Downtime (33 page)

We gathered up the rest of the party and went inside, into the first really well-lit place I’d seen since my arrival in 1888. I realized the theater wasn’t gas-lit; the lights were electric. It felt like a step into the future, toward my own life. Okay, so maybe a little light seemed a small thing to be so cheerful about. But like all other conveniences, I’d taken it for granted until it was gone.

Ezra was smiling. He’d noticed my reaction. “I suppose the whole world is run on electricity in your time.”

“Pretty much.” I bumped an elbow against his. “It brings out the gold in your lashes. Not to mention your freckles.”

His gaze narrowed. “Is that meant as a compliment?”

I leaned closer and whispered, “I like your freckles.”

Apparently opening night was as big in the past as it was in my time. People of every description jammed the place, from the well-to-do dripping with fur and jewelry to folks who looked as though they’d scraped together their last few pennies to attend. Accustomed to the sea of unfamiliar faces, I was startled to see two I recognized. I gave Ezra a nudge and directed his attention to an impeccably dressed Jem Montague and, beside him, good old Sid, fitting right in.

Ezra’s eyes went wide with dismay. “What the devil is he thinking?” And suddenly I was let loose as Ezra slipped away through the crowd. Curious, I trailed after him. Ezra had pulled Jem aside as I reached them, but Sid hardly gave that any notice as his eyes lit on me and a wicked grin vanquished his bored look.

“Morgan Nash of New York,” he announced, savoring the words as if they were as sweet as chocolate. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d go in for this sort of thing.”

“The opera? I don’t.”

He looked me up and down, leer at full throttle. “A victim of Ezra’s persuasion, then? You poor, dear man. Shall we sneak away and make our own fun?”

I knew guys at home like Sid, who thrived on seeing how far they could push before the world pushed back. “Jem would be well within his rights to deck me, so I think I’ll decline the invitation. You don’t strike me as an opera fan either, Sid.”

At my remark, his smile faded and he shrugged. “Jem wants someone to go about with him. I suit, in the particulars.”

I had a feeling he’d do what he had to do to suit any particulars that paid the rent. “No love lost here, then?”

“Love?” He shook his head with a pitying good humor. “My dear Morgan, Jem is already in love and has been for ages.” He leaned toward me, voice fading to a whisper. “Don’t I put you in mind of anyone?”

Before I could avoid him, he kissed my cheek. Splaying a hand on his chest, I pushed him back. “A word of warning. Do that again and I’ll knock you on your ass.”

Fascination burned darkly in his eyes. “Would you?”

I checked a sigh, realizing the stupidity of threatening a guy who obviously got off on creating a scene. I wasn’t prepared to embarrass Ezra, Derry, and Kathleen by being thrown out of the theater or, worse, arrested. Jem Montague spared me the decision, however, as he swept past with a quick, polite apology and hauled Sid away. I looked around at a troubled Ezra as Jem and Sid vanished into the crowd. “What the hell was that about?”

A rueful glint sparked in his eyes. “You may call me a snob, if you like, but Jem has already done irreparable damage to his reputation. If he persists, it will do him in, and he seems not to care a whit.”

I couldn’t help it. I had to ask. “Who’s Jem in love with? Not Clara, I’m guessing.”

He frowned at me. “I rather hoped I would not have to perpetuate that rumor.”

“Which is?”

Ezra sighed. “Jem tutored the prince a while and it is my understanding they became quite close. Whether he returns Jem’s feelings, I’ve never learned, but Jem has not quite gotten over him. If anything, it seems a hurt that has led him to act more and more imprudently since. Perhaps has affected his mind,” Ezra added softly.

That Jem had set his sights too high and gotten burned made me feel for the guy. But I couldn’t deny the sudden relief that swamped me—even though I hadn’t entirely accepted the thought that Jem might be in love with Ezra, or vice versa. They weren’t right for each other and if Jem was heading for a big fall, he didn’t need to drag Ezra down with him. Jem and Sid, on the other hand—well, if they could shake off all the game playing and really look at each other, maybe something could come of it. I didn’t hold out much hope for them. Sid might be amusing at parties, but if there was anything underneath all that bullshit, I’d yet to see it.

Ezra pulled gently at my arm. “We’ve only a few minutes. Sidney didn’t pester you too much, I hope.”

