Downtime (17 page)

On the cleanest street I’d seen yet, it stood tucked behind an iron gate and overgrown garden. Ezra rang the bell, summoning a maid who deposited us into a parlor that made Kathleen’s look monastic. Madame Corinna did a lot of traveling, primarily to India, judging by the knickknacks crowded on every available space. Looking around, I had to sympathize with the maid who was in charge of dusting. The place reminded me of the apartment of an old antiques collector Sully and I had been assigned to trail. Though he hadn’t turned out to be the art thief we were hunting, he had been nutty as a fruitcake, and I suspected Corinna was the same, a harmless little old lady with a compulsive yen for every trinket—and apparently every feline—she saw. I hadn’t noticed it among all the furniture, plants, pillows and extraneous fluff at first, but there were at least five cats in the room, all curled up, snoozing.

One thing I didn’t see much of was books. “You’re sure she’s going to be able to help us?”

“Not necessarily on her own, but she will enlist the aid of a number of colleagues,” Ezra murmured, and turned away to greet the woman who stepped into the room. My mental image of the little old lady melted away, replaced by a statuesque figure in strategically draped silk. It matched her eyes, which were a light yet warm blue. Upswept blonde hair framed a model’s face with full lips and high cheekbones. If I could’ve taken her into the future, she would have been gracing the cover of women’s mags within a month. I could see why her little psychics club was so popular.

Ezra introduced me as a friend from America, and I caught on that we weren’t divulging the truth even to her. Removing a disgruntled cat from the sofa, she invited us to make ourselves at home. No sooner were we settled than servants appeared, bearing tea and cake. It was a regular Alice in Wonderland setting. Ezra detailed exactly what we were looking for, and Corinna took in the information with a serene, benevolent smile.

“Well, my dear, you do present a challenge. Unless you can recall the title, it will be quite difficult, you understand.”

I felt a twinge of disappointment and realized I had held out hope Ezra could hook us up with someone eccentric enough to be familiar with all these books and their contents. Ezra looked glum himself. “Might you ask Charles for me?”

“Without mentioning who needs his help?” she added gently. “Of course. And you will do something for me in return?”

“I….” He wavered and I guessed he knew what she wanted. He glanced at me and the hesitancy melted away. “Very well. When?”

Her face lit up. “I will consult my calendar and send you a letter.” She patted his shoulder. “Thank you so much, Ezra. We’ve missed your lectures.”

The trace of a grimace on his face vanished under an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid they were rather mundane, but thank you. Oh, and—”

“I know,” she cut in, oozing sympathy. “Not a word.”

“Not a word about what?” I asked after we’d had our tea and been shown graciously to the door. “Who’s this Charles who’s going to help us without knowing he’s helping?”

“A fellow medium. He’s rather deeply invested in occult studies, the darkest corners of it. I voiced my concerns once and he’s never forgiven me.”

“Ah. So I guess that makes you something of a hypocrite.”

He stopped walking and said with impressive patience, “Again, I did not imagine I was casting a spell. Truly, I’ve never thought such a thing possible.”

“A skeptic as well, eh?”

His laugh bordered on utter resignation. “By faith, you are the most relentless man. A necessary quality, I suppose, for a detective, but it must leave your friends done in. Perhaps we should stop for lunch before we go back to the bookshops.” He looked around for a cab.

“We just had tea and cake. God, you people eat constantly.”

“Perhaps just a beer, then. Or several of them,” he added under his breath as we hopped into a cab. We returned to the shops and wiled away the rest of the morning looking for a needle in a haystack. I wholeheartedly wished for five minutes alone with Adam Whitby. If we had to search book by book throughout all of England, I’d be Ezra’s guest for a long time to come.

The same thought seemed to be troubling Ezra. He didn’t let the bookworm in him sidetrack him, but scoured the shelves with rapid efficiency, until he was covered with dust and squinting tiredly behind his glasses. When the sun came out, we decided to finally break for lunch and walked down the street in search of a café. I wondered aloud if Kathleen had thrown my clothes into the yard yet and taken down the rooms-for-let sign.

“She will let you stay tonight,” Ezra assured me. “It is late to be going to a hotel.”

I was glad to hear it because I wanted to say good-bye to Hannah. I might not see her again once Kathleen had bounced me out. As we passed what looked like a gift shop, I slowed to get a look at the items in the window. Surely Kathleen wouldn’t mind if Hannah kept something pretty in that dreary storage that served as a bedroom. Problem was, even though I had about sixty bucks with me, it was currently only good for lighting fires.

“Hey, Ez?”

He joined me at the store window. “What is it? Are there books?” He shaded his eyes to get a glimpse inside.

“Maybe. Think you could lend me a few dollars? Or pounds, I guess.”

He didn’t bat an eye. “There’s something here you fancy?” He studied the window display, mostly music boxes and other feminine trinkets, and gave me a sidelong smile. “A music box?”

I cleared my throat. “A souvenir. You know.”

“I thought you were concerned about changing history. Yesterday, with the roses.”

