Lay Down Your Hand

The Cinder Chronicles Book 1

By Cherie Mitchell

Lay Down Your Hand by Cherie Mitchell 2019 © All Rights Reserved

Note From The Author

I have had this trilogy on the backburner for some time and it’s finally reached the top of my-do pile. I fell in love with the cover for this book from the first moment I saw it, and I immediately wanted to sit down and write the story that lay behind the man I’ve named Elliot Cinder.

Lay Down Your Hand is the first book in the three-book gas lamp fantasy / time travel series under the tagline of The Cinder Chronicles. I hope you enjoy it!

Due to the location and plot of the story, this particular book is written in British English.

Happy reading,

 Cherie

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter One

London, September 1888

There was someone following him, he was certain of it. Elliot Cinder did not break his stride as he cranked his already alert senses up yet another apprehensive notch. Any man, whether he be a rogue or a gentleman, needed to keep his wits about him when he walked the narrow streets and laneways of Whitechapel after dark.

A shadowy figure stepped out in front of him and a dirty, hooked hand made a grab for his coat sleeves. “A shilling, sir. Only a shilling for a moment of pleasure.”  He hurriedly shook the hag’s hand off and she melted back into the shadows as if she had never been. He kept walking, cursing the woman for the interruption as he strained his ears to listen. Was the echo of hobnail boots on the cobblestones the sound of his own feet or was it the footfall of whoever had determinedly trailed him since he left the house of his good friend Robert Hepworth?

He reached the next small intersection and paused to listen again. His well-primed ears caught the faint sound of a whistle, a simple melody that undulated through the up-and-down notes of a popular tune. He stepped into the puddle of light beneath a gas-fired street lamp and waited as one of the Whitechapel bobbies turned the corner, whistling jauntily and swinging his lantern as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Evening.” Elliot tipped his hat politely as the man stopped in front of him and eyed him with fierce suspicion.

“Where are you off to at this hour of the night?”

“I’ve been visiting a friend, sir. I’m on my way home.” Elliot strained his ears again, listening for the pound of hurrying feet, but there was no longer any sound from behind him.

“Where’s home?” the man growled, finding no need to offer pleasantries or unnecessary courtesy. The bald light of the street lamp revealed the deep, tell-tale craters of smallpox in the man’s face, although he’d tried to hide the worst of them behind the expansive spread of his coarse whiskers.

“Spitalfields, sir.” The stench of urine and faeces, both horse and human, was excruciatingly strong here. Elliot automatically pinched his nostrils together through force of habit and breathed through his mouth.

The bobby lifted his lantern, master of the small, golden beam of light that chased the shadows away, and pointed it at the street ahead to show Elliot the way. “Get on with you then. There’s no need for anyone to dally in this area after midnight. Not in these treacherous times.”

Elliot gave the policeman a terse smile and hurried away. He didn’t need reminding that the East End was a dangerous place and he’d be as happy as the next man once he was safely tucked up in his bed in his cramped tenement room. If he picked up his stride, he’d be home in less than ten minutes and soon after that, he could be happily dreaming of his lovely Annie. Annie Jones was the reason he was out so late tonight, seeking a favour from his friend in the hopes of borrowing enough money to buy his sweetheart a small engagement gift.

Annie was a slender, elfin-faced girl with wide, aqua blue eyes of the sort that made him want to scoop her up into his arms and never let her go whenever she turned that solemn and beguiling gaze upon him. She was twenty-years-old and she worked a ten-hour day as a match girl at the Bryant & May match factory in Bow. She’d taken part in the big factory strike back in July and someone from the London Daily Post had snapped a photo of Annie and her friends. Elliot had never seen the photo but every day he stopped and asked the boy selling newspapers to show him the front page. He wanted to make sure he never missed seeing it if it was ever printed and he still held fond hopes that one day he would find it somewhere. He could understand why a photographer would want to take a picture of his beautiful Annie and it was one of his dearest wishes to find the image so he could tuck it into the lining of his overcoat and keep it close to his heart forever.

As Elliot strode across the next street, he heard a sudden shout and the sound of running feet, causing him to break into a run himself. A simple chimney sweep had no business getting himself involved in circumstances that didn’t concern him. He ducked into a side alley, jumping across the legs of a drunkard laying sprawled across the cobblestones, and kept running. These streets were a labyrinth, impossible to navigate unless a person knew his way around, but Elliot had no doubts when it came to his own sense of direction. This route would take him via the docks, an area he generally avoided once the sun went down, but if he kept his speed up it was unlikely that anyone could catch him. Sweeping chimneys kept him lithe and fit, although he doubted that all that soot and grime was good for his lungs.

Elliot didn’t intend to remain in the role of a humble chimney sweep forever. As he’d often said to Annie, as soon as they were married he was going to find a way to move them to the country where they would live amidst green fields and frolicking lambs while they raised their clutch of pink-cheeked children. Annie would always giggle and push at his arm when he said that, but her reaction only encouraged him to make up wilder and more extravagant stories. He loved her even more when she laughed, when her slim shoulders shook with mirth and her eyes sparkled as if stars from the heavens above had found their home within her gaze.

He slowed to a jog and skirted around the edge of the docks, alert for any strange sounds. The clouds that lay across the moon parted for a few seconds, lighting his way, and he made the most of it. He jumped over a low fence, rolled under the broken section of an old wooden bridge, most of which had rotted away long ago, and doubled back on himself to turn towards Spitalfields. Ten minutes later, he hurried down Goulston Street where the slum housing pressed up close and formidable against the kerbing. It wasn’t the best of areas but his tiny room was dry and relatively draught-free, which was better than could be said for most of the rooms here.

A cat ran across the cobbles in front of him, startling him into a clumsy stumble and seconds later, he heard the high-pitched squeal of its terrified prey. This area was rife with mice and rats, many of them larger than the cats and dogs that hunted them. Other vermin slithered through these dark streets too, vermin that walked on two legs and preyed on the weak and the innocent. He righted himself and continued on his way, acutely aware of the menaces that lurked and crawled in the shadows.

The talk on the streets of late centred on the man that people called the Whitechapel Murderer. Two ill-fated and miserable ladies of the night had recently died grisly deaths at the violent hands of a man who was either a butcher or a monster, if not both. Elliot had warned Annie not to leave her parent’s tenement after the sun disappeared behind the grimy rooftops of London town. A modest woman would never venture out on her own at night anyway, and Annie’s modesty and virtue were sound. He smiled now as he imagined her face when he presented her with her gift, a plain betrothal band that he would buy on the morrow with the money Robert had loaned him. Of course she knew he wanted to marry her, but knowing it and hearing the words were two very different things. It was a man’s responsibility to lay down his intentions in a clear and true manner.

He’d reached the door to his lodgings now and with one final dubious look behind him, he hurried up the rickety stairs to his room. The building was ripe with the smell of damp clothes, burnt cabbage soup, and human waste but he scarcely noticed the odours these days. Home was home and a man soon grew used to the stench of his own stomping ground.

Elliot’s room was barely big enough to swing a ginger cat by the tail, as he would sometimes say to the urchins down on the street when they pulled at his coat tails and begged him to tell them a story. There was just enough room for his bed and his tools of trade but it wasn’t as if he spent much time here anyway, except when he was sleeping. He was a sociable man, fond of the entertainments provided by song and dance, and he preferred to put himself in places where people gathered rather than keep to himself.

He sat down on his narrow cot and untied his boots. Tomorrow he would see his beloved Annie and everything would be right with his world. He reached under the thin mattress to take out his well-loved pack of playing cards and then he settled down for a quick game of solitaire while he waited for drowsiness to overtake him.

Chapter Two

Elliot grinned as he tucked the payment into the pocket of his woollen trousers. He’d learned at an early age that his grin brought a smile to the eyes and a blush to the cheeks of women both young and old and he made sure to use that talent to his advantage whenever the opportunity presented itself. Impertinent glances from the bolder women told him they liked the way he looked with his lean build, watchful eyes, narrow but never gaunt cheeks, and well-trimmed beard. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

The woman, a blousy housewife with mousy, stringy hair pulled back into a tight bun and a grubby-faced toddler clinging to her skirts, hesitated for only a moment before offering more. “I have a loaf of bread out the back. I can spare a crust.”

“And I’ll take you up on your very kind offer. Thank you again.” Elliot also knew that women appreciated manners in a man and for this reason, he always made sure he added pleases and thank yous to his conversations with the fairer sex.

She beamed, giving him a prime view of her missing front teeth, before disappearing back inside to fetch his unexpected meal. It was nearly three in the afternoon and he usually skipped midday meals, and morning meals too on most days. He preferred to save his appetite and his pennies for dinner. Three meals a day were for the toffs, those haughty men with fat bellies and shiny trousers who were able to afford to plump out their guts with rich foods and fine liquor.

He chewed on the crust, a generously yeasty morsel, as he made his way back to Spitalfields. He planned to leave his work tools there, wash his face and hands at the communal pump on the corner, and then make his way across to Bow to meet Annie when she clocked off from her shift at the match factory. He slipped down the laneways and alleys, each of them as familiar to him as the lines on his own palms, with his brushes slung over his shoulder and a spring in his step. If a man needed only the love of a good woman to be happy, then Elliot Cinder was surely the happiest man in all of London town.

He stopped to speak to the smut-nosed urchin selling newspapers on the corner. “Hey boy. Is there a photo of my darling girl on the front page today?”

“I don’t think you’d want to see her there today, mister.” The child sniffed throatily and flipped the top newspaper around so Elliot could see the headline. TRAGEDY IN WHITECHAPEL. MURDERER CLAIMS ANOTHER VICTIM. Beneath the glaring headline was an ink etching of a woman lying prone on the cobblestones while two bobbies bent over her.

“Another lady dead,” the boy said conversationally, as his grubby finger found its way into his nostril. “She were stabbed 39 times.”

Feeling uneasy, Elliot turned away without a word. He would warn Annie again when he saw her that she needed to do what she could to keep herself safe. There was a madman prowling the streets of London and until he was caught, all lone women remained under threat regardless of their lifestyle, status, or profession. He would marry her today if he could and carry her away, to make sure he could watch over her and protect her from scoundrels who wished to do her harm.

By the time Elliot set off toward Bow, the sun was setting behind the chimney pots and the grey light of evening had begun to descend. He’d dallied longer than he’d meant to and he should have been on his way long before now. He quickened his step, aware that Annie would worry if he wasn’t there to meet her. She walked home with her friends most days but every Tuesday and every Friday evening he was there, waiting outside the factory gates to stroll slowly through the streets with her. They took their time walking home on Tuesdays and Fridays, savouring their time together before they reached the cramped rooms she shared with her parents and younger siblings. Elliot would join the family for dinner on these nights and then at 8.30pm, as the younger children prepared for bed, Annie would walk with him downstairs to say goodnight. This was his favorite part of the evening, those few precious minutes when the world seemed to belong only to them as they huddled together in the dark alcove at the base of the stairs. Not that anything untoward ever happened down there of course, but Annie’s nearness as she whispered her lengthy goodbyes came with unspoken promises of the delights that awaited them once they were finally married.

He was about to step out onto the street when a man’s loud and urgent shouts caught his attention. He looked up to see a runaway horse, it’s eyes wild with fear as the carriage bounced and jostled behind it, pounding on frenzied hooves down the rutted street. A young woman with a tattered shawl over her shoulders and a babe in her arms appeared paralysed, frozen to the spot and unable to move from the middle of the thoroughfare as the uncontrolled horse bore down on her.

“Watch out!” Elliot launched himself at the woman, tackling her around the waist and pulling her down on top of him as he rolled them out of the way of the flailing hooves and rumbling carriage wheels. The woman gasped but made no other sound as the horse and carriage clattered away and careened around the corner.

In the silence that followed, Elliot gently eased the woman’s slight form to one side, enabling him to wriggle out from beneath her. The baby, probably no more than a few months’ old, regarded him gravely from within it’s nest of blankets. The infant had a small graze on one cheek, the injury not deep or jagged enough to draw blood, but otherwise the child seemed unharmed. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

The woman stared at him without speaking. She was very young, probably younger than Annie was, and the pale skin of her face was ingrained with the tell-tale dirt and filth of the lower classes. Elliot pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. “Up you get. You’re not doing anyone any good while you’re lying down there in the muck.”

She blinked stupidly at his outstretched hand before finally allowing him to assist her to her feet. She muttered her thanks with downcast eyes before bundling her baby close to her chest and hurrying away into the growing twilight. Elliot watched her go until she was out of sight before dusting himself off, his senses reeling. He’d once lived through another episode almost exactly like this, although that incident had ended in horrific tragedy. He took several minutes to compose himself, leaning up against a nearby lamppost as he steadied his breathing and pushed aside a rush of painful memories. He left the scene on unsteady legs, grateful that he’d been here at the right moment to save the woman and her child but saddened all over again by other chances that he’d lost in the past. The interlude had used up more of his precious time but Annie would wait for him. She knew he was coming and she would wait.

Elliot finally turned into the street where the factory was located, searching the faces of the remaining few scurrying women for the dear and familiar features of Annie. He’d never come this late before and the streets and laneways were dark, save for the odd patch of weak and watery light thrown by the spindly and sparse street lamps that dotted this portion of town. Elliot shivered in the evening chill, wishing he’d remembered to bring his mittens. He’d give Annie his coat if she needed it to stave off the cold. He should never have left her waiting here this long.

He passed the last small group of straggling women and reached the factory gates, only to see the gloomy night watchman looping the chain of his padlock through the bars. There was no sign of Annie. “Hey! I’m looking for a young lady.”

The man snorted as he clicked the padlock into place. “Take your pick. The last of them have just left but if you hurry you might be in luck.” He turned away, making it clear he was uninterested in engaging in any further conversation.

“Wait!” Elliot gripped the bars and shouted through them at the man’s uncaring back. “She always waits for me here.”

The man lifted his hand in dismissal without looking back and trudged on.

Elliot looked around frantically, half-expecting Annie to step out of the shadows with a teasing smile on her face and mischief in her eyes but the street was now utterly empty in both directions. “Annie?” He ran past the factory, frantically peering into the laneways and doorways, and then he ran back the way he’d just come. “Annie!”

His heart was a staccato beat in his chest and his stomach was a mass of knotted, agitated, squirming snakes. He called her name again but his own voice echoed tauntingly back at him. She must have have grown tired of waiting and gone home. She must have. I’ll go to her house and find her there. He attempted to rein in his agitation as he hesitated for several precious seconds, wondering which direction she had taken. When they walked home together, they took a languid path through the back alleys but when she walked with her friends, the girls kept to the main roads and the well-lit streets. She would’ve sensibly walked home via her normal route when she saw he wasn’t coming, wouldn’t she?  Elliot hesitated for a few vital seconds longer before striding off down the deserted main road, almost certain that he’d catch up with her soon.

Chapter Three

His fear was a living thing now, a twisty, panting creature with a mind of its own and impossible to subdue. He’d swiftly walked the many blocks between the factory and Annie’s tenement in Whitechapel without seeing her and he knew in his heart that she couldn’t have made it all the way home yet, not unless she’d lifted her skirts and run like the wind. Why hadn’t she waited?

He hurried through the door and up the creaking stairs to the rooms rented by Mr. and Mrs. Jones, hoping against hope that Annie would open the door and gently scold him for coming so late to fetch her. He could see the yellow bands of candlelight through the thin gaps in the wooden door as he lifted his hand to rap his knuckles hard against it. Annie, you have to be here.

Henry, Annie’s six-year-old brother, fumbled the door open and looked out at him, the oval shape of his little face an exact replica of his sister’s. His eyes were dark and the hollows of his thin cheeks were highlighted with flickering shadows from the candlelight. Elliot didn’t bother with a greeting. “Is Annie here?” he demanded, his voice breathless and terse while his heart raced in his chest and the blood pounded in his ears.

Henry solemnly shook his head. “Annie’s still at work.”

Twelve-year-old Elizabeth, already a beauty with her large doe eyes and pale golden hair, walked up behind Henry and pulled the door open a little wider. The fragrant smell of baking bread and barley and turnip soup wafted out to meet him. “Hello, Elliot. It’s Tuesday. Why isn’t Annie with you?”

“You haven’t seen her?”

A shadow of fear crossed the young girl’s face. “No, not since she left this morning.”

Elliot turned and loped back down the stairs, yelling frantic instructions over his shoulder to the two mute children. “If she comes home, tell her she must stay here until I return.” She must’ve taken the laneways, just as she would have done if he was with her. He stumbled back out onto the street, startling a couple who were walking past. The gentleman roared in fright and threw a protective arm across his female companion, who let out a squawk of her own. Elliot took no notice of them as he ran down the street and turned into the narrow alley where he and Annie sometimes lingered for a few minutes before taking the last few steps to her home.

A tortoiseshell cat hissed at him from its spot on a high windowsill, its eyes glinting a spiteful green in the glare of the lamp light thrown from the street, but Elliot paid it no mind. He shouted out Annie’s name as he ran, stopping to speak to each person he came across to ask if they had seen a slim young woman with blonde hair and laughing eyes hurrying home for her supper.

He made it all the way back to the factory in Bow without seeing her. He stood desolate and fatigued at the locked factory gates, wondering what he was supposed to do next. The hour was late. Annie would never stay out this long. Telling himself that she was probably safe at home by now, eating her simple meal and watching the door for his arrival, he slowly started to retrace his steps through the maze of alleyways, stopping often to check doorways and alcoves.

“You looking for a warm body for a few minutes of fun, mister?” A woman with a broad bosom and a blank face stepped out of the doorway in front of him. “Only half a shilling for you, with yer strong young body and yer pretty face.”

He irritably shook his head. “I’m looking for my sweetheart, Annie Jones. She’s short and slender and she wears a bonnet and a knitted shawl in an unusual shade of dusky pink.” He knew the name of the particular colour of the shawl because the woman he’d bought it from at a stall down in the marketplace had told him.

The crone in the doorway threw her head back and cackled, revealing her rotten stumps of teeth and covering him with a blast of her putrid breath. “That sounds just like me. You can call me Annie if you want to. I don’t mind one bit.”

Disgusted, he hurried on. He detoured down a laneway where once Annie had let him hold her hand, slipping her slim fingers into his and warming his heart and soul with her coy glances. She’d hastily pulled her hand away when someone approached from the other end of the alley but the warmth and fullness in his heart had remained with him for the entire evening.

He was back at the outer edge of Whitechapel now, almost back to the tenement building. Annie knew this area well. Her mother had birthed her in lodgings not far from here and she’d spent her girlhood there before the family moved to the house they lived in now. Elliot knew this because Annie had told him everything about her life, protesting and giggling when he said he wanted to know about every breath she’d made and every step she’d taken in the years before he met her.

He smiled now, despite his worry and concern over her whereabouts. His life changed for the better the day Miss Annie Jones crossed his path. And she had, quite literally, crossed his path. In a rush to get to a job, he’d tripped on an uneven cobblestone and dropped his load of brushes. Cursing under his breath, he’d stooped to pick them up and found himself gazing at a small pair of feet clad in leather button-up shoes, the toes peeping out under the soiled hem of a long skirt and tapping impatiently. He’d looked up then and found himself gazing into the cross little face of the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Of course he’d tested his charms on her but she wasn’t having a bar of his lazy smile or his purposefully twinkling eyes. She’d primly asked him to move his sooty, dirty brushes out of her way as she was running late for work and she didn’t want her wages cut. He’d grabbed for his brushes then, not wanting to let her out of his sight, and followed her to the factory despite her embarrassed, blushing protests. He’d gone without his pay that day too, his job forgotten, while he waited outside the factory gates for many long hours for her to reappear. The rest, as they say, was history.

He hesitated at the mouth of a particularly dark and narrow alleyway. He’d often warned Annie to stay away from here, telling her he had a bad feeling about this lonely place. That bad feeling intensified now as he stared into the murky shadows. There was something going on down there, a commotion of some kind. His bowels knotted painfully and a deep sense of dread flowed over him. Moving cautiously now, he stepped into the alley and made his way towards the excited crowd.

As he reached the small gathering and pushed his way forwards, he heard as if from a great distance the anguished cry of a wounded animal. He remained unaware that the rough and ragged sound was torn from his own chapped lips but he knew as soon as he saw the limp hand, the ring finger bearing the simple silver band he’d chosen himself, and the fringed edge of the dusky pink shawl that it was Annie. He must have said something else, cried out her name or called her his beloved, because several onlookers turned to stare at him with expressions of sympathy, compassion, and curiosity pasted across their faces.

“Come away. There’s naught you can do for her now. You don’t want how she looks in death to be your last memory of the poor misbegotten soul.” A burly gentlemen with ruddy cheeks, rolled-up shirt sleeves, and the acrid smell of cider on his breath manhandled Elliot away from the morbid scene and pinned him up against the wall with his thick, hairy forearm.

Hot tears streamed unchecked down Elliot’s face. His knees wobbled and his legs sagged uselessly beneath him. He didn’t try to fight against his captor. He knew the man was right. That enormous pool of blood gleaming blackly in the faint light was more than enough to reveal the awful truth. “Who did it?” he mumbled wretchedly. “Who did this? I want her killer found and strung up by the neck until he is dead.”

“You’re not alone in wanting that done,” the man said, his tone almost conversational despite the horror of the moment. He relaxed his grip slightly but he didn’t move away. “Seems the Whitechapel Murderer has struck again.” He whispered the first few words of the Lord’s Prayer under his breath, the verses laced with cider and fear.

The man’s muttered words floated uselessly around Elliot’s head. He watched through a blur of pain as more bobbies arrived, alerted by the shouts and the rapidly spreading news. Elliot’s unsteady legs finally gave way and the man removed his arm to allow him to slump down onto the dirty paving stones, where he lay sprawled on the ground alongside the spot where Annie had drawn her last breath. Annie, whatever possessed you to leave the factory without me? How am I supposed to go on without you?

Chapter Four

Six Months Later

Rumours were rife. Some people suggested that the perpetrator could be one of the lunatics from Peckham House Asylum, or one of those foreigners, the ones from the western quarter who spoke funny and whom no one trusted. The murderer had a name now, a name that had stuck. Jack the Ripper they called him, and the female victims who the law suspected had succumbed to his depravity and violence now numbered nine.

Nine innocent women dead through means both vile and disgusting. It hardly bore thinking about but violent death was all Elliot had thought about since the night of Annie’s murder. His friend Robert had told him just yesterday that love can do strange and wonderful things to a gentleman born and maybe it was time to find someone new to love. Perhaps Robert was hoping in his own way that his sentiment would lift Elliot out of his depression and help him move forward, but mere words weren’t strong enough to shift the frightening, claustrophobic darkness that enveloped him for nearly every hour of every day.

Elliot didn’t work much these days. He had no reason to make money, save for the few coins that were necessary to buy a meagre bowl of watery barley soup, a tankard of beer, or a rough, thin mat to lie on for a night in a doss house. He’d sold his brushes to some young lad keen on making a name for himself among the chimney pots of London and now he served as a labourer on the docks whenever the need for ready cash drove him to it.

He’d worked today, helping to unload a barge alongside a gang of other men roped in for a few hours’ of work. He’d kept to himself, as he always did nowadays, keeping his conversations brief and his replies minimal. It wasn’t until nearly the end of the day when the shadows stretched long and cold across the docks that he found himself caught with his arms full of heavy crates as he walked beside a talkative stranger hell-bent on striking up a conversation about the murders.

The man had leaned in close, his eyes glazed with a thin sheen of either madness or horror, as he shifted his own load of crates in his sinewy sun-browned arms. “They say she was slashed from her thorax to her abdomen and her throat cut so severely that her head was hanging clean off.”

Elliot had felt the bile rise in his throat then, bitter and sharp. He’d abruptly turned away, hurriedly adding his crates to the stack, lengthening his walk into a run and making a distance between them before the man could say another word. He hadn’t needed to avoid the man after that because the man went out of his way to avoid him.

And now he was here, at Chaney’s Tavern, a fitting venue for the homeless, the hopeless, and the weary. Elliot lifted his tin tankard of beer and sipped glumly at the suds. He wasn’t a big drinker before Annie’s death but the loss of his heart’s ease had driven him through the desolate doorways of places he would never have considered in the past. He sat the tankard back down on the scarred wooden table top and allowed his head to fall down onto his arms, the weight of his cares and worries too much for one man to bear.

“Elliot? Elliot Cinder?”

He didn’t bother to lift his head. He knew he was a person of interest, an oddity to point at and whisper about. He was the man who had lost his love to the filthy hands of a murderer, an object of curiosity and fear. Why fear? Because if it could happen to him it could just as easily happen to the person behind the pointing finger.

“Cinder.”

 It was no longer a question. Elliot sighed bleakly and shifted his head just enough to allow himself a view of the enquirer. A bright-eyed man with a bald, pink head surrounded by a fringe of luxurious white hair like the tassels on an Oriental rug met his gaze. “I knew it was you from the instant I saw you. I’ve been searching for you.”

“Is that so?” Elliot sunk his head back down into the protective shelter of his arms. Unless the stranger was offering to buy him another tankard of beer, he wasn’t interested in talking.

“I have a proposition for you,” his uninvited companion continued. “An errand that I think might be worth your while.”

Elliot pushed his empty tin mug toward the man without raising his head. The mute gesture was at once a suggestion and a brush off. Buy me another drink or be gone with you.

The man was quiet for so long that Elliot thought he’d made his decision and gone. He tipped his head to one side and opened one eye to see that the stranger hadn’t left. “What do you want?” His question held neither warmth nor friendship but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to be left alone with his misery.

“I was hoping for a conversation.” The man scooped Elliot’s empty tankard up into his hand. “Same again?”

Elliot grunted and rested his chin on his arm so he could look around. The tavern was crowded now, the cramped and narrow space filled with working men seeking to drown their sorrows or discover new ones.

The man returned a few minutes later with a full tankard and a plate of bread and cheese. Elliot stared dully at the food before gulping at the beer. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and gazed at his companion with tired disinterest. He noticed the man hadn’t bought a drink for himself. “How do you know my name?”

“It’s in my best interests to know the name of the men with whom I plan to do business.” He thrust out his hand for Elliot to shake. “Darcy Darcel at your service.”

Elliot thought the man had probably made up his name but he nodded anyway. “What kind of business are you talking about? I don’t sweep chimneys now but I’m available for haulage work.”

Darcy inched the plate containing the simple but filling meal closer to Elliot’s elbow. “Eat up. A man needs to boost his strength after a day spent lifting crates on the docks.”

Elliot narrowed his eyes, made suspicious by the man’s knowledge of the day’s activities. “What do you want?” he said curtly.

Darcy sighed, as if Elliot had inadvertently asked the wrong question when he’d hoped for something else entirely. “I think we can help each other.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help.” Suddenly aware that he was starving, Elliot took a wedge of cheese and bread while he did his best to ignore his unwanted new friend.

“Let me rephrase that. I think you can help other women from suffering the same dire fate as your beloved Annie.”

Elliot shoved himself away from table with as much force as he could muster. “What do you know about Annie?” he growled.

Darcy raised his hands in front of his chest to protect himself from Elliot’s fury. “Don’t go getting defensive now. I know of her but I never had the pleasure of meeting the young lady during her short life. We all know of the terrible happenings in Whitechapel and I think I’ve found a way to assist.”

“You think you can do what the law has been unable to do?” Elliot glared at him scornfully. “Take your ramblings elsewhere, you old fool.”

“Hear me out.” Darcy assessed him shrewdly, his intelligent gaze hinting at a myriad of clever thoughts spinning behind those knowledgeable green eyes. Eyes as cunning as a cat’s. The thought danced through Elliot’s head and then was gone again. “Would you agree that there’s nothing left for you here now that Annie has gone?”

Elliot grunted. There was no need for him to answer that question when the answer was already plain for anyone see.

“In that case, I think you’re the perfect man to send on a task that I’ve recently been made aware of. Your other fine attributes have helped with the decision, of course.”

Elliot chewed and swallowed before replying. “The bobbies are already thick on the ground on every street and laneway in Whitechapel. I’m don’t know what I can do when they can do nothing.”

Darcy settled his elbows on the table, beamed happily, and somehow managed to look completely sane as he said, “Your help, if you decide to take me up on my offer, is not needed here. I’m talking about a time more than one hundred years into the future.”

Chapter Five

Darcy Darcel lived in a respectable-looking semi-detached house in Lambeth, a moderate hike from the tavern through yet another labyrinth of inner city lanes and streets. A thick mist covered the city now, making for a miserable time for anyone forced to stay out on the streets overnight.

It had taken Elliot a further tankard of beer and another half an hour of conversation and musings before he’d agreed to leave Chaney’s Tavern with his strange new companion. As he saw it, he had nothing to lose and at least Darcy had promised him a dry bed for the night in one of the many spare rooms of his house. Besides, he was interested in what the man had to show him and it had been a long time since anything had piqued his interest like this. The man was obviously a contender for the lunatic asylum but so far, he’d woven a tale containing enough intrigue for Elliot to agree to come along – for tonight at least.

“Come in, come in. Don’t be stranger.” Darcy led the way into a small entranceway with just enough room for a coat stand and a coarsely woven burgundy coloured rug. “Take off your coat and make yourself at home.”

Elliot hesitated before removing his overcoat, his most prized possession but from what his intuition told him, Darcy did not appear to be the sort of man to steal another man’s coat. He hung it on a coat hook and looked around curiously. He’d been in fancy houses before during the course of his work as a sweep, so the interior wasn’t a complete surprise. The lady of each house generally had all the furniture removed before he started work but he’d often glimpsed the finery in other rooms as he laid out his cloths to protect the carpets and floors from the unavoidable soot and dust.

However, Darcy’s home wasn’t a normal, run-of-the-mill toff’s house. There was the smell for one thing, a scent of perfumed musk that was both enchanting and nostril twitching. The carpet was thick and lush, and fabulously decorated with scenes of sailing ships, castles, lofty mountains, and armies of marching warriors. The walls were covered with paintings and drawings of weird and wonderful creatures the likes of which Elliot could never have imagined – creatures with long, curling fish tales and enormous snouts, bulging eyes and huge, pointed ears. There were depictions of these fantastical creatures in stormy seas, leafy forests, and open, scrubby plains. Elliot stopped and looked at them in wonder. “What are these?”

Darcy flapped his hand dismissively, as if the pictures weren’t important. “They’re things I’ve seen when I travel through my dreams. I have a friend with artistic talent who translates them into paint and ink for me.” He opened a door off the carpeted hallway and held it open for Elliot to enter. “Come into my work room.”

