Page 103 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“My lord,” another voice intrudes before anyone can answer. We all turn as two men approach.

One is young, maybe early twenties, dressed in a slightly rumpled Victorian suit. He has dark hair and a very pretty face, although his expression is serious. The man accompanying him is older, in his fifties, his faded red hair streaked with white, and although his face bears a few lines, he’s still a very attractive man.

One I recognise.

“Ichabod,” I blurt out.

He looks at me in surprise, his eyes trailing over my unusual clothes, and then to Sam standing beside me in his underwear. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” He frowns.

“Of course you do, Ichabod,” Cornelius says, his eyes widening in emphasis. “This is Mr Ames and Mr Stone, don’t you recall?”

“Oh yes, of course,” he mutters, his gaze flitting to his lover. Cornelius gives the briefest, almost imperceptible shake of his head, and Ichabod turns his attention back to us. “How very nice to see you again.”

I give a polite nod and glance across at Lord Francis as he comforts the young man, who seems to be upset.

“Oh dear, tell me what the trouble is, Darling Dickie,” he croons, rubbing the young man’s back.

“My lord.” He swallows. “I don’t—” He breaks off and shakes his head. “Dr Shaw and I performed the autopsy, and Inspector Franklin was there…it was just so awful. What that monster did to Charlie…and the Inspector was asking so many questions. I had to tell him I knew Charlie, but I couldn’t say how. I couldn’t risk leading them back here.”

“There there, darling boy, you come with me,” Francis soothes. The pair of them appear to have completely forgotten that we’re still standing here, but it’s clear to me, at least, that Lord Francis seems to care for the young man. “Connie, I’ll leave you to entertain your guests.” He looks over to Cornelius. “I’m trusting you. If they bring any trouble down on us⁠—”

“You have my word of their utmost discretion, my lord.”

“Hm,” Lord Francis huffs, then takes Darling Dickie’s hand and leads him away, leaving Sam and I staring at Cornelius and Ichabod.

I open my mouth, unable to bear the uncomfortable standoff any longer, when Cornelius shakes his head sharply. “Not here.” He strides off down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder at us. “Come with me.”

Ichabod indicates that we follow, so we do, with him bringing up the rear. Cornelius leads us through the house and up the stairs to a small, unoccupied bedroom. After Ichabod enters behind us, he locks the door and leans against it, his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed.

“Now.” Cornelius rounds on us, holding up the music box. “Would you care to explain how you know who we are when we must certainly have never met before, how you came to be in this house”—he eyes Sam’s boxers and mostly naked body and then my very inappropriate pyjamas—“but mostly, how the hell you came to have this in your possession?”

He gives the music box a little shake. “This belonged to my sister.” His voice cracks slightly on the last word before he braces himself. “And I know without a doubt that this was left in her bedroom in my house. A room that has been locked for nearly forty years, something of which I am absolutely certain as I have the only key.”

“Forty years?” I whisper.

“Answer me,” he demands. “How did you come by it? And why does it reek of magic?”

I swallow. “W-what year is it?” I mean the context clues are a little obvious, but hope springs eternal.

“What the devil do you mean, what y⁠—”

“Cornelius,” Ichabod interrupts, his eyes widening as they land on my undoubtedly pale face. He pushes away from the door and steps closer. “It is eighteen eighty-six.”

“Eighteen—” My lungs suddenly feel too tight and tiny flecks of lights start to spin in front of my eyes.

“Whoa.” Sam’s arms tighten around me, and he guides me to a chaise longue, where I sink into the seat. “Just breathe.” Sam rubs my back as I gulp in air. “That’s it… Slowly.”

“Eighteen eighty-six,” I say faintly. I look up at Sam, who’s looking just as concerned. “What do you think the chance is that we’re both having some weird hallucination thanks to that cursed music box?”

“Not favourable,” Sam replies. “Especially not with the way our luck has been lately.”

“How can you not know what the year is?” Cornelius frowns, then murmurs, “Or…where you are.”

Ichabod adds, “And how did they get here? Lord Francis is very discerning with his invitations. I can’t imagine any of the guests committing a kidnapping.”

Cornelius looks down at the music box and turns it over in his hands, his brow once again furrowed in thought. “It brought you here, didn’t it?” he murmurs as he looks over to me.

I nod slowly.