Page 50 of The Book of Lost Hours

Ernest spent the entirety of the summer in Boston so he could be with Amelia.

There was talk of him transferring out there permanently, and Moira struggled to hide her interest as the fate of Ernest Duquesne and his new ward was discussed in planning meetings.

Then suddenly, one day in September he returned.

He came back subdued and quiet. No longer half as vocal as he had been.

He started working later hours, staying long after everyone else had left.

“Poor man,” Shelley said one rainy afternoon. She was watching Ernest through the interior window of his office.

“What’s wrong with him?” Moira asked, feigning disinterest.

“His mother died last week. Just a few months after his sister and everything. The last of his family, apparently.”

“Doesn’t he have a niece?”

“Well, sure, but I don’t think she lives with him. She goes to a boarding school in Boston. He’s all alone in the lonely little apartment.”

Shelley was looking at him wistfully in a way that made Moira unspeakably irritated. Who was she to look at Ernest, her Ernest, like that? He’s not yours anymore , she reminded herself. And neither was Amelia.

A week later, Jack left early to catch a flight out to Denver for a two-week trip. His first prolonged business trip since Moira had come to work for him. Before he departed, he called her into his office.

“While I’m gone, you’ll temporarily be assisting Ernest.”

Moira did a double take. “I… what?”

“Well, he is the deputy director. If I assigned you to anyone else, it would look suspicious.”

“But I…”

He chuckled at her as he put on his coat. “Just do what he asks and don’t let him sweet-talk you into anything I wouldn’t like. Got it?” He patted her on the cheek, dragging his thumb across her cheekbone. “Remember, you’re still my girl.”

As it turned out, she needn’t have worried.

It was clear after the first day of Jack’s absence that Ernest had absolutely no intention of exercising his rights as her temporary boss.

The most he did was ask her to type up the memos Jack had left behind, leaving her to her own devices for the rest of the day.

As if he was avoiding her. It was she who finally took the initiative.

On Tuesday he was working late as usual and she, as his temporary secretary, hadn’t left yet, either.

He looked tired, running his hands through his hair as he struggled to type up notes from his meetings that day.

As if he’d written them in another language and forgotten how to translate.

Moira sighed at him and got up from her desk.

“I’ve got this,” she said, taking the notes from his hands and holding them hostage. “You go home. You look like the walking dead.”

“Miss Donnelly, you don’t have to…”

“I’m doing this for both of us. I’m a much faster typist than you and I can’t leave until you do.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize you were waiting on me.”

“You think I hang out here just for fun?”

Ernest gave her a weary half smile. The first she’d seen from him in weeks. “You can go home. I don’t want to make you do my work.” He reached for the papers and Moira slapped his hand with them.

“Ow! Take it easy there, Sugar Ray Robinson,” he said, shaking out his fingers.

Moira frowned. “Who?”

“Really? Legendary boxer? Hero in our time?”

“Can’t say I’ve heard of him.”

Ernest squinted at her. “You should pick up a newspaper every now and then.”

“With all that free time I have for reading?”

“Right, I forgot. Jack’s a real slave driver, isn’t he?”

She scoffed at him. “Go home, Mr. Duquesne. You can work yourself to death when Jack gets back, but until then I’ll handle your reports.”

Realizing he had lost, Ernest relented at last. He stood up to get his coat and hat.

“So it’s ‘Jack,’ is it?” he asked, giving her a scrutinizing look.

Moira’s lips parted in surprise, realizing her error. And now he was looking at her as if she had just confirmed what everyone else already assumed about her and Jack’s relationship.

“Well, calling him Mr. Dillinger feels a little too respectful for someone as crass as he is, don’t you think?”

He blinked in surprise. A look of mutual understanding passed between them, and he finally allowed himself to smile at her. A real smile this time. “Have a good night, Miss Donnelly. Thanks for doing this.”

For the next two weeks, Moira made it her job to make Ernest’s life as easy as possible.

She arrived before him every morning, removing all files and reports that should be done by a secretary from his office before he even had a chance to see them.

She had his calls routed to her phone first and took the liberty of hanging up on the more unsavory bureaucrats.

When she got the sense that he was working through lunch, she had food brought to his office and held back thirty minutes a day on his calendar so he could eat it.

She took care of him. Not in the way she wanted to, but in the only way she could.