“I’ve seen Sid’s type before. He doesn’t bother me.” I focused on Ezra. “How about you? Jem didn’t listen to what you had to say?”

“I’m afraid not….” He trailed off as Derry and Henry hurried toward us. “Don’t mention it to anyone, Morgan, please,” Ezra whispered.

“We shall have to bell you like two wayward toms,” Derry said cheerfully as he stalked around behind us and gave us a push toward the stairs. “Henry, you’ll have charge of that one.” He handed over Ezra, then caught hold of my arm. “I’ll keep this one and we shan’t lose them again.”

Ezra exchanged an amused look with me. “Terribly optimistic, aren’t they?”

The house was packed, the chatter deafening. The seats, however, were comfortable and I slid down into the one beside Ezra’s and wondered who would really notice if I dozed off, mid-opera. When the scene opened on a striking re-creation of the Tower of London and a young woman began to sing charmingly—and mercifully—in English, I decided I could stay awake and see if it panned out into anything worth watching all the way through. I’d never been a Gilbert and Sullivan fan, but it was intriguing to be present on the opening night of one of their operettas. The theater crowd was energetically vocal and as involved in the unfolding drama as if they had a personal stake in the outcome. They called for a considerable number of encores and the troupe obliged. When the composers came out to greet the audience, I had to think the thunderous applause could be heard in the street. By the time we were swept with the crowd out into the lobby, I felt as wired as after a rock concert. Derry, beside me on the stairs, raised his voice to be heard above the din. “You found it to your liking after all.”

“Gilbert and Sullivan I can tolerate. It’s the long-winded caterwauling that ends with everyone lying dead on the stage that puts me to sleep.”

“Ah. Yes, the singing is sprightly enough. But the jester fared none too well, poor chap.”

Sid and Jem passed us on the crowded steps, and I noticed the way Jem moved, as if he wanted to get out of the theater as fast as he could. Sid, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the crush of the crowd. He saw me and, pulling loose the rosebud from his dress coat, threw it to me. I knew it was no use trying to warn him to behave. He didn’t know the meaning of restraint. As I tossed the rose to the carpet, Jem turned to make sure Sid was still with him and noticed me as well. There was a distinctly troubled look in the deep blue eyes. He hardly seemed to even recognize me. Grabbing Sid by the arm, he nearly dragged him along and they disappeared from sight.

Derry plucked at my sleeve. The ladies were already downstairs, Henry and Ezra with them.

“Shall we dine next door?” Ezra asked, as soon as we were within earshot.

“It will be terribly crowded,” Henry said. “I say we walk further down and see what we may find.”

Kathleen looked alarmed. “In this fog?”

I knew what she was thinking. “We could hold hands,” I suggested and gave Hannah a wink. As Hannah tried to smother a giggle, Kathleen looked at me reprovingly.

“I have put time and good effort into teaching Hannah proper manners. Do not undo all my teaching in a matter of days, if you please.”

It was not her sternest tone and even Hannah realized it, smiling at me with a bit of girlish triumph. Deciding I’d better cool it before I turned Hannah into a top-notch twenty-first century rebellious teenager, I turned to ask Ezra where we should get some supper—and knew the moment I saw his face that his thoughts were elsewhere. And not a good elsewhere. Careful to not startle him, I put a hand on his arm. “Ez?”

The blue gaze remained fixed on some point beyond my shoulder. I tightened my grip and he let out a breath and with it, two quiet words. “He’s here.”

I slipped
a hand under my coat, then realized I’d better not draw my gun until I absolutely had to. “Where?”

Ezra’s attention shifted, without focusing on any of the people around us. Any of the people we could see, anyway. With increasing consternation, he shook his head. “I don’t….”

“Stay calm. Who do you see? Polly? Elizabeth?”

“All of them,” Ezra whispered.

I scanned the lobby, not in the hope of seeing ghostly prostitutes, but the killer who’d cut them up. All I saw was a sea of smiling, laughing theater-goers. “Okay. Ezra, just tell me where the hell he is. That’s all you have to do.”

“Morgan,” Derry started in an anxious tone, the others chiming in with hushed uneasiness.

