"It's the doctor. Ozzie said so. The one that saw to you in the hospital. Missus Jones."
Sid felt a split-second's relief that the visitor wasn't his sister, but the relief was replaced by anger upon learning that it was the doctor. "What?" he said. "Here? In the pub?"
"Yes."
"Anyone with her?"
"No. She's on her own."
"Jesus Christ. I'll be right down. Lily, keep an eye on her, will you?"
Sid grabbed his shirt. He stuffed his feet in his boots and reached for his jacket.
"What's she doing here?" Gemma asked.
"I'm wondering the same thing," he said. "Trying to commit suicide, maybe?"
He bolted down the steps two at a time and scanned the bar, but didn't see her. Fear rose in him. She had no idea what sorts frequented the Bark, and what they were capable of. Finally, he spotted her. She was sitting at a table on the far side of the room--hat straight, knees together, hands in her lap. She might have been waiting for a bus on the Brompton Road. He was at her side in a few strides. She smiled when she saw him and started to speak, but he cut her off.
"Have you gone completely mad? What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you. You said if I needed anything to come to see you. Well, I need something. So I came."
"You bloody stupid woman. Do you know where you are?"
"The Barkentine?"
"Don't play the smart arse."
"I beg your pardon!"
"How'd you get here?"
"Hackney, mostly. I had to walk part of the way."
"You're lucky you weren't killed. Or worse."
"I can't imagine there's anything worse than being killed."
"There is. Trust me. Come on," he said, motioning for her to get up.
"Where are we going?" she asked, standing.
"You are going home."
She sat back down. "I am not."
"Dr. Jones..." Sid said, through gritted teeth.
"I need your help, Mr. Malone. It is truly a matter of life and death."
Sid sat down. He leaned across the table. "Do you know that the rozzers are afraid of this place? Big strong men with big heavy truncheons are scared to walk in here, but you sail in without so much as a by-your-leave."
"I have you to protect me. They do not," she said.
Sid saw he was getting nowhere. "What is it you want?" he finally asked.
"I need devices. For my patients. French letters, Dutch caps, sponges. They're contraceptive devices."
The men on either side of her turned and stared. India didn't notice, or didn't care if she did.
"Aye, I know what they are. Keep your voice down, will you?" Sid passed a hand over his face, mortified. With all that he'd seen, all that he'd done in his life, he didn't think anything could mortify him, but he was wrong.
"I need quality goods. No off-the-back-of-a-cart rubbish. Can you get them?"
Sid considered her question. "I don't mind telling you, this is the oddest request for a job I've ever had," he said.
"I'm not asking for a favor. I'd pay you, of course."
He winced at that. It didn't even occur to her that he might not want to be paid. That he might want to help her. Because she wanted to do some good and there were so few in this world who did. Let a bad man do a good deed, Ella had said the day he'd left the hospital. He'd overheard her arguing with India in Gifford's office, but India wouldn't let him. Fine. Sod her, then. If she wanted to pay, she'd pay.
"I think I can do it," he finally said. "Thing is ...if I do, y'll be stolen
the
goods. You know that, right? Most likely smuggled in from the Continent. Last I checked, smuggling was still illegal. You'll be breaking the law, too. Not just me. Can you live with that, Dr. Jones? Can your spotless con-science endure the stain?" he added, mocking her.
"Yes, I can live with that. I have to, because I can't live with what hap-pened to Emma Milo. That's not going to happen to any patient of mine ever again. You're a businessman, aren't you, Mr. Malone?" she said, mocking him back. "This is business. Will you do it, or do I have to find someone else?"
"I will. Won't be cheap, though."
"How much?"
"A hundred quid."
India's face fell. "I haven't got that much," she said. "Forgive me for wasting your time."
She looked down at her hands. She must have spotted her watch chain dangling from her waistcoat, because she suddenly dug the watch out of her pocket and handed it to him. "I have this, though," she said. "It's twenty-four carat. Diamond markers. Worth a hundred pounds. That's what Mr. Betts said. On the way from Teddy Ko's, remember? Will it do?"
Sid turned it over in his hand. Think of me, the inscription read. "From Lytton, is it?"
"Yes."
"Wonder what he would say about your trading it for a box of rubber johnnies."
"He would understand."
"Somehow I don't think he would."
"Then perhaps you will refrain from mentioning it the next time you see him."
Sid pocketed the watch. "Your secret's safe with me."
He offered her his hand. She took it.
"Honor among thieves, is it?" she asked archly.
"You tell me."
She gave him an acid look. "We have a deal?"
"Give me a few weeks," he said, holding her hand for a beat longer than he should have. It was not like a woman's hand. Not like Gemma's, soft and dainty. It was strong, and the fingers were stained yellow from iodine. It was not a pretty hand at all, but holding it, he wanted--more than any-thing, more than he'd just wanted Gemma's entire lovely body--to simply press it to his face and feel the cool palm against his cheek.