The perfumed smell was stronger in here, thick and cloying. Elliot rubbed at his nose, which had just started to itch. The odour was a tangible thing and he had the feeling his eyes would soon start to sting. “What’s that smell?”

“Hmmm?” Darcy seemed distracted now. He was making his way towards a large table in the middle of the room, the only item of furniture in here. A drop cloth similar to the cloths Elliot had used as a chimney sweep covered a big and bulky shape in the middle of the table. Black curtains hung across the windows, preventing the tiniest sliver of light from entering the room from outside on the street. Or perhaps the curtains were there to prevent prying eyes from peeking in?

“That funny smell. What is it?”

“Fuel for the machine.” Darcy grabbed a corner of the cloth and whisked it away to reveal the most extraordinary contraption Elliot had ever seen. It was a box the size of one of the largest crates that he’d carried down at the docks, big enough for a man to crawl inside if he was prepared to crouch low. The box gleamed brightly, the colour of polished gold, and a large dashboard peppered with knobs, levers, and dials took up one entire side. Two tall cylindrical glasses were attached to each corner and a small door stood ajar on the opposite end to the dashboard.

“Did one of your artist friends recreate another one of your dreams?” Forgetting the cloying smell for now and fascinated by what he saw, Elliot stepped up to marvel at the contraption. He reached out to touch one of the glasses but Darcy slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch the leyden jars,” Darcy said crossly. “The jars serve as the device’s capacitors and I’ve put a lot of time and effort into getting them right. One small bump could knock all my careful work asunder.”

“But what is it?” Elliot kept his hands by his side as he walked around the table to view the box from all angles. “Is it a child’s toy?”

Darcy snorted. “A child’s toy? Don’t be foolish, man. It’s a time travel machine. As I’ve already told you, you’ll need to carry out your task in the future. How do you expect to get there without a time travel device?”

“So it’s a clock?” Elliot was vaguely disappointed with this idea. A clock was a useful tool for measuring time but he was already a man with far too much time on his hands. He hadn’t paid much attention to Darcy’s blathering about the future up until now because the man was clearly delusional, even if he did spin an entertaining tale. Tomorrow lunchtime was about as far as Elliot’s mind ever travelled into the future and sometimes even that was at a narrow pinch. He didn’t have a future to look forward to now that Annie was gone.

“No, it’s not a clock.” Darcy pulled a pair of spectacles out of his breast pocket and sat them on the bridge of his nose before peering closely at one of the dials. His face was so near to the machine that the tip of his nose touched the burnished metal and the reflection of his forehead loomed large and misshapen.

Faintly bored now that nothing was happening, Elliot turned away from the table to look at the maps and pictures that covered one wall. There were no paintings of the strange creatures in here but rather the images were of technical diagrams, charts, and curious plotted routes meandering through streets with names he did not recognise. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, a vanity he’d kept purely because Annie had liked it. “Are these your time traveling plans?”

“Some of them.” Apparently satisfied, Darcy took a step back from the table and tucked his spectacles back into his pocket. “We’ll go through them together soon. There are a wealth of details to work through.”

Elliot stifled a yawn. “It’s getting late and I’ve had a strenuous day. Can we do this in the morning?”

Darcy pulled his bushy white brows down into a frown. “I thought you were a man with stamina. That’s one of the reasons you were chosen for this task.”

Elliot returned his frown with a scowl of his own. “I haven’t accepted it yet. I’d rather spend the night in a doss house if you’re going to stand there and insult me.”

“Don’t get your feathers ruffled.” Darcy sighed loudly and adjusted another dial. “Ok,” he said at last, “I’ll show you to your room. You’re probably right about getting a fresh start in the morning. We have a lot to discuss.”

“I still don’t understand what it is that you want me to do. If you genuinely think I’m going to walk the streets of London at a time one hundred years from now, then you’re sadly mistaken. I’ll be tucked up in my coffin long before then.” He followed Darcy back out into the corridor, expecting Darcy to tell him at any moment that it was all an elaborate joke. “I doubt I’ll be quite as robust even twenty years from now.”

“No, you’ll be fine,” Darcy said absentmindedly as he began to climb the panelled wood stairs. “If everything goes to plan, you’re be as fit and healthy as the man who stands before me now from the very second you arrive in the future.”

“If everything goes to plan? What if it doesn’t?” Elliot was only half joking now. Darcy was a full-scale lunatic but he reminded himself that the old man seemed harmless enough. Elliot certainly didn’t feel as if he was in any danger, even if Darcy kept muttering about outrageous plans that made no earthly sense to him.

Darcy didn’t reply. He stopped to light a lamp on the landing before nodding at the first door of many. “You can have that room. The water closet is down below the stairs if you need to use it and there are extra blankets in the blanket box at the end of the bed. You’ll find a candle and tinder on the chest of drawers. I rise early but I prefer to spend the first hour of the day in my own company. I always take a light breakfast at 8am if you’d like to join me then.”

Elliot suddenly felt exhausted and more than a little drunk. “Thanks, guv’nor. It all sounds good to me.” He placed his hand on the door handle as Darcy walked across the landing to where several doors lay against the opposite wall. “And thanks for the offer of a room for the night. This house is deathly quiet compared to the tenements or doss houses. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept with only the noise of my own snores.”

“That was and is your choice,” Darcy said crisply. “No one ever forced you to sleep in a doss house. Goodnight, Elliot.”

Chapter Six

Elliot didn’t know where he was when he first opened his eyes. He felt as if a giant white goose, with fluffy feathers and impossibly soft and cushiony wings had swallowed him up. He lay on the sumptuous bed and stared up at the ceiling for several minutes as the extraordinary events of last evening slowly came back to him. Darcy Darcel was obviously as silly as a two bob watch but Elliot had enjoyed seeing his paintings and looking at his time machine. A bed for the night was a bonus and it seemed he was also about to get himself some breakfast out of the deal. He’d eat his breakfast, give his thanks to Darcy once again, and then he’d be on his way.

He sat up in bed and looked around the room now that it was daylight. He’d barely noticed his surroundings last night, only taking enough time to remove his clothes and fall into bed. The room was small but still a great deal larger than the one he’d rented at his old lodgings. The double bed took up most of the space and aside from the chest of drawers, the room was free of furniture. A red and gold Chinese rug covered the polished floorboards and the only picture on the wall was a framed oil painting of a bland pastoral scene. The entrance hall and the room Darcy had shown him last night were much more interesting than this dull bedroom and Elliot was suddenly keen to see them again.

He quickly pulled his clothes on and tied his bootlaces. He took a moment to pull back the curtain that covered window to peer out at the streets below, marvelling at how different London looked from this perspective although the sootiness and constant smoke still prevailed. However, the fine buildings and sprinkling of greenery he could see from here were certainly a far cry from the slums he was used to.

He left the bedroom and stopped on the landing to glance at the other doors. All were firmly shut and he had no clue as to which one was Darcy’s bedroom. He listened for a moment, wondering where Darcy was now. He’d warned Elliot that he preferred to be alone in the morning but it was already close to 8am. Where was he supposed to go to meet Darcy for breakfast? He didn’t want to walk through the house, opening random doors and snooping around without an invitation like a common thief.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped to listen again, hoping to hear the chink-chink sound of crockery or any other indication that the breakfast preparation was underway. He’d just lifted his nose to sniff the air and he was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear Darcy walk on silent feet down the corridor behind him until he spoke. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Elliot jumped in fright and whirled around, his fists held up in front of him as if ready to take on an opponent in a boxing match. Darcy dropped his eyes to Elliot’s raised hands and tutted, shaking his head as if he’d just witnessed a great disappointment. “You’re have to learn to control your jumpiness. You’re bound to get more than one fright where you’re going.”

Embarrassed now, Elliot relaxed his hands and allowed them to fall down by his side. “I guess I’ve grown too used to expecting the worst.”

“Ah, a pessimist. Yes, you’ll have to work on your optimism. No one likes a sad sack.” Darcy pointed to a door that stood open a few steps down the corridor. “I’ve just made some tea. Please, come and join me.”

Darcy’s small kitchen and dining area were elegant but plainly furnished, much like the bedroom where Elliot had rested for the night. There was a pert and square table set for two, an ancient cooker and a two-ring stovetop, and two more of the paintings of the fantasy creatures, although these were smaller than the pictures in the entrance hall. Elliot paused to admire one of the framed paintings, trying to imagine a world where such creatures roamed free. “I think I prefer your dreams to mine.”

“Nonsense. No man can ever truly share another man’s dreams. Sit down and slice yourself some bread. My housekeeper makes the most marvellous marmalade and I do recommend it.”

Over breakfast, Darcy explained more of the task that he had in mind for Elliot, although Elliot was unable to take the man seriously. Now that the full effects of last evening’s alcohol had worn off, it was difficult to listen to Darcy’s grave explanations of a world one hundred years in the future while keeping a straight face and withholding his laughter. Darcy was talking now of the number of different machines that were available in the future, automated devices that could do a man’s biding at the touch of a button. Elliot interrupted him at this point. “How do you know all this? Have you seen these wondrous machines in your dreams?”

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up beneath his white fringe of hair and he seemed startled by the question. “Weren’t you listening to everything I told you last night? As I’ve already explained, I’ve already made the journey to the future myself, and on a number of different occasions.”

Elliot could not remember him saying anything of the sort. “Made the journey to where?”

Darcy lifted his teacup but his eyes didn’t leave Elliot’s face. He slurped up a mouthful and then placed the teacup back on the saucer while holding Elliot’s gaze. “Perhaps you weren’t as sober as I thought last night. If you decide to accept my proposal, you’ll be traveling forward in time to the year 2020.”

Elliot laughed out loud, expecting Darcy to join in his mirth at any moment. “You can’t be serious. I know you’ve told me about some kind of task you want me to perform more than one hundred years in the future but the idea of actually traveling to 2020 is ludicrous. Do you really believe it to be possible?”

“It’s utterly possible. Come with me and I’ll show you something.” Darcy fastidiously dabbed at his mouth with a fine cloth napkin before he rose from the table. “Bring your cup of tea.”

Darcy took Elliot back into the room where the golden machine waited. The perfumed smell was potent in here today, almost to the point of making Elliot gag. He could see that Darcy had been in here this morning as there were several new items laying on the table beside the machine. He looked at them inquisitively as Darcy took his place at the end of the table. “What are those?”

“A few little souvenirs that I’ve picked up during my travels.” Darcy picked up a rectangular glass object, smoothly honed and a little smaller than a gentleman’s billfold, and he turned it over in his hand with the ease of someone who was used to handling such an item. “This device allows people to speak with one another without being in the same room. They don’t even need to be in the same country!”

Elliot wasn’t impressed. “I have heard of the telephone. It is not a new invention.”

Darcy passed him the smooth object. “Can you see any wires? Do you notice a receiver or a dial? This is nothing like any telephone that you would have seen before.”

Elliot eyed it suspiciously. The object was surprisingly lightweight and curiously pleasurable to hold in his hand, as if it were made to fit his palm. “Why should I believe you? This could be a lump of glass but you expect me to believe it is a telephone.”

“Suit yourself. You’ll find out soon enough.” Darcy took the so-called telephone back and instead handed Elliot a lone silver key.

“There is nothing special about a key.”

“Of course not. The special part of a key depends upon what the key unlocks. When you arrive in the future, you’ll find that many adult men and women possess such a key. It allows them to drive their very own automobile. Such machines are not merely the toys of the rich where you’re headed.”

“Right.” The man was moronic. Elliot tossed the key back down onto the table and glanced at the door. “I should be going.”

“You’re going?” Darcy’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He clearly hadn’t considered that Elliot would be so eager to leave this morning.

“Thank you for the lodging and meal.”

“Can you try the machine for size first? There are countless women in the future who are depending on a man like you,” Darcy wheedled.

“What do I need to take with me?” Elliot patted his pockets, deciding to humour the man for a few minutes longer. Darcy Darcel was a friendly enough lunatic and it wouldn’t hurt to play along. Even without checking his pockets, he knew that all he had with him were a couple of shillings, a pocket watch with a cracked face that had belonged to his father, and his worn deck of playing cards.

“Your wits and charm are a good place to start.” Darcy again fussed with the dashboard. “Something is sticking and I can’t work out what it is. Anyway, this is just a test run to check all the components. You’re not going anywhere yet.”

Elliot looked doubtfully at the machine. “What do you want me to do? Climb up on the table and wedge myself inside it?” This had probably gone on long enough but he’d allow Darcy the courtesy of finishing this last little game before he said his goodbyes and left.

“Yes.” Darcy’s voice was muffled as he again bent his head and fiddled some more. “Just climb in if you will.”

“And what am I supposed to do once I arrive in 2020?” Elliot couldn’t believe he’d just said those inane words aloud.

“Here, put this on. It’s specially designed to automatically impart some of the knowledge you’ll need so that it’s not too overwhelming when you arrive.” Darcy pushed a small rounded helmet across the table towards him.

Elliot dubiously fitted the helmet onto his head where it sat as snugly as a bonnet on a baby. He hauled himself up onto the table, opened the small door, and squatted down so he could waddle inside. It was a tight fit but by dropping his forehead down onto his bent knees, he was able to manage it.

Darcy’s voice echoed through the walls of the chamber but he almost seemed to be talking to himself. “I will arrange for someone to meet you but as I’ve said, I’m just making sure that everything is in its place for now. I have a lot more information to give you before you will be able to travel forward. You’ll need to be well prepared for the shock of how much the world has changed. It’s madness to allow you to go otherwise. Can you shut the door for just a moment or two? I want to make sure that it seals properly. There is an enormous amount of precision required to ensure that nothing goes wrong.”

Elliot rolled his eyes but he did as Darcy instructed and swung the door shut. The perfumed scent was overpowering inside the tiny box and the smell was giving him a headache. He told himself he’d count to five and then he’d climb out but unfortunately, he never had the chance.

Chapter Seven

When he thought about it afterwards, Elliot was never sure what happened first. He knew he was about to open the door to get out but what came next might have been either the ear-splitting bang, Darcy’s shout of horror, or the blinding burst of furnace-hot light. Anyway, it didn’t really matter which was first. It was the end result that mattered.

Several seconds after what Elliot eventually came to think of as the catalyst, he had the sudden bizarre sense that he was moving at a rapid speed before coming to an abrupt halt. Panic took over as he battled to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. Dizzy and frightened, and now painfully pushed up against the side of the box with his shoulder twisted at an odd angle, Elliot managed to wrestle one leg out from beneath him just far enough to enable him to aim his foot at the door and kick hard.

The door buckled under the force of his hammering foot and he saw a thin wedge of light shine through the crack at the side. “What in the devil’s name happened, Darcy?” He put his shoulder up against the door and shoved it open before tumbling out onto what he thought was the table in Darcy’s house.

Except it wasn’t.

He blinked in the bright light and gazed around, dumbstruck by what he saw laid out before him. The table was gone, the room with the plans and diagrams tacked to the wall was gone, and Darcy himself was gone. In their place was… what? He seemed to be in woods of some kind, or at least a parcel of vacant land with short, stunted grass and a few straggly, unhealthy trees. He shut his eyes and opened them again, thinking that his mild drunkenness of the previous night had returned, or perhaps he’d experienced a brief moment of memory loss. What just happened?

“What are you doing here? He was supposed to give me some warning. You’re lucky that I saw the lights otherwise we’d be in no end of trouble.”

Elliot turned to see a young woman wearing a man’s garb of a loose shirt and slim, fitted trousers. He’d seen women like this before, but not often. Sometimes women dressed as men in an attempt to find work on the docks or perhaps to wrangle themselves a position as a member of the crew on sailing ships, although they were quickly outed as soon as anyone noticed. Her black hair was loose and untied, as if someone had interrupted her before she could fix it into a bun and find her bonnet, and her eyes were a startling shade of blue. “Who are you?”

“Ramona.” She seemed annoyed, or perhaps perplexed was a better way to describe the look on her face. “Where’s Darcy?”

The mention of his new friend’s name gave him some relief. If she knew Darcy, she might be able to point the way back to his house. Once he was at Darcy’s house, he could easily find his way back to the streets he knew well and he could then put this whole sorry episode behind him. “You know Darcy?”

She looked past him at the time machine, apparently noticing it for the first time. “What did you do to the door?”

“It was stuck. There’s not much room in there and I was frantic to get out. Wait, have you seen this machine before now?” He pulled off the helmet, suddenly aware he was still wearing it and feeling foolish for doing so.

“Yes, of course I have. I’ve been inside it more times than you can count.” She walked with quick steps across the grass to inspect the machine further. “Darcy will be really mad if you’ve broken it.”

He stared down at her shoes, the likes of which he’d never seen before. They were made of a brightly coloured fabric and the toes were round and blunt, rather than following the narrow natural shape of her foot. That was another thing – her feet were huge. She was tall for a woman too, nearly matching him in height. No wonder she thought she could get away with passing herself off as a man.

“Why did he send you so early? You are Elliot Cinder, aren’t you?”

“Yes…” He stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. She was bold and outspoken, much like the ladies of the night who lurked around the laneways, yet she didn’t give off the broken aura and downtrodden misery of a woman who was forced to sell her body for a shilling or less. “Are we far from Darcy’s house?”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “You’re a funny one. That wasn’t mentioned in the brief. Where did Darcy find you?”

“Chaney’s Tavern.” It felt as if days had passed since he sat and drank his gloomy, solitary tankard of beer at the dirty little tavern. He looked hopefully out through a gap in the trees, over to where he could just glimpse the grey stone side of a building. “Is Chaney’s far from here?”

She stared at him as if trying to determine if he were serious or perhaps playing a prank. “You’re very lean. A strong breeze would probably blow you away but I guess Darcy knew what he was doing. How much did he tell you before he fired up the machine?”

“Fired up the machine?” Her words made no sense but she was still staring at him as if she expected him to have the answers to her questions. “Darcy didn’t tell me much. He showed me the machine after a light breakfast of tea, toast, and marmalade and he asked me to slip inside to test if the door. He said he wanted to test the fit. As soon as the door opened again, I was going to make my excuses and leave.” He shrugged helplessly. “I really don’t know how I got here.”

“Crap. This isn’t good.” She barred her teeth into a grimace, which strangely enough enhanced her fine cheekbones and hinted at a certain prettiness if only she’d bothered to dress herself properly.

Crap? He wasn’t shocked by the word but he’d never heard it used in that context before. She’d used it as an expletive rather than a descriptive. But then again, Ramona wasn’t anything like any woman he’d ever met before.

“Ok, tell me what you know.” She had her hands on her hips now, which only served to highlight her broad shoulders. Perhaps she had managed to fool the men down on the docks and get herself some haulage work. Lifting crates built muscles but it wasn’t the best look for a woman. Women were supposed to be dainty and light, with slim shoulders and coy glances. Annie.

“Tell you what I know? I know that I met a man named Darcy Darcel at Chaney’s Tavern last evening. He paid for a few drinks and a platter of cheese and bread before offering me a room for the night.” He hesitated, wondering if she’d be offended if he insulted her friend. He lowered his voice confidingly to compensate. “I’m not sure how sane he is.”

Her laugh this time was genuine and pleasantly musical to his ears. “Darcy’s about as sane as any man can get. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows but he continued anyway. “He kept telling me that he needed me to complete a task for him in the future. Over one hundred years in the future, to be exact. He said I had the attributes that women needed to keep them safe and protect them.” Annie’s dear face flashed up in his mind again and he hurriedly cleared his throat and moved on. “He showed me his fancy machine, I went to bed, and in the morning we shared breakfast before he took me back to the room where he’d stored it. To tell you the truth, I was more interested in the depictions of his dreams that adorn his walls than I was in his machine.”

“And that’s it?”

Elliot had thought it was more than enough, but apparently it wasn’t. “He has some interesting ideas,” he finished lamely.

She turned away again to look at the machine, shaking her head as she inspected the buckled door. “I think you’re here by mistake. That’s why you arrived earlier than expected. This is a problem that I don’t have time to deal with today and I’m not sure what Darcy would want me to do.”

Her uncertainty had a minor charm of its own but Elliot was more than ready to be on his way. “I should go. Point me in the right direction and I’ll leave.”

“No!” She whirled around, her eyes flashing brilliant blue sparks that he might have found attractive in another setting and another place. “You can’t go anywhere on your own. Not until we get this sorted out.”

She was beginning to irritate him. “I’m not accustomed to women telling me what I should do,” he said stiffly. “Good day, ma’am.” He went to tip his hat but he realised he wasn’t wearing one. He’d left it … where? His overcoat too was missing, left on the coat stand at Darcy’s house. He suddenly felt naked and very exposed. He needed to get back there and collect his things.

“No. You can’t go.” She said it with authority, as if she expected him to obey her without question. “We’ll be in all kinds of trouble if I let you go. You’ll have to come back home with me until I’ve worked out what to do next.”

“I beg your pardon, but I am not the type of man to accept a strange woman’s invitation into her home. You clearly have me confused for someone else, someone of far looser morals than I.” He spun on his heel, his eyes fixed on the grey building that he’d sighted earlier. “Good day.”

“Uh-uh.” She lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt with a grip containing a surprising amount of strength. “Weren’t you listening? You’re not going anywhere without me.”

Chapter Eight

“Unhand me.” Elliot had grown tired of people asking if he was listening when they all talked in riddles to begin with. He twisted out of Ramona’s grip and glared at her.

Ramona kept her hand up in the air, as if she was considering grabbing him again. “You don’t understand. Something has gone terribly wrong. You shouldn’t have come this far without adequate preparation and I don’t know how you’re going to get back now that the machine is out of service.”

“I’ll walk back. My feet haven’t let me down before.” Once again, he set off to walk through the trees. She didn’t try to touch him again but she hurried to match his stride. “Elliot, it’s impossible to walk back. You’re not where you think you are.”

“I have an excellent memory. As soon as I see a few landmarks that I recognise…” He reached the edge of the woods and came to an abrupt halt, unable to believe what his eyes were seeing. There were no cobbled streets, no narrow lanes, and the smog-laden skyline laid out in front of him wasn’t remotely familiar. The sky itself looked different, the blue colour thinner and more watery than he remembered. “What is this? Where am I?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you. You’ve jumped forward to the year 2020. I know it’s a lot to take in without any preparation but you’re doing remarkably well. The helmet clearly didn’t work and Darcy will have to look into why at some stage. I do have a backup but we haven’t finished testing it.” She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth as he turned his dumbstruck attention back to the scene in front of him. The street was flat and smooth, unlike the cobbled, paved, or rutted roads he was used to. There was feeling of space without space and the buildings looked too square and perfect to be real. Not only that, but there were a large number of horseless carriages moving at great speed along the causeway. He felt suddenly nauseous and out of his depth. He’d somehow landed in the middle of a waking dream and he had no clue of how he was supposed to get out.

“Sorry about this.” Ramona pulled something out of her pocket and before he knew what she was doing, she’d wrapped a flexible strap around his wrist and fastened it tightly. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

When Elliot next opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that his head felt heavier, as if someone had stuffed it full of rags. He had a vague and bizarre idea that the overstuffed feeling was due to new knowledge that he hadn’t yet found a place for but he couldn’t figure out how he’d come up with such a notion. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on the grass and Ramona was gazing down at him.

“You’ll probably feel a bit strange,” she said, mastering the understatement. “But not half as strange as you would’ve felt if you had walked out into that crazy modern world without any idea of what you’d be likely to see.”

He jumped to his feet and she put out a cautionary hand to steady him. “Careful. Don’t move so fast. You’ll be a little woozy for five minutes or so.”

New words tumbled over each other inside his head, new certainties where before there had been none, and a new understanding that he would find little here to shock him. He raised his fingers to his temples and massaged gently. “What have you done to me?”

“Modernized you. Right, I’ll take you back to my place and we’ll sort out a plan. We might as well make the most of you while you’re here. It’s not as if there isn’t plenty of work to do. There’s always plenty of work to do.” She marched off and he hurriedly followed her, suddenly anxious about being left alone. “Your place? Your tene…” A strange word swooped in unbidden to replace the word he’d been about to use. “Apartment?” It felt odd on his tongue, a word untasted but at the same time cautiously familiar.

“Yeah. It’s just across the street, which was why I noticed your arrival.” She stepped to the edge of the footpath and looked left and right with the ease of someone who had done this many times before.

“Cars.” He stood beside her and watched in amazement as the vehicles sped past. He knew these machines without ever having known them.

“I have one for you to use while you’re here. It’s a little beat up but it will serve the purpose.” She glanced at him then, her face alight with curiosity. “How long are you staying? Did you discuss that with Darcy?”

“I discussed nothing with Darcy. I was finishing my cup of tea and then I was going to leave.” The band on his wrist pulsed gently, soothing away some of his fears with a magic of its own.

She pulled a face. “It’s worse than I thought. Darcy must be beside himself. I’ll try to contact him later and let him know you’re ok.” Without warning, she slipped her hand into his. “We can cross now. This part will take some practice, at least until you get better at judging the speed of vehicles, but think quickly and walk quickly and you should be alright.” She tugged on his hand and they trotted across the street to reach the square and tall building on the other side. “This is my apartment block. You’ll have your own apartment of course, but I’ll need a day or two to organise it. This whole thing has caught me on the hop. Darcy has never done anything like this before.”

The words boss, manager, and supervisor swirled through his head and he grabbed for one of them. “Are you the manager of whatever it is that Darcy asked me to do?”

“Sort of.” She punched a code into the keypad on the door. Bizarrely enough, he knew what everything was and why she was doing it. His head throbbed and the stuffy feeling grew worse. She peered at him closely. “Are you ok?”

“I think so. There are so many new things in my head.”

“I’m not surprised. We haven’t had anyone from so long ago come here before. You’re the first from the 1800s. Our other candidates were all from more recent times.”

She went to place her hand on the door handle but he reached past her to take it from her. “After you,” he said valiantly. It was an attempt to show Ramona that he wasn’t so far gone that he’d forgotten his manners but Elliot also knew of the hidden message behind such an act. Opening a door for a woman might be deemed as polite and courteous but it left the man entirely in control of the situation, just as nature intended. With the young lady made to feel secure by this show of his good intentions, a man could step in behind her and do whatever he wished. Not that he would, of course. The thought had obviously briefly crossed his mind, especially when he glimpsed the thrust of her buttocks in those outrageous pair of trousers, but he made sure his thoughts kept traveling on rather than lingering where they shouldn’t.

She pushed the Up button for the elevator. I know elevators, his brain insisted. He gazed around, bemused rather than shocked. The knowledge he needed to recognise everything he saw slipped deftly into place without any prompting on his part.

“I’m on the fifth floor. I’ll try to get you an apartment in this block but I’m not sure if we have any vacancies. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll manage.” She stepped into the elevator ahead of him. “You’re in for some exciting times, Elliot Cinder.”

He warily stepped in beside her before the doors closed. “Why did Darcy choose me? He knew me by name when he approached me and I didn’t get around to asking him how he knew it.” He didn’t add that he was drunk at the time.

“Darcy has his own way of knowing,” Ramona said mysteriously. “And he wasn’t the only one involved in the decision. Your personal history played a large role in your selection for the role. I’m very sorry, by the way. About Annie. It must’ve been devastating for you.”

Her unexpected use of Annie’s name bought a lump to his throat. He ducked his head to hide the sudden shine of tears, pretending an interest in the strap on his wrist. “What do you know of Annie?”

“I know she was a very lucky young woman to be loved in the way that you loved her,” she said simply. The doors whispered open again. “This is my floor. Come on in and we’ll have a chat about what you can expect next.”

Chapter Nine

Her apartment was a wonderland of new delights but the part that amazed him the most was that she lived here alone. Several times now, he’d asked her to confirm it.

“I don’t know why you find it so surprising. You lived alone.”

“Yes, but I’m a man,” he insisted. “Men have certain privileges.”

Her eyes widened and she grabbed his wrist to check that the fastening on the strap hadn’t loosened. “There’s our first blip. I told you this was untested. You were supposed adopt the knowledge that both genders are equal.”

He snatched his hand back. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say. Both genders can never be equal. The fairer sex doesn’t have the capacity to function on their own without the assistance of men. Men can live without women but not vice versa.”

She snorted rudely. “You’ve got a lot to learn. However, I think we can use this blip to our advantage. Your chauvinistic tendencies might come in handy for the tasks we have planned for you. Don’t take that strap off, ok? We’ll be in all kinds of trouble if you do.”

He ignored her bossy chatter and went over to look out the large windows at the city spread before him. “It’s very beautiful. Industrial, but beautiful.”

“That’s London for you. The city has changed a lot since your day but it’s kept its hardworking heart.” She walked over to join him by the window to point out Big Ben and the Tower. “You’ll recognise quite a few of the buildings.”

“Yes, but I’ve never seen them from this angle before.” He rubbed at his eyes as a wave of exhaustion crept over him. “I don’t know why I feel so tired. I slept well last night in Darcy’s spare room. The bed was marvellous.”

“Time travel can do that to a person. I know exactly how you feel but coffee helps.” She went across to the small kitchen area to fill the electric kettle with water. “Do you want a shower? You’ll need a change of clothes anyway. You’ll draw too much attention to yourself in those clothes.”

He looked down at his grey shirt, black vest, and black woollen trousers. All the garments were serviceable but worn to nearly threadbare and patched in several places. He’d always been proud of his clothes and he went to a lot of trouble to keep them neat and clean, despite the dirtiness of his occupations. “What’s wrong with these?”

“They are probably a bit too authentic. Vintage fashion has its place but those are a little too retro.” She switched the kettle on before striding across to open one of the doors that led off the living room. “You can have this room for now. There is a bathroom attached and you’ll find some men’s clothes in the wardrobe. I keep a range of sizes and you’re sure to find something that fits. Have a shower, find something to wear, and then come back out here for your coffee. We won’t do anything too strenuous today, not until you’ve settled in.”

She did like to chatter. He was glad that Annie had known not to chatter whenever he was tired or stressed, keeping her lip buttoned as all respectable women should do. He closed the door on Ramona’s last few words and looked around the small bedroom. The bed looked inviting but he told himself it would be rude to sleep when his host was waiting for him to come back. He opened the wardrobe and stared at the clothes hanging from the rail and stacked neatly on a shelf. Sweatpants, hoodie, sweatshirt, t-shirt, boxers, trainers. Words with little meaning to him before now rushed into his mind. He grabbed an assortment of clothes and tossed them on the bed, along with his deck of cards and his pocket watch, before walking into the gleaming white bathroom and gasping in amazement. Now this he liked. He stood under the stream of hot water for a long time, unable to wipe the grin from his face. Whoever had invented this was a genius.