“Well, sure, the roses. Those wouldn’t clear customs.” I gave him a grin. “A toy’s probably safe enough. What do you say?”

I didn’t want to tell him it was for Hannah. For all I knew, it might be some breach of etiquette to buy gifts for housemaids. Better to have everyone find out after the fact, when all they could do was let her keep it. At the risk of impugning my manhood even further, I picked out the most girly box I could find, with a tiny porcelain man and woman forever dancing in a little circle while tinny music accompanied them.

Casting a puzzled look my way, Ezra paid for the music box and we headed out for another shot at lunch. There, I made the mistake of burrowing into the newspaper for more articles on the Ripper while Ezra ordered for us both. I had a definite aversion to eating food I couldn’t recognize, despite having done so in the past. And the smell was doing nothing to encourage me.

“Think they have any ketchup?”

“You don’t care for stewed eel?” Considering our luck today, he was way too cheerful; probably because he’d slept the night through again. I liked him better cranky—although his cranky had nothing on mine. Sympathy shining through the amusement in his eyes, he asked if I’d like to order something else. I doubted a burger and fries were on the menu. But after the big slab of cake, I wasn’t all that hungry.

“There’s one thing I would like. To do a little more sightseeing today.” When he shot me a questioning glance, I nodded at the newspaper. “I want to go over to Whitechapel and take a look around.”

He downed his tea in one breath and wheezed, “Whitechapel?”

“I know it’s a rough neighborhood. I can handle it.”

He stared at me as if he thought it might be best for all concerned to lock me in a closet until he could send me home. “I won’t let you go alone into Whitechapel. If you can get yourself arrested in Bloomsbury, heaven knows what may happen to you farther afield.”

“You’ll have to trust me sometime.” I couldn’t resist following that up with a grin that probably didn’t do much to reassure him. “You want to come along?”

“I don’t relish the idea, but the thought of having to hunt you down in Whitechapel after you’ve been mistaken again for this Ripper fellow is a good deal more daunting. I would appreciate it if we could confine this adventure to the daylight hours,” he added, a line of worry between his brows.

A familiar voice intoned from behind me, “‘Boldly they rode, and well, into the jaws of death….’” Jem Montague moved around the table to stand behind the vacant chair, hat in his hand, and continued cheerfully, “‘into the mouth of hell.’”

“Is that one yours?” I asked, to which he raised a reproving eyebrow.

“Tennyson’s,” Ezra answered, greeting him with a handshake. “Do sit down, Jem.”

Jem drew the chair well back from the table and settled his long frame into it. “Tennyson still your favorite?” he continued conversationally.

Ezra smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

“Pity. I was rather hoping I would be, by now.” The remark was more flippant than heartfelt as Jem’s attention shifted to me. “Mr. Nash.” The trace of a considering smile curved his mouth. “You’re finding our fair city a welcoming place, I assume. Ezra has always been the consummate host.”

I had my own opinion about that, but decided to keep it to myself. I also had an opinion about the luck involved in running into Jem Montague twice in a couple of days. Maybe it wasn’t luck. I noticed Jem had shown up sans his hyper boyfriend, Sid. He was on the prowl and his target, I figured, was Ez. “We’ve done a little sightseeing,” I said. “And we’re hoping to do a little more.”

Ezra shook his head, still uneasy. “I don’t believe roaming Whitechapel can be considered seeing the sights.”

“Now, Ezra, we can hardly blame Mr. Nash. Murder fascinates even the most moral of us.” Jem shifted the newspaper around so he could see the article I’d been reading. “Regrettable, what’s required to shake us out of our complacency.”

“I think Morgan’s interest is professional, not prurient,” Ezra said with a little frown.

Jem looked at me with new interest and I nodded. “It’s what I do. Back in New York. I track down bad guys.”

“Indeed.” Jem tucked his walking stick under his arm and eased off his gloves as the waiter set a cup in front of him and poured tea. Intent blue eyes stayed on me. “Has Scotland Yard called you in? They quite need all the assistance they can rally.”

“No, they haven’t and I don’t expect they will.” I sighed. “But who knows? Maybe the case will be cracked by a really talented psychic.”

The spoon Ezra had picked up to stir his tea clattered to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it and glared at me as he came back up. “I really think you will prefer Stonehenge, Morgan. I’d be pleased to take you. Today, if you’d like.”

He was practically on his hands and knees begging, the poor guy. I handed him a clean spoon. “Stonehenge tomorrow. Whitechapel today.”

Jem chuckled. “You’ll do in poor Ezra. I don’t believe he’s ever been slumming. Oh, dear chap, by the by. Supper, tonight. You will join us, won’t you?”

An invitation Ezra had forgotten, judging by his expression. Jem did not seem offended. Blue eyes sparkling evilly, he leaned forward and murmured, “Imagine all the delicious intimacies I shall talk Charlotte into revealing if you’re not there to rescue her.”

That couldn’t be much of a threat, I figured. But Ezra took it as one, gaze narrowing in exasperation. “You are despicably underhanded.”

A pleased smile spread across Jem Montague’s handsome face. “You’ll come. And bring your charming Mr. Nash.”