On a Night Black Page 15

  “I heard. It’s hard to believe, especially after spending time with her at the party.” He comforted Amy as best he could, although he continued watching Ramona out of the side of his eye. She was pacing now, just as he’d done earlier, and she was wearing one of her oft-used grim but resolute expressions.

  Ramona stopped pacing. “What party?”

  A rope of dizziness wrapped itself around Elliot and pulled itself tight.

  “It’s so awful.” Amy finally pulled away and Elliot gallantly handed her a handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes, determined not to make himself ill by the idea that the party had never happened in this version of now. “Lani betrayed the corporation but she didn’t deserve to die because of her betrayal.”

  Her words stirred another nasty, niggling thought in Elliot’s mind – could the corporation have arranged her death as revenge for what she’d done? There was no doubt that the corporation was a powerful entity and he had no doubt they wouldn’t take kindly to discovering a traitor in their midst.

  “We need coffee. Coffee and chocolate biscuits.” Ramona, apparently glad to have something to do, whisked into the kitchen and began banging open the cupboard doors. “I’m sure Elliot has some interesting stories to tell us about his trip. It will help to take our minds off everything.”

  Elliot helped the sniffling Amy across to the couch before returning to assist Ramona in the kitchen. She was moving robotically, carrying out her task by automation and had closed her earlier emotions down completely. She did not lift her eyes to look at him, apparently lost in her own thoughts. Sympathetic to her mood, Elliot silently carried the packet of biscuits back to the living room to wait with Amy.

  “I knew today wasn’t going to be a good day,” Amy mumbled. She screwed Elliot’s wet handkerchief into a soggy ball in her fist. “I knew as soon as I woke up in the early hours of the morning and heard that weird noise outside.”

  “What weird noise?” Ramona sat the tray of cups down on the coffee table and looked at her curiously. “Did you have early morning roadworks outside your apartment?”

  “No. It was a humming noise, like an intense vibration but it ran right through my bones. Something like you might feel if you were sitting in a dentist’s chair but it was bigger and wider than that. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

  Elliot shifted his gaze to meet Ramona’s alarmed eyes. “We have.”

  Chapter Thirty

  As Amy explained to Elliot, her apartment was on the other side of London town, too far away for her to have heard his own time machine returning. Ramona had left them to make some calls, intent on discovering if Amy had inadvertently heard the arrival of the Knave’s stolen machine. If that was the case, the corporation might have a head start on pinning down its current location.

  Amy was calmer now but her eyes remained damp and red. She sniffed again and twisted his handkerchief in her hands. “Tell me something about 1889 to cheer me up.”

  He knew the carnival would make her smile. He spun a colourful tale, exaggerating the attractions of the freak show and elaborating on the Victorian wonders he had seen. By the end of his story, Amy’s tears had finally dried and she was sitting forward eagerly. “And what about the Knave? Did you find him in the exhibition hall after all that?”

  “Yes. We spoke briefly and then I followed him. He latched on to a couple of young ladies, two sisters, and they foolishly agreed to let him accompany them home. I followed them of course, and the girls reached their house safely, but then I lost the Knave in the maze of laneways. I went back the next morning to the last place I’d seen him, only to hear the sound of the time machine as it departed from one of the houses. You know that sound now. It’s hard to forget.”

  “I do know it, but it’s scary to think that he’s somewhere close to my apartment. I might take Ramona up on her offer to stay here for a few nights. I’ll race back home shortly to pick up a few things and then I’ll come back.”

  Elliot quickly checked that Ramona was still involved in her phone call before lowering his voice. “Things have changed here. Are Ramona and Jason an item? Darcy warned me to expect changes when I came back but I never imagined it might be that.”

  Amy shrugged. “Jason has always been keen on Ramona and that was never a secret. I don’t think Ramona feels the same way but they are good friends.”

  “That’s what she said, that they were good friends. His shoes are here,” he added, seeking further reassurance.

  Amy giggled. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in that. You yourself have been known to leave items of clothing at a friend’s house and there was never anything portentous or sinister about it.”

  “Ah yes, my coat. I nearly left it behind again but Darcy threw it into the machine at the last moment.” He felt better now after talking to Amy. The serious matter of a burgeoning relationship between Ramona and Jason no longer felt quite so discouraging.

  “What else can you tell me? You know that I adore everything about that era.”

  “I had a very interesting conversation with Darcy’s friend Hortense.”

  Amy’s brow furrowed at the mention of the unfamiliar name. “Who is Hortense?”

  “Hortense Bevier. I think it’s safe to say that she’s Darcy’s romantic interest and that she has been for some time.” Except for a brief period when death separated them.

  “Ah, now I understand. Yes, Darcy has always struck me as the type of man who likes to have a lady by his side.” Her smile was back.

  Elliot gave her a cheeky grin, glad to see she was acting more like her old self again. “Show me a man who doesn’t.”

  She playfully punched his arm. “Get back to the story. What was this intriguing conversation you had with Hortense?”

  “As it turns out, Hortense played a big part in the Knave’s life when he was young.”

  Amy’s wide eyes and open mouth said it all. “No! So why have I never heard of her?”

