A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) (22 page)

Elizabeth craned her neck as she got into the carriage, trying to see if Simon was going to follow, but she couldn’t find him. She felt a tightening in her stomach and did her best to ignore it. He was there somewhere, she told herself. He was fine.

She had to follow this clue, or whatever it was. The list of who might send Katherine Vale a letter was a short one. It clearly wasn’t Graham. Dr. Blackwood or George, perhaps, but why be so secretive? Another man? From the way Vale looked at Graham that didn’t seem likely. Who else could it be?

Vale leaned back into the seat as the cab pulled away from the curb and sighed. It wasn’t exactly a fake sigh, but a little forced, dramatic, a sigh people used as a lure to get someone to ask them what’s wrong.
 

Elizabeth was curious and willingly took the bait. “Everything all right?”
 

“Everything’s…all right,” Vale managed half-heartedly.
 

Elizabeth had to keep from smiling. She so obviously wanted to talk about something, but didn’t want Elizabeth to know she did. She waited for more, but Vale apparently wanted her pull it out of her.

“Just all right?”
 

Vale offered her a small, sad smile. “I don’t know.”

Elizabeth knew this game.
I can’t say it, but if you ask me…
She bit the inside of her mouth and then said, “I’d like to think we’re friends. If something’s bothering you…”

 
Vale nodded, relieved that some sort of amorphous permission to speak freely had been granted. “I’m worried about Charles.”

Worried you’re going to grow to hate him with the fiery passion of ten thousand suns? “In what way?”

Vale leaned back in her seat and looked lifelessly out at the city. “I think he might be seeing someone else.”

She looked at Elizabeth to judge her reaction and then laughed, embarrassed at having admitted such a thing. “I know it’s silly.”

“I’m sure whatever’s going on,” Elizabeth said, “that’s not it.”

“He’s just been so distant since we’ve been here. Going off by himself, secretive.” She shook her head and raised her eyebrows in puzzlement. “I can’t blame him if he’s tired of my silly headaches. I know I am.”

Elizabeth forgot herself for a moment and laid a comforting hand on top of Vale’s. “I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for those.”

“I’m really not usually like this,” Vale said.

How well Elizabeth knew that. The woman was made of ice, permanently frozen, unforgiving ice.

“We all have our bad days,” Elizabeth said.
 

Vale smiled genuinely and squeezed her hand. “Thank you. I suppose Charles was right. A day out is just what I need.”

A few minutes later their cab pulled up to the corner of Regent and Oxford streets. Elizabeth, hoping for a chance to separate Vale from her purse for a few minutes, had suggested they spend the afternoon shopping in the bazaars.
 

Elizabeth doubted they were anything like the ones she’d seen in Cairo, but if they were crowded, and loud and busy, she might find an opportunity to borrow Vale’s purse to get a peek at that letter.

They turned around the corner, unsure of which way to go when Elizabeth saw it. There was no mistaking the tall long building with the ceiling of glass she’d read about the in Baedeker’s Guide she’d found at a shop near their hotel.

She’d heard of the Crystal Palace, built for one of London’s Exhibitions, and this bazaar was styled after it. Nestled between two buildings, the Crystal Palace Bazaar was an oddity. They walked through the large, open doorway and into a wide, vaulted hall with an arched ceiling that had to be forty feet high. Iron and glass shaped into stars and diamonds made up the coved ceiling and two tiers of enormous iron columns painted in oddly bilious colors—blue, red, and white—held the entire thing up. There were two levels, with vendors displaying their wares inside large wood and glass counters and lines of shelves that ran the length of the building.

Definitely not like Cairo, but bustling and loud just the same.

They looked at jewelry and pewter work, art and ladies’ gloves.

“You should try these on,” Elizabeth said holding up a pair of kid gloves for Vale.

She took them and ran them through her fingers, admiringly. “They are nice, aren’t they?”

“I’ll hold yours,” Elizabeth offered.

Vale took off her gloves and handed them to her.

