We don’t know anything about him. We just arrived yesterday, Mr. Bottom said.
Unfortunately, Professor Turner departed last week, Everson explained. You should check with Annabelle. Perhaps he left a forwarding address.
I shall. Did he mention where he might be headed?
A shake of the head.
What time period is your uncle researching? the doctor asked.
He is most fascinated with the reign of Queen Elizabeth the… She dabbed at her mouth to conceal her near blunder. At this point in history, there was only one Queen Elizabeth. I am his research assistant.
The doctor’s eyebrow rose. It helped erase the lines underneath his eyes. She wondered what he looked like when he was truly rested.
An unusual occupation for a young lady, he remarked.
Was that a note of sarcasm? Yes, it is.
You travel alone? That was from Mrs. Bottom.
Yes, Cynda replied.
Mr. Bottom shook his head. Not to alarm you, miss, but London has become quite…unhealthy for a young lady on her own.
Wait a few days. I am careful, Mr. Bottom. I will engage an escort before I venture too far, have no fear.
Oh, excellent. That seemed to put the man at ease, though it was a complete fabrication. The doctor watched her intently, as if he discerned the falsehood. Now that she gave him a second look, she realized he was tall by Victorian standards, handsome with brown hair, intelligent eyes, and a neatly trimmed moustache.
Not worth my job. She concentrated on one of the pieces of dark bread instead. Dalliances with the locals were listed in the TIC
Employee Manual under Reasons for Immediate Dismissal.
They still happened, but not very often. A Senior Time Rover was paid quite handsomely, including a company apartment. To sacrifice all that for a little horizontal time didn’t make much sense.
Besides, Chris will be waiting for me when I get home.
That thought made her smile and seemed to encourage the doctor.
What is your opinion of the Virgin Queen? he asked out of left field.
A slight choked sound came from Mrs. Bottom. Apparently, one didn’t use the ‘V’ word over breakfast.
Why not go for it? I’ve found Elizabeth a study in contrasts.
She desired a man in her life, but feared for her throne, and her country, if she wed. So she remained unmarried.
Do you think that wise? Would not the country have been stronger with a king? the physician asked. He sipped from a teacup held with a steady hand.
I believe a consort would have proved a distraction, and would have in effect relegated her to second-class status. Watching her father’s… She hesitated. Wheel of wives wasn’t a good choice of words. Watching her father’s frequent marital…forays, two of which were abruptly severed at the Tower, no doubt taught her that she was the ship of state’s best captain.
Do you agree with her?
Again, the challenge. Except for Hix, all the guests were riveted on the verbal fencing match.
Yes, actually, I do.
Do you feel she was less of a woman for that decision?
She barely kept the frown off her face. I feel it made her stronger. She knew what she wanted and was willing to sacrifice to get it. In the end, England was her lover.
The doctor raised his teacup in a slight salute. Well said.
As if I needed your approval.
I just can’t imagine trying to manage a country, Mrs. Bottom replied, shaking her head. Quite impossible.
Cynda shrugged. Bess was an extraordinary woman. Feeling that put the cap on it, she dusted her hands on the napkin and stood. Only the doctor caught her intention and rose with her, Everson and Bottom following belatedly. Hix was still murmuring to himself, oblivious.
Good morning, all, Cynda said, feeling magnanimous. She’d held her own and hadn’t made a complete ass of herself. It’d been fun. As she reached the door, she heard Mr. Bottom say under his breath, American women are very independent thinkers.
You don’t know the half of it.
Annabelle’s leg appeared considerably less swollen than the night before, which she roundly attributed to Dr. Montrose’s expert care.
A fine physician. I don’t understand why he’s here in Whitechapel. He could practice anywhere he wanted, she said.
Before Cynda could jump in, she asked, Are you feeling better, dear?
Yes, much. I was just tired. Now, back to my question. When was the last time you saw Professor Turner? Annabelle set the mending in her lap, tapping a thin finger on her chin. A week ago.
Said he had more research to do. He made sure I was paid in full.
Did he leave a forwarding address?
No.
Any idea where I should look for him? Cynda asked quietly.
My…uncle is keen to find him.
Professor Turner was fond of his ale…and those kind of women. You know what I mean.
Surprise. Then I’ll start with the pubs. If she were lucky, he hadn’t wandered too far.
Annabelle picked up her mending and inserted a tiny stitch in a shirt collar. What you do is most peculiar, Miss Lassiter.
Cynda patted the woman’s shoulder as she stood. Yes it is.
She found the doorway blocked by Dr. Montrose. How much had he heard?
Just checking on Miss Annabelle, she said politely.
I see, was the cool reply. He stepped backward and she scooted around him.
She could feel his eyes on her as she headed for the stairway.
The doc was far too observant for her liking.
The sound of an opening door roused Keats mid-snore. The bemused expression on his superior’s face told him he’d been caught red-handed.
I apologize, Chief Inspector, Keats said, shifting upright. It was a measure of his exhaustion that he could doze off in a hard chair.
Fisher closed the office door and maneuvered his way behind his tidy desk. Though the room was pathetically small, he kept it organized with military precision, unlike most of his fellow inspectors at Great Scotland Yard.
Eyeing Keats, he observed, You look knackered, Sergeant. Did my…revelation disturb your sleep?
His subtle hesitation was a warning to keep their conversation indistinct. The walls weren’t that thick.
Actually, I got to thinking of a whore I know, and how long it had been since I’d last seen her.
Sergeant? Fisher asked with more than a hint of disapproval.
Keats backtracked. Oh, not like that, sir. She’s a fountain of information, if you pay her price. It took time to track her down— she’s in a brothel on Flower and Dean now. Looking the worse for wear, as well.
Fisher settled into his chair. What did this fountain of information tell you, Sergeant?
Her regulars include a variety of Irish sailors and dockworkers. One of them, a fellow named Lynch, has worked with Flaherty in the past. I thought she might have heard something from the fellow.
And? Fisher prodded.
Lynch availed himself of her services about a week ago. After she set him to rights, he started bragging about how he and his mates were going to do something quite spectacular.
Fisher leaned forward. How so?
He told her that what they had planned would make the Clerkenwell blast look like a church social. He didn’t relate particulars. She says he’s always bragging, talking big, but this time, it seemed different.