Downtime (52 page)

He gave me a kiss I figured could be measured by carbon dating a million years from now. I knew we were in trouble when I heard a surprised exclamation behind us, but for the longest minute, I didn’t care. Chagrin colored Ezra’s smile as he ducked his head and I dared to peek around, to see we’d garnered even more of an audience than I thought. A red-faced Kathleen, gaze averted, tried her damnedest to keep her hand over the eyes of a squirming Hannah. I caught Henry in mid-eyeroll, but Derry was still a-grin with a certain self-satisfaction. Well, he had brought me back, after all. I was home.

Then Hannah broke loose and crashed into me with a ferocious hug.

It seemed I was forgiven all around.

Ezra
and I were in complete agreement over the necessity of finding a new house, and quickly. In Mrs. Nisbet’s cramped quarters, it was hands off, for the most part—a maddening situation after our long separation. When Mrs. Nisbet took Derry and Kathleen to the office of a house agent she knew, Ezra and I shut ourselves in a bedroom and fell upon each other without preamble. He still expressed himself beautifully by kiss. And I could tell by his breathing that I hadn’t lost my ability to bring out the sinner in him. Though we were pressed for time, I refused to rush. There was too much delight in exploratory kisses, the whispered banter that made him laugh, the love in his eyes that made me feel like the luckiest guy alive.

Kids played in the street outside and from down in the kitchen came the crash of pans and the yelling of Mrs. Nisbet’s cook. Above us the floor creaked with the back and forth of a rocking chair; a maiden aunt, I remembered, with particularly good hearing. Ezra and I shushed each other once or twice, until we entirely forgot about the world on the other side of the blankets. Only the wafting smells of supper woke us to it. We should have gotten up and dressed. We risked falling asleep in the comfort of each other’s arms—and getting kicked out by an outraged Mrs. Nisbet when we were discovered.

I didn’t want to move. He felt wonderful, pressed close, and I wanted to let us drift off to the first decent sleep either of us would have in weeks. But I didn’t want to create problems for Derry and Kathleen. “Ez?” I nudged him gently. “I think we need to get up and run around the block.”

“Run?” He gave me a familiarly amused and confused glance. “From what?”

“The sandman.” I sat up and he tried to pull me back down. “Uh-uh, wrong direction. Come on. We have nowhere else to go right now, thanks to me, and I don’t want to push our hostess’s good will to the breaking point.”

“Thanks to you?” That roused him. “You know the fire wasn’t your fault. For heaven’s sake, you saved my life. And by quite miraculous means, according to Derry.”

“You wouldn’t have needed saving if I hadn’t turned your life upside down. I end your impending nuptials, break off your relationship with your father permanently, alienate almost all your social contacts, drag you through the darkest corners of hell on earth, and you welcome me back like—”

“I love you?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed. “I do.”

“I know. I love you.” I slid back down beside him. “Ez, I’ve got to ask you something.”

“Anything you like.”

“Do you remember what happened? When George showed up at the house?”

Quiet for a moment, he finally sighed. “I’d been asleep—”

“In your clothes?”

He caught the note of sympathy and nodded ruefully. “I woke to a great deal of shouting and breaking of glass—and the smell of smoke—and I thought the house was afire and someone had summoned the fire brigade. George was on the stairs, swinging a lantern about, and I could see smoke coming up from belowstairs. He was lighting the whole place. I tried to stop him and he struck me—” Fingers went to the bandage at his hairline. “I don’t remember anything after that. Only waking in the hospital—and then you.” The sorrow in his eyes lightened. “You,” he whispered and gave me a kiss.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask the other questions that had come to mind, but Ezra, with his usual insight, anticipated them. Or maybe he could simply read it in my face. “Go on then.”

I shook my head. “You let me ramble endlessly about my work and we’ll both be in trouble. You need a rest from it and I need to learn how to let it go.” As hard as that would be.

He regarded me affectionately. “I won’t put a stopper in the compassion that drives your questions. Go on. It’s all right.”

Granted permission, I plunged ahead. “George killed Mary Kelly, didn’t he?”

It had occurred to me after I’d given some thought to George’s statement that no one would notice or care about my death or Ezra’s; of course, with the death of another prostitute dominating the news, even a suspicious death in the West End might not garner the attention it should. Ezra didn’t seem surprised by the question. He knew the answer, and now I knew it too. And it made sense. Mary had been younger than the other victims by a good twenty years. George hadn’t known it was mommy dearest Sid had wanted to slice to ribbons. Intent on silencing Ezra without making the next day’s headlines, George had picked the first young fresh face to come along; maybe someone who reminded him of sister Charlotte, who’d attracted all the handsome young men he wanted for himself.

But that was conjecture on my part and I decided to keep it to myself. “Sid wasn’t involved, was he?”

