Downtime (41 page)

“That was our win and should have been called so,” Henry said. “Dead heat, indeed.”

“Dead heat?” I grinned. “How about a rematch?”

Kathleen and Hannah came as far as the boat house with us. Once Henry and Ezra had decided on a finish line, they chose two boats and I rolled up my sleeves and hopped in with Ezra, Derry with Henry. Hannah started us off with a wave of my handkerchief and I put my back into it, determined to leave Henry and Derry in the dust. It was clear to picnickers on the shore what we were doing and I heard some cheering as we passed, though I had no idea whom they were rooting for.

Ezra and I fell into a smooth rhythm and I did my best not to be distracted by the play of muscles in his bare forearms, or the way the wind whipped his hair but couldn’t flatten the curl—or the delighted grin he flashed me as we passed up Derry and Henry and kept going. I tried not to be distracted, but damn, it wasn’t easy. They caught up with us and we pulled hard and fast to stay ahead. We crossed the finish first and, dropping our oars, raised our arms in triumph. Applause came from the shore, and I waved cheerfully at Henry as they caught up again. He appeared unamused as he and Derry turned the boat around to head back.

Ezra, flushed and laughing, gave my hand a shake. “Top notch. You must have rowed at school.”

“Well, actually I didn’t.”

“Oh heavens, don’t tell Henry. We’ve tormented him enough.” He was grinning from ear to ear and looked as if he wanted to kiss me. I wanted the same. Instead, I gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. We rowed slowly back, savoring our victory and accepting the congratulations of other boaters along the way.

At the boat house, we met with a less enthusiastic group. Henry, on the bench wringing out his pantlegs, ignored us. Hannah was hardly any more aware of our return, preoccupied trading bashful smiles with the young, barefoot fellow renting the boats. Kathleen, who’d been immersed in a book, looked over at us and clucked her tongue at our winded, disheveled appearance. “I think it is time for dinner.”

Our picnic was not the haphazard affair I remembered from childhood. It had to be my first without paper plates. Kathleen set a tidy table, even when the table was a blanket on the grass. While we ate, I tried to keep the conversation innocuous, but Henry wouldn’t let it stay that way.

“Lady Marchmont’s party, Ezra. You haven’t said a word about it.”

“Henry,” Derry burst out in disbelief, and I threw in an exasperated glare for good measure. Ezra smiled at us with good humor.

“It’s quite all right. Go on, Henry. What did you want to know?”

Henry’s expression settled into its natural pained state. “Sarah Danby mentioned that you left early, without a word to anyone. One would have thought a French leave quite beneath you.”

That sounded less than complimentary. “You weren’t there,” I reminded him coolly. “You have no idea what went on, so I don’t think you have any business giving Ezra a hard time.”

Ezra squeezed my wrist, trying to reassure me. “I should not have gone at all. I’ve done enough to hurt Charlotte. And truth to tell, I wasn’t comfortable in that crowd.”

“They did cut you, then,” Kathleen said, her eyes steely gray with her slower-burning anger.

“Not everyone. But it isn’t as important to me as it once was. Not as important to me as all of you.”

They were quiet, smiling, and Kathleen had her head bent suspiciously over her teacup.

“And none of you need tiptoe around me,” Ezra said. “My life has changed, yes, but I will believe for the better.”

“If you’ve no more bun fights to worry over,” Derry said, “It’s nigh a blessing.”

When Ezra laughed, I made the grievous mistake of asking what the hell a bun fight was. He exchanged a gleeful look with Derry. “I do believe we’ve turned the tables on Mr. Nash. What do you think?”

“I think I shall enjoy recalling that flummoxed expression for years to come.”

Even Kathleen couldn’t suppress a laugh.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” I’d just ask Dr. Gilbride later.

The young boatman came by on a bicycle and, introducing himself as Tom, shyly offered Hannah a ride. As Hannah hopped unafraid onto the handlebars, Kathleen started to protest and Derry quickly intervened, inviting the young man to sit down for some lunch.

I supposed riding a bicycle was not the most ladylike endeavor, in Kathleen’s eyes. While the kids stuffed themselves on sandwiches and cake, I looked over the bike curiously. A long way from a modern bicycle, it was a spare if sturdy prototype in basic black and a good ten pounds heavier than my own bike at home. Asking and receiving permission, I pedaled it in the grass for a few minutes to find the chain drive was a little creaky, the seat hard as a rock, and the wheels, God have mercy, were solid rubber. I rode it over to where Ezra had appropriated Henry’s oak bough, nearly running into him as I tried to figure out where the hell the brake was. Ezra grabbed the handlebar as the tire bumped into the limb, causing all the leaves to flutter. “You may wish to let old injuries heal before courting any new ones.”

I patted the handlebars. “Hop on.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Are you serious?”

“Not afraid, are you?”

“Immeasurably,” he admitted with a dry smile, but nevertheless got up and handed his plate to Derry.

Kathleen’s eyes widened. “Derry, you must tell him he cannot be so foolhardy. They’ll both be killed.”