It was nearly an hour later before he walked back out into the living room, feeling sparkling clean and minty fresh. The clothes he’d chosen were loose and comfortable and the fabric unexpectedly soft. He’d already decided that people living in this modern time were coddled and pampered, probably more than they realised.

Ramona looked up from the table where she was working with a laptop (laptop, computer, mobile phone – the words swooped and soared before finding their rightful place in his head) and a pile of paperwork. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

“No, I was enjoying the miracle of the shower. That gush of endlessly hot water has the potential to change lives.”

She laughed and pushed her chair back. “I’m glad you liked it. Coffee?”

He’d never tasted the beverage before but he had a sense of its foreign bitterness on his tongue as soon as she asked. “I’ll have tea, if you don’t mind.” He’d sat his half-finished cup on Darcy’s table, in that front room that felt as if it were a million miles away from where he now stood.

“Ever the Englishman,” she teased. “By the way, I’ve emailed a few contacts to try and sort you out an apartment.”

He sat down at the table while she fussed around in the kitchen and busied herself making the drinks. A woman’s quick hands and slighter build made her a natural for domestic tasks and it was pleasant to have a woman waiting on him again. “How did you meet Darcy anyway?”

She smiled as she carried their cups back to the table. “It was purely by accident. Believe it or not, I swiped right on his profile.”

The words should have been a puzzle to him but they weren’t. Swipe right to meet potential suitors. He twisted the strap around his wrist again, pleased to have the benefit of its silent, pulsing translations. “He was here?”

“He’s always somewhere. Nothing keeps Darcy in one spot for long.”

“There’s an age difference…” He trailed off, embarrassed for pointing it out. It wasn’t his business to judge her taste in men, or to start a conversation about her relationships with her beaus.

“I’ve never cared too much about age differences. People are at different ages inside their heads anyway and all of our minds differ from the biological ages that we present to the outside world. Darcy and I are very much the same age when you push the years aside. Time is an illusion, or it can be.”

“Were the two of you together for long?” She seemed happy enough to answer his questions, speaking without any bashfulness or embarrassment, and it gave him the chance to form a more rounded opinion of her. He decided he liked her blunt, forthright manner, as long as she contained her propensity towards bossiness.

“Long enough for us to find out that we had more in common than we first thought. We discovered an instant bond and neither of us have any doubt that we’ll be friends for life.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He sipped at his tea and instantly felt more like himself. It seemed not everything had changed with the passage of time.

“As it turned out, the main reason Darcy was on the dating app was for research purposes,” she continued.

He curved his lips into a smile. “Why do I have the feeling that a lot of people use that excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse,” she said sharply. “He was genuinely conducting research. He was alarmed at the similarities between how women purposely put themselves in danger nowadays and how they used to put themselves in danger back in Jack the Ripper’s time.”

Hearing that felon’s name uttered in these pleasant surroundings and in the middle of this light-hearted conversation was confronting. Elliot’s hands shook as he returned his teacup to the saucer. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

“We don’t have to talk about this now if it’s too upsetting. I know you’ve been through a lot today.” The stark blue of her eyes had softened invitingly and he was suddenly aware that a man could tumble into their depths if he wasn’t careful. “We do have to discuss it at some point though. It’s the reason why you’re here.”

He took a moment to compose himself as the strap on his wrist throbbed and pulsed, marking time with his heartbeat. “What happens if I tell you that I don’t want to be involved? I hadn’t given Darcy my answer before I climbed into his dratted machine.”

“Elliot, you don’t have a choice. The machine is broken. I couldn’t send you back even if I wanted to, not with the door buckled like that. There’s obviously something wrong with the mechanics too, because I’m sure Darcy didn’t mean for you to arrive here before he’d finished giving you your instructions.”

He nodded. He understood what she was saying but he wasn’t sure he liked it. It seemed he was stuck here for the time being.  However, if he looked at his life realistically, what did he have waiting for him back in 1889? Nothing. His life there had ended on the night that Annie died. Besides, the shower alone was reason enough to stay here for a while longer. “How will you contact Darcy?”

She wrinkled her nose and for one fleeting second, he imagined he saw Annie’s face in her expression. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut before swiftly opening them again, determined to keep his mind on what Ramona was saying. Keep your wits about you, Elliot Cinder.

“It’s tricky. Complicated and tricky. I’ll try later but I can’t always guarantee that we’ll have good reception.”

He attempted to regain some control of the situation, as a gentleman should. “Go back to what you were saying before,” he ordered. “You said something about women purposely putting themselves in danger.”

She looked efficient and purposeful once more and he had the startling notion that she assumed she was the one steering the conversation. “Yes, we’re dealing with a very modern problem comprising of dating apps and online dating sites. Women place themselves in a vulnerable position by meeting strange men through these avenues, men who could be spinning them all sorts of lies and untruths. It’s almost an epidemic. The sorry thing is, women are getting hurt through looking for love that way and I don’t just mean their hearts. We needed someone to step into the role of protector and you turned out to be the perfect candidate.”

This was the second time she’d mentioned the word candidate and it puzzled him. He knew he hadn’t volunteered his services for anything like this, yet it seemed he might not be the only person under consideration. “Were there others? Why did you decide that I was better for the role than the other men?” Naturally, the other candidates would all be male.

She held his gaze for a long moment and again, he had the feeling a man could easily drown in those eyes if he wasn’t careful. “I don’t know if I can divulge that information. I’ll have to talk to Darcy about it when we contact him. I might have already said too much.” She spun out of her chair, breaking eye contact and essentially closing down the conversation for now. “How’s your tea? Do you want another cup?”

Chapter Ten

Elliot wasn’t exaggerating when he told Ramona later that evening that today had been the most exceptional day of his life. After finishing his tea, she’d taken him down to the parking space beneath the apartment to show him his car. She apologised for the state of the vehicle, pointing out the scratches and dents, but Elliot saw none of the supposed defects. He was in love with the machine from the first instant that he set eyes on it and that love only grew deeper once he was behind the wheel.

Thanks to the black strap on his wrist, which Ramona had now told him was known as an era decoder, he knew how to drive but knowing how to do it and physically doing it were worlds apart. The feeling of freedom as he drove down the motorway with Ramona was unsurpassed and highly addictive. Once again, he marvelled at the pure genius of modern minds.

They drove around the city that Elliot was born in but no longer recognised. It would’ve been mind-blowing without the benefit of the era decoder but still, Elliot was often left breathless and awed. The new buildings had a beauty to their structure that he’d never considered possible and the old buildings, with their sooty grime removed and their worthiness newly revealed, were scarcely recognizable. Elliot took the chance to catch his breath and exclaim over all that he’d seen when they stopped for lunch at a small eatery. “I saw pictures on the walls at Darcy’s house that I thought were fantastical and astonishing but nothing has prepared me for what I’ve seen today.” He gazed around in wonder at the restaurant, enthralled by the busy staff and the small crowd of patrons. “The people living in these times have so much choice at their fingertips.”

“Most of us don’t appreciate it. It’s been fun seeing everything through your eyes.”

“I’m amazed that people aren’t tripping over their own feet as they walk down the street each day. There’s so much to see.”

“People are generally staring down at their phones rather than noticing what’s happening around them. Do you feel more confident about staying here now?”

“I do. I like it. I feel more alive than I’ve felt in months.” He meant it too. He had a renewed sense of excitement about what life might hold for him in the days and weeks ahead. The dark cloud that had engulfed him since Annie’s death finally felt as if it had lessened and thinned, dissolved into tatters by the thrill of his new experiences.

“Tell me about you, Elliot. Where are your family? Our background research didn’t turn up anyone of significance in your current life, although I have to admit that I haven’t had time to read all the notes. You aren’t supposed to be here yet and I thought I had more time to prepare.” Ramona sat the remains of her ham sandwich on her plate and sat back in her chair, waiting for him to begin. She was certainly a bossy one and that hadn’t changed as the day progressed.

Elliot finished the final crust of his own sandwich before speaking. Bread was definitely not the same in 2020 as the bread he’d loved back in his own time. He missed the chewy, hearty texture of the homemade crusts he’d grown up with. Did he want to tell Ramona about his family? He hadn’t thought of them for a long time now and he knew better than anyone that some things were probably best left in the past.

“Unless you arrived in the Victorian era via another time machine?” she prompted when he didn’t immediately respond, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “That would explain your lack of parents.”

“No,” he said gravely, interpreting her teasing as a serious question. “My experience this morning in the time machine was my first. My parents died five years ago this spring when their tenement house caught fire. There was nothing anyone could do and everyone inside perished.”

Her eyes melted into that beguiling expression of compassion once again and he kept his own gaze fixed on his plate to prevent himself from falling in. It felt curiously intimate to sit and eat at this small table with a woman who was more or less a stranger to him. It was easier to deal with when she was trying to order him around. “I’m so sorry. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“One brother. He drowned at the age of three. Fell into the washerwoman’s tub and no one saw him until it was too late. I vaguely remember him but I was only five-years-old myself at the time.” Samuel had followed him everywhere like a small, devoted puppy, he remembered that much. His only brother, gone forever in an appalling and wholly preventable accident. He’d found a sense of brotherhood in his friendship with Robert Hepworth in recent years, and he was glad of it. A man could pride himself on his independence but he also needed to keep people whom he could trust around him.

“My goodness, you’ve had a difficult life.”

“I lost two sisters,” he said bluntly, caught up in his tale now. It was still difficult to talk about Julia and Charlotte. He’d adored the twin girls, idolized the very ground they walked upon. They were sweet little things, alike as two peas in a pod, with softly curling blonde hair and long-lashed brown eyes that promised devastating heartbreak to their unfortunate suitors once the girls reached adulthood.

“They died too, didn’t they?” She was watching him closely and he knew she was gauging his responses and adding them to her mental portfolio. He’d arrived at the conclusion that Ramona wasn’t one to waste her words and that her earlier chatter was probably out of character. The surprise of his arrival may have shocked her into revealing more about herself than she intended.

“Both gone,” he confirmed. “Gone but never forgotten.”

“Of course. Can you tell me what happened?”

He closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out that awful scene as it reared up unbidden in his mind. He was fifteen at the time and the girls just six-years-old. He’d taken them down to the market to buy vegetables for supper and while his back was turned, Julia ran out onto the street to chase a scrap of colorful paper borne along on the breeze. Charlotte, always just one step behind her twin, had followed and the carriage driver had no time to stop. Naturally, he blamed himself and he knew he always would. “Street death,” he said abruptly. “The hooves of carriage horses and the heavy wheels of a carriage are more dangerous than most people realise.” Twice now, a runaway horse and carriage had played a pivotal part in the terrible deaths of people he loved.

“That’s horrible. I’m so, so sorry. Your life story reads like a litany of loss.”

“We all have our crosses to bear.” He didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

Her sigh was barely audible above the low hum of noise in the cafe. “Yes, we do.” She picked up the remainder of her sandwich and sank her teeth into it while Elliot returned his attention to tasting his very first cup of coffee. Ramona had persuaded him to order one but he still found the smell off-putting. If he compared the scent of hot tea to a sweet seduction of the senses then the smell of coffee was a battering ram that took no prisoners. However, once he’d taken a sip his doubts melted away. The liquid surged through his blood stream and assaulted his brain with a sudden and energetic burst. He immediately knew that the robust beverage could become another addiction and he was more than happy to surrender to it. The words of a bawdy tune that Robert used to sing snaked through his mind, a lyrical and ribald piece about a bonny wench luring unwitting men in with the promise of hidden delights. Coffee was indeed a very bonny wench.

Ramona was unaware of his drifting thoughts and his newly developing obsession with the drink in his hand. “Arrangements are already underway to get you some cash, a credit card, and a phone. We should have those by tomorrow.” She’d switched back to her efficient and business-like self now and he was glad of the change of topic. Talking about his family opened old wounds and while he’d grown used to the scars, he did not want to deal with that agonizing rawness again. The rawness in his heart now was for Annie alone.

“How many people are involved in this? You’re managing the task and Darcy is overseeing it but you’ve already spoken about other candidates and contacts. Is there an entire web of people that I haven’t met yet? When will I meet them?”

“There’s no reason for you to meet them,” she said, her voice cool and dismissive. “I’m the only contact you’ll need. Ask me for anything and I’ll find some way to get it to you.”

She was trying to shut him down and he was having none of it. “Why is everything surrounded in so much secrecy?”

She twisted her mouth, her face pensive as she studied him. “You’ll see,” she said at last. “I think it’s too early for you to know. I don’t want to overwhelm you with too many facts.”

“That’s your call but I can promise you that not a lot fazes me these days.” He returned her gaze with as much honesty and sincerity as he could muster. He wasn’t used to having to prove himself but it felt important to him that he gained this self-contained young woman’s respect.

“It’s early days yet,” she said cryptically. She bent her head to check her phone, scrolling through the screen with practiced fingers. A lock of hair fell across her face, the dark strand casually defining the shape and form of her features. She had a strong bone structure with sharp cheekbones and a stubborn jaw. She was an attractive woman but he would never call her pretty. Not pretty like Annie had been. She looked up suddenly and he hastily looked away, hoping she hadn’t caught him staring. “There’s an apartment available for you in a building a few blocks from where I live but you can’t move in until tomorrow. Looks like you’re spending the night at mine. We’ll head back there now and I’ll see if I can contact Darcy. He’s probably climbing the walls with worry about you by now. I think I’ve made him wait long enough. Do you want me to drive?”

“No.” Elliot stood up so quickly he nearly knocked his chair over. “I’ll drive.”

She pouted as she got up to follow him. “Is that because you believe women shouldn’t be in control of a car?”

“Partly.” He ignored her frowns and swung the restaurant door open for her. “After you, ma’am.”

Chapter Eleven

Elliot sat at the table with his deck of cards while Ramona tapped away at her computer over on the couch. She’d been working away for more than an hour now, occasionally uttering a mild expletive or mumbling to herself. Elliot knew she was trying to contact Darcy and it seemed she was right when she’d said it was a complicated matter.

He had no interest in the computer himself, or not yet anyway. He was unable to see the value in peering at the world through a tiny screen when his eyes could show him the real thing without assistance. He dealt out his cards to begin a game of solitaire, musing over how quickly his own solitary state had changed. If someone had told him yesterday morning of the things that he was about to experience, he would have laughed in their face and suggested a visit to Peckham House might be in order.

“Yes!” Ramona punched the air in triumph. “I’m through to him. Come and sit over here, Elliot. He’s going to want to talk to you.”

“You’re talking to him through the computer?” Elliot left the table and walked dubiously across to the couch. The era decoder had been an enormous help but all the same, there was still a lot that made little sense to him in 2020. How could they talk through a computer with a man living more than one hundred years in the past?

“It’s a program that we’ve had specially written for us but like most of the other equipment, it’s still in the beta testing phase. There’s probably some blips and glitches that we haven’t discovered yet. I personally have my fingers crossed for an improvement in the communications side of things. I have to give up at least an hour of my life every time I need to contact anyone and it’s beyond frustrating.”

Elliot lowered himself down onto the seat cushion beside her, expecting to see Darcy. Disappointingly, the computer screen was a hazy blue with several fuzzy lines running through it. “What are we supposed to be looking at?”

“Just wait,” she said, clearly impatient herself. “He was there a moment ago but he had to go and adjust something. He’ll be back any minute.”

“I didn’t see anything that looked remotely like a computer at Darcy’s house. How is going to talk to us?”

“He has a phone. He’ll video chat us on that.”

“But…” Ramona darted him an irritated glance and Elliot clamped his mouth shut on his questions. He guessed he didn’t need to know how Darcy managed to connect to 21st century devices when he was living in the 19th century. If he decided to go down that route, he should probably evaluate how he came to be here and the thought of that made his brain hurt. He stared at the fluctuating screen and then suddenly there was Darcy, grinning like a white-whiskered maniac from his front room back in Victorian times. Elliot grinned back without hesitation. “Hello, Darcy.”

“Elliot! You gave me one heck of a fright when you disappeared.”

“I think it’s the other way around. You could have warned me about what was going to happen.”

“You weren’t supposed to go anywhere. The vortex fuse mis-fired and I’ve spent the last three hours trying to fix it. I had to get the local blacksmith to cobble together a temporary part until the tech department can ship me one back.”

“Luckily I saw the lights as the machine swung past the apartment block,” Ramona put in, her tone mildly accusing. “I’d hate to think what would’ve happened if I didn’t. You need to take more care.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Darcy spluttered indignantly, while Elliot hid his smile. It seemed Darcy had no issues when it came to dealing with Ramona’s bossiness. “I had no idea that was going to happen. The force of the machine leaving nearly knocked me off my feet and for a moment there, I thought I’d sent him to 1941. I had minor conniptions until I got the dials working again.”

“You’ve got it working again?” Ramona eagerly leaned in, closer to the screen. “The time machine is working?”

“Unfortunately, no. Not the time machine. However, the speed dials, the auxiliary cable, and the era monitor are working just fine.” He beamed again at Elliot, switching tack with comparative ease. “You’re looking good, young man. You fit in well there. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were born to that life.”

Elliot modestly stroked his hand down the front of his sweatshirt. “The clothes are surprisingly comfortable.”

“And is Ramona looking after you? Did she make sure to fit you with the era decoder as soon as you arrived?”

“Ahem, I am still here,” Ramona grumbled. “You can talk directly to me.”

Darcy turned his charismatic smile on her. “Sorry, Ramona. I’m just so pleased to see that he arrived safely. All sorts of dire thoughts were running through my mind when he disappeared.”

“In answer to your question, yes he is wearing an era decoder. It does have a small blip in it but you might be able to tweak it at some stage.”

The good humour immediately slid off Darcy’s round face. “What kind of blip?” he asked warily.

Ramona glanced at Elliot, her expression unreadable, before addressing Darcy again. “Gender equality is missing. He still thinks women are the weaker sex.”

Darcy scratched thoughtfully at his whiskery jaw. “That might not be a bad thing given the criteria for this particular job.”

“Yes, I did wonder about that.”

Elliot interrupted, tired of the pair of them now talking about him rather than to him. “Ramona said you’ll be able to tell me about the task you want me to do. I know you didn’t have a chance this morning before I left.” This conversation felt far too banal considering what had happened over the course of the day.

“Ah, yes. I had hoped to tell you in person but I suppose this works well enough.” The screen suddenly crackled and Darcy’s face disappeared, leaving behind the blank blue screen intercepted with a few fuzzy lines.

“Dammit. We’ve lost him again.” Ramona began to stab her fingers frantically at the keyboard. “I hope we can get him back. Losing him halfway through a call makes it harder to reconnect next time. He really does need to put some time into fixing this.”

Elliot waited patiently as Ramona continued to mutter to herself and fiddle with the keyboard, keen to know more about his mysterious task. He felt as if he was about to become part of something important and worthwhile and it had been a long time since he’d felt like that. Too long.

“He’s back.” Ramona’s shoulders sagged with relief as Darcy’s image flickered back onto the screen. “I thought we’d lost him for good that time. Darcy, what happened? I think the problem was at your end.”

“The problem is always at my end. That’s the trouble with being the inventor. Now, where were we?”

“You were about to explain my task to me. I’m interested to know everything I can. Ramona did say that it has something to do with protecting women who use dating apps.” The words rolled off his tongue and somewhere in his brain, unknown cogs whirred and turned and allowed them to make sense.

“Yes, something like that. We’re envisioning you in the role of a guardian, if you’d like to look at it that way. Do you think you’re up to the task?”

“I think I’m up to the task but what exactly do I have to do?”

“We’ll allocate you a couple of test assignments to get you started…”

Ramona interrupted with a groan. “Please don’t use the word test. It’s not working too well for me at the moment.”

Darcy chuckled. “Don’t be like that Ramona. If it makes you any happier, we’ll call them sample assignments for today.” He returned his gaze to Elliot, again arranging his good-natured face into grave lines. “There is something else.”

Elliot would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t expected a catch. Everything in life came with a catch. There wasn’t any way he could have this pleasurable new life with hot showers and his own automobile unless there was a catch of some kind attached. “What is it?”

“This may be upsetting to hear, but the ultimate objective of the mission will be for you to trail a serial killer who is about to begin a sustained attack on the women of London. He’ll be using the dating apps to select potential victims and zero in on his targets.”

The cogs in Elliot’s head whirred and turned again while the era decoder hummed, neatly matching serial killer with Jack the Ripper.

Darcy was still talking. “We want you to find him and stop him. Are you willing?” A note of anxiety had crept into Darcy’s voice and out of the corner of his eye, Elliot saw Ramona shift her position on the couch beside him.

However, it didn’t take Elliot long to make up his mind. If he could save others from suffering through the agonies that he’d suffered following Annie’s tragic and unnecessary death he would be the first to raise his hand and volunteer his services. This was his opportunity to make a murderous man pay for his sins and to right some heinous wrongs. This was not a catch to living here; this was a reason for living here. “I’m willing,” he said firmly. “When do I start?”

Chapter Twelve

Ramona turned the key in the door and pushed down the handle. The door swung open to reveal a sunny and warm apartment with expansive views across the Thames. The Thames had been another surprise to Elliot, but a good one. During the months that he’d worked down at the docks the river had flowed sluggishly, choked with filth, animal carcasses, human excrement, and other unmentionable and hazardous objects. These days, while not exactly a sparkling testament to the wonders of fresh water, the river was certainly cleaner and clearer.

Ramona clicked her tongue in annoyance. “I told them to leave the place clean and tidy.”

The apartment looked clean enough to Elliot. If she didn’t think this was clean and tidy she should visit some of the slums he knew so well back in Victorian London. “Looks fine to me.”

She stalked irritably into the apartment and marched across to the kitchen, where Elliot now saw an empty wine bottle and two glasses sitting on the bench. Muttering to herself, she stomped her foot on the pedal of the rubbish bin and dropped the bottle in, where it hit the sides with a resentful clang.

“Who left those there?” Her reaction had piqued his interest, more so than if she’d said and done nothing about the items on the bench.

“It doesn’t matter.” She pulled her mouth into a tight purse, discouraging any further questions on the subject.

Elliot shrugged and took the suitcase full of clothes that Ramona had given him into the bedroom. He had no problem with sharing this enormous apartment if the person who had left the wine bottle there decided to return. After sleeping in dubious doss houses of varying standards all over London, this place was a veritable palace.

Ramona’s phone began to ring and she turned away to answer it, keeping her voice down so he couldn’t hear the conversation. Hoping to give her some privacy, he stepped into the bathroom to enjoy the never-gets-old thrill of a fully functional flushing toilet.

“Elliot?” Ramona’s voice floated through the wall. “I have go. I’ve left your keys on the bench and you know how to use your new phone. Call me if you need anything, otherwise I’ll phone you at 10am tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t have a chance to answer her before the front door slammed and apartment fell into an eerie silence. For the first time since Ramona found him in the woods, he was on his own in the year 2020. It was an exciting yet frightening thought. If he found himself in sudden difficulties he’d either have to work it out himself in this strange new world or suffer the consequences of getting it wrong.

He paced around the apartment, looking in the cupboards and checking the contents of the refrigerator. The inventions in this era continued to astound him. It seemed ease and comfort were an obligatory part of life. Already, he doubted whether he’d happily assimilate back into his old life and he’d barely left it yet. He flopped down in one of the cushiony recliners and popped up the footrest, marvelling over how even the furniture was designed to cosset and pamper. These chairs treated each occupant as a valued guest.

The silence deepened. This quietness was new to him too. He’d asked Ramona about it last night, curious as to how her apartment prevented the noise of the city from seeping in. She’d explained the wonders of double glazing but he was still finding it hard to get used to. Where he was from, a man lived with constant noisy reminders that he was never alone.

He laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a few minutes, thinking back over the events of last evening at Ramona’s apartment. Naturally, Darcy was pleased when he accepted the assignment and he’d just started to explain the details when the connection dropped out again. Ramona muttered and cursed over the keyboard for a further hour as she tried to reconnect but in the end, she’d thrown down the laptop and declared mutinously that Darcy needed to provide her with workable tools if he expected her to do her job properly.

She’d sulked for a while after that, answering Elliot’s questions with abrupt, one-word replies, and he’d eventually left her alone to wallow in her bad mood. He was used to amusing himself anyway – it wasn’t as if he required someone to entertain him.

By the time Ramona offered to cook dinner, she’d settled into a more amicable mood although she was still unhappy about the lack of communication from Darcy. As she explained to Elliot, she didn’t know enough details about the upcoming assignment yet and she felt as if she been caught out unaware, a situation that didn’t sit well on her. This was to be their biggest task ever, which was why they’d been so thorough in choosing candidates and vetting everyone before deciding upon Elliot as the best man for the role.

He’d asked her again then, as he helped her peel the vegetables for dinner, about the other candidates. He’d expected her to fob him off, just as she’d done last time, but instead she sighed and nodded. “I wanted to speak to Darcy about this first but clearly that isn’t going to happen. There were a total of five candidates and to be honest, you were the last one we picked for the interviewing panel. I wasn’t too keen on pulling someone in from as far back as the 1800s but it seems other people know best.” She twisted her last few words with a faint note of sarcasm.

“Where were the other men from? And what qualities were you looking for?” He wasn’t fishing for compliments – he was genuinely interested in what it was that had set him apart from his unknown peers. As far as he could tell, he was an average and ordinary man. There were many far braver, stronger, and more intellectual men out there from which to choose.

“We were looking for precise and scientific criteria for the candidates. Years have gone into developing a ‘master list’ as we jokingly called it. This project is important. It’s important to all of us.”

“All of us?”

She shook her head. “I can’t say anything more about that.”

“So what was the criteria?”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “I think I’ve already said too much. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Darcy first before revealing anything more about it.”

“When do you think you’ll be speaking to him again?”

She glared over at the laptop where it lay as she’d left it on the couch. “Who knows? As soon as Darcy has fixed it. This method of communication was never supposed to be permanent. He should’ve come up with something better by now. He’s had plenty of time to do it.”

Realizing his mistake in raising the topic of the broken connection again, Elliot swiftly changed the subject. “I’ve finished the vegetables. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No. I’ll do the rest. You’re my guest for the evening. Go and sit down and I’ll get you a drink.” She opened the refrigerator and raised her eyebrows in enquiry. “Beer?”

“Cold beer?” The concept was shocking to a man who now considered himself as somewhat of an expert after his last six months of regular patronage at dockside taverns.

She’d laughed at the appalled expression on his face. “You’re used to drinking it at cellar temperature, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I promise that cold beer will grow on you.”

His phone suddenly rang out, the jarring noise in the silence of the apartment startling him out of his reverie and dragging him back to the present. He jumped up and hurried over to pick it up, sure it must be Ramona calling. There was no one else here in this unfamiliar place who knew his face or his name, and he hadn’t been warned to expect a call.

“Hello?” He waited, expecting to hear Ramona’s crisp voice in reply, but there was nothing save for a thick static in his ear. “Hello?” He was about to hang up when he heard it, a voice laden with hate and fury, a voice certain to send chills down the spine of the staunchest man.

“Tell Elliot Cinder that Jack called.” The line went dead immediately after, leaving Elliot puzzled and uneasy. The man had known his name, but who was he? Who had given him this number, and why didn’t he stay on the line to talk? Making a mental note to ask Ramona about it the next time he spoke to her, he tossed the phone back down on the kitchen bench and went across to turn on the television to create some artificial company for himself in an environment too quiet to feel like home.

Chapter Thirteen

He spent a restless first night in his apartment, which surprised him. It seemed his new bed was just too soft and luxurious, surpassing even the bed he’d slept in at Darcy’s house in both quality and comfort. His bones were used to hardship and he realised it was going to take his body longer than his mind to grow used to his new surroundings. The era decoder had clearly done its work on his thoughts and knowledge base but his body remembered a life of constant movement, wakefulness, and uncertainty.

He was up well before dawn, showering and dressing before pulling his chair up close to the window to watch the city wake up below him. He gazed out across the river, wondering if Ramona had managed to contact Darcy again last night. Now that he knew what his purpose was here, he was itching to get on with it. Ramona was still insisting that he speak with Darcy first but did it really matter? He knew the outline of his task and how hard could it really be? He knew how to move stealthily through the streets without being seen, he knew how to protect women from harm, and he knew how to fight if he had to. What else was there to know?

He idly shuffled his deck of cards, taking comfort from the familiar. His grandmother had gifted him this deck on his sixteenth birthday, and it remained one of his proudest possessions, save for his coat. Disappointingly enough, that coat still hung on Darcy’s coat stand and he doubted if he would ever see it again. However, the loss of the coat wasn’t worth quibbling over when he considered all that he’d gained.

He got up and pushed the chair back to its rightful place. He would make himself a cup of coffee soon and wait to hear from Ramona. Hopefully, she wouldn’t leave it too late in the day to contact him. A man needed purpose and something to do with both his mind and his hands, as both had the potential to get him into trouble if they weren’t positively engaged.

Ramona called his number precisely on the stroke of ten as she’d promised, which made him smile. He liked to think he’d already taken Ramona’s measure and as far as he was concerned, she was a woman who preferred to be in charge of both people and time, she did not appreciate being questioned, and she liked one event to roll seamlessly into the next. It was a stressful way to live, in his opinion at least. He knew well enough that life had a slippery way of avoiding strict regimentation.

She didn’t bother with a greeting. “Elliot, I’ve just spoken to Darcy. He’s given me the details of your first assignment. What are you doing now?”

He looked down at the coffee cup in his hand, his second one of the morning. “Drinking coffee. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?” His hands tingled at the thought of getting behind the wheel of his car again.

“Uh… yes. Yes, that’s a great idea. You need to learn to use the tube. It’s the easiest way to get around inner London. Meet me at Finchley Central at 11am. You can use the GPS in your car to find it. There’s parking available there and I’ll show you how to get from A to B. After that, we’ll find somewhere to eat and I’ll fill you in on the details of the assignment.”

He grinned as he hung up from the call. He now had an objective for the day, his assignment was about to begin, and he had another chance to drive his automobile. A day full of exciting possibilities loomed up ahead of him. He drained the remainder of his coffee, grabbed his car keys, and left the apartment with a bounce in his step.

He saw Ramona before she saw him. She was tapping her foot and looking irritably at her watch as he walked up to the station. It was five minutes past the hour and he wasn’t overdue by his standards, which meant he wasn’t going to apologise. “Good morning!” he called cheerfully.

