That was probably true. Sarah didn’t let herself flinch. She closed her hand over the brooch and put it hastily away. “Afterward. After you’ve dealt with the Replicant.”
“Where is it?”
“In the Dwelling,” Gideon said. “And a wolf.”
Summer looked annoyed. “Too much work.”
“Venn will be grateful. Think of that.”
The woman shrugged. But the idea seemed to appeal to her, because suddenly she smiled archly and said, “Very well. Call me, when you need me, and I’ll come. If I’m not too busy.”
It would have to do, though Sarah knew full well that the promises of the Shee were worthless. But if she didn’t get back soon, she would be trapped here in this endless realm like Gideon. He was shaking his head at her; she looked back at him while she answered Summer. “Keep your promise. I’ll keep mine.”
And then, enjoying their complete astonishment, she made herself invisible.
Wharton stared at the empty scullery in utter dismay. Who on earth could have let her out? The boy from the Wood? But why?
He turned. Down the dark corridor an icy wind whispered. He had a sudden vision of wide-open doors and windows, the Abbey undefended, the enemy deep inside the house.
He had to use army tactics now. Get back to the Monk’s Walk. Barricade themselves in. Ring of steel around the mirror. Without it Jake would never get back. And after all, he thought with wild hope, maybe Maskelyne had done it. Maybe Jake was back already, with Venn, even with David Wilde. Then he, Wharton, could go and spend a late Christmas in Shepton Mallet and pretend all this madness had never happened.
He walked warily to the hall, then ran up the stairs. Halfway, on the wide landing, he turned.
Something clicked below in the hall. He lifted the shotgun.
“Sarah, is that you?”
Snow drifted. The cold was so intense, he felt it was gnawing at him. He stepped up, backward, keeping his gaze moving. Something was here. Something strange, and close.
Then as if his eyes had focused, as if it had blurred out of deepest night, he saw the wolf.
It was slinking up the lower steps, against the banister, a white, sinuous thing with no shape or outline, hard to see, except for its eyes, small glowing sapphires in the dark.
It gave a low, eerie growl.
He whipped up the gun with both hands, pointing it at the beast.
It came on, watching him.
“Get back. Get back or I shoot.” He stamped and threatened.
The wolf snarled, a terrible sound. Behind it, someone laughed.
Wharton backed. “Who’s down there? Control this animal or I’ll be forced to! Do you hear me?”
No one answered but the ice-animal. It leaped three steps and streaked toward him.
Wharton gasped, missed his footing, fell backward.
And fired.
London, August 1848
Dear Jake,
I hope you finally get to read this in some archive of Symmes’s papers, sometime, if it survives. I just want you to know that I’m okay, and I’m still trying to get back. I know Venn will be trying to find me, but I don’t want—didn’t want?—either of you taking stupid risks.
When I found myself in 1840s London I knew Symmes was my only chance, but I’m honestly beginning to think this thing only works one way. I mean backward. If I try again I may well just shunt myself back even further in time away from you. But I have to try. I don’t have any choice.
Tell Venn I have calibrated it to the second and the twelfth. I don’t know if it’s even enough.
Look kid, have a good life, or if you’re an old man now, I hope you had a good life. I hope you haven’t /didn’t /won’t waste it worrying about me. I hope you find a good woman and have kids and that somewhere, somewhen, I’m a grandfather.
I love you, Jake. Tell O to forget me and find Leah. Tell your mother I’m sorry.
Your lost, lonely, loving dad,
David Wilde
Jake watched Venn fold the paper slowly, his face bleak. He said, “Jake…”
“Don’t talk to me about how sorry you are!” Jake’s snarl was savage. “You got him into this with your stupid, selfish obsessions! He would never have…”
“It was his idea.” Venn turned. “He was as keen as I was.”
“Only because he couldn’t stand to see your guilt! And you let him go! Don’t fool yourself, godfather—you’d do anything, sacrifice anyone, to get her back. Me, Dad, anyone on earth.”
Venn’s face was icy, but before he could answer, Symmes said calmly, “Gentlemen. We are scientists and we must approach this problem in a scientific manner.”
He was back sitting by the fireside and had lit a small dark cigar. He seemed to have recovered from his shock; now he was self-possessed, smoking and thinking, one knee crossed casually over the other. “I could never make the mirror operate fully before Dr. Wilde came, but that was because I did not have the other device—the bracelet he wore on his wrist. He never removed it and when he left, he was wearing it. You, I observe, have an identical one.”
Jake, still simmering, glanced at Moll. She grinned. “Thanks to me he does, mister.”
“Yes…” Symmes inhaled deeply. “So, with it, you may perhaps be able to re-enter the mirror and go home.”
“Without my father?”
“He is not here.”
“I need to know how the mirror was calibrated.” Venn came and stood over Symmes, looking down at him. “I must see it. Now.”
In the silence, the rattle of cab wheels was muted; the stench of the streets a faint tang.
Symmes tapped ash on a glass tray. Then he squashed the stub in and stood up. “Very well. It’s in the cellar.”
He tied the dressing gown cord firmly and glanced with sudden distaste at Moll. “Not the urchin, though. Surely we have no further need of her.”
Jake muttered, “She saved me, and the bracelet.”
“Nevertheless…” Symmes looked at Venn. “I don’t intend to give beggars a tour of my house and valuables.”
“I’m not a bleedin’ beggar!” Moll snapped.
“We know you’re not.” Venn searched in the pockets of the stolen clothes he wore and pulled out a heavy handful of florins and shillings and pennies. “Here.” He dumped the lot carelessly in her hastily cupped hands. “Take it. Go and get yourself some good food. And some shoes.”
Moll looked staggered. She had probably never seen so much money in her life. Jake wished he had something to give her too, but all he could do was wait until she had stashed the cash and take her small grubby hand and kiss it.
She giggled. “Just like a lady.”
“You are a lady. Thank you, Moll. I hope we get to meet again, sometime.”
Symmes looked baffled, then amused. He rang the bell, and the butler came smoothly in. “Show this…child out.”
The man went to put a hand on her, but she twisted away. She smiled at Jake—a wistful grimace. “I hope you get back home. And find your pa.”
He said, “Thanks, Moll.”
And then she was gone, the door closing firmly behind her small upright back, and Venn was turning impatiently. “Right. Where is it?”
Symmes took a small key down from a hook on the wall and unlocked a door that was almost hidden in the paneling; it opened straight onto some wooden steps twisting down. “Wait. We need light.”
As he crossed to a small oil lamp on the table, Jake caught Venn’s eye. But there was no time to speak; Symmes was back, and leading the way into a damp darkness redolent with the faint smells of spilled wine.