by Zoë Archer
“The hell would I want to do that for?” Still, Jack snatched the paper from Simon’s hand and peered at it. He did a convincing job of turning pale, then going red.
“You’re not entirely a simpleton,” Simon went on, “so I’m sure you recognize her name. Carr. As in Edward Carr. As in the assistant to the President of the Board of Trade. A man you most certainly wouldn’t want to cross, and whose name you wouldn’t want to damage.”
Jack shook with rage. “This is just paper. I could tear it up, and no one would know any difference.”
“But I have a duplicate set of documents, also signed. Destroy these. It won’t matter.” Simon plucked the documents from Jack’s massive hands, and set the papers aside. “The bell has rung, Darby. The match is lost. Get out of here before you make an even bigger fool of yourself than you’ve done already.”
Jack spun around, glaring at everyone, including Alyce. She had the good sense to recoil from the blazing intensity of his anger—either excellent acting on her part or a genuine response of fear. Simon couldn’t blame her. Even when pretending, an enraged Jack Dutton was terrifying. The owners themselves seemed to try to crawl into the flocked wallpaper.
Only Simon faced him calmly. He had to fight to keep from smiling. This was always part of the confidence scheme he enjoyed—a relic from his schoolboy theatrics.
Jack stalked to Simon, looming over him by a good half a head. “I could also beat you bloody in front of your wife and all these fine gentlemen. No damn papers can stop that.”
Simon had never seen Jack fight during his boxing and brawling days, but he had seen him fight a time or two during their last mission, and he’d been a force unto himself. Simon and Jack had also never become friends—mostly because of Eva, but they’d still butted heads as two men used to being in charge—and Simon suspected Jack wanted only the smallest excuse to pummel him. Well, he’d go down swinging if he had to. But he hoped that Jack remembered he had a part to play, a part that didn’t include turning Simon’s face into pulp—the way he’d battered those henchmen from the previous job.
“You’re right,” he agreed affably. “Papers can’t stop you from degenerating to your basic, brutal self. But I did ask one of the clerks to summon the constabulary if you were to arrive. They’ll show up just in time to see you beating a defenseless man. I can’t imagine that would reflect well on your service record as a government employee.”
Jack glared at him a moment longer. Absolute silence choked the room, save for the clock ticking on a bookcase. Even Simon found himself holding his breath.
Cursing, Jack spun on his heel and stormed out of the office. Cries sounded from clerks as he shoved them out of his way, and the front door banged open, then shut.
For a long while, no one within Tufton’s office spoke. Simon took Alyce’s hand and patted it. “All you all right, my dear?”
She pressed her hand to the center of her chest. “My … goodness. What a thoroughly despicable character.”
“I’m sorry I had to expose you to such unpleasantness. The world of men can be an ugly one.”
“Then I’m happy to leave you to it.”
Gradually, Tufton, Harrold, and Stokeham peeled themselves away from the walls. “God, Shale,” Tufton said shakily, “you’ve got bollocks of iron. Forgive my language, Mrs. Shale.”
She waved her hand. “Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances.”
“Darby’s well and truly gone?” Stokeham asked.
“He’s my problem now, gentlemen, not yours. At the present, you’ve got nothing to do but take your ease for the next few days, and await the benefits of our arrangement.”
Harrold came forward, his hand extended. “It was a blessed, fateful day for us you when crossed our threshold, Shale.”
“Oh, but I don’t believe in fate,” Simon answered, shaking Harrold’s hand. He glanced over at Alyce. “Fortune’s in our hands. It’s what we do with it that proves our character.”
* * *
“I don’t know how to feel.”
Simon looked up from the newspaper he’d purchased at the train station to gaze at Alyce sitting across from him. They’d left Plymouth without meeting again with Eva and Jack, as had been prearranged. It would be too much of a risk for them to be seen together, but he and the other Nemesis operatives would reconnoiter as soon as his mission concluded. He didn’t know when that might be … but it wouldn’t be long, that much was certain. Finish his work at Wheal Prosperity, and then move on. As he’d always done, one job to the next.
