Downtime (4 page)

Then Kathleen directed a question across the table. “How are the arrangements for the wedding proceeding?”

It was enough to plunge the kitchen into profound silence. I looked around curiously, to see all eyes on Ezra. He was the one getting married? Okay, maybe my profiling skills needed a little work.

Ezra poked a spoon around in his soup, then cleared his throat. “The arrangements are—proceeding.”

Or maybe it was time for that promotion the boss kept putting off. I’d never seen a guy look less pleased at the prospect of impending nuptials. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

At my blithe inquiry, a smile quirked his mouth, forced if ever I saw one. “Her name is Charlotte Blanchard. We expect to be wed in the spring.” Said with all the cheer of a man announcing his own death sentence.

Derry came to the rescue. “And you, Mr. Nash? Will you be returning to a wife and little ones? Or are you a confirmed old bachelor like some of the fellows here at Farbridge?”

Before I could answer, footsteps just outside trod fast but light. There was a kid living here—in a houseful of single men? The kitchen door burst open and said kid stopped inside the doorway, a cake box cradled in her arms. Her gaze darted to me and she froze like a frightened rabbit. Under the dirt on her face, her skin was pale and freckled and the fringe of hair showing under her white cap was the bright copper of a new penny. Her apron was even dirtier than her face and the blue dress under it looked a size too small. She couldn’t be more than twelve, and I wondered to whom she belonged.

“Hannah,” Kathleen said with exasperation. “Have a care or you’ll crush it.”

“Yes, miss.” The whisper barely carried across the room. Hannah crept toward us, eyes on me the entire time, and set her box beside the soup tureen. I gave her a grin and she scrambled to Kathleen’s side.

“This is Mr. Nash,” Kathleen told the girl. “He’ll be staying tonight.”

“Yes, miss.” There was another door leading to a room off the kitchen and the little girl vanished into it.

“Isn’t she going to have some supper?” I couldn’t help asking. The kid looked so thin.

Kathleen’s eyebrows lifted. “She’s had her supper.” Rising from her chair, she began to clear the table, and I got up to help her. That earned me an even more suspicious look. “There’s no need for that,” she said, scooping up a platter protectively. “You’ve paid for a night’s lodgings and that will do.”

I started to tell her it was a long-ago chore my mother had expected me to do without question, and now and again I still did it automatically. But Ezra shook his head gently, motioning me to follow him out of the kitchen. I offered a good night to the others and a thank you to Kathleen, who acknowledged it with a curt nod. On the way out, Ezra opened the box Hannah had brought and took something out of it. He turned to me and asked, “Would you like one? They’re quite good. Mrs. Nisbet across the way makes them with currants and nuts and enough cinnamon to cure anything that ails you.”

It looked like a bigger, gooier version of the cinnamon rolls Leonard had brought to the warehouse—had that been this afternoon? “No, thanks. Watching my weight.” And I didn’t think I could eat it with the unexpected lump in my throat.

He seemed to want to say something. Instead he nodded and walked ahead of me into the hall. It was almost too dark to move without bumping into the walls. “No electric lights? Flashlight? Candle? I’ll take anything.”

“I’d turn up the gas,” he said cheerfully, “but I think we’ve tested Kathleen’s good will enough for the day.”

“Good will?”

He caught the dubious note and laughed. “Oh you don’t know, Mr. Nash. It’s quite unusual that she agreed to have you. She doesn’t take new tenants without an interview and she never allows guests without considerable notice. Derry had to do a lot of wheedling.”

“Isn’t this his house?”

“His, yes, but after he lost his wife, he left the care of it to Kathleen and she let rooms to keep them both from starving. He hadn’t the will, for a while, to do much of anything.”

“His wife died?” I bit my lip, hoping they couldn’t hear us in the kitchen. Lowering my voice, I asked, “When?”

The hall brightened and I saw Ezra near a lamp on a narrow table parked against the wall. He considered the question. “It’s been about three years now.”

“Is the little girl his?”

“Little girl?” He looked puzzled. Then his mouth twitched into a grin. “Hannah Jolley is Kathleen’s maid-of-all-work, Mr. Nash.”

We started up the stairs, Ezra devouring the roll as we went. The second floor seemed even darker and less inviting. I tried to ignore the forlorn feeling creeping through me and instead focused longingly on eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep.

Ezra went into a room, leaving the door open for me to follow. As soon as he’d lit a lamp, I noted the wood frame bed tucked in one corner, a brass-trimmed trunk at its foot. A pair of cushioned, high-back chairs were in front of a small, smoke-stained fireplace. Held in place by a pair of candlesticks, a lacy cloth hung dangerously low over the mantle. There were other feminine touches all through the room, including a brown shawl draped over the far pillow on the bed.

“You sure it’s all right for me to stay here?”

He turned up the lamp and fixed me with an even more curious stare. Okay, maybe I didn’t look like the sensitive type, but he didn’t have to seem so surprised that I’d noticed the evidence of a man still grieving. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to disturb—his things. You can’t put me up somewhere else?”

