Downtime (18 page)

The faint smile stirring around Ezra’s mouth vanished. “I believe Mr. Nash has another engagement.”

Ah, the ambiguousness of a lie born in desperation. I grinned. “No, that was called off. I’m free tonight. As long as you’re not serving this.” I gestured at the now-cold glop on my plate.

Jem clapped my shoulder with sincere commiseration. “I put forth every effort to please sophisticated English palates and unassuming American palates alike.”

Damn. He’d honed flirtatious innuendo to as fine a point as Ezra. When he had gone, Ezra regarded me with worried contemplation. I looked as innocent as possible—which, granted, wasn’t particularly innocent. “What?”

“You did that deliberately.”

“You didn’t want me to go?”

He frowned. “I don’t think you’re prepared for the reaction, should you be found out. At any rate, you’ve nothing to wear. We shall have to hope we can hire you something on such short notice.”

It turned out we could and did, at a shop in Covent Garden. I had to give Ez credit, he didn’t scrimp, even though I probably deserved it after the position I’d put him in. We headed for the house, both of us quiet in the cab, well aware of what we might be facing back at home. Ezra assured me he would make sure I got settled into a respectable hotel. Hell, as long as it was clean. I didn’t hold out much hope for room service.

We found Derry repairing a loose spindle on the stairs as we came in. The answer to our unasked question stood all too clearly in his expressive face.

I sat beside him on the step. “Kathleen thinks I’m a demon too?”

“You’re not to blame. She’s frightened, you know.”

“And angry at us for keeping it from her,” Ezra said with a nod.

“Maybe if I talked to her,” I suggested.

“It’s no good, lad. Once Kathleen sets her mind, no miracle of man or God can change it.” Derry tried to look cheerful. “We’ll find you a room as cozy as any here, won’t we, Ezra?”

“Of course we will. Is she home?”

“Aye, you know Kathleen when she’s upset.”

“She’s cleaning?

Derry groaned. “She is. It will be days before I dare let a crumb fall anywhere.” He looked at me, his warm eyes full of apology. “She wants you on your way in the morning. You’ll have your supper and a good night’s sleep. That, I insisted on.”

As we headed upstairs, I noticed the house was the calm-after-the-storm kind of quiet. If Kathleen was on a cleaning spree, Hannah was probably enlisted in the process. I hoped I would get the chance to say good-bye. I had a feeling there would be less opportunity for it tomorrow.

Upstairs, I was left on my own to bathe and shave. Ezra took the bathroom after me, while Derry gave me a hand sorting out the odds and ends of my costume. Trousers and shirt I could manage. I sat on the bed and let Derry wrangle the collar and tie for me.

“You always get so trussed up just to go out to dinner?” I winced as he fastened the stiff linen around my neck. A couple of guys back home who were into bondage might have enjoyed it, but I didn’t.

Derry scowled in concentration as he struggled with thick fingers to get the tie just right. “I don’t go to dinner often. Not the sort of dinners Ezra’s asked to,” he amended with a wistful quirk to his lips. “I expect he’ll be kept busy with them.”

“Now that his family’s reeled him back in?”

Derry’s fingers stopped fumbling and his eyes lifted to mine, sheened with sorrow. “You think it’s a mistake he’s making.”

“I know it is.” But I suspected my reasons differed from Derry’s. “And I have a feeling Ezra knows it too, deep down.”

Derry inclined his head solemnly. “He had a time of it when his father cut him off—and it had little to do with the money. He missed his family. And the life he knew best. When we took him in, he was so lost, I feared he’d do himself more harm—”

“More harm?” I repeated, shocked he had done any.

“He was doing himself no good, holed up in this room day after day, neither sleeping nor eating. It’s only recently I’ve got him ’round to thinking he’s more blessed than cursed. Then you came along.” He brushed a hand over my hair with a brotherly affection. “I stand by the notion that the Lord has a sense of humor.”

Catching my wrist, he hauled me up and gave me a push toward the mirror. “You do clean up well, Morgan Nash.”

The getup was old-fashioned, but smart enough. Derry looked me over and smoothed down the front of the embroidered white vest. “The waistcoat suits you. Ezra has a good eye.”

“He did all right,” I said. “Though he never even saw me in it.” The clerks had me in and out of it in five minutes after buzzing around with the measuring tapes.

“Hasn’t he, then?” An odd smile lifted Derry’s lips, but before I could ask what that was about, Ezra came in, half-dressed, damp hair curling over his forehead.

