When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  “Well, we would have,” another retorted.

  “If we’d gotten there first.” This was said dolefully by—she thought—Isaac.

  She went to the door, pulling it open partway and sticking her head through the opening. No one was in the hall now, but voices carried from Joaquin’s office. She pushed the door open all the way and crept into the hall, moving as swiftly as she could without making noise. At least today she was wearing her slippers, which were considerably less noisy than those boots she’d borrowed from Cyrus’s valet. After an evening in those Hessians, she understood why they’d been buried in the back of his closet: they were dreadfully uncomfortable.

  After verifying that no one was approaching, Mina sidled up to the office door, pressing her ear against it. Sure enough, Joaquin was arguing with several gang members. And yes, that was definitely Isaac talking.

  “How could you let this happen?” Joaquin demanded. “I gave you one task to do, Isaac. One. You asked to prove your loyalty to me, and this is how you do it?”

  “It took time,” Isaac whined, making Mina’s heart lurch. He wasn’t going to last long in Joaquin’s organization if this was how he responded to her brother’s inquiries.

  Mina sighed. Isaac deserved better than being part of the Kings.

  “It wouldn’t have, if you’d done it right.” Joaquin’s voice took on that low, lethal tone that had made him so feared throughout the East End. “You’re a fool, Isaac. A useless fool. I should have dispensed with you earlier—”

  “Quin,” Cyrus interjected. “I went with him, don’t forget. We left shortly after we got the information about McNair’s whereabouts. He was already dead by the time we arrived. ’Tis not Isaac’s fault, this time.”

  Mina’s eyes widened, and she swallowed down her gasp. She had no love lost for Al McNair, not after the blackguard had made his vile intentions for her so clear. But to hear her brothers discuss his fate so casually—devil take it, with such disappointment that they hadn’t been the ones to murder him—made a cold shiver slide down her body.

  Every time she thought she’d come to grips with her family’s crimes, she was met with something more despicable.

  She couldn’t hear what another gang member said in response, for he did not speak as loudly as her brothers or Isaac. Perhaps that was for the best; she already felt as though she was going to be sick. She backed away from the door, her hand clapped over her mouth.

  Her whole life, she’d idolized her brothers. Excused Cyrus’s rudeness, and Joaquin’s controlling tendencies. Reasoned away their violence.

  You’ve got honor. You’re a good man.

  Her words to Charlie replayed in her mind. He’d done terrible things, too. Not just for the gangs, but in those early years when his father was still alive. He’d never wanted to talk about the bruises and scars littering his tanned skin. But she’d noticed. She’d watched, silently, as he fought for a place in Chapman. She might have turned a blind eye to her brothers’ activities, but she had never ignored Charlie’s faults. She knew them all.

  Yet she still loved him.

  So where was the line? A week ago, she would have said that the line didn’t exist—that every situation had to be examined individually to determine the proper response. She’d hidden behind her wealth, her privilege, because she didn’t have to question what was right and what was wrong. She’d believed she could exist on the fringes of two gangs, without either of their actions ever affecting her.

  She’d been so, so ingenuous.

  Mina stared at the door to Joaquin’s office, which she never entered unless he summoned her. She could barge in now, demand to be treated equally with the rest of the gang, since her fate was now so entwined with theirs. After all, if she was old enough to become a wife, then shouldn’t she be treated as an adult in her own right, instead of a sheltered child? She was a Mason too, with the same blood running through her veins as they had. If she’d been born a boy, she would have been expected to follow in the family trade. Why should her gender preclude her?

  She bit her bottom lip, debating if she should step inside. Family legacy or not, she didn’t want a place in the gang. She didn’t want to be like her brothers, equating people with chess pieces to be moved about the board of life, all in the name of gaining power.

  She wanted a home of her own and a family that accepted her without demanding fealty. The very things Charlie could give her.

  But if nothing else, her appearance would throw Joaquin off balance. The time he spent trying to think of ways to dissuade her from getting involved with the gang was time he couldn’t spend planning her godforsaken farce of a wedding.

