A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) (13 page)

As Graham gave it to her, Elizabeth noticed the small bandage on his palm.
 

“Did you have an accident, too?” she asked nodding toward his injury.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Broken glass. We’re quite the pair though, aren’t we?”

Elizabeth looked to Simon who seemed to be weighing what, if anything, to do.

“There are doctors here,” he said finally. “If you’d like me to—”

Vale shook her head slightly. “It’s all right, really. It’s going away already.”

Was it a time travel headache? Heavens knew she’d had lulus the first few times she’d used the watch. This could even be Vale’s first trip. As Elizabeth looked at her, she did have that slightly glassy-eyed look about her.

“When did you arrive?” Elizabeth asked. “In London, I mean.”

Graham gave Vale one last concerned look and stood. “Just a few days ago. Took the
Augusta Victoria
from New York.”

Elizabeth had to smile. It was fun being on the other side of a “time traveler’s lie.”

“And you?” he asked.

“The
Umbria
,” Simon said without hesitation. “Cunard,” he added as though that explained everything.

Apparently, to Graham, it did. He smiled and dipped his head once in deference and then glanced back at Vale.

“I think, perhaps I should take you back to the hotel, Katherine.”

She looked like she was going to protest, but then nodded. “If you think that’s best, Charles.”

“No reason to overdo,” he said, helping her up. “We’re here for several months, after all.”

He held out his hand to Simon. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other again.”

Simon nodded. “I’d like that,” he managed with a straight face.

“I hope so,” Vale said and then looked to Elizabeth. “I feel like such an outsider here.”
 

Elizabeth knew the feeling, and her sudden empathy for Vale surprised her. She put it aside, but noticed she didn’t feel the hatred she felt for older Vale for the woman standing in front of her.

“Where are you staying?” Simon said.
 

Graham smiled. “Hyde Park Hotel. Perhaps you’re free for lunch this week?”

Simon looked at Elizabeth and then back to him. “I’m sure we can find time in our schedule for that.”

“Very good,” Graham said.

Vale wound her arm through his and gripped the cane with her other. “I’ll see you soon then,” she said to Elizabeth.

They said their goodbyes and watched Vale and Graham disappear into the crowd.

“I don’t know about you,” Elizabeth said, “but I could use some air.”

Simon grunted in agreement. Once they’d made sure Vale and Graham had left for the evening, they found the French doors leading to one of the terraces on the second floor. The stones were wet, but the rain seemed to have moved on. The air was cool and heavy.

They walked over to the balustrade and Elizabeth took a deep breath. “That was…strange. She was so different,” she said, thinking aloud. “It’s hard to believe she becomes that…thing we left in San Francisco.”

“Yes,” he said, although he sounded distracted.
 

“Do you think it’s a good idea, buddying up with them?” she asked.

Simon looked out into the park. “I don’t trust her,” he said finally, and cast a wan smile down at Elizabeth before continuing. “But I think considering Graham’s expertise and the challenge before us, it would be foolish not to use every tool at our disposal.”

Elizabeth looked out the same way Simon was, but all she could see the black of night. “Should we tell him who we are?”

Simon tugged on his ear. “I’ve been thinking about that. I doubt he’d share much in the way of, well, spoilers, if he thought we were merely curiosity seekers from 1888. Fellow Council members, however….”

Elizabeth frowned. “Even though this Katherine Vale doesn’t know who we are or what sort of history we’ll have together, it’s unnerving to think we’d be working
with
her.”

“Very,” Simon agreed. “But they seem to come as a pair. I’m not sure we can tell Graham something and not expect him to tell her.”

“Poor guy.” Elizabeth put her hand down on the railing and then realized it was wet. “He has no idea what sort of woman he’s really with.”

Simon slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her toward him. “Love is blind.”

Elizabeth looked nervously over at the doorway. Victorian etiquette didn’t allow for much, or anything, in the way of PDAs. “Simon. The world is watching.”

