But—
Enough, Sergeant, Fisher retorted. You’ve done a grand bit of work. Leave it at that!
I see, sir. Well, if you’re satisfied—
I’m very pleased, Keats. So is Home Office.
Keats blinked. Really?
There is word of a monetary reward for your valor.
The patient beamed. Alastair was of great assistance, as well as Miss Lassiter.
Ah, the elusive Miss Lassiter, Fisher said, shifting his eyes toward the doctor. I had wondered when she would show up. Both of you will be duly noted in the official report.
I suspect that Jacynda would prefer she not be mentioned by name, Alastair intervened. She craves…anonymity.
Fisher shot him an intense look, and then nodded. I’ll have her recorded as a helpful citizen, if you wish.
That would suit her.
Home Office, Keats murmured, shaking his head.
Don’t report to duty until you are well, Sergeant. Do you understand?
Yes, sir. Still, we must follow up on the other explosives—
Fisher raised a hand for silence. I will handle that. You recuperate. If Dr. Montrose informs me you are not following his dictums, you will have me to answer to. Is that clear? A contrite nod. Excellent. Then good day to you both. I must pay my respects to Lady Sephora. He swung out of the room.
The moment the door closed, Keats yawned, clearly exhausted by the encounter.
I’ll come back this afternoon to check on you, Alastair said, rising.
Keats caught his arm. Thank you for coming to my aid so dramatically last evening. Given the hell I’d put you through at the police station, you could have easily let me swing in the wind.
Alastair smiled. You did what you felt was right. It was a difficult position. I deeply appreciate that you did not mention Mr.Stone’s death to Fisher.
He’s still not happy about it all, but I think the Fenian situation will pull his mind away from the issue.
Nevertheless, we’re even now.
Keats smirked. Well, then, do not expect any latitude when it comes to Jacynda.
Ah, so perhaps that proposal of yours wasn’t entirely based on salvaging her honor? Alastair chided.
Keats screwed his face up in thought. Let us say that after her intervention last evening, I have a newfound interest in the lady.
Alastair’s eyes glowed. I see. Gloves off, eh?
Indeed.
Then may the best man win her affections.
A sigh. She looked remarkably healthy for someone so recently injured. Would you care to explain that?
She has an excellent physician.
Keats waved him away. If you’re going to be obtuse, then go somewhere else. I need a nap.
You need more than that, my friend, Alastair retorted.
As Cynda descended the hotel stairway, she felt like a queen.
In contrast to her clothes of the evening before, she wore a bright blue gown overlaid with an etched velvet mantelet. The outfit had the desired effect on the doctor: his mouth fell open. She smiled as he took her hand at the bottom step. Good morning.
You look…radiant.
Cynda blinked at the word and then smiled wider than she had in a very long time. Thank you. I got tired of wearing black and navy.
The vibrant blue suits you.
She nodded her appreciation. How is Keats?
Annoying as ever. He’s quite sure you’ve absconded again without saying goodbye and he insists on asking awkward questions about your…injuries, or the lack thereof.
That’s a copper for you.
Why am I here? Your message was cryptic, at best.
Her smile disappeared. I’ll tell you in the coach.
Instead of explaining herself instantly, she asked about the night she’d disappeared. He told it all, from the moment she’d disappeared to his shifting within the carriage.
Thank God Jonathon intervened, she said, shaking her head.
I had no notion it would fall out like that. Time travel was a basket of snakes. You disturbed one thing, and everything started crawling.
He nodded, clearing his throat. It complicates matters with the chief inspector knowing of our existence, but it couldn’t be helped. He looked out the carriage window. Why have you come back? Are you still seeking your paramour’s murderer?
No. I found him. He is no longer a problem.
When?
Last evening, after the brawl in Green Dragon Place.
You didn’t go back to the hotel? he asked, infuriated. Do you realize how—
She waved a hand in front of him. I know, it’s dangerous. It’s what I do.
He glowered and then sighed. Is he dead?
No. He’s in ’057 and not too well glued, from what I hear.
I see. Well, at least that’s settled.
There is another matter. I need to save a man’s reputation.
He gave a quizzical look. Whose?
There was a long pause before she said, Yours.
The stop at the boarding house had taken longer than he’d wished. As expected, the landladies rejoiced in Jacynda’s return, pulling her into the kitchen to ply her with scones so that she might tell them of her adventures. Alastair used the diversion to his advantage, making his way upstairs. Employing Hix’s skeleton key, he rummaged through the schemer’s room. He found little of interest, other than a spare set of glasses and one of his own handkerchiefs. Pocketing it, he swore under his breath. It is damned fortunate that you are not within my reach, sir. He still could not fathom that a man would dare to ruin the reputation of another solely for profit. The grey fog that had engulfed him after Jacynda spoke of the scheme had faded to righteous indignation.