  Her fingers curled around the doorknob, about to turn it, when a familiar face entered the hall from the main spiral staircase downstairs.

  “Hello, Mina,” Kate O’Reilly called, her voice echoing down the hall.

  Mina jumped back from the door, no longer so eager to be found sneaking around outside Joaquin’s office.

  “I hope it’s okay I dismissed your butler,” Kate continued as she approached. “He seemed to be quite busy, and he gave such good instructions I was certain I could find the way to your parlor. To be honest, it’s been so bloody long since I’ve even seen a butler, the man must think I’m bacon-brained. Funny how quickly one forgets how one was raised, right?”

  She wished she could forget how she’d grown up, but she didn’t think Kate would appreciate that observation since when her father died, Kate had lost everything. And the woman had been so nice to her that night at the Three Boars.

  Oh, bloody hell.

  Kate was a fence for stolen goods. She had ties to Chapman, and more importantly, to Cyrus’s ex-betrothed Jane. How had she slipped past the guards? Security had been increased since the attack on her at the Three Boars.

  Mina needed to get Kate as far away as possible from Joaquin’s office and the contingent of Kings in there, and fast.

  “Ah, yes,” she said, almost jogging toward Kate. “I’m afraid our butler forgot the leak in the second floor parlor from the rain last week.” The lie slipped out effortlessly as she caught up with the other woman and linked their arms together. “I do apologize, but I’m certain you’ll find my sitting room to be much nicer.”

  Kate leaned in as they walked back to the stairs, keeping her voice low enough that only Mina could hear her. “Wherever you want to talk is fine with me, but we need to do it soon, and privately. Jane sent me. It’s Charlie. We’ve got a problem…”

  That was all she needed to say for Mina to dispense with propriety. She practically sprinted toward the stairs, towing Kate along with her. The woman’s longer legs easily covered the ground, and soon they’d climbed the stairs. Once they were closed in her sitting room and Kate had taken a seat on the emerald green chaise, Mina pounced on her.

  “What’s wrong with Charlie? What happened? Is he in danger?” Each question dropped from her lips with rapidity, like Cyrus’s punches in a mill.

  Kate glanced quickly around the room, as if reassuring herself that no one else was listening.

  “We’re alone, I promise.” Mina made a “hurry, hurry” motion with her hand to spur the fence on.

  “The man who said such horrible things to you at the Three Boars last week, Al McNair…” Kate paused, frowning. “Oh, I do wish Jane had sent someone else to do this, like Poppy. Somebody with more delicacy. I’d rather shoot a problem to death than stop and explain it.”

  Mina might have laughed at that, for she’d heard many stories of Kate O’Reilly’s famous flintlock pistol. But now, all she could think about was Charlie. “I’ll save you the trouble, then. Al McNair is dead, yes?”

  Kate drew back against the cushions of the settee, blinking in confusion. “How did you know that?”

  “Not important.” She didn’t think it was in her best interests to confess eavesdropping. “Now tell me what this has to do with Charlie and what I can do to help.”

  “They’ve taken him p
risoner. Chapman, I mean. Jason Baines is behind it.” Kate spoke with more ease now that she didn’t have to tread softly around the news. “He’s saying that Charlie killed McNair, and apparently they’ve got witnesses who confirm it. For now, they’re letting Jane sit with him, but I don’t think he’s got much time left. Knowing Jason, he’s so devilishly eager to get to the killing he won’t wait for Harper to confer with Zacharias.”

  Mina suddenly wished she’d been sitting down for this. She grabbed hold of the arm of the settee to steady herself. “He didn’t do it. Charlie wouldn’t have killed McNair, not when it would hurt the rest of Chapman.”

  And endanger me.

  She knew that was the real reason, as she knew deep down that Charlie was a good man. The best of men, no matter what he claimed. He had every intention of keeping his vow to her, because he was a man who kept his promises, no matter what.

  But Kate had connections to Chapman, so it was better to claim loyalty to the gang as his motivation.