“Derry would not have invited you to stay with him if he were uneasy with the idea. It’s all right. I do think it just comforts him to keep her things around.” Ezra removed the shawl and, folding it, laid it on one of the chairs by the fireplace.

“There’s not an unoccupied room further up?”

“The top floor is Mr. Cotton, Mr. Tenpenny, and Dr. Gilbride. There are no other rooms.”

“What about that room downstairs, the one we passed coming up? I couldn’t just sleep on the sofa or something?”

His eyes widened. “In Kathleen’s sitting room? You are a brave man, Mr. Nash.” He gave me a light push toward the bed. “It will be all right,” he repeated. “I think Derry is feeling a little guilty that we spirited you away from home, so to speak. This is his way of atoning.”

“And what about you?” I eased off the borrowed jacket and tossed it to him.

He caught it and draped it over his arm. “What about me?”

“How are you planning to atone for disrupting my life?” Though I had to admit, to myself at least, that I’d disrupted my life just fine while safe in my own century. If Reese had called—and I was doubting now that he had—he’d probably given up on hearing back from me. I couldn’t fix things even if Ezra sent me back right away. That I was sleeping in this strange bed instead of a strange hotel bed didn’t seem worth complaining about. But I’d felt sick as a dog and was still wobbly from the effects of my little trip. That, I could blame Ezra for, and did.

The slew of excuses I expected didn’t come. Ezra plucked at a loose thread on the coat sleeve, avoiding my gaze. He finally conceded, “I hadn’t considered it, but I do think you’re right. I owe you something.” He looked up at me, dead serious. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much to offer.”

A thought went through my head and I immediately stomped it down. That was about the last thing I needed. Just because I was missing home and Reese and things familiar was no reason to jump into a one-nighter, even if Ezra was amenable. Anyway, he was engaged, at least for the time being.

I took off my gun and put it under the pillow, still not prepared to be separated from it. I’d stripped down to my pants before it occurred to me I’d be sharing a bed with a man I hadn’t been intimate with. Pajamas might be called for. “Do you have anything I can wear to sleep in? PJs? Sweats? I’ll take anything.”

“I believe so.”

“And one more thing,” I said as he started for the door. “Where’s the head?”

He threw a bemused look back at me. “Whose head in particular are you inquiring after? You appear to be still in possession of your own.”

I swallowed down a smile, refusing to like him or his sense of humor. “The head. You know. The john? Bathroom? Lavatory?” I was running out of synonyms. “Outhouse—”

“Yes, I’ve caught on, thank you. The water closet is two doors down. I’ll get you a nightshirt.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “You have anything with pants?”

There was a knock and Derry slipped into the room and closed the door. “Ezra, you’ve got company downstairs. Mrs. Hastings.”

Ezra’s smile vanished. “She’s Henry’s client, not mine.”

Client? Since when did museum employees have clients?

“She wants to see you,” Derry said with gentle emphasis.

Whoever Mrs. Hastings was, Ezra clearly intended to be stubborn about it. “She’s paying Henry.”

“She’s upset, the poor dear.” Derry sat on a chair and proceeded to remove his boots. “Kath has her in the parlor with some tea. No doubt that will soothe her nerves and she’ll be on her way home soon enough.”

“She’s upset?” Ezra frowned. “Very well. I’ll go, then. And I hope you’ll explain to Henry when he comes after me with a fire iron.”

“I’ll have only good things to say at your wake,” Derry promised, and I saw the sparkle in his eyes.

Ezra glared at both of us. “Mr. Nash needs a nightshirt,” he said and shut the door energetically.

Derry chuckled. “The poor love. Henry won’t be half livid.”

“Yeah? Over what?” It had to be more innocent than the conclusion I’d drawn.

“A nightshirt you were needing?” Derry got up and went to rummage in the wardrobe.

I wondered what he was suddenly hesitant to discuss. “They’re not involved in anything illegal, are they?”

His protective instinct kicked in, just as I’d hoped. “Ezra won’t take a shilling, Mr. Nash. Not a shilling. He’s got the gift, but he’d never harm a soul with it.” Derry produced a neatly folded article of clothing and shook it out. “Here you are. Will this do?”

A goddamned nightgown. But I couldn’t sleep in my briefs; I didn’t think Derry, even as friendly as he was, would be too wild about the idea. I thanked him for the nightgown and with a resigned sigh put it on. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the dresser, I was for the first time glad to be more than a hundred years from home. The ribbing I’d have taken if anyone had seen me wearing a nightie would have been merciless.

I dropped to the bed and felt as though I’d sunk into the center of the earth. I was going to have the backache from hell in the morning. Rolling onto my side, I looked over at Derry as he shrugged off his coat. “The gift? Of what? Being thoroughly obnoxious?”

A smile twitched his lips and he shook his head solemnly. “He converses with those that have passed.”