An Earl Out of Time (Time Into Time)

When I had stopped chattering about spotting the Mansion House and the Bank of England I realised they had fallen silent and were checking two pairs of pistols. ‘Where did they come from?’ Not only checking but loading, I realised.

‘Side pockets here in the carriage. Never travel without them,’ Lucian said, easing down the hammer on a pistol that looked like an exquisite work of art. And an exquisite killing machine.

‘Manton?’ I hazarded, as I told myself that they knew what they were doing and I was in no danger of getting anything shot off.

‘Joseph Manton, yes.’ Lucian looked up, sharply. ‘You know of him?’

‘His guns are famous. His and Purdey’s. Purdey used to work for him, didn’t he? His shop is still going, I walked past it the last time I was in London.’ I didn’t tell him it was now owned by a French company, or that the granite pillars at the front are pitted with shrapnel from World War II bombs – I didn’t want to give the brothers heart attacks.

‘Purdey? No, I do not know his work.’

‘I have got my dates wrong then.’ Lord, I hoped they weren’t going to go and locate Purdey and set him up in business or something. Virtually everything I said seemed to be giving information of the kind I had sworn not to let slip. I was becoming too used to this world, to the people within it, too engrossed in the mystery of Arabella Trenton. That cold finger trailed slowly down my spine again… I wouldn’t even know if I did something to disrupt the future. The chances were, I would simply cease to exist. I had forgotten to be afraid, now, suddenly I was.

‘Is this a dangerous area we are going into then?’ I had better concentrate on not getting killed in this era and stop worrying about twisting timelines.

‘The dock area is rough. No place for a lady. No place for shiny coaches either, come to that, but it is safe enough in broad daylight. I am merely taking precautions,’ Lucian said with a reassuring smile before he bent over the pistol again.

I watched the long, confident fingers on the weapon and reminded myself that this was a different time, a different world and wondered if the brothers would have been loading pistols if I had not been in the coach with them and they did not have to worry about defending me.

The coach wheels lurched into pot holes and the vehicle kept slowing, then turning. The walls were closing in and I wondered whether Garrick, who was driving, would have to stop soon and let us out. And then we turned again, through an archway and into a cobbled yard.

‘This must be it.’ James and Lucian climbed out, then handed me down.

A raw-boned man in a dark blue tailcoat with brass buttons approached us and raised his tall hat. ‘Gentlemen? Ma’am?’ He studied us with dark, watchful eyes, perhaps matching us to descriptions of desperate river pirates.

Lucian produced a card. ‘I am the Earl of Radcliffe. I wish to ascertain whether a young woman of my acquaintance who has gone missing has been brought to your mortuary.’

That was, apparently, all the formalities needed. ‘If you will come this way, my lord.’ The man – I presumed he was a constable – looked back as I began to follow. ‘Not the lady, surely, my lord?’

‘Yes, the lady also,’ I said and kept going.

‘Er, right…er, Miss. When might the female in question have been brought in?’ the constable asked Lucian as we went through a battered door into what looked like an old warehouse. Inside was a bleak, chilly lobby with a high desk, the kind you stood up at. He turned a large ledger towards him and looked up, waiting.

Lucian told him the earliest possible date, the night of the disappearance, and the man ran a finger down the entries. ‘Eight females who might fit the bill, my lord. Do you have a description?’

‘About five feet and three inches in height, slender, blonde hair. Under the age of twenty years.’

‘Well-nourished,’ I added, getting over the shock of so many dead women being found in the river in such a short time. ‘Probably well-dressed.’

The constable looked faintly scandalised at my intervention. I suspect he was trying to pretend I wasn’t there. ‘Pregnant?’

‘My, ‘Possibly, but it wouldn’t be showing,’ clashed with James and Lucian both saying, ‘No,’ firmly.

‘Not certain? Five then, going by the description. Couple of old ones and one real Long Meg who can’t be yours. Hair colour’s not so easy. You’ll see. Right then. Down this way. I’ll say it now, ma’am, this is no place for a lady. The smell…’

‘Then the sooner we get it over with, the better.’ I palmed the smelling salts bottle and shook out a handkerchief.

We followed the constable as he unlocked another door and led us down a narrow brick stairway. The walls oozed damp, the treads were slippery, and I realised we must be below the level of the river at high tide, if not lower. The Thames would keep the place cool, but the stench of death rose up to meet the stink of mildew and rot and dirty water and I slapped the handkerchief over my nose and mouth.

‘In here’s the oldest ones. Two of them’s possibles.’ The man reached the foot of the stairs and threw open a door to the right. We filed in behind him and saw six bodies laid out on stone slabs. There had been no effort made to clean them up or cover them decently and certainly no signs of medical examination. Indignation over-rode the rising nausea and I found I could focus on the bodies, although I had no desire to get any closer. James had gone faintly green and I suspected that I matched him.

Three of the corpses were men and one a woman with long red hair, tangled and loose. Lucian moved closer to the other two, whose filthy hair might originally have been blonde or brown, and shook his head. We shuffled out and I uncorked the salts bottle a fraction to take a cautious sniff. It made my eyes stream, but at least it cut through the stench.

r /> ‘One had a scar on her face and the other had rotten teeth,’ Lucian said, sounding as though he was trying not to open his mouth.

The next room had several female corpses, but the constable waved us towards only one. I heard James’s muttered curse as the lantern shone on pale hair, but Lucian turned away. ‘Far too thin and the nose is too big.’

‘The last one’s a bit of a mess, my lord,’ the constable said apologetically. The smell in the final room was marginally better. Either I was getting used to it or these were the freshest corpses. Again, Lucian went towards the slab the constable pointed to and then stopped in his tracks. His hand, I saw, was shaking, then he clenched it and went closer.