It never troubled him, this peripatetic, rootless life of his. Until now.
Alyce watched the passing countryside, a small frown pleated between her brows.
She continued distantly, “They signed the papers. The mine belongs to us now. But I feel … I’m not happy exactly. I don’t know what I am.”
He folded up the paper and set it aside. Fortunately, the train car was empty, so they could speak at liberty. “The assignment’s ongoing. You don’t have to feel anything until it’s finished.”
Finally, she turned to look at him, her eyes grave. “That’s another thing. I don’t know how it’s supposed to finish.”
“We go back to Trewyn, fire the managers, and take possession of Wheal Prosperity.”
“That can’t be everything. The owners have had the mine for over ten years, and the managers are like pythons, strangling it slowly. There’s the constabulary, too. Trewyn’s been theirs to run as they please. None of them will just give up and walk away peaceably.”
“They won’t,” he answered.
A wry smile twisted her mouth. “No pats on the hand? No ‘there, there, everything’s going to be fine’?”
“I’ll never lie to you, Alyce. Well … I did, but I won’t again.”
Her smile turned bittersweet. “One of the things I’ll miss about you.” She picked at the seam of her glove as if she could pick apart her thoughts. “Henry and Sarah … they’d sometimes give me those little pats, tell me I had nothing to worry about. Maybe they were trying to make me feel better.” She snorted. “Maybe they were just trying to shut me up.” She shook her head. “Not you. After you finally revealed who you were, you always told it to me straight.” Her voice thickened. “I’ll … miss that.”
Something fractured in his chest, a thread of incipient sorrow that would spread. It would be just as much of a lie if he told her that he’d stay in Trewyn, or that he’d even have the opportunity to visit her from time to time. There weren’t holidays if you worked for Nemesis. At best, he could see her once or twice a year—she deserved better than that. And he couldn’t do his work properly with half his heart. Better to end things cleanly.
But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like a bastard.
“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he murmured.
She managed a brave smile. “But it has to be.”
“It does.”
Her exhale was long and slightly shaky, but her control didn’t break. “It’s been a grand adventure.”
“It’s not over yet. Might get worse before it gets better.”
She tilted her head, curious. “Should I be scared?”
Again, he liked and respected her too much to feed her lies. “We had a saying in the army. ‘When you stop being afraid, you start being dead.’”
“Doesn’t sound very soldierly. Or brave.”
“We were all of those things: good, brave soldiers. But we also knew that if we thought ourselves above harm, we’d be the first to wind up with our brains splattered on the battlefield.”
She winced at the graphic image. “Afraid it is, then. But not cowardly.”
“Cowardly? You? Impossible. But I’m going to need your help with the rest of the workers if it comes down to a fight.” He took her hands in his. “They’ll need a leader.”
“They’ll get two.” Glancing down at their interlaced hands, she smiled, though it seemed to pain her. “You and me together, we
can do just about anything.”
More fractures spread through his heart, even as it swelled with admiration. They just might be able to pull off this mission, but as to what came after, that was something neither of them could solve.
* * *
They switched trains in Tavistock, both to fill time until after dark, and also to give them an opportunity to change back into their usual clothing. Well, for Simon, his machinist’s clothes were the disguise, but they couldn’t return to Trewyn wearing the fine garments they’d had to don for the work in Plymouth.
The ladies’ retiring room at the Tavistock station couldn’t accommodate their needs, so Simon had taken a room at the nearest inn. It was a far shabbier room than the ones they’d had in Exeter and Plymouth, but they’d only be there for a few hours.
He avoided looking at the bed as the hotel’s porter carried the trunk into the room. Once Simon got Alyce back into bed, he wouldn’t want to leave. But he couldn’t ignore the job’s building momentum. Soon, very soon, everything would come to its climax, and he needed all his thoughts—and his body—focused.