“And your purse,” Elizabeth said, “so you can really see them.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Vale said, holding out her hands in front of her. “What do you think?”

“Nice.” So much for plan A.

In the end, Vale decided against them, although she did purchase a handsome black pair for Charles. As she paid for them, Elizabeth caught a tantalizing look inside her purse. There wasn’t much inside it, just a small compact, a few coins and the letter. No watch, Elizabeth noted. And while the letter was right there, it might as well have been in a vault. She couldn’t exactly snatch and grab it. That would be difficult to explain.

And so she tried to be patient. But that was never her strong suit and what little she’d had had been spent the first week they’d been here.

“How about a new purse?” Elizabeth suggested as they neared a stall with embroidered handbags.
 

“There’s nothing wrong with this one,” Vale said, starting to move on.

Elizabeth quickly picked a bag up. “But does it sparkle?”
 

She wiggled the bag back and forth and Vale laughed, and came back to the stall.
 

“They are attractive.”

“This one is you,” Elizabeth said. “It even matches your dress.”

She held the bag up against Vale’s blue silk dress.

“Try it on,” Elizabeth suggested. “There’s a mirror over there.”

Vale looked at the purse and then nodded. “I’m sure it’s ridiculously expensive.”

She slipped her reticule off her wrist and handed it to Elizabeth.

“Live a little.”

Vale smiled conspiratorially and put the bag on her wrist, and moved to the mirror.

Elizabeth edged around to the other side of the display table, lowered her hands so Vale couldn’t see them, and eased open the draw string. Inside the little letter waited.
 

Making sure no one was looking Elizabeth started to reach inside. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got it. How could she read it and reseal it? If she out and out stole it, wouldn’t Vale know she was the one who took it?

Dang.
 

Elizabeth let the letter slip out of her hand and back into the bag. She’d have to come up with something better than that. Maybe they could get Freddie to hire some of his little pals to steal it?
 

But when? How?
 

She needed help and looked around the Bazaar.
Simon, where are you?
He was nowhere to be seen. Elizabeth swallowed the lump of worry that left in her throat.

“Too much for me,” Vale said, suddenly reappearing at her side and putting the bag back on the counter.

She held out her hand for her purse and with a forced smile, Elizabeth gave it to her. They window-shopped for a little while longer, before having a cup of tea and heading for home.

They both rode in thoughtful silence until Vale called out for the driver to pull over. He did as instructed and pulled the cab over near the Marble Arch.
 

“I think I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Vale said. “Fresh air.”

Elizabeth nodded, what else could she do? “It was fun.”

Vale climbed out of the carriage. “See you soon?”

Elizabeth nodded again and cursed herself. She’d finally had a chance to do
something
and all she’d managed was to end up full of tea again.

The cab pulled away and drove around the circle. Across the street, Elizabeth could see Vale had stopped. She had the letter out of her purse and was tearing open the envelope.

“Pull around the corner and stop,” Elizabeth told the driver.

She paid him and quickly got out and hurried back to the arch. She could just see Vale across the busy street. If she hadn’t read the letter yet, Elizabeth might learn something from seeing her face as she did.

Creeping as close as she dared, Elizabeth hid behind a man selling baked potatoes from a large cart. Vale read the letter, slowly shaking her head as she did. She looked around nervously and Elizabeth ducked down behind the large copper warmer. The heat escaping from the boiler pushed against the left side of her face.
 

“All right, Miss?” the vendor asked, concerned.

Elizabeth waved her hand at him. “I’m not here.”

“Right,” he said as if women hid behind his cart daily. “‘ot taties!”

Vale turned the letter over to see if there was anything written on the back side. There wasn’t. But she opened the little envelope again and pulled something else out. It was flat and square and white on the back, but Elizabeth couldn’t make out more from where she was.

Vale looked shaken. She clutched the letter and envelope to her chest and looked around again in a near panic. She hurried over to a coster who was just setting up to sell roasted chestnuts to crowds that evening. He’d built a good fire in his brazier and turned away to see to his stock.

Elizabeth watched helplessly, knowing her chance to know what was in that letter was nearly gone.