“We shall be late. Derry, is he….”

Ezra’s attention fell upon me and the question trailed away into silence. As he stared, Derry nudged him with an elbow. “He does look a picture, eh?”

“Evidently a silk purse can be had of a sow’s ear.”

The comment didn’t fool me. I could see his all too apparent admiration—and maybe just a little lust. “At least the sow’s ear is ready on time,” I retorted, tapping my wrist before remembering the gesture would be meaningless to them.

Ezra roused from his trance and scrambled to get into his suit. I went downstairs to find Hannah and discovered her in the parlor, sweeping out the fireplace. She looked at me, wide-eyed but unafraid, and asked if I were really a policeman. I figured it was her way of asking if I were really from the future.

“That doesn’t scare you, does it?”

She shook her head, but held on tight to the broom. “What’s it like?”

“Well, let’s see.” I eased the broom gently from her grasp and hefted it in my hands. “There’s a machine in the future, it’s got a motor at one end and a handle to push it around on the other and a bag in between and when you hook it up to electricity, it sucks up all the dirt and dust, whoosh, just like that.”

Her eyes were round. “Truly?”

“Cross my heart.” I handed her back the broom and took the music box out of the wrapper the clerk had put it in. “Here, kiddo. I got this for you. Sort of a good-bye gift.”

She stared at the toy as if it were even more alien than the man sitting in front of her. Thin, grubby fingers traced blue porcelain skirts, then she drew her hand back and rubbed it on her coal-streaked apron. “For me?”

The kid was apparently not the recipient of a whole lot of gifts. “For you,” I affirmed, putting it into her hands. “Something to remember me by.”

I gave the tiny knob a couple of turns and the music tinkled, faint but cheerful, as the entwined pair circled on top. Hannah let out an awed breath that ended in a little sigh. She might’ve been holding the crown jewels in her hands. But as the music slowed, the light faded from her eyes. “I can’t, sir. Miss Kathleen wouldn’t allow it.”

“You and I are friends, aren’t we?”

Flushed pink under her dirty cheeks, she broke from my gaze. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, then. Nothing wrong with a gift between friends, is there?”

“No, sir,” she ventured, after thinking a minute.

“All settled. Good. Hannah?”

She peeked up through her copper fringe at me. “Yes, sir?”

“When Kathleen gets too tough on you, smile at her like this….” I slipped on an angelic grin. “And tell her, ‘My, Miss Kathleen, you’re looking pretty today’.”

Hannah giggled. “She’ll send me home for impertinence, sir.”

“Hey, don’t knock impertinence. It’s good for you.”

“And you may trust Mr. Nash’s vast wealth of experience with that particular trait,” Ezra said as he came up behind me. His attention fell on the music box in Hannah’s hands. “Take good care of that, my dear. It was chosen with great consideration.” He turned to me. “Are you ready? We really must go.”

As I stood, I planted a soft kiss on the top of Hannah’s sleek head. “‘Night, sweetheart. Don’t work too hard.”

Ezra waited until we were outside before he asked if I normally befriended servants to that extent.

“Something wrong with it?”

He mulled over the question. “I suppose not, in Hannah’s case. I rather doubt she would become impertinent, even under your exemplary guidance.” He bent over the rail beside the steps and picked a blossom, gesturing me near so he could tuck it into my lapel. “That finishes you off quite nicely.”

“In more ways than one.” I sneezed.

“Ah. No need to gild the lily, I suppose—”

As he reached to take it, I caught his hand. “That’s all right. Doesn’t bother me much. But—aren’t white roses a symbol of purity?”

“Indeed, yes,” he said with a chuckle. “But it may also mean that someone finds you worthy of love.” As the words left his lips, he caught my smirk and blushed to his collar. “Not that I was intimating….” He cleared his throat. “Where the devil are all the cabs?”

As he fled to the curb, I indulged in a quiet laugh. The nineteenth century was turning out to be more entertaining than I’d hoped.

Jem Montague’s
abode oozed calculated elegance, from the lush rugs to the glittering chandeliers and all the sleek mahogany in between. And we were far from being the only guests. A number of people milled about in the parlor, and for the first ten minutes or so, I felt as though I’d come to a costume party. The women in particular were dolled up in yards of silk and accessorized in almost every way known to man. I studied them one by one, wondering which was Charlotte. I found out when Ezra excused himself to greet a slim, brown-haired woman in a pale pink dress. She allowed a small peck on the cheek and patted his arm with a white-gloved hand. She seemed glad to see him and talked on while I tried to slip a little closer, too curious for my own good.