“Why should it matter what we’re wearing,” Alyce asked once the porter had left, “if the ownership’s been transferred?”
“Waltzing back into the village dressed like this”—he gestured at his silk waistcoat, his fine charcoal gray woolen trousers—“would tip our hand too soon. We’ve got to get the workers ready for what’s coming before we make our next move.”
She glanced down at her traveling costume and sighed. “These outfits are ruddy confining, but I’ll be sorry to see them go, just the same. They’re so pretty.”
He stepped to her, and tugged off his glove so he could cradle her face with his bare hand. She leaned into his touch, holding him to her with her own hand. “Rough hessian or elegant moiré, nothing changes your beauty.”
The pink blooming in her cheeks captivated him.
“No need for sweet talk,” she murmured.
“Honesty, not flattery.” He locked his gaze with hers. “I’ve never been able to take my eyes from you, Alyce Carr. Not for a moment.”
She bit her lip. Then glanced over his shoulder at a clock sitting on a shabby deal table. “What time does our train leave?”
“Five-fifteen.”
“It’s three o’clock now.” She looped her arms around his shoulders, gazing up at him.
He looked back, marking the way the filtered sunlight touched along the sharp edges of her jaw and chin. When he was back in London, would he see faces that reminded him of her? Would a woman’s purposeful walk recall her? They’d all be pale imitations. He’d rather have nothing at all if he couldn’t have the genuine article.
Which meant he’d have nothing.
“Two hours and fifteen minutes,” he murmured.
“All the time we’ve got left to be alone.” Her own voice was hardly a whisper. “Barely any time at all.”
“We won’t waste it.” Just this once, he could be selfish, and think only of her and himself. Soon enough, they’d be forced apart.
She stepped backward, pulling him with her until they fell onto the bed. Her skirts rustled as he nestled between her legs, and he was instantly ravenous. Her own gaze was heavy-lidded, hungry. “Let’s make this last a lifetime.”
* * *
The sun had just set with a flash of green on the horizon as he and Alyce stepped off the train at St. Ursula. He’d given special instructions for the trunk to be delivered to London. And so, they stood on the platform wearing their coarse workers’ clothes, she with her battered carpetbag, and he with his worn satchel—the leather portfolio full of documents. No one gave them a second glance. Just another poor couple back from a short-lived holiday.
Alyce watched the train pull away, chugging and steaming, until she and Simon were left in the dull quiet of a small-town train station. It was a Thursday, so people trudged home from work for their evening meal, concerned only with their comforts after a long day.
He and Alyce had eaten some meat pies on the train, so there was nothing keeping them in St. Ursula. The walk back to Trewyn would take a few hours. The sooner they started off, the sooner they’d arrive.
But they lingered on that grimy, small platform. After they returned, they wouldn’t be alone together. Not the way they’d been in Plymouth—or Tavistock. God, they’d been ferocious in that threadbare hotel room, tearing at their clothes, hungry for the feel and taste of each other, knowing the sensations had to carry them for the rest of their lives. Their lovemaking had been tinged with melancholy. Rough and honest. Everything that they were and couldn’t be.
That time was over.
He glanced over at her, and she gave him a small nod. Silently, they left the platform and began the long walk across the countryside, back to the village.
They hadn’t gone more than thirty yards from the edge of town when she suddenly stopped and turned to him. She pulled at something on her hand, then held a small object out to him. He took it. Opening his palm, he saw it was the wedding band he’d given her a few days ago. It still held the warmth of her body, but had already begun to cool.
“Keep it,” he said, his voice gruff. “A souvenir.” An ache had settled in his chest, making itself at home, readying itself for a long stay.
“Memories are better. They can’t get lost.”
He kissed her. Once. Brief and hard. She gripped him tightly. Then they separated, and walked the dark miles back to Trewyn in silence.