“You’re late.”

“That all depends on how you want to look at it.” He gave her one of his most charming smiles, one that had seldom failed him in the past, but she didn’t return it.

“We have a lot to get through today. Your first assignment starts this evening. Hurry up.” She spun away from him to march into the station and he had to run to catch her up. “Where are we going?”

“The destination really doesn’t matter. This is all about the experience.” She looked up at the timetable board. “There’s a train leaving in two minutes for the city. Run.” She was astonishingly agile, swerving around the other commuters and running down the stairs to the appointed platform as if she did this every day of her life. Elliot was briefly reminded of the thieves who prowled the marketplaces, the street urchins with lightning quick reflexes who could steal an apple or loaf of bread and be on their way again before the stallholder had time to react.

They managed to catch the train and find themselves a seat before it raced out of the station again. Elliot was impressed by the speed that they were traveling but sitting and watching the world gallop past outside the window was no match for driving a car. Ramona pulled out her phone and opened a notepad page containing a list of bullet points. “I made some notes during my chat with Darcy this morning.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t have the chance to talk to him again.”

“No, it was better that way. I needed to talk to him privately so we could iron out the finer details. He wants you to contact him after you’ve completed the first assignment to debrief.”

“Does that mean I can contact him myself?” He wasn’t keen on repeating the tedium of watching Ramona try to connect her video call to 1889.

“Unfortunately, no. We’re still in the middle of beta testing and my laptop has the only Com-dec application currently in existence.” She wriggled back against her seat, angling herself so she could look at him directly. “As we’ve already explained, this evening’s assignment is purely a sample of what to expect going forward. Our first target is Amy Coulter and as a member of the specialty team, she is aware of what we’re doing.” She tapped busily at her phone keyboard. “Here she is.”

Elliot looked down at the smiling headshot of Amy that now filled the phone screen. She wore her long, brown hair parted in the middle and her finely arched eyebrows were too perfect to be entirely natural. Her full lips were curved into a smile and her hazel eyes stared boldly out of the image, as if laying down a challenge with her gaze. The women of this era were certainly dauntless creatures and that knowledge was disconcerting.

“She’s aware of what we’re doing? Is she one of your ‘contacts’? Does she know Darcy? Who else is in the team?” At some point, he hoped to break her down with his questions and finally get some answers.

“All of that is irrelevant at this stage.” Ramona briskly swiped across to the next screen. “She’s been talking to this man on the dating app and she’s arranged to meet him for a drink at a wine bar at 7pm tonight. His name is Shaun.”

Elliot swiftly took in the man’s classic features, pale and freckled skin, and the thick, strawberry blonde hair swept back from his high forehead. “They haven’t met before?”

“No, this is the first meeting. I want you to be there as an observer. Take notice of everything, eavesdrop on their conversation if you can, and then follow Amy to the tube station after their date ends to make sure she boards her train safely.”

He looked again at the photo of Shaun, wondering if this was a snapshot of a man with violence on his mind. “Is he the serial killer?”

“No. We wouldn’t throw you into the deep end like that. This evening’s task has been set up purely to give you experience and training for what lies ahead.”

“Does Shaun know that? Is he in on it too?”

She shook her head. “He knows nothing. As far as he’s aware, he matched with Amy on the dating app and he’s meeting an attractive young woman for a drink after work. It’s a blind date for both parties.”

“And this kind of thing is acceptable?” The era decoder was humming furiously but this idea didn’t sit well with Elliot. An astute person might be able to judge a person’s character or intent if meeting them face to face, and he prided himself on his own shrewd judgement of a person based on their demeanour and deportment. How was it possible to know if a stranger’s intentions were good by viewing a posed photograph, without hearing their voice or gaining any true sense of their mental stability through conversation or observation?

“Completely acceptable. Life is busy and this is an easy way for people to meet others with a view to forming a relationship or finding love.”

Elliot opened his mouth to say that life couldn’t be all that busy when everything he’d seen so far was built with time saving in mind, but he thought better of it. Ramona liked to think she was in control, despite her gender. Until he knew her better, it was easier to keep quiet and keep the peace. Darcy obviously valued her as a colleague and while Elliot was uneasy with the concept of answering to a female boss and overseer, his era decoder had warned him that such a circumstance was commonplace here.

“We’ll get off here.” Ramona stood up as the train roared into a station in a hiss of smelly fumes. “Move quickly, before the doors shut. There’s no time for dawdling or we’ll miss our stop.”

Chapter Fourteen

Elliot felt strangely nervous as he checked his reflection in the mirror above the basin. He wasn’t nervous about this evening’s activities – it would be easy enough to watch the couple and make sure Amy boarded her train safely – but he was nervous about how well he would fit into the subdued modern environment of a wine bar. He had plenty of experience in the boisterous surrounds of taverns back in his own time but from what Ramona had told him about wine bars, they were something else entirely. What if someone recognised him as an imposter?

He walked back into the bedroom to look at his full-length reflection in the mirror fixed to the wardrobe door. Ramona had given him several tips on how he should dress but he had to admit that he preferred the slouching comfort of his day clothes. Dressed as he was now, anyone glancing in his direction might mistake him for a toff preparing for dinner with his friends. The smart trousers and fitted silk shirt spoke of quality but the long black woollen coat completed the outfit and lifted his look to an entirely new level.

The coat was a bone of contention but he’d fought hard to win his argument, refusing to back down despite Ramona’s protests that it looked far too old-fashioned and unloved. He’d spotted it in the window of a charity shop as they passed, a thing of beauty in his eyes from the wide expanse of the collar, to the double row of buttons, to the flair of the hem. It wasn’t exactly the same as the overcoat he’d left in Darcy’s house but it was close enough. He’d ignored Ramona’s grumbles and bought it on the spot.

He caught the tube into the city and made his way to the wine bar where Amy was to meet her date. His concerns that he might be taken for an imposter were unfounded; no one so much as threw a curious glance in his direction. He ordered a beer under the purple LED lights of the bar and found a table at the back of the room that give him a clear view of the door. The bar was busy but not crowded and he made sure he was in a good spot to notice Amy or Shaun as soon as they arrived.

He didn’t have to wait long. Amy walked in just minutes after he took his seat, wearing a short black skirt, red high-heel shoes, and a red waist-length blazer. He took a moment to appreciate the shape and form of her tanned legs. Short skirts were a definite improvement on the long gowns favoured by women in 1889, although he could imagine the shock and disgust if anyone back then proposed such an outrageous change to the way women dressed. Amy looked around the room, her eyes skimming quickly over the other patrons, before taking a seat on a high stool set up against the bar itself. Elliot took his drink and moved closer in the hopes of overhearing their conversation once Shaun arrived.

Shaun was late. Elliot noted Amy’s tense body language as she waited for her tardy date to arrive, remembering the response he’d received from Ramona at the station earlier in the day. Time is important here. The concept was intriguing. Naturally, time was important back in his day too, but everyone made allowances for time lost or misplaced because there were so many ways in which a person might be detained on his way to an appointment or a destination. His thoughts skittered towards the night of Annie’s death and away again. Don’t torture yourself by thinking about it.

When Shaun eventually arrived, he appeared oblivious to Amy’s frosty reception. He grinned at her before ordering a drink and then he launched into a long-winded and one-sided conversation outlining his own glowing attributes and dedicated work ethic. He was an exceptionally well-dressed man and he vaguely reminded Elliot of his friend Robert, who had always enjoyed the sound of his own voice, the shape of his own words, and the company of women. Elliot and Robert hadn’t spoken for at least a month due to the Elliot’s ongoing depression after Annie’s death. Ever since that dreadful night, Elliot had preferred his own company to the claustrophobic sympathy of others, refusing offers to socialise until the evening he met Darcy Darcel at Chaney’s Tavern and allowed the man to persuade him to return home with him.

Amy finally had her chance to speak when Shaun asked her what she did for a living, but she’d barely started to explain when he interrupted her again with another anecdote about himself. Elliot watched Amy grit her teeth and he wondered why Shaun didn’t notice her growing irritation. Something about the girl reminded him of his own grandmother, perhaps something in the way she tilted her head or the line of her jaw as she suffered through Shaun’s long-winded speeches. His grandmother too had been a woman who didn’t suffer fools gladly and she’d been happy to tell them so if the opportunity arose.

The date limped along with several uncomfortable stutters and stops, all of which Shaun seemed oblivious to. He spoke at length about himself, ordered a second drink without asking Amy if she wanted one, and then made a rude and unnecessary comment about her appearance. Elliot grimaced. Shaun needed to make rapid amends and turn this meeting around if he hoped to make a favourable impression on Amy. Perhaps he should pay her a compliment about her hair or ask if she liked to sing. That approach had always worked well for Elliot when it came to the delicate business of impressing a young lady. Women expected a man to make an effort to flatter and coddle them.

However, it seemed that Amy was done with her blind date. “Women who are willing to accept a stupid man have a much better chance of finding a life partner because they are so many of you out there,” she huffed, her voice loud enough for Elliot to hear clearly over the buzz of other conversations in the bar. “But I’m not one of those women.”  She gave Shaun a stare that could stop a runaway horse mid-gallop and snatched up her shoulder bag. He blinked at her dumbly and remained seated, at a loss for words for the first time since he walked in. She moved quickly, propelled by her anger, and Elliot had to jump up smartly to keep up with her. She walked swiftly down the street without looking back and he moved into the shadows to follow her. This last segment would be the easiest part of the night. He could move as cunningly and silently as a cat when it suited him, becoming one with the deep shadows of the night with relative ease.

“Why are you following me?” She whirled around so quickly that it caught him off guard. Her voice was as harsh as a dockside fisherwoman’s and it contained neither interest nor warmth.

“Pardon me, ma’am. I’m merely following the guidelines of my assignment. Ramona sent me.” Embarrassed, he stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself. There was no point in lurking back there and pretending he was someone else when she’d already spotted him. He really needed to lift his game.

She dragged her eyes incredulously over him and to his further humiliation, Elliot realised she found him lacking. “You’re Elliot Cinder?”

He coughed lightly. “Elliot Cinder at your service, ma’am.”

“But you’re…” She hastily stopped herself and gave him a weak smile. “Sorry, that was rude of me. I guess I pictured you as someone taller and broader.”

He straightened his back and held his head high. “I’m a tall man when stood amongst my fellow men, ma’am.”

“I guess you were considered tall back in those days.” She held out her hand. “Amy Coulter. I’m pleased to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He returned her strong handshake with a firm grip of his own, determined to show her that he had a hidden strength behind his lean build. “How long have you known about me?”

“A few months.” She rescued her hand. “Although I didn’t expect to meet you yet. Ramona’s phone call was a surprise. I didn’t think Darcy was sending you so soon.”

“Neither did Darcy. There were a few… challenges.”

She nodded gravely. “I understand. It’s a complex operation.”

He inclined his head back down the street, in the direction of the wine bar they’d just left. “He wasn’t your preferred cut of gentleman?” Women were impossible to understand. Shaun was a good-looking man and he clearly had money to spend on his upkeep, even if he was talkative and brash. Most women would be happy to harness their wagon to the lifestyle a man such as him could provide.

Amy gave a shout of laughter and Elliot took a surprised step backwards. “He wasn’t any cut of gentleman. He was a waste of my time. I’m starting to think I’m better off staying single.” She glanced at the cars swishing past on the street. “I guess we’re done here. I’m going to get an Uber home. If you’re talking to Ramona, tell her I’ll give her my report later this evening.”

“Your report?” He looked at her uncertainly, wondering if she was making a joke at his expense. No one had warned him that his prowess was under scrutiny. Wasn’t this supposed to be trial run?

“Yes. You have to appreciate the operation from the corporation’s point of view. There’s been a lot of money poured into the project and they want to get it right before moving forward with the next step.” She pulled out her phone and stared down at the pale blue light of the screen. “I have to go. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She spun away from him and hurried down the street, her heels tap-tapping decisively against the pavement.

Elliot stared after her, at more of a loss now than he was before their conversation commenced. What corporation?

Chapter Fifteen

He called Ramona from the train on his way home. She answered on the first ring, her voice taut with panicked urgency. “What’s gone wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m on the train. Why do you think something is wrong?” Had Amy already contacted her? Had he failed his first test?

“I didn’t expect to hear from you yet. I guess the date didn’t go well.”

“Amy didn’t like him. She called him a stupid man and left the wine bar.”

“Oh dear, but I can’t say that it’s too much of a surprise. Amy does have very high standards. Did you wait until she got on her train before you left?”

“Uh…” He stared at the scrawled and illegible graffiti on the back of the seat in front of him, considering the right way to phrase this.

“Elliot?”

“She spotted me,” he admitted. “She saw me following her and she asked me what I was doing.”

Ramona tutted loudly. “That’s not ideal.”

He felt the need to defend himself. Had she already forgotten that this was his first assignment? “The street lighting in the city is much improved from the gas lamps we had back in my day. A man could easily be walking around in broad daylight when it’s in fact the blackest hour of the night.”

“We’ll have to work on this. Stealth is essential to the plan. Did you speak to her?”

“Yes, we talked for a brief few minutes.” He didn’t tell Ramona that Amy was less than impressed once she realised who he was. Some things did not bear repeating, especially when a man’s pride was at stake.

“Come to my place now,” Ramona ordered. “I’ll get to work now on setting up the link with Darcy for your debrief. I’m going to need all that time to make the connection.” To his annoyance she hung up, obviously expecting no argument from him just when he was poised to ask her about the corporation.

Elliot frowned down at the phone in his hand. All of these women telling him what he should do were becoming tiresome. Just days ago, he was a free man who answered to no one and now women were offloading their thoughts onto him from all directions. He needed to talk to Darcy about his concerns and he would do it tonight, as long as Ramona allowed them some privacy during their conversation.

Ramona nodded approvingly when she opened the door to let him in. “You look the part of a dashing man about town. I was wrong about the coat. It looks as if it were made for you.”

“Who are the corporation?” He wasn’t going to let her side-track him. He’d decided on that as he made his way over here. Tonight was a night for answers, otherwise he might have to reconsider his acceptance of the task. He’d tell Darcy the same. It was time to put his foot down and assert himself.

The welcome faded from her eyes as soon as he mentioned the corporation. She hurriedly closed and locked the door before peering through the spyhole and turning to face him. “Who told you about the corporation?”

“Amy. She said the corporation has spent a lot of money on this operation and they want to be sure before they move to the next step.”

“And that’s all she said?”

I guess I pictured you as someone taller and broader. “That’s all she said,” he replied stiffly. “Who are the corporation?” he asked again, preferring not to think of Amy’s uncensored comment.

Ramona’s laptop fizzed wildly from the table. “That’s Darcy.” She strode over to the table to pull out a chair, looking back at him expectantly when he didn’t immediately follow her. “Come and sit down. We have to make the most of the good connection.”

He sat in the chair directly in front of the screen filled with Darcy’s beaming face. The picture was clearer tonight, less fuzzy around the edges with fewer blurred lines.

“Elliot! How did your trial run go?”

“Well enough but Amy saw me following her. The streets here are well lit and clear of rubbish and hazards. It’s not so easy to hide.”

Darcy crinkled his face into an expression of considerate sympathy. “Yes, that is a problem but I’m sure you’ll find a way around it.”

Ramona, who was still standing beside Elliot’s chair, stooped down so her eyes were on level with Darcy’s image. “He knows about the corporation. Amy told him.”

Now Darcy looked pained, as if he were the one who deserved the sympathy. “How much did she tell him?”

Elliot took charge of the conversation again. “She spoke of the large amount of money spent on this operation but that was all she said. Who are the corporation? Am I working for them or am I working for you?”

“Both. Me. Them.” Darcy exhaled loudly. “This is a bother. You didn’t need this information so early in the piece. I’ll have to have a word with young Amy.”

“I don’t have any information,” Elliot pointed out. He knew sounded brusque but he didn’t care. “I’m starting to feel as if I was foolish to accept your offer without thinking it through properly.”

Ramona started to say something but Darcy stopped her with a pointed stare. “If you don’t mind Ramona, I’ll like to talk to Elliot on his own for a few minutes.”

Ramona remained where she was and Elliot thought she was about to start an argument with Darcy. However, after several seconds of silent stalemate she sniffed and walked on heavy feet across to her room. The door slammed behind her, leaving the men facing each other on either side of the computer screen.

Darcy pulled a rueful face. “I had the feeling she’d take it the wrong way.”

“The women of this era are very opinionated.”

Darcy chuckled. “The women of every era are very opinionated. It’s just that these ones have found their voice and they’re not ashamed to use it.” He leaned forward so that his face filled the entire screen in bigger-than-life-sized detail. Elliot could see a small scattering of shallow, crater-like scars at the edge of his whiskers, perhaps the remnants of a childhood illness. “Tell me truthfully. How are you coping?”

“Truthfully? The truth is that most things fascinate me. The level of comfort in this era is incredible but I do admit that I’m struggling with the roles women hold here. I’m not used to being told what to do by the fairer sex and it’s beginning to chafe.”

“I can’t do anything about that one, old chap. I think you’ll need to change your perspective if you want to stop it from rubbing you up the wrong way. Try thinking of women as men with prettier faces and a different point of view. It also helps to remember that we’re all human and we’re all doing our best. It’s a shame the gender equality function failed on your era decoder. These changes wouldn’t feel like such a slap in the face if you had some help to ease yourself in.”

Elliot looked down at the strap on his wrist. He was growing used to its occasional hum and he’d forgotten it was there in all the excitement of the evening.

“Why haven’t you asked us about compensation or payment?” Darcy asked suddenly. “I know we’re expecting a lot of you, but you haven’t mentioned a wage. You can’t do it for nothing.”

“It’s not for nothing. I’m doing it for Annie. Anyway, I don’t need payment. I have an apartment with a view of the Thames, I have warm clothes and delicious food, I have a car, and I have a credit card for anything else I might need. Do you really think a former chimney sweep needs more than that? I already feel as if I have riches beyond measure.”

“Well, if you change your mind at any time you must tell me.” The screen crackled and faded to black before Darcy flickered back in again.

“I think we’re losing the connection.” Elliot glanced over at Ramona’s bedroom door but it remained firmly shut.

“Are we? Everything still looks ok at my end. Is there anything you want to ask me while Ramona is out of the room? I know she tends to take over but that’s why we placed her in that role.”

“I have so many questions. The serial killer, for one. Has he killed anyone yet? And why isn’t the law involved if you know who he is?”

“No, he hasn’t struck yet. We found out about him by traveling to a time a few weeks ahead of where you are now. The killings were all over the news and we made the decision to try to stop him. The fact that a senior member of the corporation has a personal connection to one of the young ladies he eventually targets had a major impact on that decision, of course. The law isn’t involved because their esteemed members tend to deal only in facts, as tiresome as that is. Sadly, time machines aren’t accepted as believable conveyances in the year 2020. You’ll have to wait until 2093 for that.”

“Are you going to tell me anything more about the corporation?”

“To put it simply…” The screen spluttered and fizzed and Darcy disappeared. Elliot stared at the blank screen for several minutes but the connection did not restart. It was only then that he remembered he hadn’t mentioned the mysterious phone call from the man who’d introduced himself as Jack.

Chapter Sixteen

Ramona came out of her room soon after the call with Darcy dropped out, but she didn’t come out of her sulk. She stomped moodily around the apartment, cursing the bad connection and grumbling about whether she wanted to keep a job that cost her so much in time and trouble. She was starting to remind Elliot of cantankerous widow Marsden, who would stand in the doorway of Chaney’s Tavern and lament long and loud about her troubles until the men threw handfuls of sawdust in her direction and roared at her to be on her way.

“I’m going home.” He was already halfway to the door, having given up on any further conversation tonight. “I guess I’ll hear from you when you need me again.”

She stopped pacing and rocked back on her heels, as if his words had knocked her thoughts out of her head and reminded her of her role. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow evening is your second test run. I forgot to tell you. I don’t have all the details yet but I’ll email them to you later.”

“Is it Amy again?”

She shook her head as she patted her pockets, searching for her phone. “I don’t know where my phone is. It’s not Amy this time but I can’t remember anything else about it. Check your inbox in the morning.”

“Ok. Goodnight, Ramona.” He shut the door but it wasn’t until he pushed the button for the elevator that he heard her muffled shout in response. “Goodnight, Elliot.”

He took his time driving home, enjoying the music playing from the car stereo and the magical glow of the lights from the cars passing on the other side of the road. The haze of raindrops on the windscreen reiterated the fact that the weather in London certainly hadn’t improved over the centuries. All the same, he could happily drive in sweeping circles forever and never tire of it. What more could a man want in life? Annie. Her face was suddenly so clear in his mind that he automatically pushed his foot down hard on the brake and twisted the steering wheel, certain she was right there in front of him. The person in the car behind him leaned on his horn, sending the sound of his impatience through the airwaves. Elliot gasped and hurriedly righted the wheel before moving the vehicle back in line with the traffic in front of him. Annie was dead, a long time dead when he looked back from this minute and counted the years that had passed, and he needed to remember that. He needed to get himself home and get some rest. It was late and the day had been full of excitement, probably too much excitement for one day.

He parked his car in the space beneath the apartment block and stood back a moment to admire it. Ramona had been scathing in her assessment of its battered looks but to Elliot, it was sublimely beautiful. The gleam of every horse’s coat did not have to appeal to every rider. He quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching on before tenderly stroking the car’s fender, as if his steed was a living, breathing creature. He added an affectionate pat for good measure and then strode off towards the stairs.

He didn’t hear from Ramona until after midday the next day, although the promised email was waiting for him when he awoke. This too was a wonder, this ability to communicate on a whim, to write a small letter or message and send it in an instant. He was immersed in a century crammed full of genius and it was almost impossible to think that these inventions had arrived within a relatively short timeframe.

According to the details in the email, his task for tonight was to oversee a date between Lani Bancroft and her chosen suitor, Ben. There was a photo attached of each of them, along with the address of the bar where they were to meet at 7pm. Lani was an almond-eyed young woman with a mass of tangled hair that briefly reminded Elliot of the unkempt hair of Crazy Beth, the mad woman who lived on the streets near his old tenement house. His era decoder assured him that the hairstyle was fashionable in the current year but Elliot had his doubts. In the other photo, Ben stared amicably into the camera through a pair of black-rimmed spectacles. He wore a small beard similar to Elliot’s own and his haircut was short and neat. The bullet points in the email, obviously meticulously written by Ramona, stated that Lani was aware of the ruse but Ben was oblivious to the true reason for their meeting. It seemed simple enough, as long as Elliot was able to keep himself hidden this time.

Ramona was cheerful and upbeat when she called, her bad mood of last night apparently forgotten for now. “Have you read my email?”

“Yes, I looked over it earlier. I’ll make sure to take more care to stay out of sight. Have you spoken to Darcy again?”

The cheerfulness immediately dropped out of her voice. “No.”

Elliot hurriedly moved on, loathe for her grim mood to return. “I forgot to tell him something. Someone phoned me the other night and the caller knew my name.”

She was immediately alert. “Who was it?”

Elliot recalled the strange phone call. “It’s probably not important but I was surprised that anyone else would have my phone number. It was a man’s voice and not a pleasant one. He said to tell Elliot Cinder that Jack called.”

Ramona sucked in a breath. “What else did he say?”

“That was it. He hung up straight away. I didn’t have the chance to say a word.”

The other end of the phone went silent and for a few seconds, Elliot thought they’d lost their connection. “Are you still there, Ramona?”

“I’m here.” He heard the rapid tap-tap of her fingernails clicking against the phone. “Ok, I’m going to have to let Darcy deal with this. It’s above my pay scale.”

“Deal with what?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not your problem and it’s certainly outside your current job description.”

She’d reverted to her annoyingly condescending tone again but he pressed on. “So who’s Jack?”

“Sorry, I can’t say anything more. I have to go. Phone me if you need anything, otherwise I’ll call you in the morning to find out how tonight’s stakeout went.”

“Wait…” The phone was already dead in his hand. He shook his head, left frustrated by the entire conversation. Ramona was always quick to tell him to call if he needed anything but it seemed that whenever he did have a question, she suddenly had something more important that she needed to do.

He circled the apartment, feeling restless and shut in. Long hours stretched in front of him before his assignment began. He glanced out the window at the thick misty rain that covered the city. Rain didn’t bother him, especially now that he had his coat. A Londoner needed to be stoic when it came to the inarguable matter of the weather.

He walked into the bedroom to fetch his coat. He’d take his car out for a drive, allowing his steed to take him wherever it may. He grabbed the coat from where it lay over the back of the armchair by the dresser and as he did so, a small, torn piece of the lining fell back. An odd sense of déjà vu flowed over him as he stared at the tiny tear, along with a vivid memory of a long ago conversation he’d had with Annie.

It was a Friday evening, if he remembered rightly. He and Annie had been stepping out for maybe six months at the time and by now, both had whispered their tender I love you’s as they walked the secret shadows of the laneways. Annie had stopped him just before they reached her parents’ house, tugging on his arm and pulling him back against the high, bricked wall behind them.

“What are you doing?” He’d eyed her fondly, admiring the gleam in her eyes and the way her full, sweet lips parted in a smile.

“I have something for you.” She’d reached into the scarf she wore around her neck to keep out the evening chill, her eyes never leaving his as she handed him a folded note. “I wrote it for you.”

Her gift had thrilled him. It was a simple but sweet poem, the words professing her love for him and entwined with hope that their happiness would last for eternity. He’d vowed to keep the love note forever, slipping it into the tear in the lining of his overcoat to keep it close to his heart. He’d forgotten all about it over those terrible weeks following Annie’s murder and it hadn’t crossed his mind again until now.

He sunk down onto the edge of the bed and gazed in wonder at that same small scrap of paper, that tiny love note containing Annie’s adoringly flowery words. He lifted the paper to his nostrils in the hopes of catching the faint smell of Annie’s scent, some tenuous link to her laughing and very much alive self, but time had dulled any fragrance it may have once held into bland nothingness.

As impossible as it was to believe, his very own coat had found him again.

Chapter Seventeen

It had taken him some time to regain his composure after finding Annie’s note. He was also at a loss as to how the coat he’d once so proudly owned was now back in his possession. Had it somehow skipped through time, just as he had done? He’d phoned Ramona to discuss it with her, but unfortunately he hadn’t been able to reach her. He’d left her a message but she still hadn’t returned his call and he was now ready to leave to complete the evening’s task.

He walked out of the tube station and strode quickly through the grey drizzle to the destination bar. Tonight’s venue featured dark wood and red velvet seating rather than purple LED lights and glass tables, reminding Elliot of the taverns of old London that he was more familiar with. He saw Lani sitting at a table near the door when he walked in. She looked at him, probably to check if he was her date arriving, and then looked away again. She wore pink sparkly eyeshadow and a plain black top and pants this evening but her hair was as messy and wild as it had looked in her photo.

He paid for his beer and went to sit at the table behind Lani. He could see her watching the door, checking each new person who walked in just as she’d done when he arrived. He glanced at the phone on the table in front of him: 3 minutes to 7. If Ben made it here in the next few minutes, his date would be unable to hold time against him.

Seconds later, Ben burst through the door and took a moment to shake himself, much like a dog emerging from the river. Droplets of rain flew off his hair and he removed his glasses to wipe the lenses clear of fog and steam. Elliot craned his neck, interested to see what Lani thought of her date, but he could only see the back of her head from where he was sitting.

Ben put his spectacles back on and peered myopically around the bar. The lighting was dim in here, atmospheric rather than illuminated, but Lani was close to the door and there was no reason why Ben shouldn’t be able to see her. Elliot heard Lani’s exasperated sigh as she stood up and pointedly waved at the man. “Hey, I’m over here.”

His face lit up at once, boyish and eager, and he hurried across to join her. Without making a fuss or drawing attention to himself, Elliot switched to the seat at the other side of his table so he could eavesdrop on the couple.

The conversation between Lani and Ben sounded stilted at first but they soon found a common interest in a favourite football team. Elliot twisted his era decoder around his wrist as the information flooded in. It seemed organised matches of the ball games he’d played as a boy in the slums were now commonplace and popular, to the point where people paid to go and watch them. Elliot and his friends had used a rag ball when it was available and anything else they could find when it wasn’t. He recalled enthusiastically kicking around a stone, a lump of brick, and even a grumpy old man’s piss-pot when the gentleman in question grew tired of their noise and threw it out the window at them. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of homesickness. He was a stranger here, with no friends unless he counted Ramona as one, and that was a little hard to do when she remained so standoffish and cool.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lani turned to apologise after pushing her chair back and colliding with the back of his own chair. “Pardon me.” She gave him a brief smile before scooping up her handbag and walking quickly off towards the bathrooms.

Elliot subtly turned sideways in his seat to sneak a look at Ben. He’d removed his coat and scarf and his hair was beginning to dry out. He looked comfortable and relaxed as he waited for his date to return. Again, Elliot’s mind drifted back to 1889. If a woman initiated a meeting with a stranger back then, no good could come of it. At best, people would think of the woman as a bold harlot and at worse… well, who knew how bad it could turn out? Not all men in Victorian England had manners, particularly when most people viewed women who ventured out without a male companion by her side as easy game and just asking for trouble.

Lani returned from the bathroom and to Elliot’s astonishment, went immediately to the bar to buy a drink for herself and Ben. He would’ve never dreamed of allowing Annie to take the lead and order and pay for a drink for him, not that she would ever step one small foot inside a tavern of course. How had society changed so much, and was this drastic change necessarily a good thing? It was difficult for him to get his head around it. A woman should know her place. That system worked well enough for everyone back in his era and it seemed absurd that women themselves would choose a different manner of living.

Ben thanked Lani for the drink when she carried it back to their table and set it down in front of him, leaving Elliot still shaking his head. At some point during the past one hundred years or more, everyday women had somehow started believing they could act like a watered-down version of Queen Victoria. It just wasn’t right.

The couple went back to their conversation and Elliot sipped moodily on his beer. It was clear they were getting on well and at this stage, no input was required from him. Would it be any different when his assignment began in earnest? According to Ramona and Darcy the corporation, whoever they were, held information on a man they said was as evil as Jack the Ripper. Could a man as black-hearted as the Whitechapel Murderer engage pleasantly with a woman over a drink? Elliot did not believe that such a monster could wear a mask so cleverly constructed that it would allow him to pass himself off as a gentleman in anyone’s eyes.