Unfortunately, the malefactor was out of his reach.
And all along, her lover’s murderer had a room right across the hall from them.
The second stop proved more difficult. As they waited at the bank counter, Jacynda leaned close and whispered, Be yourself.
Alastair gave her a disgruntled look. Are you sure he would come here disguised as me? he whispered. A nod.
The clerk shuffled up, peered at him through thick glasses and delivered an officious, Good day, sir, madam.
Good day, Alastair said, playing along. I’m Dr. Montrose. I would like to retrieve articles from my safedeposit box.
Ah, certainly, sir. While they waited, his companion flashed him a wink. Running on little sleep and a bad case of nerves, he desperately wanted this moment to be over. What if they couldn’t find the diary?
The clerk returned with the speed of a man who had all day to do his job. He shuttled a card across the counter and moved the pen and ink within reach. As Alastair prepared to sign, he noted there were three other entries in what approximated his flowing hand. Jacynda had warned him that Hix/Mimes was skilled at deceit, that he’d gone to extraordinary effort to imitate the doctor.
Alastair repressed a shudder.
As he signed his name, trying to match Mimes’ mimicry of his own handwriting, he felt absurd. He pushed the card back across the counter with increasing irritation.
Key? the clerk inquired after a cursory study of the signature.
Alastair produced it from his pocket and handed it over. This way, please.
Ushered into a private room, the clerk placed the oversized deposit box on the table in front of them, gesturing toward a pair of chairs.
Let me know when you are through so I may return the box to the vault.
Thank you, Alastair said, keen to have the fellow gone. When the door closed, he let out a relieved sigh.
I told you it would go well, Jacynda said, setting her valise on the floor.
It is extremely disconcerting to know that someone else has been here in my name.
Disconcerting? No, it’s downright creepy. Oh, don’t touch anything. She adjusted her gloves.
Pardon? he asked, staring at the metal box as if it had teeth and would spring at his throat at any moment.
Just trust me.
He mulled on that as she opened the lid. Instead of bending close to inspect the contents, he shied back. What horrors sat inside that metal tomb?
The first find was a leather bound book—the diary. It looked familiar.
Your warning was not needed—I have touched that already.
When? she demanded.
One morning, on the way to my room. Hix dropped the book in the hallway. I retrieved it for him.
Was he wearing gloves?
Yes. I thought it odd at the time.
Clever man.
Why?
She hesitated and then explained, Fingerprints. Before he could ask, she added, Soon, they’ll be accepted in a court of law as a means of identification.
How extraordinary.
Jacynda set the book aside. Her next find was a wooden container about twelve inches long and an inch and a half thick.
Flipping open the lid revealed a knife nearly nine inches in length.
Alastair recognized it immediately. It’s a catling knife, used for amputations. They’re wickedly sharp.
His companion removed it from the box, examining the blade.
Double-edged. Perfect, she said. He had a couple of them with him last night.
Alastair pointed at the white object tied to the handle. That’s probably one of my handkerchiefs, he said. They seem to be all over London.
Jacynda displayed the incriminating monogram. At least now you know where they got to, she said lightly. Digging further, she retrieved a piece of paper. It’s a receipt for three knives from Allen & Hanbury’s, Ltd.
He peered at the sheet. Purchased by Doctor Alastair Montrose, he murmured. Curiosity got the better of him, and he peered into the deposit box. It was empty. He’d feared worse.
As if his companion knew his thoughts, she whispered, No body parts. She frowned. Ah, damn. He lied…
Alastair ignored her profanity. What is wrong?
Chris’ watch isn’t here. That is not good.
I might have missed it during my search of his room.
Jacynda shook her head. Not likely. I should have known he’d lie to me. Well, they’ll pry it out of him in…well… He nodded his understanding.
She flipped open the diary, and several sheets of paper cascaded to the table. They all had one thing in common: rows upon rows of Alastair Montrose’s signature.
Good lord, Alastair muttered.
Practice makes perfect.
Jacynda studied one of the diary pages and when he tried to look over her shoulder, she slammed it shut.
No, not here. We’ll take it back to the hotel. That way, you can… her voice faltered.
I can what? he asked, frowning.
Get drunk after you read it.