“Now, my dear, bicycles are not so dangerous as that,” Derry said placidly.

“Aye, the stitches you took last year weren’t evidence enough, I suppose. The man who invented that ridiculous machinery should be shut away for his good and ours.”

I realized Kathleen’s alarm at seeing Hannah on the bike had nothing to do with propriety. “Don’t worry, Kath. I’ll take good care of him,” I said as Ezra climbed on, gaining a white-knuckled grip beside my own. “I’ve been riding since I was two…”

The bike wobbled and Ezra slid against me. I grabbed him and kept the bike upright as he struggled to keep his seat. He was laughing. “Derry, I hereby give you leave to dispose of my possessions as you see fit,” he said, clinging to the bars as I pedaled across the lawn.

Picking up speed, I cut toward a path leading through the trees.

“It looks like rain,” Ezra ventured, voice rattling along with the bike. “We should go back.”

I threw a glance skyward. “Nah, it’ll be a little sunshower, at worst—”

“Morgan,” he gasped in alarm and I jerked my attention back, in time to see a curly-haired dog race into our path.

I turned
the handlebars, trying to evade the dog without throwing Ezra off the bike, and the wheels lost traction, sending us skidding downhill into the trees. Whatever we hit—my guess was a fallen branch—it flipped us off the bike and into the thick, ferny undergrowth at the bottom of the slope. The ground was soft and damp; still, I landed hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

“You do realize this will not fall strictly in with Kathleen’s definition of sensible.” Ezra, on his feet, held out a hand to help me up.

“What did you want me to do, hit the dog?”

“No, but I’d hoped for rather a different result than hurtling into the bracken. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. How about you?” I hooked a finger in his waistcoat and planted a kiss on him, and he smiled with a hint of reproof.

“If that was meant as an apology—”

I cut him off with another kiss and he put his arms around me. I’d always thought of kissing as a way of stoking the fire, not the tender communication Ezra made it. Then again, even the mildest kiss with him seemed to get my fires stoked. Another minute and we’d be stuck in our ferny hideout for a while. He seemed to know it. With a reluctant sigh, he drew back, forehead resting against mine. “It’s raining.”

“Is it?” I didn’t care if we were soaked to the skin. I wanted to pull him down behind the tallest weeds and see if we couldn’t set the whole park ablaze. But then I realized we were in danger of getting burned in a far less pleasant way, as voices drifted down from the path. One of the ubiquitous nannies pushed a pram past, oblivious to our presence, but the tweedy kid trailing her gave us a curious look as he went by. Ezra pulled self-consciously out of my arms and I threw the kid a grin and a wave.

“Morgan, for heaven’s sake,” Ezra whispered, choking down a laugh.

“Might as well make a good impression while they’re open-minded.” I heard my name called out, then Ezra’s. “Hey, listen. Derry’s looking for us.”

We flagged him down as he hurried past under a damp newspaper. He looked us over in concern. “Take a tumble, did you?”

I caught the wicked gleam in his eyes and wagged a finger at him. “A literal one, yeah. But don’t tell Kathleen.”

Derry tsk-tsked as we climbed the path, pushing along the bike. “You’re in need of a chaperone, the two of you—but I’m not sure which of you needs it the more.”

He led us to the pavilion where the others had gone when the rain started. It was crowded with damp picnickers making the best of it while the band continued to play and a crowd that included Hannah and Tom whirled around the floor. A man with an old-fashioned tripod camera had set up a photo shoot in a sunny corner of the pavilion.

“Shall we have a likeness taken?” Though Ezra made the suggestion with an air of nonchalance, I had a feeling it meant more to him than he let on. Figuring I couldn’t do much more damage to history than I had already, I agreed; and hatless, coatless, damp and disheveled from our biking escapade, we got into line. When our turn came, we took a seat on a wrought iron bench in front of an ivy-covered trellis, sunlight warming our faces while the rain continued to fall behind us. As the photographer warned us to be still and I wondered if Ezra would mind me putting an arm around him, he slipped his hand into mine and the moment was captured.

I knew what he was trying to hold on to with that handclasp and I felt a stab of guilt. I might have opened his eyes to a few things, but I was fast becoming the albatross keeping him from finding someone on the proper Victorian wavelength, someone who fit him and his world. His life was on hold as much as mine until we found that book. It didn’t look like the Theosophical kooks were going to come through for us, so maybe it was time to resume book hunting on our own.

But just as I was going to suggest it, Ezra turned to me with dawning dismay. “The funeral,” he blurted out, pulling me out of the path of the dancers as more of them crowded the floor. “I quite forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He looked confused. “You did say you wished to attend?”

I put my arm around his shoulders then. “I did exactly what I wanted to do today. And, you know, it wasn’t half bad, really.”

