Shadows Fall Away (23 page)

Gurov’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He has not mentioned this to me.” He rubbed his cheek pensively. “But I have not seen Mr. Stewart personally for some days. It seems he keeps hours suitable to himself only. Yes, I find orders delivered, things cleaned at night. I make payment through Mrs. O’Connell.”

Mrs. O’Connell looked first stunned, then pleased. “It would be grand to have you lodging with me,” she said when I broached the subject. “I still find it strange though, that young Mark would just up and leave without so much as a ‘fare thee well’ or collecting his few personal items.”

I repeated what I knew we’d both heard from the local grapevine. “It seems he’s going back where he belongs.”

Mrs. O’Connell gazed through the windows at the gathering dusk. “Maybe,” she said, darting a quick glance at me. “Though I suspect the lad’s not sure himself where that might be.” She shook herself and returned to the subject at hand. “Well, he’s few enough things in the room. I’ll pack them up and put ‘em in my storeroom then I’ll bring up some clean bedding for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. O’Connell,” I said. “But please, call me Genie.”

“And you must call me Maggie.” She patted my hand. “Oh, we’ll have a grand time, the two of us. You mark my words, Genie dear.”

“I’m sure we will.” I thought of the last time I was in the room and all that might have been. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. But there was no turning back. I reached into my purse. “But we should settle up on the rent first.”

“Oh, keep yer money for now, love. Mark was paid up till the end of the month. I’ll not double-charge.”

“No.” I put the coins on the counter. “You put Mr. Stewart’s money with his things. I will not allow myself to be supported by any man, even like this. From now on, I make my own way.”

Mrs. O’Connell regarded me evenly for a moment, then scooped up the coins. “A hard attitude girl. And one you might regret one of these days.”

I looked away. “I’ll add it to my other regrets. One more will scarcely matter.”

Mark

I felt the tap of the constable’s baton on my shoulder before I’d even realized the man was there.

“And just where do you think you’d be going, my fine lad? We’ll be wanting no trouble ‘round here.”

I bobbed my head and tugged at the bill of my cap in servility, making sure to keep my face down. A cold drizzling rain soaked through the thin coat I wore, making it easy enough to maintain a hunched and miserable posture. Still, I silently cursed his stupidity. I should have known a bum wandering the streets after dark in the fashionable West End neighborhood would draw notice, but I’d been lost in thought and was taking the most direct route between the Underground station and my destination.

“I want no trouble. But I hear Sir Cedric will be wanting to shift some rubbish from his house. I hoped to make an honest wage is all, sir.”

“Then you should know enough to use the back alley, not the front door!” the cop chastised. “Off with you, and don’t be causing any trouble. I’ll be looking out for you.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” I tugged my cap again and shambled towards the back alley.

“And make sure you come honest by any coins I find in your pocket!”

I slipped into the shadows behind the houses and realized how clueless I was. A true street person of the time would have instinctively stayed to the back alleys even if it meant going the long way round. My disguise had to be as much a matter of attitude as appearance. Dress a homeless slob in fine clothes and he’d still have the haunted look and attitude of a homeless slob. Dress a better class man in shabby clothes and he’d exude an air of confidence.

No matter. I’d gotten away with the cop but now I had to convince Wallace, Sir Cedric’s servant, to admit me to the house—through the back door. I stood amid the dustbins and tried to adopt a confident attitude again. Failing that, I settled for pure ballsyness and rang the bell.

Wallace greeted me with a sharp, “Off with you, scum!” when he opened the door and began closing it in the same motion.

“Wallace,” I said calmly. “Would you be so kind as to inform Sir Cedric that Mr. Mark Stewart has come to call?”

Wallace pulled open the door again and stared hard at me. Even though the butler had seemed unflappable on my previous visit, he was completely shocked now. “Bless me, but it is you.” He pulled the door wide and stepped aside. “Do come in, Mr. Stewart, I’m sure Sir Cedric will be delighted. But whatever has befallen you? And why have you come to the back door?”

