Zechariah opened the door the second Crane stopped knocking.

“Come in, come in. Quickly.”

He stepped back to allow him room to pass through, gesturing toward the dining room. Were Elijah looking about, he might catch the gleam of a rifle over the lit fireplace in a parlor.

“Just a last course tonight – I do not know what you enjoy yet.”

Whips? Chains? Tricorne hats? Wedding gowns? He looked Crane up and down. Too tall to claim he was getting one as a hint to Nesah.

Constable Crane … did not look like a constable. This was disappointing, and he smiled politely to hide that fact. Was his visual memory vivid enough to picture the uniform? Would the dark make the suit- no, the hat specifically was essential to the fantasy.

“You look good,” he said.

‘But I wanted you to look like a naughty cop, or a bad Catholic,’ he did not.

There was soup and rolls ready, though there was a larger assortment of drinks by far. Wines, vodka, whiskey … champagne tucked in the middle. He was half convinced that champagne was cursed by the ghost of Dr. Wells’ sex life.

There was also a whip sitting innocently by a heart-shaped candle, on one of the curio tables between doors.

“Have a seat,” he said, pulling one out for Crane and then sitting across from him. “How has your evening been?”