  “Of course he didn’t,” Kate stated matter-of-factly. “You think I haven’t seen affidavit women before? I’m practically a bloody expert in them, after everything that happened with Daniel.”

  “I see,” Mina said, having forgotten that Kate’s husband had been falsely accused of murder before too. “I think I know why Jane sent you, then.”

  Kate snorted. “She sent me because I could slip in unnoticed—my husband’s closest friend is a thief, so I’ve picked up a few things about being covert.”

  Mina knew that Jane and her friends were associated with the infamous Gentleman Thief, Atlas Greer, but she’d never met the man herself.

  “Besides, if they questioned me, I’d say I was here to do business with Cyrus,” Kate continued. “We had dealings before, when I was a fence for stolen goods. Much to my discontent.”

  Mina managed a small smile at that. “He says the same about you.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Kate replied wryly. “But for Charlie’s sake, I hope Cyrus is fonder of him than he is of me. Because you’re going to need one hell of a fighter to get him out.”

  “He’ll help,” Mina vowed, lifting her chin up. “He’ll help because I’ll make him help.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Kate’s expression turned solemn as she plucked a piece of foolscap from the pocket in her skirt, handing it to Mina. “Directions to Charlie. You understand it’ll just be you and Cyrus, don’t you?”

  Mina gulped. She hadn’t realized that, hadn’t made any more concrete plans in the last few minutes than saving Charlie. “I do now.”

  Kate took her hand, her brown eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Mina. We all love Charlie, but we’ve got to live in Chapman territory. Usually, I’d ask Atlas to help out with this, but he’s in Nottinghamshire, thieving some antique.”

  Mina’s stomach churned, but she kept up a brave front. Too much was at stake to give in to fear now.

  “Daniel’s got a new job at the docks now, an honest job,” Kate continued, squeezing her hand. “He can’t chance being caught by the Met again. Poppy and Thaddeus have their daughter to keep safe. Jane’s got her brother in Newgate to think of—his safety depends on Chapman protecting him.”

  Mina nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her two front teeth to stop it from trembling. “I understand.”

  Kate released Mina’s hand to slide her palms around her stomach. “And I’d go, because I’d love to see Jason Baines get his, but…I can’t risk the baby.”

  “You’re with child? My felicitations.” She forced a smile onto her lips as Kate nodded, because she knew she should be happy for Kate. Should feel anything other than the gut-twist of envy and loss, the wish for something she’d never have. Love. A child of her own, with Charlie.

  Because even if they managed to break Charlie out…what would happen after that? They still didn’t have a plan for the future. In fact, he’d staunchly refused to ruin her because he thought he couldn’t offer her a better life.

  She frowned. She couldn’t think of that. If they didn’t save Charlie now, there’d be no chance at a future with him.

  “It’ll be fine, Mina.” Kate pushed up off the settee, walking toward the door. “These things usually go better than you’d think.”

  Mina tilted her head to the side, eying her quizzically. “Usually? You make it sound like breaking someone out of captivity is another day for you.”

  “You do some odd, odd things when you live in the rookeries.” Kate winked, giving Mina a small, secret smile like they’d shared some sort of private joke. “Happens when you’re a criminal, right?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Mina said quietly, avoiding Kate’s glance.

  Kate’s voice was softer now, almost like a gentle pat upon Mina’s shoulder. “Oh, but you will, dear. Oh, but you will.”

  Charlie had grown used to the constant noise of Ratcliffe, which did not fall prey to respectability and the soft, quiet hours when toffs slumbered in their feather beds and dreamed of sweet success. No one in the rookeries made the mistake of having such hopes—their sleeps were fitful, the pangs of hunger keeping them awake. So they partied as hard as they worked, and they drank gin instead of tea because it lulled them into blessed stupor, where problems faded away, replaced by only blackness.

  When the markets and shops closed, the public houses, gin palaces, brothels, and opium dens opened their doors. It was then that he thought the city began to shine. In the daytime, men and women wore masks of respectability, clinging to the social mores of the very people who lorded wealth and privilege over them.

