A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) (12 page)

“Could I interview you for my paper back home?” Elizabeth asked seeing an opening. “I’m a part-time reporter and I’d love to bring them back a story like this.”

Worried she’d made her move too soon, she did the only logical thing and plunged ahead full-speed. She raised her hands in the air and moved them across in front of her as though highlighting an invisible marquee. “A Great Man of Science Makes Great Strides Across the Ocean.”

The doctor seemed surprised and definitely flattered, but hesitant. “I’m not certain it’s—”

“I’ll write it,” she said. “And if you don’t like it, we won’t use it. I’ll tear it up in front of you.”

He looked to be considering it.

Elizabeth dipped into what she could remember about newspapers of the day. When she’d decided to use that as a cover story, she’d done a bit of quick research. Don’t fail me, Google.

“I think Mr. Pulitzer would like it very much,” she said.

The name drop had the desired effect.

“Pulitzer? You work for
The World
?”

Was that Pulitzer’s paper? For a moment, she couldn’t remember. “In a way, don’t we all?” she said lightly, casting a quick, nervous glance at Simon.

“It’s really much easier simply to acquiesce, Doctor,” Simon said.
 

He still looked undecided.
 

“Once she gets an idea for a story, there’s no stopping it,” Simon continued. “It will either be about you or one of your colleagues, I’m afraid.”

That kicked the old buzzard over the fence.
 

“Very well,” Blackwood agreed. “Perhaps you can come by the hospital this week? I can probably spare a few minutes.”
 

“Very gracious of you, Doctor.” Elizabeth grinned. “I’d like that very much.”

“Tell me, Doctor, as a man who studies madness,” Simon said. “What do you think of this recent business in the East End? Work of a madman?”

Blackwood tugged on one end of his mustache. “Oh, that?” he said, disinterested. “Well—”

Before he could respond further, his attention was pulled away by a servant, possibly a footman, standing nearby expectantly.

“Yes?” Blackwood said a little irritably.

The man bowed quickly. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, Dr. Blackwood, but someone delivered this.”

He held out a white gloved hand and a folded piece of paper. The doctor harrumphed and took it.

“They said it was urgent, sir,” the man explained.

“You’ll excuse me,” Blackwood said as he turned to read the note. After a moment, he looked back at the man who’d brought the note. He seemed almost angry. “Send for my carriage.”

With another quick bow the man was gone. The doctor’s face pinched as he re-read the note.

“Is everything all right?” Elizabeth asked.

The doctor looked up at her, distracted for a moment, and then nodded and tucked the note into his pocket. “Fine,” he said. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”

He was lying. Elizabeth was sure of it.
 

He turned to face them properly and held out his hand. “A pleasure meeting you. If you’ll come by the hospital, I’ll be glad to discuss my work with you. I’m at London Hospital. Whitechapel.”

She and Simon watched him go.

“Whitechapel,” Elizabeth whispered and looked up at Simon.

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

Just as Elizabeth was about to suggest they shove off and find George, and hopefully Druitt, she spotted George coming toward them through the crowd, alone.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I hope the doctor didn’t bore you to death with his research.”

“No, it was actually quite interesting,” she said.

George looked at her blankly, as if he couldn’t imagine such a thing, before shaking his head. “Well, I’m glad you thought so.”

He craned his neck, searching the crowd. “There are some people I’d like you to meet. Americans actually,” he said.

“Adding to your collection,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

George laughed. “I think you’ll like them. Interesting sorts. Ah, there.”

He gestured for them to walk with him. The center of the ballroom was filled with couples dancing and so they skirted along the perimeter. It was beautiful. The light from the massive chandeliers, which had actual candles in them, was soft and inviting. There was even a fire burning in a large oversized hearth. The walls on the perimeters of the room were covered with huge portraits.
 

Eventually, they approached a couple who were admiring a painting of the Duke of Wellington, who looked positively resplendent in his snazzy red uniform.

When they reached them, George cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but these are the Crosses I mentioned.”