He sighed. “Then let’s go back to the hotel. I think I’ve had enough of the world today.”

~~~

Elizabeth hated being a prisoner—a prisoner to convention, to expectation, to her darn clothes. A lady of substance didn’t venture out alone, but this lady was going to go nutso if she had to stay in the hotel for another minute.
 

Earlier that morning Simon had received an invitation from George Roxbury to join him at his club for lunch. At first, Simon had wanted to turn it down; the idea of being separated if—when—she corrected herself, when another of the time shifts occurred was terrifying. But in the end, they’d agreed that they wouldn’t be able to remain together every minute of every day and do the investigating they needed to. Simon had reluctantly accepted George’s invitation, but only after securing a promise from Elizabeth that she wouldn’t wander off.

That had been two hours and ten cucumber sandwiches ago. Elizabeth just couldn’t sit there waiting for him to come back if there was something, anything, she could be doing to help. If the only thing she could manage that wouldn’t draw too much attention was a quiet walk that happened to pass near Vale and Graham’s hotel where she might be able to spy on Vale a little, then so be it. She left her small corner table at the hotel’s cafe and started for the front desk.

Ever since the party, Elizabeth couldn’t get Vale out of her mind. They might be there to find Jack the Ripper, but older Vale had chosen this point in time for a reason—presumably to alter not just the course of history, but her own history. And that meant all of this had something to do with her younger self, that some action or lack of action would change what happened to her. And whatever that was, she wouldn’t learn spit about it just sitting in her hotel room.

She asked the hotel clerk for pen and paper and started to write a note to Simon letting him know where she’d gone. She’d probably strike out and be back before he even knew she was gone, but—

“Hello,” a familiar voice said.

Elizabeth kept herself from jumping at the sound and felt the same chill she always did at the sound of that woman’s voice. Quickly composing herself, she turned to find a smiling Katherine Vale.

“I was hoping I’d catch you,” Vale continued.

Elizabeth managed a confused, but amiable smile. “Oh?”

Vale smiled back and touched her arm in a casual, friendly gesture. “I’m sorry,” she said. “George told me where you were staying. I hope you don’t mind.”

Elizabeth shook her head and put down the pen. “No, of course not.”

“Good, I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you or…”

Elizabeth laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as strained as it felt. “I’m glad to see you. Your ankle’s feeling better?”

“Oh, much. Thank you.”
 

They stood in awkward silence for a moment.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” Vale asked, clearly hoping the answer was no.
 

It was strange to see her so unsure, so needy.

“Not at all,” Elizabeth said. “Is something wrong?”

 
Vale shook her head. Then she took a step closer and lowered her eyes in mild embarrassment. “It’s just that Charles is off doing things today and I, well, I have two tickets.”
 

She pulled two cardboard tickets out of her small handbag. “I don’t suppose…?”

Elizabeth tried to read the tickets, but the print was too small. “Another show?”

“Not quite,” Vale said with a slight blush. “It’s a sort of a talk really. Have you heard of the Theosophical Society?”

Boy, had she. The Theosophical Society and its members were part of every occult studies student’s first class. The founders had taken eastern and western religions and combined them with mysticism and metaphysics to create an occult-based philosophy that was firmly located on the edge of crazy town.

“No,” Elizabeth said. “It sounds interesting though.”

Katherine Vale’s eyes lit up with excitement. “It’s fascinating. Charles thinks it’s nonsense, of course, but when I heard that Madame Blavatsky herself was here in London and giving a lecture…”

Madame Blavatsky was a renowned psychic or charlatan, or both, depending on who you asked. And that was an all-too familiar persona, Elizabeth thought with a sinking feeling.

“It’s a bit like spiritualism,” Vale explained.

Slowly, pieces were falling into place—disturbing bit by disturbing bit. She had spent the better part of the day wondering how this seemingly charming and open young woman had become the monstrosity they’d last seen in Council headquarters. Was this the start of it? Was Blavatsky the genesis for Madame Petrovka, the identity Vale would assume when she escaped Bedlam?

The thought horrified her, but she kept her face placid.