Lani bumped lightly against the back of Elliot’s chair again, nudging him out of his musings, and he realised the couple were leaving. He didn’t turn around, giving them time to exit the bar before he made his move. He intended to succeed in his mission tonight and to show Ramona and Darcy they had the right man for the job. For the love of Annie, he would be the one to stop another murderous man from taking the life of an innocent woman.

He walked over to the door and looked outside without leaving the bar. Lani and Ben stood a short distance down the street, still talking beneath the light of a street lamp. The misty drizzle sparkled where it touched the wide beam of light. He lingered in the doorway, waiting for them to move on, and at last Ben strode away. Lani pulled her phone out of her handbag and looked at it before marching determinedly in the opposite direction, back past the doorway where Elliot waited. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and ducked his head as she hurried past. The tube station was only a block away from here and he assumed that was where she was heading.

Lani walked incredibly fast, almost jogging down the wet street ahead of him. Keeping his head down, Elliot stepped onto the footpath and hurried after her, making his own strides long rather than rushed. He didn’t want her to think he was chasing her and encourage a repeat of last night’s unexpected conversation with Amy.

Lani reached the corner and pushed the pedestrian button, checking her phone again as she waited to cross the street. Elliot slowed his walk and pretended to look into the store windows. As soon as the green man logo flashed up on the other side of the street, Elliot quickly closed the distance between himself and Lani before walking on ahead for a short distance. At that point, he took out his own phone and pressed it to his ear, holding an imaginary conversation with a non-existent caller to allow Lani enough time to pass him again. The sign for the tube station entrance was now just a few steps ahead of them.

Elliot allowed Lani to enter the station before striding in after her. His brief was to make sure she got on the train and it was imperative that he completed the task. She hurried down the steps to her platform and he casually followed, finding a spot to stand several metres away from her. He waited, pretending an ongoing interest in his phone, until her train arrived and she boarded. She didn’t so much as glance at him. Grinning to himself and with his confidence in his tracking abilities now restored, he changed platforms and caught his own train home.

Chapter Eighteen

Ramona had asked Elliot to meet her at a fast food burger bar alongside the river to discuss the outcome of his second test run. He parked his car in the parking space behind the heavily sign-written building and walked over to the door. He could see Ramona from here, her long hair gleaming blue-black under the artificial lights and a tray of wrapped and packaged food on the table in front of her. He was suddenly glad to see her, pleased to have the opportunity for a conversation with someone who knew a little about him. 2020 was an oddly isolating era for a man to find himself in, despite the vast number of people who crowded the streets.

“Hi.” He slid into the booth seat opposite her with a grin.

“Hey, you. How did the assignment go?” She put down her phone and pushed the tray of food towards him. “I hope you’re hungry because I ordered something of everything. Take your pick.”

“Coffee?” he asked hopefully.

“Ah, everything but coffee. There are a couple of sodas here though if you want to sample some.”

He took one of the plastic cups from the tray. “The assignment went well. Lani didn’t notice me and I followed her until she boarded her train. I’ll assume she arrived safely home from there.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Ramona’s mouth. “She did notice you. I received her report this morning.”

Elliot’s earlier confidence evaporated. “She did?”

“Yeah. Apparently sprinting past her on the pedestrian crossing was a bad move. You called too much attention to yourself. It might pay to delete that trick from your repertoire.”

“And here I was thinking that I’d performed well.” He started to unwrap one of the warm, domed packages from the tray. “What’s this?”

“Cheeseburger. By the way, she mentioned that she liked your coat.”

He left the cheeseburger where it lay and leaned forward eagerly to tell her his news. “The coat! The coat is my own, the one I left hanging on Darcy’s coat stand. How is that possible?”

Ramona looked doubtful as she unwrapped her own burger. “That’s highly unlikely, Elliot.”

“I swear it’s true. There was small, personal item in the lining, a gift from Annie. It was still there.”

“That’s crazy. I could tell the coat was vintage but I didn’t know it was that vintage. It just goes to show that they used to make things to last. Wait until I tell Darcy.”

“So do you think it was merely a coincidence that I saw it in the charity shop?” He’d hoped for something more extraordinary than that.

“How could it be anything but a coincidence? No one has yet invented anything smart enough to propel individual items of clothing through time.” She took a bite of her burger and nodded at his untouched food. “Eat it while it’s warm. This heavily manufactured food doesn’t hold its heat.”

Determined to be contrary and not to do precisely what she told him to do, he poked a straw through the lid of his plastic cup and slurped at the liquid, feeling faintly repulsed by the lurid sweetness. “I think I prefer coffee.”

“Coffee’s probably better for you too. Elliot, if anything out of the ordinary such as the coat incident happens to you again, you need to phone me immediately. I should know these things.”

“Well, I can phone you but you don’t always answer your calls,” he said mildly. “I tried several times yesterday to get hold of you but I was unsuccessful.”

Ramona’s cheeks turned pink and she hastily looked down to avoid his gaze. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Something came up.”

He waited but she said nothing more. They ate their burgers in silence for several minutes. It was busier in here now, with a large crowd of noisy children and a couple of harried mothers at the table near the door and a growing crowd queued restlessly at the counter.

Elliot looked out across at the river, which was clearly visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant. Barges and other water traffic made sedate trails through the water and a crane was lifting a bulky load onto a barge on the other side of the river. “It used to freeze over. They would hold fairs on the ice, with booths selling food and trinkets, and fun activities for the citizens to enjoy.”

“What? The Thames?”

“Yes. It was before my time but my grandmother used to reminisce about the frost fairs. She once saw an elephant walk across the ice and under the bridge. Well, naturally it didn’t walk of its own accord – someone led it across there.”

“An elephant walking across the iced-over Thames?” She laughed, shaking her head in wonder. She looked like a different person when she laughed. Friendlier and more approachable. Elliot vowed to make her laugh as much as he could. At this stage, she was his only social contact and as such, she was worth trying to keep as a friend even if she could be somewhat moody and prone to clamming up just when the conversation got interesting. She also had such lovely eyes when she wasn’t frowning at him.

“What do you do for fun, Ramona?” He meant it as a casual question, a way to keep the light-heartedness going, but the question seemed to catch her unawares.

“What do you mean?”

“Television, movies, funfairs – what do you do when you aren’t working?”

She chewed thoughtfully on a french fry. “Those days are few and far between now but I used to like to ride my bike. There are some good cycle paths along the banks of the Thames.”

His era decoder buzzed against his wrist and the word psychopath wound its way to the front of his brain, puzzling him. “Psychopaths along the banks of the Thames?”

“Cycle paths, not psychopaths.”

The band on his wrist buzzed again and he twisted it irritably. “My era decoder keeps telling me that you’re saying psychopath.”

“It’s probably another glitch. I guess we should be pleased that there aren’t more of them. If we had more time on our side we could’ve spent longer fine tuning everything.” She screwed up her burger wrapping and dropped it on the tray. “Are you still hungry? I can get some more food if you like.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ve eaten more in the short time that I’ve been here than I have in the last month.” He patted his stomach. “Starvation was a fact of life for many people back in the 1800s.”

“Yes, we know you had your troubles. The difficulties you’ve already faced are an advantage for this task. You’re used to dealing with adversity and finding a way around it.”

“Even if I made a couple of wrong moves when I was trailing Amy and Lani?” He made his eyes twinkle so she’d know he wasn’t taking the comment too seriously.

She seemed to misinterpret his attempt at a joke. “Despite that. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Elliot. I know I’d be a quivering wreck if I was in your shoes.”

He grinned. “Somehow I doubt that. Your self-containment wouldn’t allow it.”

Her face softened and she grinned back, able to laugh at herself today. “Watch out. I might surprise you one day.” She abruptly scooped their rubbish onto the tray and stood up, the moment over. “Right, enough with the frivolity. Things are starting to get serious. Follow me back to my apartment and we’ll go over the brief for tomorrow night. Our mark is about to make his move and we have to stay one step ahead.”

“Tomorrow night? Are you talking about the serial killer?”

“Ssssh.” She quickly looked around but no one was paying them any attention amongst the noise and bustle of the restaurant. “We’re going to have to stop calling him that. Darcy suggested a nickname for the sake of the project. From now on whenever we discuss him, we’ll be referring to him as the Knave. You don’t need any other name for him.”

Now she was speaking Elliot’s language. “The Knave? Like the Knave of Hearts, as you’d find in a deck of cards?”

“Yes.” She carried the tray over to the bins and he followed. She pushed the rubbish through the swing flap, added the empty tray to the small stack on top of the bins, and turned a pair of grave eyes upon him. “That’s exactly it. Our killer is the Knave, otherwise known as the Jack of Hearts.”

Chapter Nineteen

Ramona made coffee while Elliot read through the notes she’d given him. “Yell out if there’s anything you don’t understand. I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“How do you know this much about him?” There were several pages of neatly printed notes here, along with a few diagrams and sketches.

“You can call it the benefit of hindsight. That’s the information we’ve gathered by jumping forward in time, based on the assumption that you weren’t here to stop him from carrying out his killing spree. If the same scenario played out from tonight onwards, he would kill several women over the coming weeks before getting caught.”

“But now that I here, none of these women will lose their lives?”

“That’s the plan.” She passed him his coffee and the fragrant scent curled seductively around him. A bonny wench. “You’re here to change the course of the future.”

“That’s a big task for one man, especially a simple chimney sweep.”

“It is, but you wouldn’t be here if the corporation didn’t believe you were up to that task.”

“Of course. I’m the preferred candidate.” He reshuffled the notes into a tidy pile. “Are you going to tell me what set me apart from the others? I’m genuinely interested to know.”

“Your adaptability, your agility, and your common sense.” She studied his face for several seconds, as if weighing her words before she spoke them. “And your sorrow,” she said at last. “Your sorrow is a tangible part of you. You hold your sadness against your heart as if it were a shield.”

A quick prickle of anger raced across his scalp. “How can that be an advantage? It doesn’t feel like an advantage when I am the owner of that heart, the man burdened with suffering through the pain of great loss.”

“Let me put it this way. You’re an attractive young man and you’ve been assigned to protect attractive, single young women. You may even interact with some of them, as you did with Amy. The temptation to become more deeply involved is always there, as it would be for any man thrust into your position. However, you’ve shielded your heart so well that the experts have given you less than 2% of a chance of becoming distracted and overlooking the real reason that you’re here.”

The experts? “You’re saying that my inability to fall in love again is a positive thing?”

“For this project, yes. However, we know it isn’t guaranteed. The 2% chance remains in place.”

He ignored that comment. He did not intend to love anyone but Annie, not ever. He could give his heart completely only once in his life. “Who are the experts?”

Her gaze wavered before she resolutely steadied it again. “They’re members of the corporation. Elliot, you know I can’t tell you any more than that.” She reached past him to tap her finger on the first page of notes. “Let’s work through this together.”

Elliot still had plenty of burning questions but from the shutdown expression on Ramona’s face, he knew it was pointless trying to probe further. It was clear she’d told him all she was willing to say for now and he reluctantly agreed. “Ok, where do we start?”

“Start with the Knave’s physical description.”

“You don’t have a photograph?” This was surprising. Photographs had played a major part in the briefing for his test assignments. How was he supposed to recognise his target without an image to match the man to?

“The Knave is a master of disguise. He uses a different profile picture for each of the women he connects with and unfortunately, we don’t know how he’ll show up on each date because the person sent to find that out didn’t bother to write everything down. The corporation has given you a detailed description of the characteristics that he can’t change; his height, his body type, his voice, his walk, and his mannerisms. Memorise them because you’re going to need them.”

Elliot read the paragraph out loud. “Height 5’ 11” or 1.8 metres tall with a strong, broad-shouldered physique.” He remembered Amy’s blunt comments and gave Ramona a wry smile. “He sounds like every women’s ideal.”

“Not every women’s ideal, and I can vouch for that. Keep going.”

“Deep voice with a gravelly or harsh tone in times of stress.” He recalled the mysterious phone call. “The man who phoned me had a voice like that.”

Ramona nodded impatiently, her eyes on the page. “Plenty of men do. I wouldn’t attach too much importance to it.”

“Walks with a strut and a sense of innate arrogance.” Elliot chuckled. “I can picture that easily. I rubbed shoulders with some of the most arrogant men you could ever hope to meet when I worked down on the docks.”

“The Knave is a cocky and self-assured man. He genuinely believes he is unstoppable, and that belief will continue to worsen if he’s successful. Our knowledge of the future has shown us that.”

“How many women will he kill?” He meant her to tell him based on what they already knew but she misunderstood his meaning.

“None, providing you do your job properly.” Her gaze was steely, changing the colour of her eyes to a flinty grey.

“Understood. Don’t worry, you can be sure I’ll make every effort possible to protect these women.” Elliot moved his eyes further down the page. “The Knave’s mannerisms include a habit of twisting the ring on his little finger when he is apprehensive or agitated. He occasionally smokes cigarettes and chews mint gum to disguise the smell.”

“Are you building a mental picture of the man?”

“I am. What type of disguises does he use?”

“He changes his hairstyle, he uses contacts to change his eye colour, and sometimes he has facial hair while other times he’s clean shaven. His dress style changes dramatically too – he might show up looking as if he’s just stepped out of the boardroom or as if he’s on his way to the skate park.”

“And his date for this evening?” Elliot flipped over the page.

“Jayne Trainor. Her photograph is attached to the back of the page.”

A girl with a blonde pixie cut and dark brown eyebrows gazed back at him. She was holding a small dog in the photograph, some kind of terrier that was gazing up at her with adoring canine devotion.

“Unlike Amy and Lani, Jayne has no idea that she’s involved in a covert operation. As far as she’s concerned, she’s meeting a man tonight who is looking for love, just as she is.”

“Where are they meeting?”

“The details are on the next page. There’s a diagram of the location as there are several rooms in the building and you’ll need to know where to go to find the spot where they’ve agreed to meet.”

Elliot moved on to the next page, which contained a paragraph of descriptions and the diagram. “The Tate Modern?”

“It’s an art gallery. They’re meeting there at 5.30pm. The Knave suggested the time as he plans to ask Jayne to go with him to a wine bar afterward. However, he has no intention of taking her to a wine bar. If he can get away with it, he will kidnap her, assault her, and then kill her.”

“That won’t happen. Not while I’m there.” Elliot turned to the last page and stared down at a sketch of what looked like a roll of tape, a hank of rope, and a knife. “What’s this?”

“The tools of his trade. He’ll have them concealed somewhere on his person. Jayne must remain unaware that you’re following them and the general public can’t know what’s happening.” Her expression was grim and her voice inarguably serious. “Unless you can prevent him from doing so, the Knave will notch up his first victim this evening.”

“Why don’t we stop him forever? I don’t understand this part. Why can’t the corporation arrange for him to be stopped before he meets anyone else? That way, he won’t be able to harm anyone.” This was perplexing to the extreme. If the corporation were as powerful as Ramona made them out to be, surely they could put a stop to this?

“As I’ve already told you, it’s a hugely complex operation. In the current version of the future, the one that is already in place from this hour onwards, Jane Trainor dies tonight. A great deal of work has gone into revising everything on the assumption that she doesn’t die. There’s a delicate balance between what we can change and what we can’t and to be honest, I’m not privy to most of the details myself. Can you take my word for it that smarter minds than mine have rigidly checked and rechecked the plan as it stands?”

He could see how anxious she was. He realised that the blame would lie on her shoulders if he backed out now or if he tried to force an unexpected change to the corporation’s blueprint for the operation. He nodded in agreement, although he wasn’t altogether convinced. “I’m happy enough to take your word for it.”

“Good.”

He saw the tension leave her shoulders and it pleased him to know that he was the one responsible for alleviating her nervousness.

“This calls for a small celebration. Let me introduce you to the wonders of chocolate biscuits dunked in a cup of hot coffee. I promise that you’ll love it.” She gave him a very un-Ramona-like wink and walked jauntily across to the kitchen.

Elliot grinned and went back to reading the notes. He was already excited about this evening and this pre-determined opportunity to stop the Knave in his savage tracks. Let the games begin.

Chapter Twenty

He had it all set out in his head. He was going back to the fast food restaurant by the river to order some more of those deliciously tasty burgers before traveling to the art gallery around 4pm. That would give himself enough time to look around, get his bearings, and find the room where Jayne and the Knave had arranged to meet.

The first part of his schedule went well. He sat at a table by the window and watched the river languidly flow while munching his way through a couple of cheeseburgers and a plastic cup of orange juice. Orange juice was a revelation; fresh fruit had been as rare as Christmas for a chimney sweep on a limited income. Having enough oranges from which to create a full cup of juice was unheard of. A young mother with two toddlers sat at a table nearby and he looked on as they ate their meal, remembering the street urchins who would’ve been lucky to have that amount of food to eat over two days or even three. One of the toddlers was fretful and the family group didn’t stay long, leaving most of the meal uneaten. Elliot’s street-honed instincts almost had him up and out of his seat, prepared to scavenge what he could from the leftovers, but he remembered where he was just in time to stop himself.

He left the burger bar around 3.30, after first disposing of his rubbish and dropping the empty tray on top of the others already stacked on the bins as Ramona had done. He then caught the tube to Southwark Station, ready to make the ten minute walk to the Tate Modern. And that’s when everything went downhill.

He first noticed it when he stepped off the tube – an overwhelming sense of discombobulation and vagueness. The rush and roar of the train as it left the platform took his breath away and the crowds of people disarmed him. He walked up to the street, hoping that some fresh air would clear his head, but it was no better up here. If anything, he felt worse. Dizzy, lost, and unsure of himself. The traffic confused him, as did the high buildings and unfamiliar landmarks. He hadn’t felt like this since he arrived and he was at a loss as to why he felt so overwhelmed now. Out of place. You don’t belong here, Elliot Cinder.

He hesitated, well aware that he was in no condition to complete the assignment while he was in this state. Should he call Ramona and tell her he couldn’t do it? But would that mean that Jayne must die? He staggered backwards to lean against the wall of the building behind him, needing the solid support of the sun warmed bricks. With trembling hands, he wrangled his phone from his pocket. He stared dumbly at the device, struggling to remember how to use it, before finally managing to make the call.

Ramona answered at once. “Are you on your way there?”

“Uh, sort of. I’m at Southwark Station.”

A woman in a pink floral dress and a long knitted cardigan slowed down as walked past. She looked at him curiously before hurrying away, glancing back once over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner. He wiped the sweat off his brow and shivered, realizing he must look as ill and infirm as he felt.

“Good. You’re close to the destination.”

“I can’t do it, Ramona.”

“What? Of course you can do it. You only need to walk a few blocks and you’re there. Ask the person at the gallery information desk to give you directions to the right room.”

He slowly exhaled, attempting to calm himself and failing miserably. He was acutely aware of the hard and fast thump of his heart in his chest. A double decker bus whizzed by, too close to the edge of the pavement, and he stared at it in horror, almost ready to run and find somewhere safe to hide. Ramona was talking again but he couldn’t hear her words. He glanced at his wrist, at the bare spot where the era decoder should be, and suddenly everything made sense. He looked down at the ground by his feet but the wristband wasn’t there, not that he expected it to be. He was sure he would’ve felt it fall off if he’d lost it here.

“It’s gone.” He interrupted Ramona mid-spiel. “The era decoder. I’ve lost it.”

“Crap. Not now. Oh, Elliot.” The line fell silent but he could still hear her breathing. When she spoke again, her voice was urgent and hurried. “You can still remember the things I’ve showed you, can’t you? The things you’ve experienced already are now your own knowledge so you should be able to find your way back to the apartment. Go there and wait until you hear from me. Dammit, why did this have to happen today? Do you know where you lost it?”

He remembered scraping his rubbish into the bin at the fast food restaurant. “I had a burger at the place you took me to yesterday. I think I might’ve dropped it in the trash bin when I tossed my rubbish away.”

“Great, that’s exactly what we don’t need. Go home. Go home now. Don’t speak to anyone and don’t detour any further than you have to. Take the quickest route to your apartment. I’ll have to arrange for someone to take your place at the art gallery before Jayne unwittingly puts herself in mortal danger.” The phone went dead in his hand and she was gone.

The trip back his apartment was terrifying. He heard people around him saying things that made no sense and he kept his head down to avoid meeting anyone’s eye. Everything was strange and unfamiliar, despite the fact he’d travelled on the tube many times. He hadn’t understood before now just how much of a buffer from the world the era decoder provided him with. On top of that, he was scared for Jayne. If she died this evening due to his lack of care, he would never forgive himself. He should have noticed the band falling from his wrist as soon as he lost it. He pictured Jayne’s photo, retrieving the image of the young woman cuddling her small, devoted dog. Had he inadvertently sent her to meet her executioner? The thought chilled the very blood in his veins.

He shook with agitation as he fumbled for his key and he let himself into his apartment. Even this former sanctuary felt too large, too bright, and too open without the benefit of the era decoder. He longed for the safe haven of his tenement room, that narrow and dark space with no furnishings save for a cot bed and a rough blanket and the comforting noise of other people moving around in the adjoining rooms. He sat down on his couch and hunched his shoulders inside his woollen overcoat, trying to make himself small and insignificant in a world too far removed from his own to be real.

He sat like that for an hour or more, until his racing pulse calmed down and he began to feel more at home in his surroundings. He tried turning the television on then, hoping the false company would make him feel better, but instead it made things worse. His mind battled with the astounding idea of how those miniature people could go about their lives inside that compact black box and he hurriedly switched it off again. He paced around the apartment, looking out the windows until vertigo overcame him – and him a former chimney sweep! – and then he pulled the curtains shut on the impossible sight of the river far below.

In the end, he returned to the couch and huddled down, waiting to hear from Ramona so she could provide him with a solution for this madness.

Chapter Twenty-One

When someone knocked at the front door, Elliot naturally thought it was Ramona. It was after 7pm by now and he hadn’t spoken to her since their phone call from outside Southwark Station. He hadn’t moved far from the couch either, unable to find an appetite for dinner and unwilling to switch on the lights. The darkness was soothing and it blocked out most of this new and frightening world.

He jumped up from the couch and hurried over to the door, switching on the light now so he could welcome her in. Except it wasn’t Ramona. A young man in casual clothing stared back at him from the other side of the doorway, looking just as surprised as Elliot felt.

“Who are you?” the man demanded as soon as he found his voice.

“Elliot Cinder.” Elliot looked past him, half-expecting to see Ramona standing there behind him. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Ramona?”

“She’s not here.”

“This is her apartment.”

“I haven’t seen her for several hours.” Elliot went to close the door, aware he’d broken one of Ramona’s sharply stated rules while his natural politeness fought to win the battle. Don’t speak to anyone. “Can I tell her who called?”

 The man ran his hand through his hair, clearly still shocked to see Elliot there. He was around the same height and build as Elliot, with thick brown hair, a well-defined shaven jawline, and a cleft in his chin. “You live here?”

“I do live here.” He saw the man’s appalled expression and he hurriedly clarified his comment. “I don’t live here with Ramona. She has her own apartment.”

“She does?” The man blinked, looking even more shell-shocked by this news. “I visited her here just a few nights ago.”

Elliot remembered the empty wine bottle and the two glasses of wine he’d seen on the bench when Ramona first showed him the apartment. Was this man one of Ramona’s suitors? And if that was the case, why didn’t he know that she didn’t live here? “Can I give her your name and tell her you asked after her?” Elliot asked again.

“Jason. She’ll know who I am.” He narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious, and attempted to peer past Elliot. “Are you sure she’s not in there?”

Elliot angled his body so Jason couldn’t see inside the apartment. There was obviously a reason why Ramona didn’t want this man to know where she lived. “You should go.” He could hear his phone ringing in the apartment behind him now and he didn’t want to miss Ramona’s call. “I’ll tell her you were here.” He shut the door before the man could reply and quickly turned the lock. He snatched up the phone and pressed the Answer Call button with his thumb. “Ramona?”

“Where are you?”

“At the apartment. What happened to Jayne?”

“Jayne is fine. She has been escorted safely home and she is none the wiser as to just how close she came to death this evening.”

He slumped down on the couch, overcome with relief. “How?”

“We sent someone else in. It’s of no concern to you. I’m on my way over there now with your era decoder. We managed to salvage it from the restaurant’s trashcans. How are you coping without it?”

“It’s been difficult. Everything is so overwhelming and hard to process.”

“I can understand that. I’m about five minutes away.” As usual, she hung up without saying goodbye.

Elliot dropped his phone down onto the couch beside him and waited, unwilling to do anything further until she arrived with his translation device. He would make sure he never lost it again – there was no way he ever wanted to repeat this awful experience. He wondered who the corporation had sent to protect Jayne, but he accepted he would probably never know. He was becoming more acutely aware by the hour that he was only one tiny cog in an extremely large and well-oiled machine.

Just as she’d promised, Ramona knocked on the door a few minutes later. Elliot wrenched it open, delighted to see her. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Here it is.” She handed him the era decoder as she brushed past him. “We’ve fixed the strap. It’s highly unlikely you’ll lose it again.”

He couldn’t get the band on quickly enough, sighing as the feeling of abundant knowledge again flooded through his brain. “That’s better. You have no idea how terrible life here is without it.”

She chuckled. “Trust me, I do know. Other people have explained it in great detail. Are you ok?”

“Yes but mostly I’m relieved to hear that Jayne didn’t come to any harm.”

Ramona nodded gravely. “It was a close call but we pulled it off. Luckily you gave me enough time to get it organised.” She walked across to the kitchen and lifted the kettle. “Coffee?”

“Thanks.” She looked so at home here, as if she knew the apartment well. As if she’d once lived here. “Someone came here looking for you.”

The colour drained from her face and she hastily set the kettle down, where it hit the side of the metal sink with a disconcerting clang. “Who?” she whispered.

He was surprised by her reaction, by the raw fear he saw in her eyes. “He said his name was Jason. He thought you lived here.”

She briefly closed her eyes before fluttering the lids open again and efficiently returning to her coffee making activities. “I thought you meant someone else.”

“Is he a friend of yours?” Elliot persisted, wondering about the reason behind her initial frightened response.

She shook her head but didn’t look up. “Not really. He shouldn’t have come here.”

“Was he the man that you shared the bottle of wine with?” Her reluctance to tell him more had only heightened his interest.

She gave a forced, false laugh. “You’re asking too many questions. Don’t worry about it. Everything is under control and there’s no need for you to concern yourself about Jason or anyone else. I’ll make sure he doesn’t come by here again.” She opened the cupboards and searched through them, moving packets, cans, and boxes out of the way and standing up on tiptoes to peer over the back. “Do you have any chocolate biscuits?”

“There should be some there. Look in the next cupboard along. The cupboards were well stocked when I moved in and I’ve barely touched most of it. My stomach isn’t used to the dearth of food available here.”

“I know. We all eat too much, myself included, although chocolate doesn’t count.” She stopped searching for the biscuits and made the coffee instead. “This afternoon’s sudden change of plans were irritating but not impossible to manage. In some ways, it was a blessing as it gave us the chance to test our contingency plans, which went off without a hitch. However, it will be better for everyone if it doesn’t happen again.”

He encircled his wrist with his fingers, closing them snugly over the era decoder. “I don’t ever want it to happen again. I can’t remember any other time when I’ve felt so foreign to my surroundings.”

“Luckily you had gained enough experience here to be able to get yourself home.” She sat down at the table with her coffee cup and indicated that he should pull up a chair. “You have a few days to yourself now. The Knave won’t be meeting his next target until Thursday evening. I’m busy with another part of the project but I’ve arranged for Amy to spend some time with you. She’s one of our best agents and she’ll make sure you’re ready for the next assignment.”

“Amy? The woman I spoke to after she caught me following her?”

“Yes.” She wrapped her hands around her cup and smiled at him over the rim. He decided that a small bond of friendship had sprung up between them, despite her general aloofness and cool manner, and the thought warmed him through. “Amy volunteered for the role. It seems she took a liking to you. You must have used your wily charms on her.”

Elliot ignored the implication behind her words. “Amy reminded me a little of my grandmother, at least in the way that she summed up a person and frankly spoke what was on her mind.”

“You’ve talked about your grandmother before. Were the two of you close?”

“Very close.”

“How did you lose her?”

The era decoder buzzed and he knew she was asking about the cause of her death. “The colour green killed her,” he said simply.

A perplexing combination of confusion and compassion skittered across her face. “How can a colour kill a person?”

“Scheele’s green.” He watched her closely but she showed no sign of recognising the name. He went on to explain further. “It was a beautiful colour, nothing like anyone had seen outside of nature before. The fine lords and ladies of London adored it. My grandmother was a flower maker, responsible for creating glorious fake blooms to decorate and enliven Victorian parlours, and she was very good at her job. A true artist. Unfortunately, the depth of colour in the pigment was created with poisonous arsenic, the horrors of which weren’t discovered until too late.”

“That’s awful! Elliot, your life has been crammed with so many terrible events.”

“I’m not any more unlucky than the next man.” Call him superstitious, but he wasn’t prepared to say otherwise for fear of turning the tables on himself.

She nodded, understanding his meaning without him needing to explain himself further, and they sank into a companionable and friendly silence.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Amy arrived at Elliot’s apartment the next morning at 10am, as arranged by Ramona. He opened the door to see her smiling face, her hazel eyes twinkling with merriment and her cheeks rosy in the early warmth of the day. “Good morning! Isn’t it a beautiful day to be alive?”

He offered her a lazy grin of his own, completely at ease with these kinds of lightly flirtatious interactions. Elliot Cinder and light flirtation went together like a loaf of fresh-baked bread and a wedge of yellow cheese. “Indeed, it is very beautiful.”

She cocked her prettily unnatural eyebrow into a mischievous arch, letting him know by her gesture that she knew exactly what he was up to. “Are you going to invite me in?” She was wearing a green summer dress in a light fabric and leather strappy sandals today, in keeping with the blue skies and sunshine, and a wide-brimmed hat with a ribbon that made Elliot instantly homesick for the days when a hat was an item as essential as a pair of shoes for anyone stepping outside their front door.

“Come in and have a look around. There’s a lovely view of the river from the living room windows.”

“I know. I’ve been here before, when Ramona lived here.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and widened her eyes comically. “Ooops. Big mouth Amy. Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

“I already know. A man called in to see her yesterday evening. He thought she still lived here.”

“That would be probably be Jason. He’s sweet on her but it’s all very one-sided. She should’ve told him she was moving.” She disclosed this information easily, as if it were no big secret, quite unlike Ramona’s cloak-and-dagger approach. She walked across to the window, her hips beneath her short skirt swaying in a mesmerizing motion, and gazed out across the river. “The view is spectacular.”

