The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(63)

“I can imagine how you went about it,” Wells hissed with as much contempt as he could muster, rubbing his sore arm.

“Oh, no, George. That’s not what I meant at all. I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. As I told you in my letter, I’m a changed man. Money will hush most people up, if not everyone, but that detective seems immune to being bought off. He’s like a dog with a bone. What the hell is he hoping to find?”

“The truth, I expect.”

“The truth?” Murray smiled wistfully. “And what is the truth, George? Where is it written? There’s nothing left of Murray’s Time Travel except dust and cobwebs, because the hole into the future closed up.”

“It closed up,” Wells repeated. “But of course.”

“That’s right, George, it did. But you know perfectly well that the public, hungry for thrills, would never have accepted that. Which is why I decided to fake my own death, so that everyone would leave me in peace. And that’s what I tried to explain to that detective friend of yours, but he doesn’t believe a word I say.”

“Can you blame him?” muttered Wells.

“What’s the matter with you, George?” Murray sighed in dismay. “Why are you suddenly acting like a child? I don’t understand! When you replied to my letter I thought that meant bygones would be bygones.”

“What?” Wells looked at him in astonishment. “I never replied to your damnable letter.”

“Of course you did,” Murray said, bewildered.

“I tell you I didn’t.”

“Oh, come now, why deny it? It’s true, you weren’t exactly expansive, but at least you wrote back. You told me not to bother reproducing the Martian invasion, and that if I wanted to win Emma over, I should simply make her laugh.”

Wells gave an incredulous snort.

“Have you lost your mind? Make her laugh? Why on earth would I advise you to do that?”

“I’ve no idea, George! But that’s what you told me, and I followed your advice. That’s why I put on that circus: to make Emma laugh. And it worked! It worked like a charm! You saw for yourself! Emma and I are in love and are going to be married, and all that happiness we owe in part to you, my friend.” Trembling with emotion, Murray gazed into Wells’s eyes. “And what else could I have concluded from your letter, other than that you had decided to bury the hatchet? But why are you trying to deny it now? Do you regret having written?”

“Of course not! I mean, I can’t regret something I never did!”

“Bertie?”

The two men wheeled round. A few yards away, a woman in a hat with pale pink roses on it was gazing at them quizzically.

“Is something the matter, Bertie?” asked Jane, alarmed by the sudden silence that had descended between the two men. “I couldn’t find you anywhere, and our coach is third in line . . . Are you all right?”

“Yes, Jane, I’m quite all right,” he replied.

Wells scowled at Murray as he took his leave and walked over to his wife with the intention of taking her by the arm and leading her as far away as possible. But Murray bounded ahead of him. He planted himself in front of Jane and, before anyone could do anything, grasped her hand, and bowed.

“Mrs. Wells, allow me to introduce myself,” he said, kissing her hand ceremoniously. “Montgomery Gilmore, at your service. My face might seem familiar to you. Perhaps I remind you of the man who went to your house a few years ago to ask your husband’s advice about a novel he had written . . . However, let me assure you that you are mistaken: I am not that man. You have in front of you a new man, one redeemed by love. And in the name of that love, of which I declare myself utterly unworthy, I implore you to put in a good word for me with your stubborn husband.”

Wells grunted. “It’s time we were leaving, Jane!”

But his wife appeared not to hear him. She was gazing into Murray’s eyes, her hand still clasped in his like a quivering bird. And she must have glimpsed something deep inside him, because, much to the despair of Wells, her lips spread in a gentle smile.

“You are quite right, Mr. . . . Gilmore,” she replied graciously. “Although this is the first time we meet, your face does seem familiar, but perhaps that is because your fame precedes you. I have heard much about you, not all of it good, I regret to say. However, I must tell you that the way you asked for your beloved’s hand was the most beautiful, exciting, romantic gesture I have ever seen a man make to a woman.”

“For goodness’ sake, Jane!” Wells cried. “Have you gone mad? Why do you insist on calling him Gilmore when you know as well as I do that—”

“I call him by the name he used to introduce himself, Bertie.”

“Enough!” Wells exploded. “This is the limit; we’re going!”

He grabbed the arm of his wife, who managed to say good-bye to Murray with a fleeting, apologetic smile, and dragged her over to where the carriages were waiting at the curb. Murray blocked their way.

“George, I beg you, don’t give me away,” he said. “If you don’t want to be my friend, very well, I understand. But please don’t reveal my secret, at least not before I’ve spoken to Emma. I will reward you if—”

“Montgomery Gilmore!” a clear voice tinkled behind them. “Where on earth have you been hiding? All you had to do was inquire about our carriage. I trust you aren’t thinking of hiring a hot-air balloon, for my aunt wouldn’t like it.”