He felt a slight tug as she withdrew her hand. There was something in her eyes: alarm. She was frightened of him. Bleeding frightened. Didn't she know he wouldn't hurt her? That he would never hurt her? That all he wanted to do was help her? Her expression made him angry. What the hell was he doing? Sitting here gassing with this skinny four-eyed harridan when Gemma Dean with her eager mouth and her gorgeous tits was waiting upstairs in his bed? He stood abruptly and looked around for one of his men.
"Oz!" he yelled.
Ozzie, standing at the bar, turned around. "Aye, guv?"
"Mr. Malone... ," India started to say.
"Yes, Dr. Jones?"
"I thought perhaps I could buy you supper. To say thank you."
"Won't be necessary."
"But I--"
"OZZIE!"
Oz was at Sid's side in a flash. "What is it, guv?"
"See the good doctor home."
"Good night then, Mr. Malone."
"Ta-ra, Dr. Jones."
He watched Ozzie and the doctor leave, then decided he would leave as well. He threaded his way through the taproom toward the door, passing the stairwell as he did.
Gemma was waiting there, standing in her wrapper.
"I'm sorry for rowing, Sid. Come back to bed, will you?"
"Not now, Gem."
"But why?"
He walked up the steps and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Got business. Stay over if you like, or Ronnie'll take you home."
"When will I see you?"
"When you see me."
Sid walked out of the Bark in time to see Ozzie hand Dr. Jones into the carriage. They would be heading west. He turned east.
He was restless. He knew he wouldn't sleep. So he would walk. East-ward along the river. For hours, maybe for days. Maybe all the way to the sea. And he would think as he walked. Of some new plan. Some new job. Something that would bring more money, more power. Something that would have the villains and the rozzers both saying, It was a daring job. Bloody dangerous and all. Bloody brilliant! And well nigh fucking impossible. It was Malone, no one else. Had to be.
He buttoned his jacket, then pulled his collar up against the damp night air. He was alone. And that was fine. He didn't need anyone. Not Gemma Dean. Not his pushy sister. And certainly no
t India Selwyn Jones.
He was Sid Malone. The guv'nor. And he didn't need a soul.
Chapter 24
"What do you mean he walked out, Des? We was supposed to go to Limehouse tonight. Where the hell did he go? It's nearly midnight."
"I don't know, Frankie. Out."
"He left Gemma here?"
Desi shrugged as if to say that he didn't understand it either. "Ronnie took her home."
"When's he coming back?"
"Jesus, what's with all the bleeding questions? I don't know! You know how it is when he goes walkabout. We might see him tomorrow or five days from now. Who knows?" He stuck his head into the kitchen. "Lily, luv," he shouted, "bring out some glasses, will you?" As he returned to his polishing, the pub door opened, squeaking on its rusty hinges.
"That's likely him now," Desi said.
"Sid! That you?" Frankie shouted. He couldn't see the door from where he was sitting.
"I'm afraid not, Frankie," came the reply. A man walked into the tap-room. He wore a suit and a tan mackintosh. It was Alvin Donaldson. Behind him, in the pub's large entry hall, what looked like an army of police officers stood waiting.
"Evening, all," he said. "Sid Malone about?"
Frankie was on his feet instantly. "No, he bloody well isn't. What the hell do you want? Here to arrest us for nothing again? Too afraid to come on your own? Need the whole of Scotland Yard to hold your hand?"
"Had a report," Donaldson said, picking up an old porcelain stein and examining it. He dropped it on the floor. It smashed. "Contraband goods were spotted here."
"What kind of contraband?"
"Guns. Stolen from the Stronghold Wharf."
Frankie snorted. "Oh, aye? Who reported it?"
"I did," he said.
"What?"
Donaldson nudged a barometer up the wall with his index finger until it came off its hook and crashed to the floor. "I was in here an hour ago," he said. "Didn't you see me? I spotted a rifle and two pistols sitting out on the bar," he said, smirking. "They're not there anymore, though. You must've hidden them."
Frankie realized what was coming next. "Where's your fucking war-rant?" he shouted.
"Right here." Donaldson drew a document out of his pocket and handed it over. "Gentlemen," he said, motioning his officers forward. Like a great blue wave they came crashing into the taproom. Lily had just come out of the kitchen carrying a tray of clean glasses. Frankie heard her cry out as one of the constables knocked the tray out of her hands.
"This is harassment!" he yelled, watching a table go over, a clock come down off the mantel.
Donaldson shook his head. "No, but this is," he said as he turned and swept everything behind the bar--the bottles of booze, the till, glasses, and plates--to the floor.
"What are you going to do, Frankie? Call the cops?" he asked. One of his officers laughed.