“It is.” Elliot dragged his eyes away from her hips. “Why did Ramona move?”

“We all get moved around. It happens a lot and we don’t usually get a lot of warning.”

“Why? Why is it necessary for you to move so often?”

“It’s all part of the ploy to keep any observers on their toes. There’s lots of that kind of stuff going on. I call them toothless red herrings.”

“What does that mean?” He could already tell that he was out of his depth with this conversation and he would be more than happy if she stopped talking and walked across the room again.

“They’re false leads tossed in to throw anyone who might be taking too much notice off the trail. They suck because they’re usually an inconvenience to everyone involved. Suck? Toothless? Do you get it?”

He didn’t get it and his era decoder was of no help at all, lying flat and still without any hint of a buzz or hum. He had no idea what she was talking about. She noticed his confusion and laughed. “Just ignore me. I have a warped sense of humour.”

He couldn’t resist. He lowered the tone of his voice and allowed a hint of seduction to sweeten his smile. “I’m afraid you’re impossible to ignore.”

“Ah, you’re good, Elliot Cinder. I was warned about your charming manner.” She wrinkled her nose adorably and waggled her finger at him. “But you’re not my type so I’m immune to your compliments, and I’m sure I’m really not your type either. Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready but where are we going?” On Ramona’s advice, he’d dressed for the day in a t-shirt, long sleeved sweatshirt and jeans. She’d explained that Amy had plans for a casual day out to introduce him to more of the sights of modern London, along with a briefing in regards to his next assignment.

“I’m going to take you for a ride on the London Eye and then we’ll have a picnic lunch at the pleasure gardens, where I’ll give you the details of your next assignment.”

 “Kew Gardens?” He knew this place. He’d promenaded through the pleasure gardens with Annie on his arm on a number of occasions, as proud as punch to show off his pretty young sweetheart and show the world that her fond gazes belonged to him alone.

“Yes. I thought you might like to see something from back in your own time. It hasn’t changed a lot, although the views from the gardens definitely have. The London skyline is nothing like it once was.”

 “I can agree with that. Will we drive?” He was already reaching for his car keys, keen to get away from the confines of the apartment and spend the day with the captivatingly loquacious Amy.

“Ramona told me how much you like driving but no, we’ll take the tube.” She gazed at him seriously now, her eyes dark with commiseration and sympathy. “I’m sorry. About what happened to Annie. I’ve read the notes on your personal history and everything you’ve been through horrifies me.”

He started to speak but his words caught in his throat. He turned away, struggling to contain his emotions and unwilling to let her see his struggle. His sorrow over Annie’s death still had a way of creeping up on him when he least expected it, leaving him feeling vulnerable and shattered.

Amy was astute enough to notice his change of mood. She laid her hand on his arm and left it there for several seconds, long enough for the warmth of her palm to reach his skin through his shirtsleeve. “Let’s go,” she said kindly. “We’re going to have fun, I promise.”

He blinked away his tears and strode across to the door, injecting a note of joviality into his tone and determined not to dampen the upbeat atmosphere of the day with his regrets. “I hope so, because I will hold you to that promise.”

As it turned out, Amy made promises that she was easily able to keep. The London Eye, an enormous ferris wheel with views in all directions, both thrilled and terrified Elliot. The swinging capsule that carried them skyward felt unsafe and unsteady, especially to a man with a natural wariness of heights garnered from his former career as a chimney sweep. Amy gently mocked him for his fear before admitting that she felt safer on solid ground too. Her confession allowed him to do the gentlemanly thing and drape his sweatshirt over her shoulders in lieu of a coat or another more robust item of clothing. He held her hand to help her step out of the capsule afterwards too, and she’d smiled her appreciation while peeking at him coyly from beneath the brim of her hat. He was pleased to see that beneath her brash exterior she still remembered how a woman should act.

Amy made for an interesting companion, chatting away happily about recent and current events in London, pointing out places that fascinated her, and asking Elliot questions about his life in the 1800s. Her comment that she had a warped sense of humour was also true, and she made several jokes that made him stare at her in surprise. He spoke up after she’d made a vaguely crude comment about the cylindrical shape of the 180 metre tall tower they called the Gherkin. “Some of the jokes that amuse you aren’t as delicate as I would have supposed, given that you’re a young lady of obvious refinement and breeding.”

Amy giggled. “Ramona did tell me that your era decoder overrode the gender equality function. Elliot, if you plan on staying here you’ll have to get used to the idea that women can speak their mind just as well as men can.” She gazed at him thoughtfully as they walked through the sunlit streets. “Queen Victoria ruled England during your time. I’m amazed that women’s voices weren’t given more credibility because your monarch was a female, just as our current ruler is.”

“Royalty is different. Queen Victoria was born to the role and she received special moral and intellectual training from the time she was a small child.”

“That’s a backward way of looking at it. Just because she was royalty, it doesn’t mean she was any smarter or more capable of learning than any other woman. She was lucky enough to have the privilege of education, whereas most women in that time weren’t.”

“I don’t agree,” he said stiffly. “You can’t possibly understand because you weren’t there.” It was a weak argument but all that he could think of on the spur of the moment.

“Fair enough, but women’s rights have made enormous strides over the past century. Don’t you think there must be a reason for that?”

“Perhaps modern men have allowed their female counterparts to get away with too much,” he suggested at last, after giving the question a few minutes thought. He was wading into muddy territory here and he wanted to be sure he didn’t take a misstep. He had the impression that blunt speaking Amy would not let him get away with putting a foot wrong.

Amy snorted loudly, gaining surprised looks from two elderly women with a clutch of shopping bags hooked over their arms. “I think we have to agree to disagree otherwise we’ll spend the rest of the day arguing. You can get another view of the Gherkin from here.” She stopped walking so he could take in the criss-crossed domed top that towered over the surrounding buildings. “They uncovered the grave of a young Roman girl during the building’s construction. Her bones rested at the Museum of London and she was reburied at the base of the tower with the appropriate ceremony and blessings once the construction work finished.”

“This era never ceases to amaze me. If unknown bones were found during my time, they were generally thrown straight into the Thames. The unclaimed dead bodies of tramps and beggars were quickly carted off to a pauper’s grave.” He’d seen it happen himself, especially amongst the homeless or disadvantaged citizens who crowded the streets of the more impoverished areas. The nameless ones.

Amy shuddered and moved on. “Thanks for that cheerful thought. Come on, we’ll catch a tube to the Gardens, buy some sandwiches, and forget about dead bodies while we eat our lunch.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dead bodies came up again after their lunch, or at least the prevention of dead bodies, which was the reason why Elliot was here. Amy brushed the crumbs from their lunchtime sandwiches from her lap and then leaned back with her hands on the grass and her tanned legs crossed decorously in front of her. “Did Ramona tell you anything about the next assignment?”

“No. She said you’d give me the details today.” He’d eaten too much again but it was difficult not to when there was so much delicious food within easy reach. He lay all the way back on the grass and gazed up at the puffy clouds scudding overhead. The pleasure gardens were subtly different than they’d been when he strolled here with Annie but the serene atmosphere was the same. He’d enjoyed today, despite the brief disagreement with Amy over the absurdity of women’s rights, and he felt languid and relaxed.

“The Knave has arranged to meet a woman named Louise Morton for a cocktail tomorrow night. Louise is a little different from the type of women he usually chooses so he’s acting out of character on this one.”

Elliot rolled over so he could see Amy. She wasn’t looking at him but instead she was gazing out over the portion of the London skyline that they could glimpse from where they sat. “Different in what way?”

“For one thing, she’s older. She’s a divorcee in her late 30’s whereas the Knave generally demonstrates a weakness for younger women. The corporation believes he has chosen Louise because she reminds him of someone. We’re not sure if that makes this assignment more or less dangerous.”

“How could it be dangerous? Isn’t it my role to ensure she makes it safely home?”

“Yes, but remember you haven’t completed a genuine assignment yet. The last assignment was aborted because of the lost era decoder and someone else took your place in the role of protector.” She shifted position, pulling up her legs to fold beneath her and straightening her back as the conversation took a more serious turn.

“Who was it that replaced me? One of the other candidates?”

She didn’t give him an immediate no, or rebuff his question as Ramona would’ve done. She bit her lip and studied her fingernails and Elliot could see she was weighing up how much she should tell him.

“You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“It was someone who is heavily involved in the operation but who usually has a different role to play,” she said at last. “I might leave it at that, if you don’t mind.”

He did mind, but it was clear she’d said all she was prepared to say on that matter. “Do you know who Louise reminds the Knave of?”

She sighed and twisted a stem of grass around her fingers. “The Knave had a difficult childhood, which is a common denominator in a large percentage of serial killer cases. These men are mentally unstable and while some have an inborn issue with their brain and thought processes, or a chemical imbalance, others have become irrevocably damaged through early neglect, abuse, or cruelty.”

“You seem to know a lot about serial killers.” This was tricky territory for him. Here he was encouraging a conversation about the same kind of sick individual who had killed Annie. He certainly didn’t care about any difficulties that the monster might’ve suffered – everyone had challenges to face yet not everyone was driven to take the hate in their heart out on innocent women. In fact, he hoped the man had lived an appallingly awful and miserable life and would continue to do so.

She smiled faintly. “I do know a lot about them, and that’s the reason why the corporation selected me as an agent. We all specialise in different fields.”

“Can you tell me anything about the corporation?” He thought it was worth asking. Amy was certainly more open and communicative than Ramona, more willing to give detailed replies to his numerous questions.

She waved a playful finger at him. “Now you really are pushing your luck.”

“If you don’t ask, you don’t get,” he retorted just as playfully. He was enjoying their banter. For a man who’d spent his single life before he met Annie flattering and wooing women for his own salacious benefit, it made a nice change to be able to count two such modern, intelligent, and sassy women as Ramona and Amy as his friends. Perhaps there was something in their assertion that gender equality had its place in the world, although he wouldn’t go as far as to admit that just yet. He needed more proof before he could put his hand on his heart and agree, and such proof might be hard to find.

Amy, who seemed to miss nothing, had picked up the faint note of innuendo in his tone. “You were used to getting your own way back in your time, weren’t you?”

He boldly met her gaze. “Whatever do you mean?”

She tipped her head back and laughed, giving him ample time to admire the pretty curve of her throat. “You can’t fool me. You know what I’m talking about. I’m willing to bet that until Annie Jones captured your heart, you stole far too many to be able to count.”

He twinkled his eyes at her, allowing his gaze to speak for itself. “A gentlemen doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“So if you adore women so much, why are you such a chauvinist?”

He couldn’t immediately determine the meaning of the word. The era decoder hummed lightly against his wrist until the translation came through. The belief or prejudice that women are inferior to men. He stumbled over his own explanation. “I would not describe myself so harshly. I don’t think women are inferior but I know without a doubt that they are the weaker sex. It has always been that way.” Elliot now produced his ace. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since he eavesdropped on the conversation between Amy and Shaun at the wine bar. “Besides, you too have a certain level of prejudice. Didn’t I hear you call a man stupid to his face after knowing him for a matter of twenty minutes or less?”

Amy’s already rosy colouring heightened, highlighting the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose. “Touché. I deserved that. However, I’m willing to admit that I said that whereas you seem determined to argue with me over every little point I make.” She produced her own ace. “You have to remember that I’ve read your personnel file and I know more about your habits, thoughts, and activities than you could ever imagine.”

Elliot cleared his throat. He cringed to think of her poring over his file, whatever that dubious tome might contain. It was probably in his best interests to change the subject before he heard something he’d prefer not to know. “Let’s get back to Louise. You haven’t told me why she seems familiar enough to the Knave that he’s stepped outside his usual criteria in choosing victims.”

“She reminds him of his foster mother, a woman who showed him a certain amount of kindness in a childhood mostly devoid of love and affection.”

Ah, so it seemed a monster was capable of emotion – or was he? He knew Amy’s response would tell him all he needed to know. “In that case, in the current version of the future, the one where the Knave isn’t stopped and Louise isn’t escorted to safety, does she lose her life at his hands?”

Amy’s face was grim beneath the sheltering shade of her sunhat. “She will lose her life unless we prevent it. She will say something during their meeting that will force his hand. I don’t know what it is, but apparently it’s enough to anger him and make him decide that she must die. You might have the opportunity to overhear it while you’re trailing them. Naturally, regardless of whether you overhear that conversation or not, your mission is to ensure that Louise gets home safely and that the Knave doesn’t go ahead with his murderous plan. Aside from the obvious, there’s been an immense effort made on the part of the corporation to ensure the future contains a physically fit and well Louise. Every person in this world is connected to an untold number of events and a domino effect occurs if someone is removed or reinstated. This operation is incredibly delicate and it has taken years of planning. The manpower involved in the project is enormous.”

Manpower. Had she noticed her wording? Elliot silently added another point to his own argument for a natural imbalance of the sexes. “You can rely on me to keep her safe. Thank you, I appreciate your insight.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” She gracefully pushed herself to her feet and flipped out her skirt from where it lay creased against the smooth skin at the back of her thighs. Elliot made the most of the delightful view before he stood up himself.

She stooped to pick up the discarded wrappings from their lunch. “Are you ready to go? I wouldn’t mind grabbing a coffee before we head home. All that talking has made me thirsty. You’ll receive an email later today with Louise’s photograph and the details of where the meeting will take place. I have no doubt that everything will go smoothly.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Elliot spent the next day alone, driving without a destination in mind and relishing the unsurpassed freedom of four wheels. He thought a lot about what Amy had said about the equality issue but try as he might, he couldn’t reconcile himself completely to the idea that women could make independent choices and decisions without the superior assistance of men. It was against the natural order of things, unless a woman happened to be born of royal blood. Another important fact, and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to mention this to Amy yesterday, was that Queen Victoria’s most trusted senior advisors were all men! How could Amy explain her way out of that one?

He’d formed his own opinion of the mysterious corporation too. The anonymous members of that group were obviously men and despite the fact that Ramona, and to a lesser extent Amy, held responsible positions within the lower echelons, they must work in the employment of males and under the guidance of males. Manpower. Satisfied that he’d answered all of his own questions, he found a burger restaurant to sit and eat lunch his lunch at leisure as he watched the curiosities of the modern world go by.

Later that evening, he showered and changed, dressing appropriately for another night of drizzly rain. The sunshine and blue skies of yesterday hadn’t lasted but that was London for you. If there was one thing a man could rely on, it was that a man couldn’t rely on the weather. He dressed in his smart trousers and a pale blue shirt, adding his beloved overcoat as he left the apartment. Louise and the Knave were meeting at another wine bar, a different venue from last time, and he wanted to be there early just in case he suffered another disastrous hiccup as in the previous assignment – not that it could ever happen again. He checked his era decoder again before he walked out onto the street, making sure it was fastened securely and unlikely to slip off regardless of how many rogue rubbish bins he encountered.

The tube station was located several blocks from the wine bar and he left there to hurry through the rain, keeping close to the shelter of the tall buildings crowded against the side of the footpath. He was back in his old stomping ground tonight, walking the streets of Whitechapel, and some of the sights that loomed up in the lamp lit shadows were eerily familiar. His destination was the St. Katharine Docks, although from what he’d seen so far, this part of the city was very different from the one he remembered. The squalor had gone and in its place was an enticingly seductive scene of bright lights, fun, and laughter. Instead of horses and donkeys there were cars, taxis, buses, and motorbikes and instead of stinking piles of horse manure lying thick on the streets the asphalt was clean and bare. The endless, choking smoke of innumerable brick kilns and domestic fires was gone and now there was simply the ever present fug of diesel fumes, although the drizzle had dampened the smell from untold vehicle exhausts into a flat, oily wetness tonight.

The rain was heavier now and Elliot quickened his step, flipping up his collar to keep the back of his neck dry. He was used to being miserably wet but it was surprisingly easy to grow used to new comforts. His friend Robert had a vest made of Welsh flannel, a high quality fabric designed to draw the sweat and dampness away from the body and keep a person as warm as a freshly baked crumpet. He smiled to himself as he thought of his friend now. Robert used to boast that his family once had an estate complete with servants, a forge, and a pond full of ducks, but his grandfather lost most of it through his love of gambling. Still, Robert was materially wealthier than Elliot had ever been and he’d kept an innate sense of self-worth that was many levels above his current living situation. Elliot wondered if Robert had noticed yet that he was no longer around. The two men would sometimes go weeks without seeing each other and they hadn’t socialised much lately so it was unlikely that he was too concerned about his absence.

Elliot had reached the wine bar now. The building was ablaze with welcoming lights offering a weary traveller a haven from which to escape the rain. A tavern in the town, an essential roadside commodity for as many years as men had looked to the horizon and made their journeys. For the first time, he would be within spitting distance of the Knave, a man cut form the same vile cloth as the madman who had stolen Annie’s life from her. Taut with apprehension and with his heart racing at an unrestrained gallop, Elliot pushed open the door and stepped into the cosy warmth.

He spotted Louise immediately. She was clearly older than most of the other patrons here but she carried herself in a manner that fitted both the venue and the atmosphere. She wore her blonde hair in a short, flattering style, her cheekbones shone with a shimmery substance that highlighted their shape and curve, and her trim figure, or at least the parts of it that Elliot could see of it from where he stood, was pleasing to the eye. She sat at a corner table, with a colourful drink in a fancy glass on the table in front of her and her gaze on the door.

Elliot was too nervous to order himself a drink. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the room from Louise’s table and pretended to check his phone, although he remained acutely alert for any sign of movement over by the door. He didn’t have to wait long. Just a few minutes after he entered the premises, a man wearing a black coat very similar to his own and a black cloth cap pulled low on his brow walked into the bar. His arrogance was unmistakable as he gazed around, skimming his eyes haughtily across the room as if he owned it. Without any argument, this was the Knave.

He walked past Elliot without acknowledging him, giving no indication that he’d seen him or cared that he was here. Elliot’s nostrils filled with the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to the man’s clothes as thoroughly as liberally applied cologne. From this near distance, Elliot could see the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, his thick, dark brows, and the cruel line of his mouth. The man was handsome enough but the pall of arrogance that hung over him hinted at his darker side. Unfortunately, Elliot knew only too well just how repulsively dark that side of him really was.

The Knave greeted Louise politely and from the look on the woman’s face, she was happy enough with what she saw. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, touched her hand to her hair, and fluttered her heavily mascara-ed eyelashes, employing the age-old methods of flirtation that Elliot knew so well. The Knave gave her a wry smile that failed to reach his eyes and sat down opposite her without removing his coat.

Elliot moved away from his spot by the wall and walked across to a recently vacated table behind the couple, as if he’d planned to sit there all along. The couple who’d sat here before him had left two empty beer bottles on the table top and he moved one of the bottles nearer, as if he were drinking from it himself. He could hear snippets of the Knave and Louise’s conversation but it was impossible to get any closer without drawing attention to himself. They were talking now about a West End play they both wanted to see, although Elliot guessed that the Knave was feigning a common interest to keep the conversation flowing smoothly.

Over the next ten minutes, the couple’s chatter progressed through a range of casual subjects and Louise laughed often, apparently amused by the Knave’s comments. Elliot stifled a yawn. He’d imagined that a serial killer’s conversations would be at the least thought-provoking and at the most outrageous, but it seemed the Knave was willing to let Louise steer the topics as she chose. Elliot had idly begun to scroll through his phone when Louise’s sudden change in tone caught his attention. He leaned in, placing his elbows on the table and hunching forward as he strained his ears to listen.

“I don’t agree with that sentiment,” Louise was saying now. “I believe the state welfare system is full of cracks and it needs a lot of work. The children who fall through those cracks are the ones who suffer the consequences.”

Elliot wasn’t sure how they’d managed to reach this controversial topic given the Knave’s own personal history within the state system. From the tension now evident in the set of the man’s shoulders, he probably would’ve preferred it if they were still discussing West End shows. The Knave muttered something low and indiscernible in response to Louise’s comment and she glowered back at him, all sign of flirtatiousness now gone. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say and it was also very rude. Look, I’ve changed my mind about this. We obviously have nothing in common after all. I’d like to say it was nice to meet you but I don’t think it was.” Moving swiftly, she climbed off her wooden stool and stooped to pick up her blazer and umbrella from the seat beside her, avoiding the Knave’s eyes. She’d already turned her body towards the door, positioning herself for a hasty exit. “Good evening.” She walked stiffly away and left the bar without looking back.

The Knave waited until she’d walked past the window and disappeared from view before casually leaving the table. With his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, he sauntered across the short distance to the door and stepped outside, heading in the direction of the Tower of London as Louise had done just moments before.

Elliot’s heart began to gallop again. He walked with unhurried haste to the door, counting slowly to ten before opening it and stepping back out into the omnipresent rain. He could see the Knave ahead of him, his hands still out of sight in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the driving rain as he doggedly followed the clip-clop sound of Louise’s heels on the tiles and the cheerful bob of her orange umbrella. In his hat and dark clothes, the man could be any anonymous stranger striving to get to his destination without becoming too drenched.

Elliot set off in determined pursuit, keeping himself close to the darkened side of the footpath and away from the revealing light of the lamps. He was on his home turf now and despite the various changes to the architecture over the centuries, he knew these streets exceedingly well. Louise would not fall victim to the Knave’s depravity tonight, not while Elliot Cinder was here to protect her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Knave stopped walking and turned his head to glance back down the street, his eyes hidden beneath the peak of his cap. Elliot hurriedly pressed himself up against a wall, flattening his body and holding his breath to prevent a tell-tale puff of steam from escaping his lips. They had just passed the Dicken’s Inn, the sight of which had taken Elliot by surprise. He’d lifted many a tankard of beer inside those rough-hewn walls and he’d scuffed his boots through the sawdust strewn floor on many occasions. He may have even slept there once, in those first dreadful days after the loss of Annie, made insensible through downing too much liquor before passing out in a corner.

The Knave walked on, turning off the main street just as Louise had done to follow the narrow curve of Cloister Walk. Elliot knew with certainty that if the Knave attacked her this evening, it would be down here in some dark alcove or doorway. It was almost time to show himself, to the Knave at least, and let the man know that his murderous plot had no place here. Louise’s heels echoed on the cobblestones ahead of them, her stride even and resolute. She certainly wasn’t running or in any sort of panic, signalling that she had no idea she had two focused and determined followers with very different outcomes on their minds.

Elliot wiped the rain out of his eyes and tugged his collar a little higher to cover his ears. He didn’t intend that the Knave should see his face or recognise him from the wine bar. That would ruin any future chances to trail him. He saw the Knave lengthen his step, quickly closing the distance between himself and his unsuspecting prey, and Elliot sped up his own stride with the knowledge that a window of opportunity was about to open. He shoved his hand into his pocket and gripped his phone, his finger blindly finding the volume button. He’d taken the time to set his music app while he sat in the wine bar and then he’d turned it to mute, ready for this moment.

The sudden blare of pop music was unexpectedly loud and it instantly had the desired effect. The Knave whirled around and even Louise’s even footsteps faltered for a brief second. Elliot kept his head low as he passed the Knave, trotting along to the jaunty tune of an old Spice Girl’s favourite. Despite the noise of the music, he was able to hear the man’s angrily uttered curse. Up ahead, Louise left the relative isolation of Cloister Walk and stepped out into the safer thoroughfare outside the bright and boisterous glow of the Slug & Lettuce Tavern.

Elliot tilted his head just enough to check if the Knave was still following behind him. The man had stopped walking and was scowling after him, a solitary, hunched black silhouette against the miserable, wet shadows of the docks. Grinning to himself, Elliot turned down the volume on his phone, slipped in behind Louise and followed her without further incident to the tube station.

Elliot called Ramona on his way home, jubilant about his success and eager to share the good news. She answered before the first ring was done. “Elliot. How did it go?”

He found himself smiling into the mouthpiece. He’d missed the sound of her voice but he hadn’t realised just how much until now. “It went well. Louise is on the train home and the Knave lost his chance.”

“How did you stop him?”

“With a sprinkle of spice.” Oh you’re witty tonight, Elliot Cinder. He was inordinately pleased with himself, almost giddy with triumph over the evening’s achievement.

“What?”

He laughed to hear the confusion in her voice. “I surprised him with a burst of loud music, giving Louise enough time to escape. She has no idea of how close she came to death tonight.”

“Did the Knave see your face?”

“No. I made sure of that.”

“What are you doing now?” she asked suddenly and he was almost certain he heard a hesitant eagerness in her tone. “I’ve had a rough day and I could do with some company,” she babbled quickly, as if afraid to leave him enough time to say no. “Do you want to come over for a drink? You can tell me more about your evening.”

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes.” He made sure he was the first to hang up this time, swiftly tapping the End Call button as soon as he finished speaking. It didn’t hurt to remind her that she didn’t always hold the upper hand.

Ramona’s eyes seemed to sparkle as she opened the door in response to his knock, although he told himself it might have been a reflection of the ceiling light above the doorway. “That was quick.”

He winked at her, still buoyed up by the success of his evening’s work and mildly searching for some praise. “Stealth and speed are my trademarks.”

“Of course they are.” She didn’t offer any additional compliments or flattery and instead walked across to open the refrigerator. “Wine or beer?”

“Whatever you’re having.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. The rain had finally stopped outside but the damp wool retained the sharp, musky odour of a sodden sheep. “Why was your day so awful?”

She shrugged as she handed him a glass of wine. “Meetings, interviews, all that kind of relentlessly monotonous stuff. You’re lucky that your job takes you out and into the action.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve always found the inner workings of business fascinating. I did have my own small business once. Are the corporation’s headquarters located in Central London?”

She smirked at him as she took a seat. “Nice try, but I’m not telling you anything about the corporation.”

“That’s ok. Amy told me plenty,” he said offhandedly, annoyed by Ramona’s brushoff.

She looked as if she was ready to jump up and start a full-scale war. “She should never have done that! Amy had her instructions and she knows when to keep her mouth shut. She’s breached the terms of her confidentiality agreement.”

“Wait, wait.” He hurried to make amends for his flippant comment, not wanting to get Amy needlessly into trouble. “She didn’t tell me anything. She said she wasn’t allowed to. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Ramona eyed him suspiciously before finally relenting. “I believe you. I know it would’ve been out of character for her to disclose confidential information. Did you enjoy your day with her?”

“I did. It was very enjoyable.” He sat back in his chair, allowing himself to relax now. Ramona’s apartment and company felt familiar and comforting and it was pleasant to be away from the bleakly solitary surrounds of his own apartment on this grey and damp night. “She’s very knowledgeable about the makeup of serial killers. We had an interesting conversation.”

“She was invited to join the corporation because of that knowledge and her input has been invaluable for this particular project.”

Elliot sipped at his wine, savouring the tang of the beverage and the warmth now seeping through his veins. He again attempted to gain a morsel of praise from Ramona, curiously anxious to hear that she was pleased with his work. “I’m glad to have been the man to put a damper on the Knave’s plans for the evening. That’s one less murder victim and there will be more for as long as I’m on the job.”

Ramona appeared to have missed his point and she was still speaking as if she was delivering a presentation at a board meeting. “You have to consider that he wasn’t always successful during his reign of terror. Not all the girls he meets will walk to the tube station on their own – they might be meeting friends or catching a cab home. From what we know, there were always the ones that got away, just as there have always been those who have managed to escape the clutches of killers since time immemorial. However, we’re playing with fire now because soon he’s going to get agitated. He won’t be happy at being thwarted by your well-timed interruptions. We’ll have to tread carefully as there’s always the chance that he’ll turn his attention to a new target, someone who he didn’t pay attention to in the old version of the future.”

“I’m sure the corporation has that under control,” he said lightly. He wished she’d relax a bit, drop her formal speech and act more like an unattached young lady enjoying the company of a man. She had pulled her hair into a high ponytail tonight, exposing the nape of her neck and giving her a sense of vulnerability that he hadn’t often seen. She wore a pair of long pants in a soft, grey fabric and a pale pink top that clung audaciously to her figure, the sort of outfit that would’ve had respectable women fainting in horror back in his day. She was utterly gorgeous yet she seemed blithely unware of her femininity, intent on talking business as usual.

“They can’t control everything, unfortunately, although they’ll do everything in their power to ensure nothing gets out of hand.” She stood up to get the wine bottle from where she’d left it on the bench, giving him a pleasing perspective on the luscious curve of her buttocks. “Do you need a top up?”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ramona was drunk. Self-contained, efficient, and business-like Ramona was merrily, whole-heartedly, and irreversibly drunk. Under the effects of the alcohol, she had thrown off her aloofness as if removing a mantle, revealing an adorably softer and funnier side. She’d just finished ad-libbing the words to a Spice Girl song after he finally told her the title of the song that he’d played to distract the Knave. She laughingly took a bow and flung herself back down in her chair. “Your turn.”

“No. I’m no jester nor poet. I’m happy to leave the gaieties and revelries to you.”

“The way you speak is so quaint. You use words that aren’t heard so often these days. I like it.”

“They are common enough words.” The era decoder hummed loudly, bluntly advising him that they weren’t so common anymore.

“I have a secret.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glassy as she poured herself another wine. She lifted the bottle, the second one she’d opened since he arrived, and looked at him enquiringly. “Do you want more?”

“No. I don’t enjoy the after effects of too much wine. I’ve never been fond of a pounding head to begin the day with. I find wine to be a cruel and unforgiving taskmaster, more so than beer.”

“All the more for me,” she said happily, undeterred by thoughts of a hangover. She sat the bottle heavily down on the coffee table beside her chair and curled her legs up beneath her.

“What is this secret of yours?” he prompted.

She grinned widely, looking impossibly young and carefree and very unlike the Ramona he knew. “It was me.”

“When?”

“On the night that you lost the era decoder.”

He couldn’t understand her meaning. “What do you mean, it was me?”

“I was the one who took your place.”

He frowned, still trying to make sense of her words. “You took my place? Where – at the art gallery?”

“Yessh.” She slurred the word while nodding her head vigorously. “I tucked my hair into a cap and wore a long coat to disguise myself as a man. There wasn’t time to find a replacement and it was imperat-t-t,” she stumbled over the word before again finding the rhythm of her speech, “It was imperative that someone protected Jayne Trainor otherwise all the careful planning would’ve been in vain.”

He skimmed his eyes over her figure. He’d thought her shoulders too broad when he first met her but now he could see that their width suited her body shape perfectly. “I can’t believe that anyone could be fooled into believing you were a man. What did the corporation think of you standing in for me?”

