A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) by Monique Martin Page A

out to touch the bruises that discolored his side. He stopped her and shook his head.  
    “Simon?”
    It wasn’t the ribs that were bothering him, although they were sore. He sighed. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said finally.
    Elizabeth frowned. “For what?”
    “For not realizing those thugs were waiting for marks like us. For being marks like us.”
    “Simon,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “There were four of them—”
    He pulled away and paced across the room “I should have been better prepared. If it hadn’t been for…”
    He could barely finish the thought.
    “If you’re going to be mad at anybody,” she said, “be mad at me.”
    He turned to face her. “You?”
    She shrugged and moved to the edge of the bed. “At least you did something. I just stood there.”
    “With a knife held to you,” he reminded her.
    “And he was pretty strong,” she said.  
    “Very.”
    She smiled at him. “And yet you should be able to defeat four men single-handedly?”
    He hated it when she did that, maneuvered him so deftly. He offered her a defeated smile. “I should have done better.”
    She slipped off the bed. “Is that you or Victor talking?”
    Simon grunted. A little of both, if he were being honest. Victor was grating and superior, but damned if the man wasn’t right. They were unprepared. Simon knew he’d been unfair with Victor this morning, that he’d misdirected his own frustrations onto the man. Of course, his being a complete pompous ass helped.
    Simon sighed again. “He’s right about one thing. Many of the suspects are wealthy. And we do stand a better chance of learning about them than he does.”
    “Right. So,” she said, moving back to the bed and the food. The woman’s appetite was legend. She grabbed a scone. “Who have we got?”
    Simon rifled through the files in his mind. “There are a few doctors. Blackwood, Gull and Tumblety, although he’s hardly upper class. Druitt—”
    Elizabeth stopped mid-chew and swallowed. “Wait. Druitt?”
    Simon furrowed his brow as he tried to remember the details. “Montague John Druitt. Why?”
    Elizabeth sat up straighter. “John. It’s got to be him.”
    “Who does?”
    “George’s friend.”
    Simon frowned. Ah, yes, George, the man who makes advances to married women. “Your lunch date?”
    Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, you’re going to feel silly when you meet him.”
    “I doubt that.”
    Elizabeth smiled and then frowned in thought as she considered their options. “We can’t just show up on Druitt’s doorstep.”
    Simon nodded and walked back over to the bed. He took half of the scone she offered and wondered what she was cooking up in that twisty brain of hers. “We need an invitation.”
    “And we need to know somebody in order—” she started and then smiled broadly. “And we do. George.”
    Simon frowned, although he knew she was right. “And how do you propose we find him? Lunch around until he accosts you again?
    He hadn’t liked the man’s forwardness with Elizabeth at all. No gentleman would have done such a thing.
    Elizabeth’s grin grew even wider. “In the park. George said he was going to meet his friend John in Hyde Park at the bridge on Sunday. We’ll find our Montague John Druitt,” she said as she popped a small bit of scone into her mouth triumphantly. “Sunday in the park with George.”

    ~~~

    The crowd was already three deep at the Working Lad’s Institute and the inquest into Mary Ann Nichols’ death hadn’t even started yet. Victor shouldered his way along the edge of the gallery to find a spot near the front where he had a good view of the crowd.  
    As they typically did, his broad shoulders and generally unpleasant attitude served him well, and he found a space in a corner of the room. He took off his cap and shoved it into his pocket. Leaning against the wall, he scanned the crowd.  
    The group of men on the far side of the room were clearly reporters. Even if