  He was about to tell her about Darcy’s time trickery in circumventing her death but he thought better of it. That was Darcy’s confession to make, not his. “I’m not sure why you haven’t heard of her,” he said, keeping his comment vague. “She told me the Knave had a difficult childhood and was badly treated by his mother and older sisters and then after befriending him, she herself had to leave him. Those events were what initially set his future hatred for women in motion.”

  “Hatred,” Amy mused. “Some serial killers don’t describe their intense desire to harm women as hatred. They describe it as a passion. I consider it a fine line because if you look at it that way, it puts both love and hate on a similar footing. Passion rules both negative and positive emotions.”

  “Or it’s just another excuse on the part of the men involved.” He remembered the Knave correcting him when he asked him about his obsession with hurting women. The Knave had played it down, suggesting it was dedication instead.

  “There’s always that,” she agreed. “What role did Hortense play in the Knave’s life?”

  “She calls him Jack Ripley. She took him in when he had nowhere else to go but she feels guilty that she couldn’t keep him for as long as she wanted to. She said that in his distorted mind, she became just another woman who abandoned him when he needed her the most.”

  “That’s sad. Not for the Knave but for Hortense. She obviously did her best.”

  “She’s an amazing woman. I liked her a lot. She reminded me in appearance of one of the women who the Knave stalked when I was trailing him the last time I was here, but there’s something else that I found familiar about her. She’s a motherly, maternal person. I can see why Darcy is so enamoured of her and the feeling does seem to be mutual.” He felt himself blushing, scandalised all over again as he remembered the brief conversation he’d had with Hortense outside Darcy’s bedroom.

  “How did you feel to be back there again? That was your life not so long ago.”

  “It was strange but I can’t say I miss what I’
ve left behind, if that makes any sense. I saw my friend Robert and he was surprisingly accepting of the concept of time travel.” Elliot recalled that he hadn’t said goodbye to his friend. Would Robert put two and two together when Elliot failed to visit him again? Perhaps he’d go looking for him at Peckham House.

  “Ok.” Ramona had now ended her call but from the authorative timbre of her tone, she’d kept her resolute frame of mind. “That’s that part done. Amy, do you need to go and collect your stuff? I think you should do it sooner rather than later. The guest room is ready for you whenever you want it so bring everything that you think you’ll need. The corporation said they would prefer that you don’t return to your apartment for any length of time until they’ve given the all clear.”

  “I’ll go now.” Amy bounced off the couch and headed for the door.

  Elliot was right behind her. “Do you want me to come with you? I don’t want you putting yourself into any kind of danger.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m going to be in and out and then I’ll come straight back again.” She gave him a sunny smile as she stepped out into the hallway. “You have your own issues to sort out.” The door slammed and Elliot and Ramona were alone once more. He was about to make the most of the opportunity but she spoke first. “What did you mean when you said you don’t want to lose another woman?”

  He hadn’t expected to be put on the spot immediately but as his grandmother was once fond of saying - in for a penny, in for a pound. He hadn’t prepared a speech so he ad-libbed his feelings as best he could. “I care about you, Ramona. You’re on my mind a lot. I think you’re a wonderful person. I would be beyond honoured if you allowed me to court you. It would be both a pleasure and a privilege to step out with you by my side.”

  Her lips twitched into a tiny smile and the colour of her eyes intensified into a shade that was difficult for him to look away from. “I love the words you’ve used. You’ve made it sound so old-fashioned and special.”

  This wasn’t the reply he wanted. “But you haven’t given me your response.”

  She broke eye contact, looking down and entwining her fingers into a complicated knot. “I can’t,” she said softly.

  “Why? Why can’t you?”

  “Not now. There’s too much else going on, too much unfinished business to attend to. Sometimes things aren’t quite as they seem.”

  She didn’t mean Jason, did she? Perhaps her feelings for the other man ran deeper than he’d hoped. “Is there any chance for us?” He held himself very still. His future depended on her answer.

  The gold flecks in her eyes were incredibly bright and pronounced, a myriad of tiny golden stars floating in a sea of cerulean blue. “Elliot, I can’t tell you what you want to hear. Not yet.”

  The ‘not yet’ was a life raft that Elliot chose to cling to. ‘Not yet’ meant there was still the possibility that she might say yes.

  She turned briskly towards door, abruptly ending the conversation as she opened it wide and allowed the cool air of the hallway to flood in. “You should go back to your own apartment. Everything should be just as you left it and you’re probably eager for a hot shower. I’ll phone you tomorrow morning after my meeting with the corporation to let you know of the next steps.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Knave

  Jack Ripley was pleased to be back in a more civilized world. Annie had done well with the repairs and the craft had transported him without a hitch. He chuckled now, recalling the relief on her face when he told her she could go. He was willing to bet that she’d picked up her skirts and run out the door the instant the time machine departed, making a prompt and much anticipated bid for freedom. He had no idea where she would go and he did not plan to worry about it. She had her looks and her youth and time was on her side.