Vale looked one last time at the contents of the envelope and then tossed them all into the fire. Elizabeth’s heart sank as Vale watched them for a moment to make sure they’d caught and then hurried down the street.
 

Elizabeth watched her for a second and then overcome with the need to not fail again, she leapt from her hiding place and ran across the busy street.

She was nearly hit by not one, but two horse-drawn carts as she wove through traffic to the other side. She must have looked like a mad woman, but she didn’t care. She had to know what was in that letter. Somehow it had become the poster child for this whole darn mission and she just couldn’t let it all go up in smoke.

She dashed over to the brazier in time to see the last bits of the letter curl and turn into ash. She was too late. Again.

Feeling sick, she started to turn away when she saw the telltale white edge of a small square piece of paper. It must have slipped between the grates and fallen to the ground, half-burned.

Elizabeth stepped on it, crushing out the remaining sparks. She bent down to pick it up. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised by what she saw.

“Good God,” Simon said breathlessly as he came to her side. So, he had been following. Dear Simon.

“Are you
trying
to give me a heart attack?” he panted out.

She barely heard him as she stared down at the paper in her hands.

“Elizabeth?” Simon asked, turning her toward him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She looked up to see his worried face. “I have.”

She held up the burned bit of paper for him to see. It was a photograph. A photograph of older Katherine Vale.

V
ICTOR
TOOK
A
LONG
drink of his beer to wash away the taste of the eel pie he’d managed to keep down. Now if there was just something to wash away the taste of the beer.

The pub was crowded, as it always was, but he did his best to listen for anything that might be helpful. It was the beginning of another long night. Time here traveled painfully slowly, inching along like the wretched people that were sometimes called the crawlers—old women so weak and infirm that they literally dragged themselves along the street. He’d seen them huddled together on the steps of the workhouse, in a knot of misery, waiting for the end to come. Some called them “dossers” because they lived in a state of perpetual dozing, stuck between waking and sleep, never finding either. And instead of mercy, they found only more misery. Even death ignored them.

Victor had seen a great many horrors in his life, but the conditions of those women would stay with him forever. Not that it would do him or them any good, he thought as he drank the last of his beer and signaled for another.
 

“Oi, wot ya got there, Collie?” Fanny, a local prostitute with a shrill voice called out to her friend who’d just come into the pub.

“You know I ‘ate that name. It’s Colleen,” the woman said, putting on airs as best she could.
 

She would have been able to pull it off if she’d many teeth left. In a sea of mousy brown and bleached blonde, she stood out with almost silver hair and pale, freckled skin.
 

“Oh, all hoity-toity today, ain’t we?” Fanny said, swishing her skirts about her legs.

Colleen lifted her nose in the air and sashayed over to the bar, winning a derisive laugh from Fanny.
 

“Look at her,” Fanny said and then gave an exaggerated imitation of Colleen and flounced her way to the bar as well.

A few onlookers gave hearty laughs, but Colleen was not amused. She said something to the barkeep that Victor couldn’t hear before turning to glare at Fanny.

The barmaid dropped off Victor’s beer and he took a long drink from it.

“You get somethin’ good this time?” Fanny said, leaning in to try to sneak a peek at the small bundle Colleen held close to her bosom.

“If I did, you ain’t seein’ none of it. I earned it.”

“On your back,” Fanny said, winning another laugh from the men at the tables nearby.

One of the men reached out and grabbed Colleen by the skirt and pulled her into his lap. “Why don’t you share it with me, Love?”

“Get off me,” Colleen said, struggling to get up.

Victor set his beer down, his teeth on edge. Things like this happened daily, hourly, in the Ten Bells, but Victor was spoiling for a fight tonight and if these idiots wanted to oblige…

“Don’t worry,” a voice said from nearby, Marie. “It is like this every time she comes in.”

Victor eased, but only slightly.

“All right, all right,” the barkeep said, coming around to the table. “Let ‘er go, Paulie. It’s hers. She’s got the right to keep it.”