I stepped into the tidy back hall onto the gleaming wood floor that led to the carpeted steps into the main house. The smell of a roast cooking in the kitchen in the basement reminded my stomach it hadn’t been filled the night before. Nevertheless, I was determined to maintain a bland society demeanor.

I took off my grungy cap and coat and handed them to Wallace who seemed momentarily at a loss as to what to do with them. I noticed his expression and replied hastily, “It’s a long and not very entertaining story. But please don’t burn those with the trash. I’ll have need of them again.”

Wallace inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, sir.” He held the cap and coat gingerly in his fingertips as he hung them by the door. He turned to usher me into the house then stopped. He turned and regarded my dirt-streaked shoes and pants. “Perhaps a bit of a dust off before I announce you? Not that Sir Cedric would notice, of course, but…”

I smiled. “I have the utmost respect for your carpets, Wallace. Yes, ‘a bit of a dust off’ would be appreciated.”

I was rewarded by Wallace’s look of relief and I knew I’d just made an ally.

As Wallace attacked the dirt on my shoes and pants with a stiff bristled brush, he said, “Sir Cedric’s about to sit to supper. I’m sure he’d be pleased if you’d join him.”

“It would be my pleasure.” The brief stint of being homeless had been more than enough for me. The prospect of a good meal and a crackling fire warmed me more than I ever thought it would. The thought of having to live the rest of my life as I had since coming up with this stupid plan was a depressing realization that the only blessing a person in such circumstances could hope for was that such a life would be short.

How many muffled arguments between my parents had I drowned out with loud music? Dad wanting to toss me out to live with the “street trash” I called friends, Mom begging him not to give up on their only child.

***

Present Day

Agatha

I was amazed at the efficiency of the curator of the Genealogical Society and even more so with his report. A Sir Cedric Hawkesmythe owned the estate of Hallowhawk, my own ancestral homestead. Sir Cedric was a great-great-uncle of mine.

And that amazing fact led to the revelation that there was a
Hawkesmythe
collection of scientific artifacts at the county museum in Staffordshire.

The curator shook his head. “I’m not sure if ‘scientific’ is an accurate term,” he said. “It seems Sir Cedric was pursuing the idea of time travel.”

I gasped. “Time travel?”

The curator, misunderstanding my reaction, replied with a sardonic smile. “He was quite an eccentric. Apparently he was a member of several metaphysical societies as well.”

I considered that. “But he had a home in London in the late 1880s?”

“Apparently he vacated it at the end of 1888.”

“Is he buried at Hallowhawk then?” I asked, trying to understand how he fit into Mark’s disappearance.

The curator paused. “It’s rather curious,” he said finally, “but there seems to be no record of his burial or his death.”

I scarcely contained my excitement but managed to suggest, “Perhaps he died elsewhere. In America. After all, that’s where my part of the family settled in the earlier part of that century.”

The curator smiled. “Yes, that’s the most likely case. In any event, the estate passed to the local government after his so called death. That’s the site of the current museum. Would you like directions?”

“Very much so.”

***

1888

Mark

“Cracking, brilliant!” Sir Cedric’s voice boomed down the hall as Wallace ushered me into the sitting room.

Sir Cedric wore a flowing maroon robe and matching conical cap, both of which were covered with strange, gold-embroidered symbols. It seemed to me straight out of Albus Dumbledore’s closet or something Aunt Agatha’s friend Percy might wear for casual attire. But on Sir Cedric is seemed more than a little ridiculous.

My immediate reaction was that Sir Cedric recreated the Sorcerer’s Apprentice scene from
Fantasia
. But that, of course, was in the future. Still, the image made me a little nervous. On the other hand, Sir Cedric’s was the only place I could think of to hide where no one would find me. Even Genie and Ian didn’t know about my meeting with Sir Cedric following the benefit.

So, Sir Cedric’s it had to be.

“I was just about to have dinner,” Sir Cedric continued, oblivious to my clothing. “And I’ll have Wallace set an extra place. I won’t take no for an answer.” He wagged a cautionary finger. “I’ve had some startling thoughts, truly wonderful insights. At least, I think they are. I’d be ever so appreciative of your views.”