“They weren’t happy but I don’t care. They scolded me again today for it.” She rubbed at her eyes, the gesture childishly vulnerable for a woman usually so focused on presenting herself as a practical and logical adult. At this moment she looked scarcely older than Annie had been when she died, when in reality she was probably in her late twenties and closer to Elliot’s age. She sighed and dropped her hands down into her lap. “Why don’t you tell me a story?”

Elliot chuckled, caught out by the abrupt change of subject. “What kind of story?”

“About your life back in the 19th century. It fascinates me.”

“What do you want to know?”

She groaned, as if he’d asked her to do something complex and difficult. Her eyelids drooped drowsily and she laid her head back against the headrest. “I don’t know. Just start somewhere. You told me your grandmother was a flower maker. What did your parents do? Was your father a chimney sweep like you?”

He remembered what Amy had said about his file. “I’m sure you’ve read all there is to know about me in my personnel file. I find it strange that you’ve never mentioned that such a thing exists. In fact, I seem to remember you asking me about my life not long after we met. At the time, you cleverly pretended you knew very little.”

Her eyes sprung open and a flicker of guilt flitted across her face. “Yes, I’ve seen the file but it’s different when you tell me in your own words. The corporation deals in facts rather than the human condition.” She managed to get her words out without stumbling over them this time and she ended her speech with a charming smile. “Please, tell me a story.”

That smile was impossible to deny. What man alive could ignore such a pretty request? “If you really want to know, my mother was a skilful seamstress and her talents were in demand. She worked arduous hours and often toiled long after dark, working by the light of a candle to complete her chores. At the time of their deaths, she was teaching my sisters how to make simple stitches on cloth in the hopes that as they grew older they could take over some of her workload.” He could picture the homely family scene now, those cosy evenings before his entire family was gone in the blink of an eye. Little Julia, always more impatient than her sister Charlotte, often became frustrated and disillusioned with her needlework. She would stomp her foot and fold her arms across her chest, her expression sullen as her mother scolded her and told her to behave herself. He suspected his forthright little sister would’ve done well for herself in a role such as the one Ramona held now, where she was able to tell others what they should do. If she had lived long enough to marry, her husband would have needed to keep a firm hand on the marital reins to avoid her driving him to distraction.

“I’ve always been hopeless at handcrafts. I’m all thumbs.” Ramona held up her hands in front of her and gazed blearily at them.

“In that case, you would have made a wonderful brick maker.”

“Why? What do thumbs have to do with making bricks?”

“My father was brick maker. Strong thumbs were essential to press the red clay out of the mould before drying the brick and kiln baking it. All of London town used to sit glumly beneath the stench of the smoke from the kiln fires. Some would say that London was built on a pile of red clay and the sweat of honest toil. Brickmaking was hard work and I doubt anyone would argue against that. My father carefully wrapped his hands in rags soaked in a tincture of clary sage each night in the hopes of preventing chilblains and rheumatism. His hands were his best tools and he made sure to look after them.”

“And here I am complaining about my job.” Her eyelids had drooped again and she looked ready for her bed. The glass of wine that she’d poured for herself earlier sat untouched beside her, which Elliot thought was probably not a bad thing. “Tell me some more.”

He pulled thoughtfully at his beard, his mind now firmly in the past, back in a time much simpler than this. “Father would read to us at night from one of his books, spinning tales of sailors at sea and brave adventurers exploring far off lands. Those stories enthralled and excited me. I wanted to see the world outside the borders of my own narrow life.”

“I know that much. Your sense of adventure was a definite advantage when we first considered you for this job. Keep talking,” she said sleepily. “I like listening to your voice.”

“I’m trying to think of what else I can tell you. My grandmother had a mattress that she was very proud of. She refused to share it with anyone, sometimes not even my grandfather and especially not if he’d dallied too long at the tavern. She collected every piece and scrap of wool, fabric, or paper she could find and she stuffed it inside, until that mattress was firm and comfortable. It wasn’t a patch on the modern day beds but for the times, it was good enough for an empress to lie her head upon. Or at least that’s what my grandmother used to say.”

Ramona yawned widely.

“I should go,” he said, expecting an argument but receiving none. “You need to get some sleep.” He got up to walk to the door as she unfolded herself from her chair to follow him on unsteady legs. He turned to face her and saw that she was standing very close, close enough for him to smell the sweetly seductive scent of her perfume and to notice unexpected flecks of gold in the deep blue of her eyes. It really was time for him to go. If he stood here much longer, he might think to do something foolish that would only complicate matters for them both. His mind had no business in wandering in the direction it was going. “Goodnight, Ramona.”

“Night.” She slurred the word and grabbed for the door handle to steady herself. “We’ll talk soon.”

He grinned down at her and then abruptly turned away, batting to keep himself in check. Ramona was a very attractive young woman but she was also his employer, as unnatural as that was. Altogether, it made life difficult for a man who had never known a society such as this, regardless of whether he had the benefit of an era decoder or not.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ramona’s email was brief and curt to the point of being snappish, briskly outlining tonight’s assignment in as few sentences as possible. She made no mention of last evening and Elliot had the distinct impression from reading behind the few lines of the message that she would not mention it again. He guessed she was probably feeling embarrassed this morning, now that the fog of inebriation had cleared. He’d been there enough times himself to know that destination well enough.

He returned his attention to the details of the assignment. The Knave was due to meet Kacey Greene tonight at the same wine bar where Amy had met Shaun, the venue where Elliot worked his first assignment. Elliot knew from his prior visit that the maze of alleys and laneways surrounding the bar would give the Knave ample opportunities to attack a lone woman.  

There was a photo of Kacey attached to the brief outline. The young woman had strawberry-blonde, feathery hair, a toothy and engaging grin, and bright, inquisitive eyes behind the lenses of her round, wire-framed glasses. Something about the eagerness of her grin hinted that she might be the type of woman who enjoyed jumping feet first into a new adventure and Elliot was irked beyond reason to think of the Knave targeting her as his next victim. What right did anyone have to cut another’s life short?

He went for a walk after reading his email, needing to get outside in the fresh air to clear his head of angry thoughts of the Knave and to separate himself from the four walls of the apartment. He had never spent too much time indoors during his years in Victorian London, preferring to be out and on the move rather than sitting in a dank, cramped room. His apartment here was obviously nothing like his own tenement room but his itchy feet remained to remind him that he wasn’t a man who liked to tie himself down to one spot. It seemed a man could vastly change his environment and his circumstances but his true nature was more of a challenge to tame.

He arrived at the wine bar before both Kacey and the Knave. He ordered an orange juice and chose a table near the back of the room so he wouldn’t be noticed. He was sure the Knave hadn’t seen his face the other evening but it didn’t pay to be too sure when dealing with such a man. From what he knew of him, the Knave was cunning and shrewd, a dockside rat of a man, one used to turning situations to his own advantage for his own selfish means.

When the Knave walked in the door, Elliot almost didn’t recognise him. He wore a casual hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and a baseball cap tipped low at the front. He’d also somehow managed to add a realistic and very permanent looking moustache to his defining features. It wasn’t until he stood at the bar to order a drink that Elliot noticed that he was nervously twisting a silver ring around his little finger. In addition, and Elliot knew he should’ve noticed this as soon as the man walked in, his arrogance radiated off him in easily detectable waves.

Kacey was late, arriving giggly and breathless, full of apologies about a missed train as she greeted her date. She was a tiny girl, smaller than Elliot had presumed from her photo, with a bounce in her step and a jiggle in her walk. It alarmed Elliot to think of how easily the bigger, stronger Knave could overpower and assault her. The Knave briefly laid his hand on the small of Kacey’s back as he bent to speak to her and Elliot had to force himself not to leap up and knock it away.

He watched the couple closely as they sat and talked, although he was unable to catch any of their conversation from his table at the back of the room. They stayed at the wine bar for almost an hour, obviously finding plenty of common ground, before Kacey got up to leave. The Knave remained in his seat, saying something to make her throw her head back and laugh merrily as she picked up her coat. Terrifyingly enough, she stooped to brush a friendly kiss onto the man’s cheek as she left, patently unaware of his horrible plans for her. The Knave waited a brief minute after she left the bar before getting up to follow her, giving Elliot his cue.

He walked slowly over to the door, taking his time to allow the Knave his chance to begin trailing Kacey through the night-shadowed streets. He’d just reached out his hand to open the door when it flew open and a girl almost barrelled straight into him. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She gazed up at him, a mischievous grin dancing across her face and her eyes alight with life and laughter.

He stared dumbfounded at the girl, frozen to the spot and unable to say a word. His stomach looped into painful knots and his heart hammered loudly in his chest. This beautiful young woman with laughing blue eyes looked so much like his Annie that it made him want to weep.

The laughter quickly died in the girl’s eyes under the dead weight of his stare. She gave him an odd look and scooted around him, making sure not to brush against him as she passed. He hurriedly shook himself out of his shock. It’s not Annie. Your Annie is dead and gone.

By the time he’d pulled himself together enough to step out onto the street, there was no sign of either the Knave or Kacey. Elliot spun around frantically, raking his eyes over the lamp-lit streets, furious with himself for losing his focus when so much was at stake. Now Kacey was in mortal trouble and it was entirely his fault. Yet another happy, vibrant woman would die unless he found her in time. The overwhelming sense of déjà vu was not lost on him as he ran from the wine bar and began peering down alleys and laneways, hoping against hope that there was still time to save her.

He would be the first to admit that good luck rather than his own clever quick thinking led him to the exact laneway that Kacey had chosen as a shortcut and it seemed he was just in time. Midway down the shaded and shadowy passageway, he saw Kacey cowering against a brick wall as the black figure of the Knave towered above her, his hand cruelly gripping her arm and his knee pinning her leg to the wall. A bank of mini skips sheltered the pair from the casual eyes of anyone passing by. Elliot was running and shouting before he had time to think. “Hey! Hey you! Take your filthy hands off her!”

Taken by surprise, the Knave dropped his hand from Kacey’s arm and whirled around to face Elliot. The man pulled his lips back into a snarl, his eyes flashing with blind hate. “Mind your own business. You’ll keep walking if you know what’s good for you.”

Kacey was smart enough to make the most of this unexpected opportunity. She ducked past the Knave, hurling insults that would make a fisherwife blush, and ran down the alley towards the bright lights of the busy main street. Elliot stopped running, gasping with relief. She’d be safe now, with the tube station a mere block away from the end of the alley.

The Knave was furious and he made no attempt to hide it. He marched towards Elliot, swinging his fist wildly and sparking with anger. “I told you to mind your own bloody business.”

Elliot easily sidestepped the Knave’s furious punches, used to evading a fight when it suited him. Deciding it was best to avoid a brawl with a man who didn’t know how to play fair, he ran after Kacey and out onto the main street. He checked behind him when he reached the busy pedestrian footpath to see that the Knave had chosen not to follow him and was now hurrying in the other direction. Determined to complete his assignment after he’d nearly ruined everything, he kept Kacey in his sights until she safely entered the tube station.

Elliot sagged back against his seat on the train home, still distraught and struggling to compose himself after the near miss. He dialled Ramona’s number and shamefully admitted what had happened. “I almost let him kill her. I allowed myself to become distracted and I nearly wasn’t there to save her. That monster almost got away with murder.” His voice was loud and ragged with grief and a middle-aged woman in a plastic raincoat sitting on the seat across the aisle gave him a worried glance. All he could think about was Annie’s lovely, innocent face and the terror of her final moments at Jack the Ripper’s violent hands. Tonight another woman nearly died because of me.

“But she didn’t die,” Ramona said, her voice steady and soothing enough to penetrate through his pain. “Kacey made it home alive. I’d just hung up from speaking with my contact when you called.”

He swallowed hard, fearing he was losing the battle to contain his emotions. “I shouldn’t have allowed my concentration to lapse as it did.”

“Elliot, are you listening to me? Kacey is fine. She’s at home now, probably showering or making herself a snack, and thanking her lucky stars that a random stranger came along when he did.”

“Ok.” He focused hard on calming his breathing. “Ok.”

“Do you want me to come over? I can meet you at your apartment.”

“No.” He didn’t want to face Ramona like this, not when he was completely unwound and frighteningly vulnerable. “I don’t need company.”

“Well, come over to my apartment in the morning anyway. We’re due for another talk with Darcy.”

“Ok,” he said again. He turned his head to stare at his blurred reflection in the window beside him rather than meet the concerned gaze of the woman across the aisle.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m alright.” He wanted to get off the phone. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He needed to get back to the sanctuary of his apartment so he could calm himself and steady his nerves. He needed to be alone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Come over around 10.”

He nodded, forgetting that Ramona couldn’t see the gesture, and hung up the phone without saying another word.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

He slept badly that night, tossing and turning and tormented by memories of his frantic flight through the lanes on the evening Annie went missing. At one point he sat bolt upright in bed, his mouth dry with fear, certain he could hear someone trying to unlock the door and enter the apartment. Of course there was no one but the feeling of imminent danger remained, making it impossible to fall back to sleep. He left his tangled sheets and prowled around the apartment, pausing often to stare out the window at the dimmed lights of a city sleeping.

At 5am, aware that there was no longer any point in waiting for sleep, he sat on the couch with Annie’s love note in his hand and reread each word over and over, even though they were all so deeply etched on his memory that reading them was irrelevant. He thought of the absolute perfection of the year and a half that he’d spent with Annie, of their plans for the future, and how he’d imagined his life was complete once he found her. He thought of his sisters, two beautiful little girls lost before their lives had barely begun. And then he thought about how all the hopes and dreams that were now lost forever and how those halcyon days were now relegated to just fleeting moments in time. He cried too, allowing silent tears to run unchecked down his cheeks and soak wetly into his beard.

At 7am, sleep deprived and headachy, he stood under a hot shower for a lengthy while, hoping to wash his tears and his troubles away. He told himself he should have expected this, this mini breakdown, after the tumultuous events he’d been through ever since he climbed into Darcy Darcel’s time machine. Coping with great change was never easy and unfortunately, the near miss last night had reminded him all too painfully of his own failings. Perhaps the corporation wasn’t so clever after all. They had chosen the wrong man despite Ramona’s assurances that he was the best candidate for the job.

By the time he knocked on Ramona’s door later that morning, he had convinced himself of his utter unworthiness. He mumbled a desolate hello as she let him in, unable to bring himself to meet her eye. She noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He’d decided on the way over here to come straight out with it. There was no sense in prevaricating now that he’d reached his conclusions. “If there’s any way to send me back to where I came from, I’d appreciate it greatly.”

“What are you talking about? Elliot, look at me,” she commanded. She stood toe to toe with him and tilted her head so she could look into his downcast eyes. “Why are you talking like this? You’re doing a brilliant job.”

“Kacey could’ve died last night. My distraction nearly caused another woman to lose her life. The corporation needs someone who can keep his mind on the job and that person clearly isn’t me.” He hated to hear the weakness in his voice.

She’d heard it too, if her quick frown was any indication. She threw up her hands in exasperation. “This is ridiculous! Kacey is fine. No one died.”

“I barely slept,” he admitted. “She very nearly died because of me. I’m haunted by thoughts of how close the Knave came to killing her.”

“Close maybe, but not close enough. You completed your assignment despite the small hiccup, which is why the corporation chose you. You’re not a man who gives up.” She fixed her steady blue gaze upon him. “Are you?”

He returned her stare, feeling his resolutions beginning to crumble beneath the undeniable challenge in her eyes. No, he was never a man who gave up easily. He was used to finding solutions. He allowed his lips to curve into a faint smile. “No, I’m not a man who gives up.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled.” She dropped her eyes and turned away from him, just as he was beginning to enjoy the intimacy of their locked gaze.

“Has Kacey reported the incident to the police?” He’d wondered about this too during the interminably long hours of the night.

“No, it seems she’s brushed the whole unsavoury episode off as her date making an unwanted pass. She’s none the wiser as to the Knave’s real intentions, which is probably a good thing.” She picked up her keys from the benchtop and her voice returned to its usual business-like efficiency. “Darcy sent me a message last night. He thinks he’s fixed the glitch in the time machine and I have to go to the woods and do something to the dials. He’s given me a page of instructions and if everything works out as he thinks it will, the machine should be winging its way back to 1889 later this morning. Do you want to come with me?”

“Sure.” He realised this was his chance to tell her that he would go back when the time machine returned to Darcy’s front room but strangely enough, he no longer wanted to. He cleared his throat and marched over to wrench open the door, determined to reinstate his masculinity after his embarrassing little transgression. “After you.”

The time machine was exactly where they’d left in the small group of trees, which surprised Elliot somewhat. “It’s lucky no one has seen it here. I expected it to be vandalised or pieces to have been stolen.”

“My guess is that no one has noticed it. People can be frighteningly myopic when it comes to seeing something they don’t believe in, even if it is sitting right under their nose. Can you give me a hand to shut the door?”

Elliot helped her to ease the buckled door shut, feeling a little guilty that he’d made such a mess of it when he kicked his way out.

She leaned her elbows on the machine and frowned down at the page she’d brought with her from the apartment. Elliot could see the lines of tightly packed writing from where he stood behind her. “Are those your instructions? There seem to be a lot of them.”

“Yeah. Darcy wanted to make sure he didn’t leave out any details. I’m not very technical when it comes to machinery or automations and he knows that.”

Elliot couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to tease her. “Are you telling me you’re not good at everything?”

She ignored him, instead bossily thrusting the page over her shoulder for him to take. “Here, you can read them out while I work.”

It was pleasant out here in the woods with the sun dappling lazily through the leaves above, the birds singing, and the rhythmic hum from the traffic on the street a short distance away. Elliot was content to perch on a fallen log and relate Darcy’s instructions while Ramona twiddled dials, adjusted knobs, and reset levers. Despite her protests that she wasn’t technically minded, he knew he would be hopelessly lost if he was the one in front of that dashboard. His own technical skills were limited to the fine art of chimney cleaning, and screwing the individual components of a sweeper’s brush together was a world of difference away from the delicate intricacies of a machine capable of harnessing time. However, he knew he would be more than willing to learn if the chance ever presented itself. Perhaps once his assignment was finished, he might ask her for a few lessons in mechanics…

“I think that’s everything. Can you read me that last line again?” Ramona, who had been crouched in front of the dashboard for some time, finally stood up and stretched, arching her back like a graceful cat while Elliot studied the curves of her body in silent admiration.

“Set the illumination dial to 3 and pull the corrosion prevention lever down to midpoint.”  It was all gibberish to him but she nodded in agreement. “That’s it then. Shall we see if it works?”

He hurriedly climbed off the log and went to stand beside her. “How will we know if it works?”

She looked at him as if he was an inmate escaped from Peckham House. “Because it will disappear.”

He hastened to explain himself, anxious not to show her yet another flaw in his sanity. “Yes I understand that, but how will we know if it’s gone to the right place? What if it jumps to some other time instead of returning to Darcy’s front room?”

She screwed up her nose and he had the sudden and completely overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her. He hurriedly walked away, positioning himself in a place of relative safety on the other side of the log. Control yourself, Elliot Cinder.

“I think we’ll just have to hope for the best,” she said at last, oblivious to the fact he was fighting against his emotions just a few steps away from her. “Darcy will be able to track it down if it turns up somewhere else.”

“But how will he get to it?”

“I’m going to have to leave that part up to Darcy. Time machines aren’t my speciality. All the infinity devices are under Darcy Darcel’s jurisdiction.”

All of them? He tucked that information away for some other time. “So what happens now?”

She took out her phone and punched her index finger at several of the keys. “I’ll send him the code to let him know I’m done and then we’ll wait.” She shoved her phone back into her pocket and grinned at him. “We’ll wait with our fingers crossed.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Within moments, the air around them filled with a clamorous vibrating noise, the sky momentarily darkened, and then the machine was gone as if it had never existed. Elliot blinked stupidly at the spot where the device had sat just seconds before. There was a small, flattened indentation in the grass but other than that, there was no sign that a time capsule had ever rested here in the woods.

Ramona gleefully clapped her hands together and performed a small dance, her cheeks pink with pleasure. “We did it!”

“When will we know if it has reached Darcy?” He had visions of the device crash landing in the wrong place or time, complicating matters yet again. It was disconcerting to think that his only possible means of returning to his own time was gone but then again, what reason did he have to return? It seemed he had more than enough reason to stay here. He laughed as he watched Ramona swoop and dance, delighted at this impromptu display of excitement.

Her phone pinged with a notification and her grin grew wider. “That’s Darcy’s signal. The machine is back where it should be.” She hooked out her arm for Elliot to take. “Come on partner, let’s go home and raise a cup of caffeine to our success.”

Partner. He liked that. The word spoke of cooperation and collaboration, of a connection between two like-minded people – even if one of them did happen to be a woman. He gladly hooked his arm through hers and they walked back to the edge of the woods.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

His next two assignments went off without a hitch, restoring Elliot’s wounded self-confidence, although it was clear that the Knave now knew that someone was onto him. He’d glared at Elliot across the bar two nights ago as his date left, making it plain that he recognised him and did not appreciate his presence. Elliot had passed this information onto Ramona, who pursed her lips and said they were worried that this might happen. She’d told Elliot to leave it with her and he hadn’t heard from her since. He’d picked up his phone several times this morning, thinking he would call or text her, only to put it down again. He knew she’d call when she was ready and she’d already told him that her week was exceedingly busy.

He finally heard from her in the early evening, just as he was staring moodily into his refrigerator and wondering what to make for dinner. He snatched at his phone the instant it rang. “I was just thinking about you.” It was almost a lie because he’d been thinking about her for most of the afternoon. Oddly enough, the image of her laughing face and her happy dance when she realised she’d fixed the time machine had wedged itself in the front of his brain and refused to move on.

She sounded tired. “Can you come over? Something unexpected has happened. I need to fill you in on the details.”

Chilly fingers of dread scuttled across his scalp. “What do you mean by something unexpected? Has the Knave killed someone?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Me neither. We can meet for dinner somewhere. It will probably do me good to get out.” She gave him the address of a nearby restaurant and said she’d be there in thirty minutes.

Elliot took a quick shower before driving the short distance to the address he’d written down. The restaurant was a cheap and cheerful Indian eatery, enveloping him in the delicious aroma of herbs and spices as soon as he walked in. Ramona nodded at him from where she sat at a small table covered with a washed-out red tablecloth that dipped low on each corner. A tea light candle burned next to a tiny vase stuffed with a few strands of plastic flowers and a pitcher of water held pride of place in the middle of the tableau. She was grave and unsmiling as he pulled out the chair to sit beside her, but he was still mightily pleased to see her.

“Hi, Elliot. Sorry I haven’t been in touch for a while but I guess you’ve realised that we’ve pulled you of the case for now. The past few days have been crazy.”

“You’ve pulled me off the case? Why? Because the Knave knows that I’m following him?” This was disappointing but he supposed they were replacing him with another candidate unknown to the Knave, someone anonymous who could work undetected. It certainly made sense to do so.

“What? No.” She irritably shook her head and looked past him to the door. She lifted the pitcher to fill the glasses without saying anything more.

Elliot picked up the menu and casually glanced through it, leaving Ramona to her sullen mood. She probably wasn’t going to be good company tonight but at least he’d get to eat without needing to prepare his own meal. “Do you know what you’re having?” he asked politely.

She suddenly leaned forward, the huff of her breath making the yellow and purple flame of the candle flicker wildly. “He’s stalking me. This is entirely unexpected and we’ve had to make some quick changes to the scheduled plan.”

Elliot slowly lowered the menu, wondering if he’d heard her correctly. “The Knave is stalking you? How did he find out about you?”

“I don’t think we gave him enough credit, or perhaps he’s switched things up because we’ve stopped him from committing the crimes he’d already planned. I don’t know. I don’t know how his mind works and I don’t think I want to know.” Her eyes darted over to the door again.

“You’ll have to go back to the beginning because I’m completely lost. How did he find you? Are you using the dating app?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Yes, she was a single young woman but he hadn’t realised she was actively seeking romance. The notion made him uncomfortable, especially as he was beginning to admit to himself his own growing attraction to her.

She reeled back, apparently horrified by the suggestion. “No! Of course I’m not using any dating apps.”

“Ramona, I don’t understand any of this. How did he find you and why is he stalking you?”

She gnawed at her lip and fiddled with the edge of the menu. “Do you remember when I told you that the daughter of one of the senior members of the corporation was in danger of losing her life at the Knave’s hand?”

“Yes…” Somewhere deep within in his brain, a cog whirred and clicked into place. His eyes widened. “That was you?”

Her nod confirmed it. “If we hadn’t intervened, he would’ve eventually found me anyway but things have sped up. It’s frustrating but we have to roll with it.”

There were still too many loose ends for Elliot’s satisfaction. “Doesn’t he only meet women through the app?”

“Mostly, but his meeting with me was always going to be a random act of chance. Now that we’ve altered future events so thoroughly, we’re dealing with a scrambled reality.”

“Are you ready to order?” A smiling young woman appeared beside their table and offered a distraction from the perplexing conversation. Elliot hastily ordered and waited for her to leave, anxious to have his multitude of questions answered. “A random act of chance? What was that?”

“He spotted me in a pub the other night and he followed me when I left. It was always going to happen and it’s just that it’s happened sooner than we thought because we’ve fiddled so much with time and space.”

He wanted to ask what she was doing at the pub and who she’d been there with. He felt vaguely miffed that she hadn’t asked him to go with her. He reminded himself that she saw him as an employee, a man selected simply for his ability to complete a job. She’d already given him a lot of her leisure time, probably more than she needed to, and she was unaware of his developing feelings. The idea of her enjoying herself on an evening out with another man rankled but he had no claim on her unless he declared his intentions. “Were you in danger? When he followed you?”

“I wasn’t in any danger but the corporation is worried that he’ll strike again. He was seen near my apartment building this morning.”

Near her apartment? His protective instincts reared up. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Thank you, but it’s all under control. It’s troubling that he hasn’t met our forecasts as to how we expected him to act but appropriate safety measures are now in place. I have several people checking on me and they know what they’re doing. There’s no chance of the Knave laying a single finger on me. I’m perfectly safe and you have to trust me on that.”

He had to do something. He couldn’t stand meekly aside and do nothing to help her. “I’m going find him and talk to him. We want to know what he’s thinking and you’ve admitted that your experts’ predictions were wrong. I want to try to determine how his warped mind works.”

“You can’t do that. As I said, you’re completely off the case and there’s no need for you to have anything further to do with him.”

“Why am I completely off the case? I’m sure there’s something I can do behind the scenes.” It was suddenly vitally important to him that he was still involved.

She stared down at the candle flame instead of meeting his gaze. “The corporation have decided it’s for the best. They have some concerns about breaches to the conditions of the operation.”

His heart sank and a hollow sense of failure filled his belly. “This is because of what happened with Kacey Greene, isn’t it?”

The candle light gleamed yellow in the vibrant blue depths of her eyes. “No, it has nothing to do with that. Elliot, I can’t tell you anything more. You’ve been pulled off the assignment and the Knave is now stalking me. That’s all I can say.”

“I’ve made up my mind about speaking to him,” he said firmly. “I’m doing this for myself, I’m doing it for Annie and I’m doing it for all the other women who have needlessly lost their lives at the hands of a murderer. I want to know what makes such a man function, what it is that makes him think he has the right to end the lives of young women. I’m going to face the Knave, man to man, and I’m going to engage him in a conversation.”

The colour had drained from Ramona’s face and her hand visibly shook as she set her water glass back down on the table. “You can’t do that. You’ll ruin everything. As I’ve explained to you already, every minute detail of this operation has been meticulously planned. The project continues to be monitored and assessed on an hourly basis with adjustments made and changes introduced as necessary. A conversation between you and the Knave hasn’t been factored into any of it.”

“He’s now seen me on several occasions. He knows that I know what he’s trying to do. It’s time for me to face him and you can’t persuade me otherwise.”

“The corporation won’t be happy.”

“The corporation can be as unhappy as they like but they can’t stop me from drinking at a public bar in the city in my own free time, just as they can’t stop you from doing so. Ramona, I’m from an era where men fronted up to their enemies and fought their battles on the street. The Knave and I came close to a fistfight in an alley but words can be just as effective when there is a point to be made. I need to do this. You can’t sit here and tell me that you’re not interested to know more about him yourself.”

She plucked nervously at her paper napkin but he could see she was beginning to waver. “I guess I can’t persuade you not to speak to him, but how will you find him? I refuse to help you by giving you any information. I can’t and won’t betray the corporation.”

“I’m not asking you to. The Knave seems to be a creature of habit. He’s already visited the same wine bar several times now. I’ll go there and wait for him, even if I have to wait for several evenings before he shows up.”

She still looked apprehensive. “Be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

He told himself that she meant the corporation didn’t want anything to happen to him. It was foolish to pretend otherwise. He was here to do a job, she was his boss, and it would do him well to remember that. He raised his water glass to toast her, hoping to summon up a smile and chase away her bleak expression. “I’ll be careful. You can count on that.”

Chapter Thirty

For the next three evenings in a row, Elliot visited the wine bar where Amy had met the Knave but there was no sign of the man. On one of the evenings, he also paid another visit to the bar down by the docks but his intuition told him that the Knave would choose the wine bar with the LED lights and glass tables due to its proximity to a maze of narrow and lonely alleyways. The man was primed for murder yet he’d missed multiple opportunities and even now, Elliot’s replacement was tailing him and thwarting his attempts to claim a victim. Frustration would soon force him out to seek his prey via other means if his meetings via the dating app continued to be foiled.

Elliot walked into the purple-lit bar on the fourth night, fully prepared for this attempt to be just as fruitless as the last few nights. This errand was proving to be more tiresome than he’d anticipated but he was determined not to give up. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do with his time anyway; since being relieved of his duties he’d found the days dragged slowly by. He’d managed to spend a few hours with Amy yesterday, which had gone some way towards relieving the tedium, but he was anxious for something more exciting to start and to have a goal again. He was beginning to understand just how isolating life in this century could be, despite the numerous comforts at a man’s fingertips.

He looked up as a shadow darkened the doorway and his heart gave a lurch. The Knave was here and he was alone. Tonight he’d chosen to present himself as a suave businessman, a successful and prosperous man about town. He wore his hair cropped short at the sides and longer on top and his suit spoke of quality tailoring and expensive threads. His innate arrogance paired perfectly with his well-groomed and well-chosen outfit. He went straight to the bar where he ordered himself a glass of whisky before turning to survey the room. His eyes skimmed across Elliot before rapidly returning to rest on him. Elliot saw the man’s gaze turn flinty. Elliot hardened his own stare and inclined his head a fraction to acknowledge that he knew he’d been seen and recognised.