  He looked thoughtfully at the machine now, where it rested in the middle of the study floor in his house in Lambeth. There was a splash of soot on the carpet around the base of the machine, a random pattern of black particles and a tiny, burnt patch but there was no sign of any other damage to either the capsule or the room. The perfumed stench of the infinity device fuel hung in the air but it would soon fade. This was a cold room, constantly chilly unless a fire burned in the grate, and the vintage blue and chocolate paintwork did little to add any feeling of warmth to the surroundings. Little had changed in this house over the last 131 years and he had no wish to alter it now.

  He listened as Big Ben chimed the hour in the distance. The sound was different now, slightly muted after the extensive repair work that had been conducted on the tower over the preceding few years, but the distinct bong-bong remained. That sound had always been the backdrop to his life, both then and now. It was comforting to think that some things remained despite periods of great change.

  A pigeon suddenly landed on the sill outside the window, bumping its plump body against the glass and startling him for the briefest of moments. He laughed at his own nervy jumpiness. He was not a man generally prone to jumping at shadows but perhaps he could put it down to tiredness. Today had been a most unusual day. He’d been busy since arriving back here in the early hours of the morning, and he hadn’t yet had time to fully process the inescapable thrill and stimulating pleasure of his clandestine activities.

  He’d programmed the time machine to arrive early in the day and he’d left his house immediately after his arrival, unable to wait around unnecessarily when he had the delicious business of murder on his mind. He’d gone directly to Lani’s house, a semi-detached that she shared with her cat, and he’d let himself in through the unlatched side door in the quiet of the pre-dawn light. Although very smart in many ways, Lani Bancroft was curiously lapse when it came to matters of security and personal safety.

  He knew his way around her house, even under cover of darkness, and he made use of the mental image he’d imprinted on his brain. Her cat had hissed at him as he passed the sofa where it lay, its eyes flashing impotent fury, but that dratted animal had never liked him anyway. The feeling was mutual and he wasn’t bothered by the presence of the creature. It wasn’t as if it could get in the way of his focused intention.

  Surprised was probably not the right word to describe the look on Lani’s face when he woke her from what appeared to be a deep and pleasant sleep. He’d silenced her quickly of course, and forced her to dress before dragging her from the house. He wanted a public death for her rather than a domestic death and he knew better than anyone that the docks were a lovely place to die.

  Oh, she had begged and pleaded for mercy but she should have known that her pleas would fall on deaf and uncaring ears. Lani had known what she was getting herself into when she embarked on their short-lived but undoubtedly passionate relationship. After all, she was an agent of the corporation and she knew exactly what sort of man he was. Still, there were always those women who thought they could change a man.

  She had tried to escape at one point as he silently led her to her final destination, but he was too strong for her. Once again, she should have known that. She’d delighted in his strength when she willingly lay beneath him. It was a little bizarre that she found that same strength and tenacity so daunting at the end.

  Lani’s eventual death was less sloppy than the kind he usually preferred but it was not the time to linger over a long and drawn out killing. Sometimes preference must be cast aside in favour of practicalities. He did enjoy the smell and feel of fresh blood, the squelch and suck of warm entrails in his hands, but he had gained some small pleasure in squeezing the last gasping breath from her throat. As soon as she lost consciousness, he’d thrown her body into the river, making sure that her head connected heavily with a partially submerged post before she reached the water. He’d had to move smartly after that, fearful of being seen as the grey light of dawn crept over London town and relieved the inky darkness of its useful duty, but he was satisfied that he’d accomplished what he set out to do. It was up to the authorities now as to whether they dubbed the
death suspicious or an accident, but he hoped it was the former. A suspicious death was so very useful when it came to stirring up fear amongst the local population and mass fear was always a fun pond to dabble in. It had served him well long before now and it would serve him well again, particularly once the press with its expansive reach became involved.

  He left the blue and chocolate room now and wandered through to the front room. It amused him to think that Darcy Darcel, that bumbling, idiotic fool of a man, had worked in this very room in another time and place. Darcy’s inventions were long gone from here now of course, and the staid and sedate furnishings that occupied this space gave no hint as to the history of the room. However, if he inspected the paintwork on the far wall carefully he could just make out the tiny pinholes made when Darcy had once attached his diagrams and maps to the flat surface for easy viewing and evaluation.

  The Knave circled around the room once more, restless and unsettled, before pacing back out the door again and passing through the short, dark hallway at the bottom of the stairs. Elliot Cinder had climbed those very same stairs on multiple occasions, had laid his head down to sleep in the first bedroom on the left, and dreamed his impossible dreams on the old feather-stuffed bed. Time, once it was compressed and twisted, and manipulated to serve rather than to command was a funny thing. A fabricated element that refused stabilisation, unless one determinedly beat it into submission. Quicksilver.

  The Knave left the stairs and walked through to the kitchen, the only room in the entire house that boasted modernisations and renovations. He lifted the kettle to boil water for a drink before thinking better of it. Today was not a day to spend alone, not after such an auspicious start. Today was a day to mingle, to brush past warm, living bodies, and to breathe the recently exhaled breath of anonymous others. Today was a day for crowds and bustle rather than partaking in a solitary cup of tea at his lonely kitchen table. No one could call him an unsociable man. Psychotic yes, but never unsociable.