The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(153)

“M-my fault?” Murray stammered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, Gilliam, of course you do: you opened the doors to our world for him, taking him away from his world and the fate that awaited him. If he’s with us today, it’s because you paraded him to everyone as the savior of the human race. Do you think it’s right to try to destroy him now, when everyone believes in him?”

“Yes, yes . . . ,” Murray muttered. “Damn it, Emma, you’re right! I don’t know why I’m behaving like this. But the captain isn’t the answer to their prayers!” he countered angrily, only to end in a controlled whisper. “And you know it. You and I both know it.”

“But the fact that we have no hope doesn’t give us the right to destroy theirs,” she said in that stern but soft voice that invariably succeeded in calming Murray.

What the devil did it all mean? I wondered from my hiding place. Why shouldn’t we put all our hopes on a hero of the future like Shackleton? What was it Emma and Gilliam knew about him? I had too many questions, which my unwitting confidants appeared unwilling to satisfy, because a moment later I heard the girl say, rather abruptly, “I think we should rejoin the others.”

“Wait, Emma,” Murray said, and I imagined I heard a rustle of fabric, which made me think Murray had probably grasped her arm. “We haven’t had a chance to talk in private since we left Clayton’s cellar, and I need to know what you think of what I told you. Since then you seem to be avoiding me. I’ve caught you looking at me a couple of times, and you immediately turn away.”

Sensing the approach of a lover’s tiff, I rose from the crate I’d been sitting on and crouched behind it as noiselessly as I could, stubbing my cigarette out on the sole of my shoe so the smoke wouldn’t give me away and hoping that if Murray and Emma came into the storeroom in search of more privacy, they wouldn’t find me curled up there like a hedgehog.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” the girl objected. “That isn’t true.”

“Just tell me one thing, Emma,” Murray interrupted her accusingly. “I shouldn’t have let you in on my secret, should I? Instead of winning your heart, I’ve managed to make you despise me.”

“Of course I don’t despise you, Gilliam. You always misunderstand what I—”

“Evidently my confession has had the opposite effect to what I intended,” Murray reflected, oblivious to the girl’s words, his own voice accompanied by the sound of footsteps, as if he had set off down the tunnel. “I suppose that the part of you who believes there is only one orderly way of doing things in a world as disorderly as this one despises me now.”

“Gilliam . . .”

“Clearly you’ve had time to think about what I told you and, well, this is the result. I wanted you to love me, and yet I’ve become the most hateful person you’ve ever met.”

“Hateful? Gilliam, I—”

“But, since all is lost, at least let me tell you how I feel about you, Emma,” Murray said pathetically.

“Gilliam, if you’d give me a chance to speak, I could—”

“Emma Harlow!” Murray’s voice boomed, with such authority that even I couldn’t help jerking upright in my hiding place. “I want you to know that these have been the happiest few days of my selfish, absurd life. Being with you, consoling your tears, making you laugh, irritating you from time to time, or simply watching you looking at me . . .”

“They have been for me, too.”

“And if a few Martians had to come from outer space and turn the planet into a slaughterhouse for it to happen, then so be it! I don’t care if you think I’m being cruel, and even—Wait! Did you just say, They’ve been for me, too?”

For a moment the girl’s laughter left me breathless. Good God, how could this aloof young woman have such an enchanting laugh?

“Oh, Gilliam, Gilliam. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. These have been the happiest days of my life, too. Isn’t it crazy? The world is being destroyed around us, and we . . .”

Their laughter intertwined, like fireflies crossing in the night sky.

“But it’s crazy, crazy,” Emma gasped delightfully, slowly beginning to calm down. I was relieved that one of them finally came to her senses. “Look around you, Gilliam. The Martians are destroying London, and we’re talking about love as though we were at a ball. Oh, Gilliam.” Her voice sounded suddenly sad. “Don’t you see that if I were in love with you it would make no difference?”

“No, I don’t. Be so good as to enlighten me. Remember I’m a petit imbécile.”

“For goodness’ sake . . .” Emma sighed with feigned annoyance. “I hope I die before you. I can’t think of a more exasperating man with whom to survive a Martian invasion.”

“Is that so? Well, I can only think of one good reason why I’d want to be the only other survivor on the planet apart from such an arrogant, unfeeling, obstinate young woman as you!”

Emma must have been questioning him with her eyes as to what that reason was, perhaps afraid that her voice would betray the wave of emotions undoubtedly sweeping over her. Murray’s words rang out.

“To be able to kiss you once and for all, without worrying about being interrupted by the distinguished author H. G. Wells or by Inspector Clayton.”