  The night had a way of bringing out the truth. The same man who by day claimed steadfast devotion to his wife tupped his favorite whore under the light of the full moon, shouting his sins to all of mankind. Charlie had always thought the night was made for vice, for pleasure, for noise.

  He’d been wrong about that too, then. Because engulfed in the absolute blackness of his cell, he did not find peace. He did not feel more alive. He simply existed, in an unending sea of doubt. He’d given up on moving when there was nowhere to go. Hell, he’d even given up on keeping his eyes open. There was no point—no difference in the darkness that coated everything.

  There was nothing but this bloody windowless room and the mat where he lay, staring up at the cracked ceiling with water damage from too many torrential downpours. The silence was a tight grip upon his throat, shutting out all that was good, allowing the worst of thoughts to fester and take hold. He had no idea how much time had passed—if it’d been hours since Harper had left, or days. At first, he’d tried to keep a count of the minutes that passed, but eventually he’d given up on that. He’d reached higher than he could count, and he didn’t need another reminder of failure.

  If he’d been smarter—if he’d held a better hand of cards in the great deal of life—he might have made something of himself. He didn’t regret turning down Zacharias’s offer to take up a position of leadership in the gang, because God knew, he saw Chapman for what it really was now: a band of false brothers, joined together by blood oaths and blind devotion to a cause none of them truly understood.

  But he could have been like Harper, who owned a business and could read and write well. Harper was called the Saint of Ratcliffe, because he did so much work for the poor. Charlie had no such achievements.

  If he’d been smart and accomplished like Harper, maybe he wouldn’t have hesitated with Mina. With every ounce of his being, he regretted not making her his. Not by ruining her like she’d wanted—no, she deserved better. He should have offered for her. Gone to her brothers for approval of their marriage.

  Instead he’d taken the coward’s way out, promising her a future but leaving everything vague. Mina deserved to be adored and appreciated and respected, not made to wait.

  The only parts of him worth a damn were because of her. Her kindness. Her loyalty. Her mulishness.

  God, how he wished he could hear her voice one last time.

 
Footsteps approached. He heard voices in the hall—noise, but not what he wanted.

  Not Mina. Of course not.

  He’d never see Mina again, and to hope for anything other than a quick death was pointless.

  Yet…

  He’d die a fool, then.

  The door opened. He blinked rapidly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden light in the cell from the lantern held high in the woman’s hands.

  Mina? No, of course not.

  It was Jane. Charlie pushed himself up into a sitting position as Jane closed the door behind her. He didn’t know if this was her first visit to him—he’d fallen asleep earlier, and he didn’t know how long he’d been out then, either.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, his voice scratchy from lack of use. Maybe that meant a day had passed, or two.

  “Oh, Charlie.” She set the lantern down on the ground, running to the mat where he sat. She dropped down on her knees, flinging her small, thin frame against his, engulfing him in a giant hug. “Charlie, I’m so, so sorry. I’m trying to get you help. I’d do it myself, but Penn—”

  “Sssh,” he whispered, hugging her to him. She wasn’t Mina, but he was still damn glad to see her. His big sister, as fiercely protective of him as she was her own flesh and blood. “You gotta do what’s right for your brother. Penn’s my friend too.”

  “You’re the only one who doesn’t say ‘was’ when you talk about him.” She pulled back from him to swipe her hand across her eyes, where tears threatened to drop onto her pale cheeks. “Everybody else speaks of him like he’s already dead and gone.”

  “I guess I’m more hopeful than I thought.” He plastered a small smile on his lips for Jane’s benefit. Odd how he didn’t feel any pain from that movement. His split lip was healing—perhaps more time had passed than he’d thought originally.

  Jane laughed. “You’re the least hopeful person I know.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you’re good at somethin’, why change?”

  She smiled at him, but her expression quickly turned somber, and for a bit neither of them spoke. He felt the silence crush him down, even as Jane rested her head on his shoulder and hummed a tune from the fiddler who sometimes came on Friday nights to the Three Boars. That made him think of Mina again, and he knew what he had to do.