“I know it’s not for everyone,” Vale said, misreading Elizabeth’s expression. “I’m not sure I believe any of it honestly, but it is intriguing, isn’t it? The idea that there are answers, something beyond all of this?”

She laughed at herself, embarrassed, and put the tickets back in her bag. “It’s all right if you don’t want to go. I just thought—”

Know your enemy, Elizabeth thought and rushed to accept the invite before it disappeared. “I’d like to,” she said, “very much.”

Vale grinned broadly, surprised and pleased, and pushed out a relieved sigh. “Wonderful.”

Sun Tzu would be proud. Simon, however…

Elizabeth held up a finger. “I just need to write my husband a note,” she said as she picked up the pen she’d left on the clerk’s counter. And, she added silently, hope his head doesn’t explode when he reads it.

“A
BSURD
.”

S
IMON
GRITTED
HIS
teeth. Again. Lord Stansbury was the exact sort of pompous ass he usually relished in dismantling, but under the circumstances, Simon had to keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t burn any social bridges just yet. The result meant he had to sit and listen to idiots like Stansbury.

He’d endured inane celebrations of feats like Lord Walsingham’s shooting of over one thousand grouse in a single day. Nearly all of the men at the club had found that particularly impressive. For his part, the allure of hunting for sport always eluded Simon, and in particular events like Walsingham’s, which meant only to impress. But then that was part and parcel of life amongst the gentry—a perpetual pissing contest.

To make matters worse, the smell of curry powder in the dining room was nearly overwhelming. Simon had eaten some terrible curry at school, but the fare at today’s Savile Club special “oriental” luncheon was truly ghastly. England had taken a great many things from India during its reign there, but Simon was certain the chef was not one of them.
 

Couple that with a shockingly ignorant screed against Indians, their history and religion, and Simon was very much ready to hit someone.

“These inferiors need their honorable masters,” Lord Stansbury intoned. It was an all too familiar rationale. “I cannot imagine the state of the subcontinent without the British Raj. Absolute chaos. The Empire does what it can though.”

Several of the men at the table agreed with requisite humphs, the lone exception being Charles Graham. Simon hadn’t expected to see him at the club, but his appearance was a welcome one. Not only might it provide an opportunity for Simon to reveal himself and see what Graham knew about the killer, but he seemed to have even less tolerance for nonsense than Simon did.

“The empire might consider giving them back their sovereignty,” Graham said as he took a sip of wine. “We’re rather enjoying it in America.”

Stansbury grunted dismissively and turned to Blackwood. Simon hid his smile. Graham caught his eye and gave him a mildly, amused shrug.

“So, Doctor,” Simon said, hoping to turn the conversation to a more profitable subject. “I do hope you’ll be available this week. My wife is very much looking forward to it.”

“Is she mad?” Stansbury said bluntly.

Simon coughed. “I beg your pardon?”

Stansbury shrugged. “The doctor’s expertise…”

“No,” Blackwood said quickly. “An interview. Mrs. Cross works for an American newspaper. Wants to do a feature on my work.”

“You shouldn’t encourage that sort of…behavior, Robert,” Stansbury said.
 

Simon felt his blood pressure rise again. “And what behavior is that?”
 

Stansbury fixed him with his most disapproving glare. “Moving beyond her place.”

“Her place?” Simon said. He knew that misogyny was typical of the time, but this was just too much.

“It’s quite well-known that women are inferior both physically and mentally,” Stansbury said. He turned to Dr. Blackwell. “Surely, you’ve found that to be the case in your studies.”

The doctor nodded, but hedged. “Women are more fragile, yes.”

Graham shook his head and frowned. “Maybe it’s because I’m an American and a little more progressive—”

Stansbury snorted.

Graham continued, “But I couldn’t disagree more.”

“I would expect no less from you,” Stansbury said in a dismissive tone. “Your women are practically as wild as those savages you pretend to tame.”

He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “No, women are best kept in the background of politics and industry.”

“They are not well-suited to those tasks,” Blackwood agreed. “Motherhood and companionship—”

Graham caught Simon’s eye and cleared his throat. “Just so I’m clear,” he said turning to Stansbury. “You think women are inferior and should stay out of messy things like politics.”

Stansbury inclined his head.