“Hang on a minute, guys. Don’t break his concentration. Ez….” I turned back just as Ezra sprinted away into the crowd. “Ezra! Goddamnit.” What the hell did he think he was doing? Reaching for my gun, I swung back to Derry. “Stay here and stay together.”

He stared at me in distress, but managed a quick nod. I took off after Ezra, keeping the Glock in hand, but low and partially hidden by my dress coat. I could see Ezra several feet ahead, weaving through the crowd without the slightest notice of the tumult he was causing in his mad dash. I couldn’t push through with the same abandon, but I moved as fast as I could, ignoring the indignant exclamations directed my way and the glare from a guy whose top hat got knocked to the carpet.

I caught up with Ezra in a long hallway and, getting an arm around him, hauled him out of the crowd and into the doorway of a dressing room. He tried to pull out of my grasp and I pressed him against the doorframe. “Ezra, listen to me. You’re not going after him. Are you armed?”

“No, but—”

“Did you stop to think maybe he is?”

“Well—”

“I didn’t think so.” I checked the clip. I was ready to go. “Which way?”

“Heading for the stage door. All of them. Morgan—”

“Okay. Stay here.” I didn’t kid myself that he would actually listen, but I left him and ran down to the door, pushing into a narrow street lit by one flickering gas lamp. Footsteps to my left began to pick up. He’d heard me come out. The son of a bitch was going exactly nowhere tonight except a cozy cell in Newgate—assuming no one lynched him beforehand. I ran into the fog, knowing I’d probably get lost in the process and not giving a damn. Boots striking the cobblestones led me around a corner into a pitch-black side street.

What I wouldn’t have given for one crummy little flashlight. I slowed, trying to see more than two feet ahead, and became aware that Jack had stopped running. If he wanted to stand and fight, that was fine with me. Fingers firm around the gun, I stilled my breathing and listened. In the distance I could hear the rumble of carriage wheels and fainter din of voices as people left the theater; right around me, all stayed quiet. I was tempted to fire my gun, to startle him into reacting, but I didn’t want to waste the ammo and I certainly didn’t want to take down an innocent bystander.

Then I heard it, the shuffle of a boot on the pavement, about two seconds too late. The blow came from behind and my vision shut down. A shove came right after, and I was falling what felt like miles until I hit the ground. Pressing my palms to the wet pavement, I tried to push myself up. A hand fisted in my hair and yanked my head back. My rattled brain whispered a warning to protect my throat. As I brought my arm up, I heard the softest laugh in my ear. “No need to fuss. The gentleman won’t hurt you much.”

Metal flashed and I twisted away from it, getting an arm around his legs. He staggered, then wrenched out of my hold. My head throbbed, stealing my ability to focus. If he took another shot at cutting my throat, the second time would be the charm. Knowing it, I still couldn’t keep my grip on consciousness. Then someone yelled my name, with a desperation that pulled me back from the edge.

God, it was Ezra. Where had Jack gone? Pushing myself to hands and knees, I reached out for a handhold and knocked over a milk can. As it rolled away, I slumped down and wished heartily that I could slip into oblivion.

“Morgan?” I could hear him breathing hard as if he’d been running—or scared shitless. Maybe both. A hand cupped my head, a second hand brushing gently through my hair. “What the devil did you do to yourself?”

As a handkerchief replaced the hand, I winced. Opening my eyes, I tried to get a look at him. His brows were knit, his mouth turned down as he concentrated on pressing the kerchief exactly where I didn’t want it pressed. “Ow. Goddamn, Ez, stop.” I got a hand around his wrist. “That hurts.”

“Be still.” The command was quiet and unyielding. I let go with reluctance and let him finish poking at me. He studied my face another minute. “Do you think you can stand?”

The underlying tension in the soft words finally registered. Not wanting him to worry further, I put my arm around his shoulders to let him help me to my feet. Mildly dizzy, I stood for a moment holding on to him. “Ez? You all right?”

“Well enough.” I’d never heard him sound so exasperated. “You’re the one who went running after the fellow on your own, only to be solidly crowned for your trouble.”

“I had my gun,” I muttered halfheartedly.

Ezra scooped something out of a pile of refuse. “This one?”

I hadn’t realized it had been knocked out of my hand. If Jack had picked it up….

“Can we get out of here, please?”