“How long have you been working here?” he asked on the Friday of their second and final week together.

He had come in late that morning and in consequence they were both staying later than usual, even though he told her repeatedly to go.

She staunchly refused and busied herself with organizing the files in Ernest’s office while he finished.

It was time-consuming work. Ernest was surprisingly quite disorganized.

“Um. I’m not sure.”

“At least two years, right?”

“A little longer I think.”

Two years, eight months, and seventeen days to be exact. Not that she was counting.

“Interesting,” Ernest said, more to himself than to her.

Moira frowned as she shuffled files into a stack. “Are you implying I should have been fired by now?”

His eyes widened. “Oh, no, I wasn’t…”

“I’m kidding.”

Ernest cracked a smile. “I’m just saying, Jack’s picky. That’s all. You must have impressed him.”

Moira smiled to herself, changing the subject to stop the blushing. “So why don’t you have a secretary, Mr. Duquesne?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Never could find one who suited me.”

“Now who’s the picky one?” she teased. “It would save you a lot of late hours here in the office.”

Ernest smiled a second time and leaned back in his chair. “Well, you just tell Jack he better be nice to you. Or else I might steal you for myself.”

Moira’s heart skipped a beat. Was he… flirting with her?

“I, uh,… I heard about what happened,” she said, glancing at Brady’s office to see if he might overhear. “With your mother and sister. I’m sorry.”

Ernest dropped his eyes to the table. “My sister was… troubled. She and I hadn’t spoken much in about seven years. And my mother was sick for a long time. It was time.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No, I suppose not. I was supposed to go home and take care of the house, but I already used up all my time off dealing with my sister’s death. I’ve had to make all the arrangements to sell it over the phone.”

Moira thought of the house he’d told her about back then. The old-fashioned architecture. The garden out back. He and Elaina both had so clearly loved that old house.

“You’re selling it?” she asked, attempting to hide her concern.

“I wanted to keep it,” he admitted, more to himself than to her. “But I’d never be able to take care of a place that big. I bought a smaller place nearby so I could at least keep some of the furniture without hauling it all out here, but… it isn’t the same.”

“Is that why you were late today?”

“Oh, no. Trouble with my niece.”

“Trouble?”

Ernest didn’t clarify right away, and she wondered if maybe she was overstepping.

He blew out a long, tense breath. “It’s nothing really.

Just… she started going to a boarding school in Boston this year.

Really nice place. But she’s racked up about five demerits since the school year started and it’s not even half term.

Last night they caught her sneaking a bucketful of frogs from the pond into the dormitory. The dean is threatening to expel her.”

“Frogs?” Moira asked, trying not to smile.

“Yes. Apparently she had big plans for them.”

“Oh, I bet.”

Ernest sighed. “She’s a good kid, I know she is. She’s just had such a rough time. Amelia was the one who found her mother.”

“That must have been hard on her. I can’t even imagine.”

“She didn’t talk for months when she first came to live with me. It took weeks to get her to say anything at all. And then all she wanted to talk about was guillotines.”

“Guillotines?”

Ernest waved a hand. “Long story. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I don’t mind. You’re raising her all by yourself?”

“Well, me and the illustrious Pembroke Academy. But yeah, just me. Unfortunately for her.”

“Oh, don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I don’t know how to raise a kid. Maybe if she were a boy.”

“What does her being a girl have to do with anything?”

“Well, I was a boy once. I went to an all boys’ boarding school. I was in the army. I know boys. But girls… girls need their mothers.”

Moira felt an odd pull in her chest and had to look away. “Among their burning terms of love, none so devotional as that of ‘Mother,’?” she said absently.

Ernest frowned at her. “Edgar Allan Poe?”

“Oh. Um. Yes.”

“You read poetry?”

“Sometimes.”

“Thought you didn’t have time for reading,” Ernest said in a teasing voice.

“Well, not anymore. But I used to.” There was a pause. “You should try the zoo.”

“The zoo?”

“For your niece.” She herself had loved the zoo as a child.

“I mean, I know she’s misbehaving but that feels a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

Moira laughed at him. “I meant you should take her there. It might get her to open up.”

“You think?”

“Well, you said she likes animals, right?”

“I did?”

“The frogs?”

“Ahhh. Well. Okay. I guess it’s worth a shot.”

She thought nothing more of it, assuming he would disregard it.