Ezra looked around at me as if he knew I was trying to eavesdrop. Apparently resigned to his babysitting duties, he introduced us. Warm, brown eyes looked me over with utter innocence. Here was a kid with no idea of what she was getting into. She reminded me of a doll, the kind girls kept on a shelf so it wouldn’t break.

“America,” she marveled. “I’ve not been. Father has and claims it is quite charming, if just a little rough around the edges. You must be terribly homesick, Mr. Nash. Even a month in the country leaves me longing for the sights and sounds of home. Don’t you find it the most lonely feeling?”

“I do,” I said frankly, then caught Ezra’s curious glance. “But Ez, here, and good old Derry have made me feel more at home.”

“Derry’s a perfect angel,” Charlotte exclaimed and then, touching Ezra’s hand, gave him a teasing smile. “Of course you are as well, my dear.”

“A perfect angel,” I agreed with the hint of a much slyer smile than Charlotte’s.

Ezra got back at me by ignoring it completely. “I think your brother has spotted us, my dear. We should have begun under the stairs this time.”

She giggled behind her fan and looked around at the scowling fellow heading our way. If he was Charlotte’s brother, she’d gotten all the looks. The only thing he had going for him was the black hair that rode the top of his head in a thick, wavy crest. His lips, like hers, were a small pink heart in a rosy-cheeked face and it didn’t suit him nearly as well—especially with the ferocious look he was wearing as he descended on us and wrapped a little-too-possessive arm around his sister.

I got a cold, suspicious glance, and I was the lucky one. He fixed on Ezra with intense dislike. “You will remember yourself, sir.”

“We are engaged,” Ezra reminded him mildly.

And Charlotte, I wanted to add, had been clinging to Ezra—not the other way ’round. But the guy looked ready to take a swing at Ezra, and while I thought Ezra could probably take him, a scene like that would not go over well with the host.

Before big brother could press the subject, Ezra changed it. “George, may I present Mr. Morgan Nash of New York.” From his tone, he might’ve been introducing the president, and I realized he was doing it deliberately, to get under George’s skin. I knew for sure when he finished, offhandedly, “Morgan, Mr. George Edward Blanchard.”

I looked Georgie up and down with presidential aloofness. “How’s it going,” I said with a nod.

His feathery brown brows drew together. “I beg your pardon?”

Ezra covered his mouth with a hand and coughed. “You haven’t visited the colonies yet, George?”

“No. Nor do I intend to.” He smoothed his moustache and shot a glance at me as if he thought America entirely uncivilized—and here I was, the proof.

I grinned at him. “Not afraid of us, are you?”

Charlotte’s lips pressed together, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks a rosier pink. George went pink too, but not in a good way. With a glare at us, he whisked her off. She gave us an apologetic look over his shoulder but didn’t put up any real resistance. Ezra’s smile turned rueful. “He hasn’t quite reconciled himself to our engagement.”

“No kidding?”

“I believe he thinks Charlotte should do better.”

I shrugged. “She’s a sweet kid. She deserves a man who’ll love her, body and soul. Don’t you think?”

He didn’t answer, but I saw the dark gleam of regret in his eyes. Derry and I weren’t the only ones who knew he was making a mistake. He stayed quiet as we circled the room and got to know our fellow dinner guests.

They were a peculiar assortment, from a Russian noblewoman to a young, good-looking clerk who, I assumed, was a more-than-dear-friend of Jem’s. I noticed that Sidney was absent, which made sense if Jem hoped to land Ezra. I caught sight of Jem across the room, in conversation with a young woman and a beefy older guy sporting serious muttonchops and features that were strikingly like Jem’s.

“His dad?” I whispered and Ezra nodded. “Who’s the girl?”

“Clara Alworth. An engagement, I think, in the making.”

“He’s following your lead?”

“Ah—no. I believe he loves her. I cannot say if those feelings are returned.”

“Really? So old Jem swings both ways?”

Ezra looked puzzled but he didn’t get the chance to ask for a translation. Jem saw us and slipped away from the circle to greet us. He shook my hand, holding on as he leaned toward me to whisper, “Do be a good fellow and escort Mrs. Petrova to dinner, will you?”

Ezra had a peculiar little grin on his face and I sensed I was being set up. “Escort her to dinner?”

Ezra’s grin broadened a fraction. “Gentlemen do escort ladies to the dining room in America, I hope?”

