Arcanum

1 London--1919 A September storm battered a sleeping London. Barrage after barrage of gusting sheets drummed on the rooftops and loosened clapboards. Raindrops like silver dollars pelted the empty roads and forced families of pigeons into huddled clumps atop the gaslights. Then it stopped. The trees of Kensington Gardens swayed, and the city held its breath. It waited a few dripping moments, then relaxed. Just as suddenly, a Model-T Ford swerved past Marble Arch in Hyde Park and buzzed around Speakers' Corner, peals of laughter following in its wake. Inside the car, Daniel Bisbee held the steering wheel with one hand and patted Lizzie's plump thigh with the other. The five pints had done their work, strengthening his resolve. Lizzie was still wearing her shabby costume from the theater, and pretended not to notice Daniel's nudging fingers ruffling under her skirt. She was a notorious flirt but failed to realize the expectations that would arouse in her suitors. As he inched his hand to her knee, she babbled on nervously. "And Quigley had the bloody nerve to give me notes right before I'm about to go on, completely shattering my concentration. And you know his breath is simply dreadful. I've no idea what he eats but there's something unhealthy about the man. And where do they find these pitiful crowds? They didn't laugh at all." Daniel smiled, giving the impression that he was listening, but his attention was focused on moving his fingers another five inches up her thigh. He crept like a spider into her skirts but she pulled him back with a shy "Danny," while another round of giggles erupted from the backseat. In the back, Gulliver Lloyd pawed Celia West--a less pretty, less talented actress than Lizzie, but one who still drew the boys by offering the carnal treasures Lizzie so coyly protected. What Gulliver lacked in height he more than compensated for with his unflagging persistence. Also, being rich didn't hurt. Celia fended off his pinches and pokes in a gentle wrestling match. "You're horrible, stop it," Celia teased, then slapped Gulliver on the arm when he relented. Gulliver snuck his hands around Celia's waist, then swiftly brought his lips to hers and kissed her before backing away. Celia touched her lips. "You're terrible, Gully." And she dropped her chin, gazing up at him with eyes darkened by mascara. Up front, Daniel Bisbee clenched his teeth. The four actors were halfway through the run of Purloin's Prophecy, a new play at the Leicester Playhouse. Daniel and Lizzie played the lovers, yet somehow, Celia was Gulliver's fourth conquest of the run. And that wasn't right. Daniel's upbringing in the tenements on the East End had bred a competitiveness in him. Gully got everything he wanted because he was rich. Even Daniel's excitement at driving Gully's new car was dampened when he realized he'd become nothing more than an unpaid chauffeur. Anxious breathing and rustling clothes replaced the giggles. Daniel looked over at Lizzie, who was blushing furiously. He swigged from a cracked leather flask and pushed on the accelerator, skidding onto Piccadilly. Lizzie grabbed the door handle. "Slower, Danny, please." Daniel spun another turn, thumping a curb in the process. "Oi, Dano! A lighter foot, if you don't mind," Gulliver groused from the backseat. His hand was wedged between Celia's breast and her corset. This was a delicate moment and he wanted nothing to upset his venture. "Drop me off. It's late," Lizzie said to the window, her breath fogging the glass. The model-t skidded around the corner eighty meters from the museum gates. The British Museum was closed for the night, its windows darkened. It was a solid, squat building stretching three square blocks, guarded by toweringWheeler, Thomas is the author of 'Arcanum' with ISBN 9780553803143 and ISBN 055380314X.