"You'll be laughing out of your arse when I knock your teeth down your throat," Frankie growled, advancing on the man.
"Now, now, careful, Frankie," Donaldson cautioned. "Assaulting an officer'll get you sent down no matter how good your lawyer is. You know that. There are witnesses here. Twenty of them."
Why's he warning me? Frankie wondered, drawing up short. If any-thing, he'd want me to hit him. Because he doesn't want to arrest you, a voice inside his head said. He wants you here, in the pub, to witness this and tell Sid about it.
"I'm to be the messenger, is that it? Is that what you want?" Frankie shouted over the din.
Donaldson nodded. "Tell him it's time to pack up, Frankie. Tell him this is just the beginning. And while you're at it, tell him Freddie Lytton says hello."
Chapter 25
Outside the Varden Street surgery, India buttoned her jacket against the cool evening breeze as Ella locked the door.
"We lost two more women today," she said grimly as she watched Dr. Gifford climb into his carriage. "He told me just now. Did you know?"
Ella dropped the key into her purse. "No, I didn't," she said. "From what?"
"Childbed fever."
Ella sighed. "Mrs. Gibbs?" she asked.
"And Mrs. Holloway. He should be reported to the British Medical As-sociation. He doesn't wash his hands, Ella. He's a murderer."
"Steady on, matey. That's a hard thing to prove. And the bloke has lots of friends in the BMA. Don't forget that. Report him and they'll turn it on you somehow, see if they don't. They'll make out that you were negligent somehow. Or that the nurses were."
"They wash. I know they do. Even when they think I'm not looking. I've drilled it into them."
"That's beside the point. If you report him, you'll be finished here. And no one else will take you, either. They'll think you're trouble."
India sighed.
"How'd you make out with the rubber johnnies?" Ella asked.
"Changing the subject, are you?"
"Trying."
"We'll have them soon."
Ella brightened. "Really? How'd you get them?"
"Sid Malone is getting them for me. I went to the Barkentine."
"Crikey, that was brave."
"I didn't have much choice. Soon we'll have supplies, and then all we'll need--"
"Is a clinic," Ella said. "But until we get it, you make sure to hide the johnnies well. We can't have Gifford finding them."
"I'll put them on top of the sink," India said. "Next to the soap. He's sure to miss them there."
Ella laughed out loud. "Why, Dr. Jones, I do believe that's the first time I ever heard you make a joke," she said.
"Did I? I didn't mean to."
"I'm sure you didn't. Come on, let's get going," Ella said, taking India's arm.
The two women were just about to step off the pavement into Varden Street when they were badly startled by a loud and horrible noise. It sounded like a goose being strangled. Ella jumped out of her skin. India spun around--and saw the cause of the racket. It was her cousin Wish. He was sitting in his car, goggles pushed up on his forehead.
"Indy! Over here! Did you forget about me?" he shouted.
Supper! She'd forgotten that they were supposed to have supper tonight after she finished work.
"I'm afraid I did," she said, leaning in through the driver's side window to kiss his cheek, happy--as always--to see him.
"What a dunderhead you are. Hungry?"
"Famished. Ella, meet my cousin Aloysius. Wish, meet Sister Ella Moskowitz."
"A pleasure! Will you join us?"
"Do, Ella," India said.
"I'd love to."
"Any suggestions? I'm not awfully familiar with this part of town."
India bit her lip. "Well, there's the Great Eastern. It's a railway ho-tel..."
"Why don't we go to the caff?" Ella said. "Give your cousin a real taste of East London."
"What a good idea! It's the Moskowitzes' caf�Wish. On Brick Lane. It belongs to Ella's mum. The food's wonderful."
"Sounds splendid. Jump in."
India climbed into the passenger seat, Ella into the back. Wish pulled away from the curb and nearly caused an accident before they'd even closed the car doors.
"Wish! Look out!" India screeched.
He veered to the right sharply, sending both women flying across their seats. India struggled to an upright position in time to see the driver of an enormous hay wagon shake his fist at them.
"Sorry. Handles beautifully, don't you think? Far better than the competition. That's a huge selling point."
"Drive, don't talk," India ordered.
She was exhausted after a full day at the surgery, but she soon discovered that it was impossible to be tired when you were terrified. Wish took both straight roads and corners at breakneck speed, passing carriages and buses with no concern whatsoever for oncoming traffic. He pulled up outside the restaurant and nearly hit an elderly gentleman reversing to the curb. India was relieved when he finally switched off the engine.
"It's a marvel, that car," he said. "Daimler cut his teeth on
boat engines, then progressed to automobiles. There's none more reliable. Or faster. And the chassis is gorgeous. I'm into the company for ten thousand. They're going to make me stinking rich." He grinned. "Or a complete bloody pauper."
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