Читать книгу London's Calling - Elysabeth Williams - Страница 9

Chapter 5

Jillian returned to her office to find it empty. She closed and bolted the door. Seeing nothing particularly out of place, she sat down behind her desk and pressed a brass level down on the underside of the wood. A muted click sounded in the room and the desktop flipped up to reveal something akin to a typewriter, with a screen above it that displayed flashing lights in the shapes of the alphabet.

Twisting a hand sized crank on the side, lights flashed in unison, and the screen cleared. Using the typewriter keys, she produced a letter.

Dear Colonel,

It is perhaps not the most opportune time for communication due to your busy schedule of late, but we do have an issue which may require your assistance. A young lady in my employ has been accused of a heinous crime, and I do not believe she is the criminal responsible. There is someone else involved and I intend to figure it out.

I am writing to suggest calling upon the Six to help sort things. If it is possible to reach the rest in a timely manner, please advise.

I patiently await your reply.

Sincerely,

Jillian Johnsworth

She proofread the note on the screen and pressed a button marked ‘send’ on the keyboard. In a flash, the screen went blank. A bell toll emitted from the device and words returned to the screen.

Your message has been delivered.

With a curt nod, Jillian turned the crank once more and closed the lid.

* * * *

Somewhere in a California desert…

Six shots of a pistol rang out into the warm night sky. The ping of cracking glass was heard after each shot. Eliza’s throaty laughter eclipsed the echoing gunfire.

“Eliza Willoughby, your shot is positively wicked.” Silas Willoughby laughed as he handed over a gold coin to her.

With a grin, she snatched it from his fingertips and deposited it in her cleavage.

“And as always, your shot isn’t the only thing wicked.”

“I had a fantastic teacher,” she smiled and winked, reloading the pistol.

“Of shooting or of being wicked?”

“Both.”

Silas laughed and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. Her bronze skin–a fresh tan from riding horses through the area–shone in the moonlight. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “California suits you.”

She smiled at him as he pulled away. “I love the sun, the sand and the warmth. Yet oddly enough, I miss my rainy, dreary, cold days.” Eliza sighed.

Silas walked a few hundred yards to replace the glass whiskey bottles with new ones and returned. “My turn,” he said, holding his hand out to Eliza. She handed the pistol over to him and he palmed it, ready to aim.

He closed one eye, extended his right arm which held the gun out, and fired. Six more shots rang out, only five pings of broken glass responded. “You beat me again, Mrs. Willoughby.”

“Hooray!” Eliza jumped up and down, clapping and laughing.

Silas stuck his tongue out at her, which only caused her to laugh harder. He holstered the gun inside his brown leather duster and offered her a hand.

“Shall we go home, then?”

Eliza took his hand and he pulled her close, wrapping her into an embrace.

“Hmm…California home or England home?”

“I will follow you anywhere, remember?”

“It’s rather late for England home at the moment.”

Silas looked to the clear sky. Millions of stars speckled the black canvas. “Very true. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Perhaps,” Eliza returned, kissing his chin.

He stood, still holding her, wondering what they would do when they returned home. Of course they’d go home to England, Silas had no doubt about it. It was just a matter of time. Mounting his horse, he offered her a hand again, and she took it. She sat on the saddle, nestled between his thighs and leaned into him. He wrapped his arm around her waist. She sighed and he kissed her hair.

Silas knew he’d miss it out here in the vast nothingness, but it would be nice to visit England.

They rode over the sand until it began to turn into a grassier terrain, and approached a smallish log cabin in the midst of a few trees.

They dismounted the horse and went inside the cabin. Eliza made her way around the large room lighting lamps.

A red pulsating light emitted from a black leather case on the desk. As Silas entered the door to modest log cabin, he noticed it immediately.

“Looks like India is calling,” he said, walking toward it.

“At this time of night?” Eliza asked, putting her brown canvas bag on a chair and taking off her hat.

“It’s possible he’s sending messages at a decent time,” he chuckled, flipping open the leather bound lid. A small, square, metal box sat on a mahogany wood base. Silas pressed a metal button on the top and parchment began to scroll out the top with a rattling of metal keys inside. The letters of the note shimmered as the ink dried on its ascent from the machine.

Silas frowned as he read the message. “It appears our question about going to England or not has been answered for us.” He handed the parchment to Eliza.

“A possible murderess?” she read as she sunk into a nearby chair.

“Or not…” Silas shrugged. “Jillian suggests the woman is not the culprit. Which is interesting for her to get involved with those she employs, considering how she likes to keep her distance.”

“Yes, very interesting. I wonder why she’s attached.”

Silas shrugged again. “Who knows? We’ll have to get back there to figure it out, I suppose.”

“Tomorrow we pack?”

“It seems that way.”

Eliza glanced around the room. Silas watched her expression closely as she surveyed their modest home. Her gaze paused on the oil paintings of them on horses, the log framed bed and quilts she’d made the last winter. They recently spent their third anniversary here. It had been rough the first summer, not being used to the harsh sun near the desert, but they survived. They adapted well to their new surroundings. They seemed to be meant for this side of the world. Silas couldn’t have asked for a better life. He looked to Eliza’s face and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

“Do you want to return?” He asked, haltingly.

Eliza sighed and smiled. “I do. I just like it here on our own. It has been a pleasant change.”

“Yes, it has,” he nodded. He sat on the arm of the chair beside her, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s not give this up just yet. We’ll return.”

She leaned into him and laid her head on his leg. “Sounds delightful.”