He looked back toward Simon and Elizabeth as the couple turned around. “May I introduce you to Charles Graham and Katherine Vale?”

~~~

“Hello?”

Victor shifted in his chair and pulled his attention away from the conversation at the next table.
 

“I am not—” he started to say, expecting to see another of the usual prostitutes, tired and toothless, but was surprised to find a younger woman, tall, not exactly pretty, but attractive with blonde hair and sad blue eyes.

“Can I set with ye?” she asked with the classic singsong tones of Cornish accent.
 

He looked around the pub and it was packed by now. The chair at his table was one of the few left. Reluctantly, he nodded.

She smiled broadly. “Cheers,” she said and sat down before he could change his mind. “Are ye new here?”

“Yes,” he said and turned his attention to the rest of the bar. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in…anything.

“You’re French!”
 

He glanced back at her and nodded again.

“I lived in Paris fer a bit. Beautiful,” she said, her face dreamy with the memory. “I took to Paris, but it didn’t take to me.”

She laughed, and it wasn’t bitter, but resigned.

“What’s yer name?” she asked. “I’m…Marie. Marie Jeannette.”

“Victor,” he said, barely meeting her eyes, hoping she would get the hint.

“That’s a nice name.” She scooted her chair a little closer and finger walked her hand across the table until it landed on his. “Buy a girl a drink?”

Reluctantly, Victor followed the line of her arm up to her face. She was still young enough, still fresh enough to escape this life. She almost looked like a younger girl pretending to be grown up.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-five.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Victor sighed and slid a penny across the table. “Buy yourself some food.”

She looked down at the coin. “I’m cheap, but I’m not that—”

“I don’t want anything.”

She looked at him oddly, and before he could change his mind, swept the penny off the table and into her hand. For a moment, some sort of emotion filled her eyes, but she forced a cocky smile to her face.

She turned toward the door. “Billy,” she said brightly, and with one last look at him, regret or confusion, Victor could not say, and she stood and hurried toward the young man who’d just come in.

He grabbed her about the waist and stole a kiss that she tried to half-heartedly squirm out of. Victor watched her for a moment and then put her out of his mind. He refocused on the task at hand. Pizer snored loudly, still asleep at his table and probably wouldn’t wake until morning. The rest of the crowd was winding up for a long night.
 

Another woman, this one with bright red hair, sidled up to his table, bumping into it as she did and laughing as his drink sloshed in its glass.

“Is this seat taken?” she slurred with a half-toothless grin.

“No,” he said.

She pulled out the wooden chair and flopped down into it.
 

Victor stood. “They are both free,” he said as he downed what was left of his beer. “Goodnight,” he said to her shocked expression.

He left Ten Bells, almost managing not to look back at Marie as she sat on Billy’s lap and laughed at something he said.
 

The streets were wet and a cold drizzle rolled down the back of his neck. He put on his cap and flipped up the collar of his coat. He looked down the dark street. Small gas flames struggled in the rain. Stepping off the curb, he started toward the next pub in line.
 

E
LIZABETH
WAS
SURE
SHE
stopped breathing or all of the air had left the room, or both, as Katherine Vale stood in front them. Like a dolly zoom in a Hitchcock movie, the room around her seemed to blur and distort, moving past her while Vale stood highlighted and unmoving, unnatural.

She’d experienced this exact moment before. In an instant, Elizabeth was back in the salon of the Winter Palace in Cairo. She gripped Simon’s arm.
 

“Hello,” Vale said with a genuine smile and no hint of the crazy, maniacal murderer she would become in her violet eyes. Her eyes had always struck Elizabeth, not because of they were unusual or beautiful, but because they always seemed cold and soulless, like a serpent’s.

But the woman looking at her with growing concern in them was anything but that. It took Elizabeth a moment to realize she was talking to her.
 

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth managed. “Hello.”

This is not the same Katherine Vale, she reminded herself. Well, technically, it was the same one, but this one seemed almost…normal.
 