I should have invested in an etiquette manual my first day here. “Yeah, maybe. Mrs. Petrova. That’s the woman who nearly shook my arm off, right?”

Jem clapped my shoulder in sympathy, but he was grinning too. “Think of it as a rite of passage. Every man here has had to endure her through at least one dinner.”

“Please don’t tell me that’s the reason you invited me.”

Jem laughed, a hearty deep bass. “I have my reasons, dear Morgan, and that is assuredly not one of them.”

Victorian men were apparently hopeless flirts. Two could play that game. “Don’t suppose you’ll let me in on the others? Before Mrs. Petrova decides she wants to take home a little more than a doggie bag?”

“Doggie bag?” Jem and Ezra repeated, looking at me, mystified.

I was rescued by a servant announcing dinner. Expecting a mad rush, I was surprised to see no one move toward the hall. Then the guy Ezra had introduced as Sir Andrew Dallin offered his arm to one of the women and proceeded through the doorway. That was apparently some kind of prompt, as the others followed suit, pairing up until the only guests left were me and Mrs. Petrova. She waited expectantly, eyeing me through a gold pince-nez with way too much female appreciation. I
had
been set up.

I’d been to some fancy dinners before, but this outdid them. Servants as still as Easter Island statues stood vigil around a table draped in white and decorated with fresh roses and slender, ivory candles. Arranged around each plate were at least a dozen pieces of silver, and I was damned glad I wasn’t the one doing the dishes tonight. The place settings also bore name cards, and I looked in glum expectation for Mrs. Petrova’s. I found her card to the right of mine, Charlotte’s to my left.

I felt a little relief at the sight of Ezra across the table. He looked at me, obviously concerned I was going to do something unforgivable, like help myself to an orange from the bottom of the artfully tiered fruit. He motioned for me to take off my gloves and I noticed he’d removed his, as had all the other men. I pulled them off gratefully and stuffed them into my pocket. A servant with a soup tureen appeared at my elbow and, in a most gracious voice, asked if I would care for some.

“Oh, do,” Mrs. Petrova said, leaning toward me. “The most delicious turtle.” She’d already tried hers. I couldn’t bring myself to take any. I’d had turtles when I was eleven. Even though there was no way this particular turtle could be Rocket or Joltin’ Joe, he might have been some distant ancestor. I had better luck with the next two courses, bypassing the mutton and tongue in favor of chicken. I didn’t involve myself much in the chitchat. It was more interesting to just listen. Charlotte waited until her brother, a few chairs away, was deep in conversation and paying no attention to her before she dared talk to me.

“I didn’t know Ezra had any friends in America, Mr. Nash.”

“Oh, there are probably a few things you don’t know about Ezra.” I glanced across the table to see him chatting away with an older woman seated to his right. I had the opportunity to be honest with Charlotte, but I decided to keep silent. This was Ezra’s mess, his life to do with as he pleased. Charlotte, for her part, seemed unfazed by my comment.

“If you’re speaking of his spiritual gifts, I know all about that,” she said with the complacent confidence of the young and engaged. “Ezra tells me everything. I believe two people who vow to love each other for all their lives should be nothing but completely honest with each other.”

An involuntary shudder went through me at the thought. “You know, guys who reach Ezra’s age can sometimes be carrying around some dark secrets. And they say ignorance is bliss.”

“I don’t,” Charlotte countered with warm passion. “I want to know everything about him. An intelligent wife will not be kept in the dark. She will share her husband’s burdens and he will share hers.”

I had a suspicion there might be the early stirrings of a feminist behind that demure smile. I wondered how long it would be before she got tired of her brother’s overzealous chaperoning and decked him; with any luck, when I was still around to cheer her on. “I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to know the deep, dark secrets of the man you’re going to spend your life with. I hope you do weasel it all out of him. The sooner, the better.”

It came out more emphatic than I’d meant it, but she took it for sincerity. “Aren’t you sweet.” She pressed a hand to my arm impulsively. “You will come on Friday, I hope.”

“You bet I will,” I said, remembering Derry’s mention of something going on Friday evening. Whatever it was, I knew Ezra wouldn’t be too thrilled that I’d been included in the invitation.

Charlotte shone with pleasure. “Thank you, Mr. Nash. I can quite see why you and Ezra are friends. You’re a good man, just as he is.”

I didn’t know whether she loved him. She certainly seemed to care for him and was willing to give the arrangement the old college try. She seemed to want to confide further, but something held her back. Then the server appeared with another dish, and Mrs. Petrova took advantage of the lull in conversation to reel me in.