ready to go home?”

“Damned ready,” I said with a sigh as the door, with its bell jingling, shut behind us and the store owner shut off the gas with irritated emphasis.

Ezra knew which home I referred to. “I’m sorry, Morgan. We’ll have better luck tomorrow.”

“Because we had none today?”

He put an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t be downhearted. We’ll have a bit of supper and formulate a plan. Some of these booksellers are quite adept at hunting down books. If we enlist their help, we shall find it in no time.”

I wasn’t counting my chickens just yet. Whitby could’ve wrapped the book up and stuck it on the closet shelf to give his wife for Christmas, for all I knew. I wriggled out from under Ezra’s arm and headed to the curb. “You realize the booksellers are going to want a little incentive to go digging for a book that’s got to be pretty obscure. And we don’t even have a title or an author.”

“We may be able to discover it. I have some acquaintances who have a fondness for those sort of works, and if they don’t have a copy, they may know the title. Or the spell, itself,” he added with a quirk of a smile.

I cringed at the thought of spending a day with a group of flaky nineteenth-century witch-wannabes. But Ezra was right. Consulting with the type who collected books of that nature seemed our next step.

Dinner was done by the time we reached the house, and no one around when we went inside. We explored the fridge—or rather, the icebox, which was literally a box with a block of melting ice in it. There wasn’t a lot of space inside for much else, but Ezra, with the natural skill of the bachelor, managed to exhume cold roasted chicken. The pantry was even more promising, like a small grocery store compared to my own pantry at home. Loading ourselves down with bread, cheese, wine, and pie, we settled at the kitchen table and partook until we were stuffed. Not willing to leave the mess for Hannah, I cleaned up and Ezra assisted, getting a kick out of the new experience of washing and drying dishes.

When we’d finished, I followed him out of the kitchen into a small yard. The term “green thumb” must have originated with Derry. A walk of gray stones meandered through profusely blooming flower beds to a leafy arbor crawling with red roses. An old plum tree stood on the other side and, on a stone bench under it, Derry sat in his shirtsleeves, smoking a pipe.

“My two favorite nobblers,” he said cheerfully as we approached. “Henry wasn’t half hopping when he came in. Swore up and down his life was in danger.” The grin nearly split his face. “What the devil did you do to him, Morgan?”

“Less than he deserved.” As Derry slid over, I sat beside him. “Did he bother to mention he was there when Whitby was arrested? And he didn’t make the first effort to find out about the book.”

Derry looked at Ezra, who nodded. “I do believe Morgan intended to punch him in the nose.”

“You wouldn’t be the first with that yearning,” Derry said.

“Yeah, no surprise there.” I looked around at the flowers that poured from every available spot. “You did all this?”

“Aye, with Kathleen and Ezra’s help. Care to take some roses home with you? To remember us by.”

“I don’t think I’m in any danger of forgetting you.” I caught Ezra’s eye and he merely smiled. “Thanks for offering, but I’ve already put history at enough of a risk.”

Ezra sat on a bench tucked against the arbor wall. “What harm could a few rose petals cause?”

I shrugged. “Maybe nineteenth-century aphids are a hardier breed. I don’t intend to find out.”

A firm tread on the path drew our attention. Derry snatched up the coat he’d left on the ground and hastily shook it out as Kathleen appeared. She greeted us with a nod before handing over a crisp, white envelope to Ezra. “This came for you earlier. Derry, Henry stormed past me a moment ago without a word. What have you done to him?”

Derry laughed aloud, then struggled guiltily to contain himself. “Oh Kath, it’s only what he’s done to himself. And that’s all it ever is, you know.”

“Did something occur at the museum to warrant this behavior?” Kathleen inquired, turning to Ezra when it was clear she wasn’t going to get the facts from Derry.

“I’m afraid so. Kathleen, I’m sorry—”

“Never you mind,” she said, her glance skimming ripe with suspicion over me. “Don’t stay out too late, gentlemen. It’s damp.”

Derry flashed me a rueful smirk behind her back. When she’d gone inside, he reached under the bench and hauled out a slim black bottle. Tugging out the cork, he took a long drink, then passed it to me. “Just the thing for warding off the damp.”

I took a swig. Whiskey, strong enough to make my eyes water. Ezra hardly took any notice as he broke the seal on the envelope and removed the card inside. Both Derry and I saw the uneasy look that crossed his face.

Derry leaned forward. “An invitation, is it?”

“Yes. Adelaide Marchmont wanted us to dinner, Henry and I. Henry accepted, of course. I suppose she sent an invitation to make sure I would come along.”

“The duchess, no less. Bravo, my boy.” Derry said it in a teasing way, and Ezra gave him a reproving but good-humored look.

“Yes, it is always a privilege to be the night’s entertainment in the best households.”

I passed the bottle to Ezra. “Skip it. Don’t go.”

“Henry’s rather already promised.” He took a drink and passed the bottle back to Derry. “It really isn’t so terrible. They’re quite amused by it all.” He turned the card absently in his hands. “I suppose I should answer this. I think I shall say good night to you gentlemen.”

“Why does he do it, Derry?” I asked when Ezra had gone inside.

“He wouldn’t say no to them that’s asked for his aid.”

“The ghosts?” I clarified with a snort.

Derry smiled. “The ghosts.”

He invited me to bunk with him and, aware of the temptation I wanted to avoid where Ezra was concerned, I took him up on it. But when he’d drifted off to sleep, I slumped down against the pillows, wakeful and half-wishing I’d bunked with Ezra again.

“Sully, you there?” I whispered and glanced up at the moonlit wallpaper, almost expecting to see his shadow large upon it. Maybe he was hanging out with Ez, and the two of them were having a chat about me. I shuddered at the thought. Ezra didn’t need any more ammunition to skewer me with.

Putting thoughts of Ezra and sex out of my head—the latter a little more of a challenge—I burrowed into the pillow and tried to sleep. I succeeded for a couple of hours and woke thirsty—and a little hungry, to boot. At home, that would’ve meant a beer and a slice of cold pizza. I went downstairs, less bothered by the dark now that I more or less knew my way around, and hit the kitchen, hoping for pie. My foraging was interrupted by a wisp of a figure in a white nightdress standing in the curtained doorway of the pantry.

“Are you wanting some supper, sir?”

I greeted her with a grin. “Hey, kiddo. Don’t suppose there’s any leftover pizza in here?” At her bewildered look, I shook my head. “A sandwich? Or pie. Something I won’t have to cook.”

“You won’t have to cook, sir.”

“Something you won’t have to cook, either.”

“Pie,” she said gravely, and went to a shelf. The pies were covered with cloth. Removing one, she brought it to the table along with a plate.

“You going to have a piece too?” I asked as she cut a generous slice.

She seemed surprised by the question. “Oh no, sir. I’ve had supper.”