“You left off investigating for my sake? But if you believed the Ripper might have gone to the funeral—”

“There were probably a lot of people at that funeral. I had a slim shot at finding him, assuming he showed up for it. Anyway, Sully’s right. One agent alone, even with a smart psychic at his side,” I added with a grin, “doesn’t have a hope in hell of nailing this guy. I got caught up in the idea, yeah, and I shouldn’t have. It put people that I care about at risk.” I gave his hair a muss. “I pretty much dragged you through hell and back the last couple of weeks. And if you think that’s bad, imagine what it’s like living with me.” Little wonder Reese had wanted out. Little wonder they all had.

Ezra was quiet again and I knew he had come to a far more generous conclusion than I deserved. “Stay here,” he said, and took off into the crowd before I could ask why. I wondered if he was hunting up a proper female dancing partner for each of us. But when he came back, it was with our coats and hats. Without a word of explanation, he took my arm and hustled me down the steps.

“Clue me in on where we’re headed?” I asked, with a sneaking suspicion I already knew.

“To the street for a cab.” And we did, with Ezra refusing to answer another question until he provided the cabbie with directions and climbed in beside me.

“Did you hear a word I said?” I asked in exasperation.

“Yes indeed. And it will haunt you most egregiously, if you do not go and at least look about.”

“The funeral’s over by now.”

“Perhaps. We shall find out.”

“I’m not dragging you through any more investigation. You were locked up in that asylum because of me.”

“My detention in St. Andrews was inevitable,” he said calmly. “But I would never have escaped, if not for you.”

“Always trying to see me in a good light, aren’t you?” I said with a rueful smile.

“You stand in one of your own making.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “Come, Agent Nash. What do you say to another go? We’ll steal a march on the villain yet, if we keep our wits.”

He was something else; that I’d been right about all along. “You’ll wait in the cab, won’t you?”

“I will come with you,” he said, and before I could object, added, “I do not find graveyards as distressful as you might think. I suppose the majority of souls laid to rest are truly at rest.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I could keep an eye on him, so I decided not to worry about it. If I’d known how far the cemetery was from our neck of the woods, I would have vetoed the idea altogether. By the time we arrived, the funeral was finished, the place deserted like only a cemetery can be. In the hazy afternoon light, we found an open grave and, in it, an austere wooden casket only partially covered with dirt. The grave-diggers were nowhere in sight. “Think she scared them off?”

“Quite possibly,” he said seriously. “If there was something here she wanted us to see.”

“Is she around now?”

“I’m not certain.”

I heard the tension in his voice and looked across the pit at him. “You okay?”

“There’s an—agitation.”

“Not feeling too welcome?”

“No, it’s all right. We’re in greater danger from the rain, I think.”

A brisk wind had rounded up more rain clouds, and I suspected the diggers would be back soon to finish their work before they were stuck shoveling mud instead of dirt. In the soft earth around the grave were a number of fresh prints. I circumnavigated the pit to get a look at them. “At least she had a good crowd,” I noted. The sun broke through the clouds, and I saw the flash of something metallic atop the casket. “What’s that?”

Ezra leaned over to look. “A penny, I believe.”

“Yeah? Is that some sort of custom?” I hopped into the grave and, ignoring Ezra’s uneasy protest, brushed away some of the dirt on the casket. A penny it was, and not just one. I found four in all and bagged them. Ezra had gone quiet, and I glanced up to see him at the edge of the pit, his attention drawn to some spot beyond my view. “Ez? What is it?”

“Something’s disturbing them,” Ezra said, looking pretty disturbed himself.

“Them?” I didn’t like the idea of a mob I couldn’t see. Maybe they viewed my poking around as a desecration. Did the dead look after the dead? I pocketed the coins and moved to the foot of the pit. “Give me a hand up.”

Nothing among the moss-covered headstones hinted of ghostly activity, apart from the stark anxiety in Ezra’s face. “When have you been in a cemetery before?” I asked as we climbed to our feet.

“Frederick’s funeral. And my mother’s.”

“Okay, so basically cemeteries where most of the inhabitants died of old age or sudden illness. Not one where a portion of the dead got that way by violent means.”

The realization that dawned in his face confirmed it. I prodded him in the direction of the gates. He wasn’t reliving his experience at St. Andrews if I could help it. “Let’s go.”

I thought he was about to argue for the sake of the investigation, but then he went a shade paler and let me grab his hand to pull him along. Unnerved by his expression, I kept him moving. I couldn’t look back myself. I knew I wouldn’t see anything, but then again, I was half-afraid I might. The wind rattled the trees, and dead leaves swept down like impatient hands ushering us on our way. “Don’t these people know we’re on their side?” I was way too old to be spooked by shit like this and it was pissing me off.

“They want us to go. Just to go.” He chanted the word with soft urgency, arm upraised to shield himself against the onslaught. Tree roots tripped him up, and as I turned to help him, he shrank back against the trunk and covered his head with his arms.

Goddamn it, I wasn’t putting up with this. Planting myself in front of him, I drew my gun and swung it in a wide arc. “Back off!”

Ezra clutched at my shoulders and I heard something between a gasp and a laugh. “Just whom do you intend to shoot?”

“Hey, sometimes the threat is enough. Can you run?”