The Knave twisted the ring on his finger before casually lifting his glass to take a sip, a man with all the time in the world at his disposal. He said something to the barman before sauntering across to stand beside Elliot’s table. “You come here often.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“I do. It’s an easy place to visit.” He gazed back into the Knave’s cruelly handsome face, taking stock of a man with murder on his mind. He was older than Elliot had first thought, perhaps in his late 30s, but his classic good looks and auspicious air clearly trumped any concerns about his age when it came to scoring dates with attractive young women.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” The faint smell of cigarette smoke teased Elliot’s nostrils as the man subtly shifted his position, already sure of a yes.

“I don’t mind at all.” They were both on their courteous best behaviour, which Elliot thought was laughable considering who the man was and that they’d nearly come to blows a week or so ago.

The Knave lowered himself into the chair with all the elegant finesse of a king ascending his throne. He set his glass down on the table and leaned back in his chair far enough to enable the crossing of his legs at the ankles. He oozed careless confidence and Elliot would have believed his pretence if he hadn’t seen him nervously twist the ring on his finger earlier.

Elliot glanced across at the empty doorway. The wine bar was mostly empty this evening, with just a few small groups of people quietly talking and drinking. “No date tonight?”

“I’ve given myself the night off.” The Knave rested his hand on the table and silently tapped his fingers, as if he were playing an imaginary piano.

Elliot studied him without speaking, trying to understand how this apparently normal and self-assured man found it acceptable to snuff out life with those very hands.

The Knave returned his stare. “I deduced early on that you were a wild card.”

The statement irked Elliot. “You don’t know anything about me.”

The Knave’s mouth broadened into a smirk. “You’d be surprised what I do know about you, Elliot Cinder.”

That voice. “You called my number. You said to tell Elliot that Jack called.”

“Now why would I do that?”

“We can keep talking in circles or we can speak to each other as adult men.”

“Interesting concept.” The Knave’s restless hand moved to his glass and he swirled the alcohol and ice in a lazy circle.

“Have you killed anyone yet?”

Something shut down deep within the Knave’s eyes with all the finality of a dropped hammer. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

“What gives a man the desire to kill?” Elliot asked bluntly. This had bothered him ever since the Whitechapel Murderer made his first ghastly attack, long before Annie was unfortunate enough to cross his evil-minded path.

The Knave uncrossed and stretched out his legs again, taking his own good time with his answer. “We are both men of the world, intrinsically bound by both our backgrounds and our gender. Desire is a fickle beast. One man’s desires are difficult to explain to another, unless those men are inherently two of a kind and can understand the need behind the desire.”

“That seems to be a coward’s way of avoiding a direct answer to a direct question, and you have also judged me wrongly. I am nothing like you.”

“We are more alike than we realise. We both love women for example, but in very different ways.”

“You’re fooling yourself if you think you love women,” Elliot sneered.

The Knave tapped his fingers on the table again, annoyed now. “Very well. Let me answer your question. To hold a person’s life in your hands, to control whether they live or die, is the ultimate high. It is a feeling that is impossible to surpass. It is both seductive and addictive, and a man is left wanting more.”

Elliot felt nauseous. The Knave game was speaking so casually of murder, as if they were discussing a card game or a football match. “You deserve to spend the rest of your life rotting in prison.”

This seemed to amuse him. “We don’t always get what we deserve.”

Annie. She certainly hadn’t deserved to die that awful death. “What do you know of my personal history?”

A tiny flicker of compassion flared in the Knave’s eye but it was just as quickly gone again. “I have had glimpses.”

“How? I am not from here and my friends are few. I also trust them implicitly not to reveal my secrets.”

“I have my means and we both know that the measures put in place by men to make themselves feel safe are more fluid than they look. Time is but a whisper in a world gone mad. The concept of time itself has little meaning once we find a way to bridge it.”

He seemed to be talking about the time machine, but how could he know? Elliot watched him, suspicious of whether he was telling the truth or not. How could he believe anything uttered by a man who made a sport out of murder? “What about Darcy Darcel? Do you know him?”

The man’s blank look seemed genuine enough. “I had never heard of him until this very minute.”

Elliot exhaled, ready to call an end to their meeting. This man, and the knowledge of what he wanted to do to innocent women, made his flesh crawl as horribly as if he was lying on a mattress full of bed bugs. “I don’t know much about you but what I do know, I don’t like,” he said flatly. “I cannot stomach your cruelty and your vindictiveness, regardless of what it is in your life that has made you into the pitiful excuse for a man that you are today. I cannot bear to breathe the same tainted air as you.” He lowered his voice menacingly. “Stay away from Ramona or you’ll regret it.”

The Knave smirked again. “Ah, the beautiful and aloof Ramona. I wasn’t aware that you desired to possess her yourself, although I think we can both agree that she would make a lovely possession.”

Elliot had had enough. He abruptly grated back his chair and stood up, glaring down at the Knave’s hateful face. “Remember this - let the cards fall where they may but all players must play. Don’t forget that there comes a time when every man must pay his dues for the life he has chosen to lead.”

“Fancy words.” The Knave looked amused, although he was spinning the ring on his pinky finger with carefully controlled agitation. Perhaps this meeting hadn’t been completely in vain after all.

“That may be so but my words have deadly meaning. Lay down your hand. Overcome your lust for violence and murder because you can never win.” Elliot strode away to the accompaniment of the Knave’s jeering laughter, anxious to put some distance between himself and this vile man as quickly as he could.

Chapter Thirty-One

Elliot had finally managed to get hold of Ramona. He was eager to share the details of his evening with the Knave with her, but she hadn’t answered her phone for days. He was almost beside himself with boredom and even his car had begun to lose some of its earlier appeal when she finally answered her phone. He didn’t realise it was her at first, thinking her voice mail had picked up yet again, until she spoke. “Is that you, Elliot?”

“It’s me.”

“I’ve been meaning to call you. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Playing solitaire.”

She giggled and the sound warmed his heart. “Literally?”

“And figuratively. When can I see you?”

“Are you free for lunch? We can meet at our burger restaurant.”

Our burger restaurant. He was suddenly desperate to see her. “I’ll be there.”

She was waiting for him at the same table by the window. She raised her hand in a cheerful wave when he walked in and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He had to stop himself from running across the black and white expanse of heavy-duty floor tiles to join her. Instead, he walked with studied nonchalance across to the table.

“I’ve ordered enough for both us. Sit down while we wait for our number to be called.”

“Waiting for our number to be called sounds faintly ominous, especially after my meeting with the Knave.”

She fixed those solemn blue eyes on him. “You managed to talk to him?”

“A few nights ago. I’ve been trying to reach you to tell you about it.”

She shifted her gaze and looked down, making small circles on the table with her finger. Her hair hid her eyes and he could no longer guess what she might be thinking. “I was unavailable. The corporation decided to remove me from the case for my own safety and I had several days of debriefing to sit through.”

“I’m sorry. I know how important the project is to you.”

“Mmmm.” She looked up as a number flashed up on the screen above the counter. “That’s our order ready now.”

“I’ll go.” He went up to collect the tray of burgers, fries, and drinks before hurrying back, eager to continue their conversation.

“So what did you think of the Knave? As a person, I mean. I’m not talking about his actions or intent right now. In some ways I envy you for speaking to him.”

“He’s very smart but easily irritated. I can’t hold my hand to my heart and say that either one of us came away the winner from the conversation. As much as it pains me to say it, I think that in many ways we’re an equal match. I hadn’t expected that.” He pointed at one of the lidded coffee cups on the tray. “Which is mine?”

“I ordered you a cappuccino with a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon. My favourite spice.”

“It is? Don’t tell me they had cappuccinos with cinnamon back in the 1800s.” Her eyes held a bewitching tease that caused a strange fluttering in his chest.

“No, but they do have a deliciously stodgy cinnamon and ginger pudding with currants. My grandmother would bake it on special occasions, provided we had the ingredients or we were able to find them. My landlady sometimes makes it too.”

“You’re speaking in the present tense. You’re talking about that time as if it is still current and real for you. Is that how you feel?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I feel as if I have one foot back there and one foot here.” Time is but a whisper in a world gone mad. An echo of the Knave’s voice taunted and mocked him.

“I can understand that.” Ramona unwrapped her burger, carefully folding back the paper and smoothing it down, preparing herself for a feast. “Did the Knave say anything that you’d consider useful for this project or was he too busy throwing out diversions?”

He remembered Amy’s odd comment about red herrings. What was it she’d said? Something obscure about fish with no teeth? “I’m really not sure. He spoke in riddles most of the time. He knew who I was though, and I had the distinct impression that he knows a certain amount about time machines.”

“Mmmm.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you like but I’m not telling you anything more.” She grinned cheekily and his idiotic heart swooped and dived in response. He told himself it was obviously glad to be in the presence of a friend, nothing more and nothing less.

“You said something the other day when we in the woods. You spoke about the time machine as if it was one of many.”

She frowned across the table at him. “I’m sure I didn’t say that.”

“You said Darcy is in charge of the infinity devices. You didn’t say device. I remember it clearly.”

Her eyes skittered away from his, refusing to allow him to hold her gaze. “Amy said you had fun the other day.”

“Yes, we went to the British Museum. It was rather confronting to see so many formerly everyday and often used items in a display case with a label stuck on the front.”

She laughed, loud enough for the couple at the next table to turn around and look to see what they might have missed. “Did it make you feel old and vintage?”

“Very old and vintage.” He glanced over at the counter to where another queue had formed and he suddenly stiffened. A man in dark clothing stood with his back to their table and he was twirling a silver ring around his little finger.

Ramona twisted around in her chair to see why he was staring. “What’s the matter? What are you looking at?”

The man took a step back to squint up at the menu board and it was now plain that he wasn’t the Knave, but instead a much younger man who looked nothing at all like him. Elliot shook his head. “Nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew.”

“From this century?”

“Perhaps.” He wanted to talk to her about some of the things the Knave had insinuated. “How much do we really know about the people we meet? We’re forced to base our judgements on the face that people choose to present to the world, but what if that face is merely a mask? The Knave is a prime example of this – anyone passing him on the street would have no idea that he’s a monster in the guise of a man.”

“I don’t know if I’m in the right frame of mind to go into such a deep and meaningful philosophical discussion today.” She sighed and put down her burger. “It really threw me sideways when the corporation took me off this project. I’d put my heart and soul into it.” Her eyes held his for a long moment. “It’s hard for me to accept that everything I worked on for so long is now gone.”

“What will you do now?” The realisation had just hit him that this would probably mean he would have less chance of seeing her. She would be busy somewhere else and he would soon be forgotten. This wasn’t what he wanted.

“There’s another project pending.” She pulled a face, as if to say this new project didn’t excite her.

“Do you have anything for me to do? I feel useless without any assignments to complete and to be honest, I’ve been battling boredom. I’d love to help in any way I can.” He crumpled up his burger wrapping and dropped it back onto the tray. “I miss the closeness of people. I miss the bustle. I miss feeling as if I belong to something far bigger and grander than I. This world of comfort and abundant personal space sometimes makes me lonely.”

“The corporation is working on something for you. Trust me, you won’t be bored for long. They didn’t go to all this trouble and expense to bring you here to leave you sitting on your butt and twiddling your fingers.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. Will I be working with you again?” He held his breath and superstitiously crossed his fingers under the table.

“Perhaps. We’ll have to see how it pans out.” She looked out the window, over to where the river sparkled and shone in the weak sunshine. “The clouds have cleared. Do you want to take a walk when we finish here?”

“I’d like that.” He uncrossed his fingers and sent up a silent hope for unspoken wishes coming true.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Once again, it had been days since he’d heard from Ramona. Their lunch at the burger joint had stretched into a long and companionable walk by the river and he’d said his goodbyes with the feeling that they would speak again soon. However, her phone went straight to voice mail whenever he called and he was tired of leaving messages that she never returned. He’d given himself a good talking to over it; it seemed he was more invested in their friendship than she was and he was walking a rocky and treacherous path if he expected her to return his developing feelings. He forced himself to see their relationship from her point of view – she’d overseen his work on the project in the role of supervisor and now she’d moved on to what was quite possibly bigger and better things.

When Amy called and asked if he wanted to meet her for a coffee, he was glad to jump at the chance for some pleasant distraction. He’d visited parts far and wide in London town on his own by now, he’d driven his car in circles, he’d watched TV shows until his mind turned as soggy as a pile of rags, and he’d paced discernible tracks in the carpet of his apartment. He longed for company and he was more than happy to spend a few hours with the delightful and straight talking Amy.

She greeted him warmly, moving in for a quick hug that he hadn’t seen coming. He held himself stiff for several seconds as his Victorian morals shrieked in silent horror, before allowing himself to relax into the overall niceness of the embrace. Really, was there anything wrong with embracing a female friend?

They ordered their drinks and found a table, where Elliot was anxious to turn the conversation towards the corporation and Ramona. “Have you heard from Ramona? She mentioned she was working on a new project and I had hoped that she might have some additional work for me.”

“I heard about what happened. The whole thing has turned into a massive soup sandwich.”

Her comment tickled him, right under the ribs where the funniest punches found a home. “You mean the Knave project?”

“Yes.” She dramatically rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue to demonstrate her annoyance. “They have another guy trailing him but the Knave seems to have abandoned his plans for murder for now. He didn’t even turn up for his last date, leaving the young lady sitting alone and fuming until she left. She had no idea that she’d been stood up by a killer, of course.”

Elliot wondered if his own conversation with the Knave had anything to do with the man’s apparent abandonment of his violent intentions. Would he be giving himself too much of a pat on the back if he congratulated himself for turning a monstrous man away from murder?

Amy continued, unaware of where Elliot’s thoughts were taking him. “I don’t know what Ramona is working on now, although I have heard that it’s highly confidential. Although everything the corporation does is highly confidential so there’s no surprises there.”

“And what about you? What are you doing now?” He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered asking. He knew she wouldn’t tell him.

She tapped the side of her nose and winked. “Tell me no secrets and I’ll tell you no lies.”

“Least said soonest mended.”

“That sounds very Victorian.”

“The phrase was quoted often by the women in my family, especially my grandmother.”

“I wish I had the chance to travel back there,” she said wistfully. “That era has always fascinated me, which is why I dragged you off to the British Museum the other day. I’ll take you again one day. I never get bored while I’m there.”

“You haven’t used the time machine?”

“No way! I’m far too low down in the pecking order to get an offer like that.” She turned to watch as a toddler pitched a small tantrum in front of the glass cabinets, flailing his arms and bellowing for a gingerbread man. “Would you go back? If Annie were still alive in the times you left behind, would you return to 1889?”

“She isn’t alive so it isn’t a choice that I have to consider making.” He felt faintly offended by the question. He would never have met Darcy and he would never have left his own era if Annie were still alive. Heck, it wasn’t as if he’d chosen to leave in the first place; his trip in the time machine wasn’t planned and Amy should know that.

She understood immediately that she’d said the wrong thing and she grimaced a rueful apology. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought about it before I asked a question like that. I’ve never been too good at censoring my own words, which you’ve probably noticed by now. Of course you would go back to Annie if you were able.”

“With that being said, I’m not sure why I’m still here. I’m half expecting to hear that they’re sending me back anyway.”

“They won’t do that. I can’t tell you anything further but…” She sucked on her lip and stared into the middle distance, searching for the right words. “Let’s just say there’s a place for you in the grand scheme of things.”

“Meaning that I just have to sit and wait?” It was the exact opposite of what he really wanted to hear.

“You’ll just have to sit and wait,” she agreed. She nodded across at where the small boy was now gleefully devouring his gingerbread man. “Did you enjoy treats like that when you were a child?”

“Sometimes. My family wasn’t wealthy but we made do with what we had. It’s amazing what you can have despite a need to be frugal. Fun and games were important. Our generation enjoyed robust entertainment, clever fancies, and tacky ornaments. Jokes were made out of the simplest of things, although many of those jokes are far too coarse to repeat in the presence of a lady.” He recalled some of the ribald conversations he’d had with Robert in Chaney’s Tavern after a few tankards of beer had loosened their tongues. A sharp and unexpected pang of homesickness twisted his gut. He would like to see his friend once more, to explain to him what had happened and where he’d gone. He supposed that Robert probably thought of him as dead by now.

“You look sad. You often look sad. What are you thinking about?”

He looked up and was caught off guard by the deep compassion in her gaze, realising with a start that she felt sorry for him. He spoke before he’d properly considered the rude force of his words. “I don’t need your sympathy. I’m a man who is used to standing on his own two feet.”

“Elliot, you’re in the 21st century now. Your Victorian stiff upper lip isn’t necessary. People have evolved enough to understand that both men and women have feelings.”

He nodded and looked away, unwilling to venture into such tricky and unchartered territory.

“Would you like to go to the movies?” she asked suddenly. “We can sit and eat popcorn and pretend that real life doesn’t exist.”

He laughed, glad that she’d lightened the atmosphere again. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

“It might be a girly one,” she warned. “There’s one that I’ve wanted to see for ages and it finishes today.”

“Lady’s choice.” He grinned back at her as his low mood begin to lift. “Anyway, I don’t mind watching a girly movie. I’m sure I could always do with some more education on how the feminine mind functions.”

“Be careful what you wish for. You might get more than you bargained for.”

“I never say no to a challenge, especially when it’s thrown down by a lovely young lady” he said gallantly. He stood up to pull out her chair, pleased to note that she was wearing a snug fitting pair of jeans today. “After you.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

When Ramona finally called, he almost didn’t answer the phone out of spite but his desire to hear her voice overrode his childishness. However, he kept his voice cool and offhand when he greeted her.

Ramona didn’t appear to notice the chilliness in his tone. “Elliot! I have big news. Darcy is traveling in today. Do you want to come with me to the woods to meet him?”

He immediately dropped all pretence at aloofness. “Darcy? Why is he coming? And yes, of course I want to see him!”

“He said he’ll explain once he gets here. Meet me outside my apartment in twenty minutes.” She was gone before he opened his mouth to reply but it didn’t matter. He was already on his way to the door.

Ramona was outside and waiting impatiently for him when he arrived at her apartment block. He was a little disappointed that she didn’t hug him as Amy had done, but he reminded himself that this was Ramona and the two women were very different. After saying hello, she launched straight into a tirade about how busy her week had been and that it would’ve been helpful to have received more of a warning about Darcy’s visit.

“We’ll know soon enough.” Elliot glanced at her as they hurried across the street to the small grove of trees. She looked wonderful, fiery and hyped-up, with her eyes flashing and her jaw set determinedly. Her hair was worn loose today, flying around her shoulders in a silken wave as she jumped over the kerb and pushed her way past the straggly tree trunks. “Don’t go too far in,” she warned, throwing her arm across him to prevent him walking any further. “Darcy isn’t the best driver and he sometimes misses the mark.”

She’d scarcely finished speaking when Elliot heard the sound, a deep rushing, rumbling sound that made his hair stand on end and the blood turn sluggish in his veins. The sound engulfed him, pulling the cells and molecules in his body in all directions at once, and then just as suddenly it stopped. He rubbed at his eyes, briefly disorientated and giddy, as Ramona hurried across to the familiar-looking gold box lying in the grass just a short distance away. He trotted over to join her, coughing to clear his airways of the perfumed stench of the fuel.

“The door is jammed again,” Ramona muttered as she hauled on the handle. “Oh! Got it.” She quickly stepped back as the door swung open and Darcy tumbled out to sprawl prone amongst the weeds.

“Darcy. Good to see you, old chap.” Elliot held out his hand and hauled the older man to his feet, feeling as if he’d just received a message from home.

Darcy grinned at him. “Elliot. You’re looking well.”

Ramona fussed with the door behind them, grumbling that it wouldn’t close, and Darcy turned to help her. Elliot pushed his hands into his coat pockets and waited, thrilled to see his wily friend in the flesh again. He looked exactly as he had when he’d last saw him, with his whiskers framing his round face, the crown of his hat crumpled on his head, and his woollen trousers held up by a pair of striped braces. He looked like a fine slice of 1889. Elliot quickly shut down an unwanted burst of homesickness, irritated that it still had the ability to catch him unawares.

“That should do it, my dear. It will be safe enough to leave it like that until I use it to go back. I won’t be here long.” Darcy started towards the edge of the woods, clearly walking a path he’d trodden before. “How about you make me a cup of your wonderful coffee? I swear I dreamt about it last night. Elliot, come and talk to me.”

Fifteen minutes later, back in Ramona’s apartment with the coffee made and all the formalities out of the way, Darcy surveyed both Elliot and Ramona from the other side of the table. “I’m glad for the opportunity to speak to you both at once. As you know, we have experienced a few issues with the infinity devices lately.”

Elliot interrupted immediately. “Infinity devices. I’ve been unable to get a straight answer from anyone on this. Is there more than one time machine?

“There are very few things in this world or the next of which only one exists,” Darcy said cryptically. His feline green eyes twinkled. “Elliot, I’m sure you’re aware by now that too many questions of the wrong nature are frowned upon by the corporation. I can assure you that there is further work ahead for you to make use of your numerous talents. Your work has found favour with the senior committee and they’re looking forward to a long and mutually satisfying business relationship.”

“That’s all very well to say, but I’d appreciate it if at least some of my questions were answered,” Elliot argued.

“All in good time. We have something far more important to discuss.” His jovial expression faded and his voice became grave. “A rather complicated issue has arisen.”

“I thought as much,” Ramona said softly. “After what happened on Thursday…” She darted a quick glance at Elliot and clamped her mouth shut.

Darcy nodded. “Thursday was not a good day, not now and not then.” He shifted his gaze to Elliot. “The Knave contravened our rigorous security measures and managed to access a time machine.”

Ramona’s mouth drooped forlornly. “It should never have happened. The corporation is in an uproar.”

Darcy took a deep breath. “This is where it becomes even more complicated. Due to the fluidity of time, we’re beginning to think that the Knave and Jack the Ripper might be one and the same.”

Elliot’s heart skipped a beat. His mouth was suddenly so dry he could barely shape a word. “What? How can that be? It’s impossible!” I refuse to believe that I sat in a public place and held a civil conversation with Annie’s killer.

“It should be impossible but evidence exists that suggests this might not be the first time the Knave has utilized an infinity device. As you must know by now, he is a highly intelligent, albeit an irreversibly damaged, man. Staying one step ahead of such a man, even with the amount of resources at the corporation’s disposal, is not always possible.”

He was going to be sick. He couldn’t stomach the smell of the coffee wafting up from the cup that sat beneath his nose. He jumped to his feet and paced with great agitation around the room. “You’re telling me that the Knave killed Annie,” he said flatly.

“We’re still working on the finer details but yes, it is possible.”

“Elliot, we’re doing all we can to get this sorted out,” Ramona put in. “Rest assured that the Knave will be stopped, one way or another.”

Elliot stood with his back to the table and stared out across the rooftops of London town, at a landscape he used to know so well. He’d had a chance to stop the Knave himself and he’d missed that chance. He could have silenced that jeering, self-satisfied voice forever. He should never have listened to the ‘rules’ of the corporation. His stake in this was far too personal for that.

Darcy pulled a timepiece on a golden chain out of his trouser pocket and flipped it open. “I have to go. I have a meeting elsewhere in fifty years and thirty minutes.”

Ramona went to stand up but Darcy motioned for her to stay seated. “I’ll make my own way back.” He gave her a pointed look. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk.”

Elliot nodded dumbly, barely able to summon up enough strength to say goodbye. Darcy walked across to where Elliot stood and laid his hand heavily on his shoulder, pressing down firmly to drive his meaning home. “Ramona is here for you to talk to. We will do our best to make sure the Knave can’t leap back across the decades and return to the current year, if that gives you any peace of mind.”

Elliot could no longer ignore his growing nausea. He had to get out of this claustrophobic room and out into the fresh air. He needed to be alone. “I have no wish to talk to anyone.” He ducked out from under Darcy’s hand and ran for the door. “If I should ever chance to see you again Darcy Darcel, I hope the news you bring is kinder for a man who has already been through too much.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Elliot had spent several sullen days in moody introspection. In many ways, it felt as if he’d suffered through Annie’s death all over again. He’d battled anger, grief, and regret, furious at both the corporation and the Knave for their unnecessary and jarring impact on his life. The corporation had used him as a pawn, withholding important information while they allowed the Knave to continue to walk around as a free man. They should have permanently stopped the man in his tracks from the outset instead of blindly blocking his numerous attempts at murder. If the corporation really was all powerful and omnipotent, such a task should have come easily to them. Yes, he knew Ramona had said it was complicated to retract events and change all aspects of the future but their collective intelligence should have been able to find some way around it. And now, it seemed the Knave had fooled them all and used their own infinity device for his evil and selfish means.

Elliot lay on his couch in the swathe of sunshine that shone through his windows, staring up at the ceiling. Ramona had tried to follow him when he stormed out of her apartment several days ago but he’d refused to listen to her pleas to come back and talk. He knew he needed time to himself to come to terms with everything and he was glad he’d taken that time. His anger with the corporation and the Knave had gradually reduced to a low simmer, allowing space for other musings to creep in. With the Knave now back in the 1800s, presumably trapped there and with the corporation doing their utmost to thwart his killing spree before any other women lost their lives, he should put the man out of his mind. Darcy had said there was further work ahead for him and he already knew he enjoyed the comforts and benefits of this era.

He’d spent time thinking of his friendship with Amy, his intrigue for the ingenuous workings of this century, and of all the things he’d learnt since his arrival here. He’d chewed through countless thoughts over the past few days and he had made up his mind on one important matter, a matter that remained at the forefront of his mind despite his other concerns. Over the past few weeks, he’d battled against developing feelings for Ramona and she continued to step unasked and uninvited into his thoughts and dreams. It was becoming a real problem from his point of view but he’d come up with a way to solve it.

 Ramona and her cool demeanour both intrigued and captivated him. Against all odds, she’d managed to create a space for herself in his heart. He’d decided he would woo her into revealing more of her softer, more carefree side, the side that she’d only shown him brief glimpses of until now. Elliot Cinder was a man capable of much charm and persuasion, and he had allowed himself to forget that since Annie’s death. Ramona, with her rare grins and beguiling stare, made him remember the man he once was. He wanted to find that man again and he was positive the key lay behind her smile.

Someone knocked on the door, tipping him out of his musings. He rolled off the couch, wondering if Ramona had decided to pay him a visit. They’d spoken twice on the phone since he left her apartment but on both occasions the conversations had lacked both warmth and length, largely on his part. Her arrival here now, just when he’d made his momentous decision, could be timely. He hurried into his bedroom to check his reflection in the mirror, giving into vanity as the person outside the door knocked again, harder this time.

Elliot pulled the door open with his most charming smile poised ready on his lips, but the person standing outside was definitely not Ramona. His visitor was an older man who Elliot had seen around the apartment block with his wife, a man with greying hair, worried eyes, and quick, anxious movements. He greeted Elliot nervously, shuffling his feet and glancing behind him as if he thought someone might sneak up and grab him at any moment. “I’m sorry for leaving it so long to drop this off to you, but my wife has been very ill. Someone left this in our letterbox in error about a week ago, maybe a little more, and I’ve been meaning to deliver it to you. Time seems to have gotten away on us lately.” He held out his hand and Elliot noticed for the first time that he was holding a plain, buff-coloured envelope.

“It’s no problem at all. I wasn’t expecting any mail so the delay isn’t a bother. Please give my best wishes to your wife, along with my hopes for a speedy recovery.” Elliot thanked the man and took the envelope, looking at it with detached curiosity as he shut the door. He’d cleared junk mail from his mail box several times since moving in here and he suspected that this was yet another generic community flyer or a piece of advertising for some local tradesman’s home maintenance services.

Elliot carried the envelope over to the bench, where he left it while he filled the kettle and pulled the canister of coffee out of the cupboard. His thoughts drifted back to the pleasant subject of wooing Ramona. He decided he would make himself a cup of coffee and then he would phone her and invite her out to dinner. He smiled to himself, imagining her protests or excuses, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Somehow, he would find a way to persuade her that a genuine Victorian courtship was exactly what a thoroughly modern woman needed.

He poured the hot water into his cup and swirled the spoon through the brown liquid, sending the robustly seductive fragrance curling upwards. A bonny wench. Feeling buoyant, he dropped the spoon into the sink and idly picked up the envelope to inspect it again. His name was written on the front in curling handwriting but there was nothing else, no stamp nor logo. He lifted the flap and pulled out a small folded sheet of paper covered in the same curling handwriting. There was no salutation or greeting and the words began abruptly, right at the top of the page.

‘Elliot,

Think of me on a night black. I am at the heart of the creeping shadows, I am the unknown sound from within the entrails of a building, I am the unexpected footsteps behind you in a darkened alley, and I am the lone flicker of a cold breeze to raise the tiny hairs on your neck.

Watch your step, Elliot Cinder. Watch every single step you make and measure every single breath you take. Heed my warnings well because no man can never know for certain when he’ll find himself walking on the wrong side of trouble.

Jack.’

Elliot snorted with derision, annoyed that the Knave had the audacity to write him such a note before he left. He screwed up the note in his hand, watching with satisfaction as he reduced the sheet of paper into a tight ball of nothing before dropping it into the small rubbish bin in the cupboard under the sink, where it lay with the potato peelings, burger wrappers, used tea bags, and other unwanted trash. He had no further interest in either Jack or the Knave and he would not allow the man’s idle threats to disrupt his life. The man was not worth wasting any more of his thoughts or energy upon. He deserved no consideration and if he thought Elliot was scared of him, he needed to think again. The Knave had stupidly trapped himself in Victorian England and there was little to no chance that narcissistic, murderous deadbeat would ever make his way back to modern times.

Tossing aside all thoughts of the Knave and feeling confident and sure of a positive reception, he picked up his phone to call Ramona. Now he could really begin to sit back and enjoy the myriad pleasures the 21st century had to offer, and he knew exactly where he wanted to start. It was a man’s responsibility to lay down his intentions in a clear and true manner when it came to the delicate business of winning a woman’s heart.

The End

Look out for On A Night Black, the next book in The Cinder Chronicles series, which is due for release in October 2019 and will continue Elliot and the Knave’s story.

The third and final book in the trilogy, No Regrets, will follow shortly after (at this stage, the release date is mid to late October).

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