The strangest look crossed Ezra’s face, one that made me uneasy. He drew a soft breath. “Sid is dead. He died just after they shut him up in Hoxton.”

Goddamn. George and Sid both dead. Jack was a cold case once again and the mystery of Whitechapel would live on. “How do you know?” I asked, not sure I wanted the answer to that one.

“I saw him, just for an instant. He seemed to want to say something, but then he was gone without a word. I did have the feeling he was ready to go on, whatever he might have to face in that world. I don’t think I shall ever forget the look in his eyes,” Ezra finished, more to himself.

I pressed a comforting kiss on his brow. “Did Jem take it hard?”

“I haven’t been able to talk to him. His brother has packed him away for a rest and has quite discouraged me from contacting him.”

“They’re protecting him….” I bit back the comment a little too late as I remembered Ezra didn’t know what I knew about Jem.

“Protecting him?”

“Well, yeah. You know. If it got out about his relationship with Sid….” I avoided the penetrating gaze in vain.

“How did you learn of the fire?”

Damn. He knew. “I looked a few things up. But—”

“About all of us?”

“No. I found out about the fire by accident. It was mentioned in the newspaper. And Jem’s bio was written up because of his poetry,” I added, hoping Ezra would leave it at that. But I guess it was only natural he would want to know.

“Is it very bad?” he whispered, shifting a little closer to me.

“He’s going to spend some time in St. Andrews.” I said it as gently as I could, but there was no way to ease the shock. He let out an audible breath.

“When?”

I wished now I hadn’t looked it up. “In a couple of years.” I couldn’t tell him the terrible news of Jem’s death—which would shortly follow Prince Eddy’s—so I tried to change the subject. “It’s not all bad,” I said, getting up to fish the copy of a photograph out of the bottom of my pocket. He sat up, glum as I handed it to him. When he realized what he was looking at, the transformation in his eyes was wonderful to see. I knew it still weighed on his conscience, what he’d done to Charlotte. The burden of that guilt lifted as he drank in the evidence of what was to come for her. “James Weatherley, of all people.”

“You know him?”

“Oh yes. A wonderful head for business, though he’s quite the shy fellow. I had no idea he fancied Charlotte.”

“She must have nabbed him not too long after your engagement ended.”

Ezra nodded, still soaking in the image before him. “She looks happy, doesn’t she?”

“She’s not the only one.” I draped an arm around his shoulders. “Take a good, long look at it, because we’re going to have to burn it. Sully let me come back to you. I owe it to him to try to keep history from unraveling because of it.”

“They must have felt your presence here would have no impact to speak of,” he answered distractedly.

No impact to speak of. “Thanks. It’s comforting to know the world can get on so well without me.”

He grinned as he handed back the photo. “The world may, but I certainly cannot.”

“You must be the smartest guy in 1888.” I pushed him down and rolled on top of him to kiss him. “Ez?”

“Yes?”

“Do you smell cinnamon rolls?”

As it turned out, I wasn’t developing any psychic ability of my own; Mrs. Nisbet seemed to think I was something of a hero for hauling Ezra out of a burning house and, learning from Kathleen of my fondness for them, had her cook whip up a batch of the gooiest buns ever seen. They went a long way toward easing the horror of meeting Mrs. Nisbet’s house agent, Mr. Hambly. The guy was a bundle of effusive energy and as full of unabashed shit as any of his modern-day counterparts. It wasn’t long into the arduous process of house-hunting that I was ready to plant him under the cobblestones of the nearest “fashionable” street and handle the rest of the search, myself. He managed to redeem himself at the last moment, finding a newer place adjacent a park, with bedrooms and bathrooms to spare.

Leaving poor Derry to deal with Hambly’s incessant chatter, I snuck upstairs with Ezra to a bright, airy corner room whose two windows looked out on a row of stately elms.

“Hallelujah.” I shut the door and leaned against it. “No air-conditioning, but at least what air we get will be fresher. What do you think?”

“I think Derry will be quite done in by the cost of it. And he will not let you pay it all—”

“We can always move to New York.”

“—But I shall endeavor to talk him into it,” Ezra finished firmly.

“Aw, come on.” I hooked a finger under his watch chain and maneuvered him toward me. “You’d like New York.”

He came warily. “I will consider it, if you cannot find work here that suits you.”

“Think Scotland Yard’s hiring?”

“I don’t care for that idea. I won’t have you facing another sort like the Ripper.”

“Ezra.” I got my arms around him and pulled him even closer, to look directly into the worried blue gaze. “That’s what I do, chase bad guys. Just ask Sully.”

“He’s not here.”

“No? Good.” I nuzzled his neck. “You know, you’re not too bad at chasing the bad guys, yourself. We might make a decent team, as detectives go.”