I accepted the dinner invitation not only for the obvious reason but, even more because I kind of liked the odd guy’s company. Kind of like how Aunt Agatha was all serious and stuffy until she and her professor friends got together and snarked about colleagues and universities they’d been with.

When Sir Cedric bowed his head for a moment of silent prayer before the meal, I did likewise to ask forgiveness from the parents I was afraid I’d never see again.

Sitting in the warm, dark oak dining room, with the sparkling crystal and silver service, and starting on a second helping of roast beef, vegetables, and potatoes, I found myself drifting into an almost dream-like state as Sir Cedric expounded on his latest theories. I actually envisioned the images of what the he described.

“The problem,” Sir Cedric said, “was how to navigate the oceans of time, you see. It’s quite one thing to cast one’s self adrift but to journey to a specific time and place, well, that’s quite another.”

I nodded and thought back to some of those physics shows with Michio Kaku we had to watch in school. It was great the way he’d used a pizza and ordinary ways to explain long distance space travel. “So it’s kind of like being on ice and slipping along but not quite being able to stop.”

“Excellent analogy,” Sir Cedric agreed. “Because it takes only the lightest push to start you moving. Stopping may not prove so easy.”

Sir Cedric was his usual animated self again after dinner. He bustled me around the sitting room in which his machine waited its final pieces.

The wirework frame with the semi-precious stones was fully assembled and tentatively mounted in the innermost case of the apparatus. Sir Cedric gestured to the contraption. “It appears that acquiring the aluminium and someone to craft it continues to vex me. I’ve yet to secure a suitable sphere for the center.”

I bent to examine the interior wirework and whistled low in amazement. The structure was a gleaming spider web of gold wires holding a rainbow assortment of semi-precious stones, all carefully cut and placed, twisted into the design with an even finer spider web of wire. It was far more impressive than the wirework on the other spheres because it stood on its own, without the distraction of the polished globe.

It was a work of art. At least more a work of art than a lot of what they showed at the Carnegie Museum back home. The notion froze me in place. If things worked out that I had to stay in the past, one thing I knew I could count on was Plan B. Knowing what technologies would take off and which companies to invest and work for might give me the chance to make a fortune. And then maybe I could come back and see Genie.

“Time will tell,” Sir Cedric said suddenly.

I looked up, wondering if I’d spoken out loud, but his attention was focused elsewhere. “Your notion of linear travel makes me wonder, is this entirely necessary? Perhaps a simpler device could work.”

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed.

Cedric looked surprised and checked his pocket watch. “Oh, dear, look at the time. It has completely gotten away from me.” Then he laughed a high-pitched little laugh. “But not for long I warrant you. No, time won’t get away from me forever. Soon I’ll mount its slippery flanks and be its master.”

“I wondered—” I began but Cedric cut me off.

“I’m afraid conjectures will have to wait till the morrow. I must go to bed. Wallace will see to a room for you. I insist you stay the night since it’s still the dark of the moon. You’ll have no luck finding a cab at this time of the morning.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief. A real bed, a warm room. The thought was as attractive as the roast beef had been.

And I wondered how long I could hide out with Sir Cedric before I wore out my welcome.

***

Genie

I carefully rearranged my few things in my room above the tea shop. Although Mrs. O’Connell had removed all of Mark’s possessions, the room was filled with him. If I sat at the table, I remembered the horrible embarrassment he had caused me when I taught him to shave. If I sat on the bed, all the feelings of the night I’d been in his arms, drunk, came rushing back.

I believed it had been a very bad idea to rent his room.

But he was gone, back to America most likely, back where he belonged. And if his ghost inhabited this place, how better to banish it than to face it head-on? Like everything else in my life, I needed to face my problems, not sidestep them. I needed to take hold of life and make it bend to
my
wishes.

I sat on the bed, running my hands over the fresh bedclothes. Part of me wished he were here. Part of me was glad he’d gone.

Men! They made everything so complicated. If it weren’t for them, the world would be a far better place.