The Vale Elizabeth knew had aged considerably from the twenty-something beauty in front her. Of course, twelve years in Bedlam and a lifetime of crazy did that to a person, but it was still a surprise. Like seeing a picture of Stalin as a boy in short pants.

 
This Vale was twenty years younger, and seemed bright and pleasant. And best of all, not trying to kill them. In fact, this Katherine Vale didn’t even know who they were.

The realization let Elizabeth unclench a little and gather her senses. She smiled back. “Nice to meet you.”

Simon shook hands with Charles Graham, the man Vale had spent years hunting. It felt odd to be face to face with them both, knowing what would come to pass. Katherine took Graham’s arm and looked at him, not with the fiery vengeful hatred older Vale would have, but with love and adoration.

For his part, Graham looked strikingly like the photograph she’d seen. She’d somehow expected him to be much younger, like Vale. He looked to be nearly forty. All and all, he was nice looking, average height with brown hair and matching mustache. He smiled amiably as he shook Simon’s hand.

George sighed and apologized as he was pulled away again.

“What did you think of the play?” Vale asked her.

Was that a loaded question, Elizabeth thought. “I enjoyed it,” she said. “You?”

“I thought it was very good. I felt a little guilty going after what had happened, you know…”

Elizabeth stared at her, still processing that this was Katherine Vale.
 

“The murder,” Vale said discreetly.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “Of course.”

“Curious business,” Simon said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Graham said, a head of excitement laced through his tone. “I’m sure you’ll think me morbid, but I do think it’s fascinating. What drives a man to do such things?”

Elizabeth knew that Graham’s fascination for Jack the Ripper went far beyond polite conversation, if one could have polite conversation about a brutal murderer. He was the Council’s foremost expert on the crimes.

She glanced over at Simon, who was politely listening to Graham, and wondered if he was thinking the same thing. They’d both been conflicted, for obvious reasons, about finding Graham and Vale. Elizabeth had looked for them, albeit somewhat half-heartedly. Secretly, she’d hoped they would never run into each other, that she and Simon could solve the mystery, stop the murder and never see Katherine Vale again. But the universe had something else in mind. And now that Graham was standing in front of them, a virtual encyclopedia of Ripperology, they’d be fools not to try enlist his help.

“I’m a bit of an amateur criminologist,” Graham said modestly.

Vale leaned into his side. “He’s brilliant.”

“My wife’s a reporter,” Simon said, testing the waters.
 

She and Simon had discussed it before, and agreed that they would keep their true identities a secret, at least at first. The less
any
Katherine Vale knew about them the better.

Graham’s eyes brightened. “Are you? That’s unusual, isn’t it? A woman as a reporter, I mean.”
 

“I think it’s wonderful,” Vale said, giving Elizabeth that shared smile women do. It was all Elizabeth could do not to laugh.

“Oh, I agree,” Graham said. “Good for you.”

“I think there’s a good story in it all,” Elizabeth said.

Graham’s eyes grew even brighter. “Oh, a very good story indeed.”

A waiter appeared with a tray of champagne. They each took a glass and Elizabeth noticed that Vale winced as she took a step away with her drink.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m afraid, I’m a little clumsy,” Vale explained. “Twisted my ankle a few days ago. So silly. You don’t mind if I sit down for a few moments, do you?”

Elizabeth shook her head and Graham handed her the cane he’d been holding. Elizabeth had thought it was his, just an affectation, but Vale used it to hobble to a nearby settee.

“I thought I could do it,” Vale apologized to Graham as he helped her into her seat.

“It’s all right, dear. Too much, too soon.”

Vale blushed, embarrassed, an emotion Elizabeth hadn’t thought her even capable of. She smiled up at Elizabeth, obliged to offer an explanation now that she’d given them a show.

“I thought I could carry on, but I seem to have reached my limit.” Her smile faltered and she reached a hand up to her temple.

“The headache again?” Graham asked, concerned, as he sat down next to her.

“It’s nothing,” she said, smiling bravely and holding out her hand for the glass of champagne he was holding for her. “I’m sure that will help.”