It took me longer to ascend the short flight of basement steps to the sidewalk than it had taken me going down. Ezra hovered and I let him, though I was steady enough to walk on my own. As we slipped inside the theater, he asked what had happened. I told him what I could remember, which wasn’t much beyond getting knocked on the head. Just like the last time I’d screwed up, my failure to nail the son of a bitch was going to prove fatal for someone. No wonder Sully wanted me off the case. He knew I’d end up as part of the legend and not in a good way.

I realized I was storming down the hallway at a furious speed only when Ezra dragged me to a halt and pushed me into an empty dressing room. Closing the door, he steered me to the dressing table bench and pushed me to sit. “You’ll frighten Kathleen and Hannah, flying about like that—if you don’t faint away first.” Leaning over, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and studied the pale face next to his in the mirror. “You said you hadn’t anything you needed to help in the capture of this creature. But you have me. Even the police go about in pairs now to safeguard each other. Why will you not let me do as much?”

He had a point. If he’d been with me, we might’ve overpowered the Ripper and turned him in. I sighed. “Sully mention I don’t really work well with others?”

The corners of Ezra’s mouth quirked up. “I would have concluded as much, myself, by now. Morgan, it is no failing to allow yourself to trust someone else.”

“I trust you.”

“To look after myself?”

“Well, yeah. Sure.”

“Said with the conviction of a man who believes the saving of the world falls to him alone. Arrogant bastard,” he murmured fondly and kissed my cheek. “We will progress to the lobby at an intelligent pace, if you please, so that I do not have to carry you to the street.”

Crawling along at Ezra’s assigned speed, we finally reached the lobby, to find a very worried group discussing whether to summon the police. Though my injury wasn’t all that noticeable, I must have been looking worse for wear. Derry suggested a doctor and I vetoed that immediately. My head was pounding and I’d had all the humiliation I could tolerate.

Once home, Ezra spirited me upstairs and, despite feeling sure Kathleen would be up in a few minutes with food, bandages, and God knew what else, I stripped down to my briefs and buried myself under the blankets and quilt. The cool pillow soothed my head, and even better was the gentle hand that brushed my brow. “I will get you a powder,” he said and started to rise.

I caught his hand and squinted up at him. “Don’t go.”

“Is your head very bad?”

“It’s just a headache. Quit with the mother-henning already.”

“You seem to require some taking care of.”

“I need taking care of? I’m not the only one.”

There was a knock at the door. “Ah, rescue,” Ezra said with dry good humor and got up to let Kathleen in. Derry stood in the doorway, watching, as she put a tray down and brought over a bowl and washcloth.

I slitted my eyes to look into her somber face and waited for the lecture on the foolhardiness of chasing serial killers down fog-bound streets you aren’t familiar with. To my surprise, she merely draped the cool, damp cloth over my forehead and poured me a cup of tea.

“You’ll both have a bite, since you’ve had no supper. Dr. Gilbride is out—”

“I’ll go for Dr. Braddock down the road,” Derry suggested.

Not up for arguing with both of them, I looked at Ezra beseechingly. He intervened on my behalf, persuading Kathleen and Derry that he could see me through the night. When they’d gone, I snagged Ezra’s shirtsleeve and pulled him down for something more than a thank-you kiss.

He broke the kiss and breathed a soft laugh against my lips. “Morgan, after what you’ve been through this evening—”

“I’d like to forget this evening. At least, the last part of it. Anyway, I got hit on the head. The rest of me is in perfect working order.”

His lips twitched. “I daresay there is no occasion upon which it isn’t.” He handed me a sandwich and got up to undress. “You could come down with typhoid or pneumonia or any number of debilitations and you would assert you’ve energy enough to….”

He fell quiet just as it was getting interesting. I lifted drooping lids to peer over at him. “Ez?” I knew that look on his face. “Who’s here?”

Not even the intrigued expression prepared me for the answer. “Archie Nash.”

I didn’t know why that alarmed instead of cheered me. I struggled to sit up. “Why? Something wrong? It’s not my mom, is it?”

“Calm down,” he said gently, and I wondered just who was giving that advice. Ezra sat beside me and, head cocked, listened. A small part of me still insisted this was some parlor trick and Ezra was especially good at it. But when he gave me back the people I missed, even for a few minutes, it was harder to not believe it.