* * *
It felt strange to slip back into her home, as though Alyce were waking from a dream. Or maybe this narrow cottage with its familiar table and plates and folding screen was the dream that she’d crept back into. But as she edged inside, making certain that no one in the lane had spotted her returning, she didn’t feel like herself. Once, a traveling scientific fair had come through town, showing all kinds of oddities like two-headed goats and demonstrating some of the wonders electricity could do. They’d also had a whole display of specimens in jars. Malformed beasts and rare creatures.
She was one of those specimens now, floating in liquid.
Sarah sat at the table, knitting, and Henry read aloud from the Bible. Neither of them heard her enter. She watched them for a moment, in this comfortable domestic scene. Every now and then, Sarah rubbed her swollen belly, and Henry would keep reading, but reach out and give her stomach a protective, loving caress.
The thought of having what Sarah had—a baby on the way, a doting husband—something in Alyce instinctively shied away from it. She had other desires, other responsibilities. Yet a bitter thread of envy tugged on her. They had a partnership, Sarah and her brother. Someone who knew them as well as they knew themselves. Someone to trust. To … love.
She must’ve made a noise, because Henry stopped reading and Sarah’s needles stilled. The moment they saw her, they leaped to their feet. In truth, Henry leaped, while Sarah levered herself up, using the table and the back of her chair for balance.
Henry’s arms enfolded Alyce in a tight embrace. She froze in shock. He’d never been one for showing affection—not to her, anyway. Yet here he was, hugging her close. She let go of her bag and hugged him back, sudden hotness gathering behind her eyelids.
“We missed you,” Sarah said, also embracing Alyce as best she could, given her giant stomach. “We were so worried. Henry didn’t sleep for two nights.”
Alyce’s brows lifted.
“What kind of fool sleeps soundly when his only sister is off in the big city?” he demanded gruffly. “You could’ve been murdered.”
“Not this fool.” She pressed a kiss to his bristled cheek. “As you can see, I’m back, completely unmurdered.”
Henry gave her a look that said her smart response wasn’t appreciated, but he gave her one final squeeze before stepping back and folding his arms across his chest. “And…?”
“And…” She allowed herself her first real smile in a long time. “It worked, Henry. The mine’s ours.
”
She could see how he fought a whoop of triumph, but his own smile won out. Amazing how much he looked like their mother when he smiled like that. A small curl of grief circled her heart. If only their parents had lived to see this day.
“How’d it work? What did you do? What about Simon? How did he manage things? Tell me all of it.”
A sharp pain at the mention of his name. But she pushed past it. She’d have to get used to that pain.
“For heaven’s sake, Henry,” Sarah admonished. “Look at her. She’s about ready to collapse. Sit down, my dear, and Henry will make you some tea. And when you’re ready”—she directed this at her husband—“you can tell us what happened.”
Alyce barely had the energy to say thanks as she dropped into a chair. How could she feel so light, and so heavy at the same time?
Henry clattered around the stove, muttering to himself about where was the tea caddy, and if they had any biscuits left.
As he fussed, Sarah sat down and edged her chair close to Alyce. “The mine? It belongs to us?”
“It does.”
“And you’re safe, unhurt? Plymouth is such a big place.”
Alyce spread her hands. “I wasn’t murdered once.”
Sarah chuckled, then looked at Alyce with speculation. “It happened, didn’t it?” she murmured. “With Simon.”
Alyce answered with a shocked whisper, “Sarah!”
But her sister-in-law gently shook her head. “Henry can’t see it because he’s a man, and men … they can be good-hearted creatures, but Lord love them if they don’t have the observational skills of a vole. But the moment I saw you, I knew.” She glanced over at Henry, still figuring out the intricacies of how to make tea, then back to Alyce. “You made love with Simon, didn’t you?”
There was no point in lying, and Alyce didn’t want to, anyway. Sarah was the closest she had to a sister, the only woman she could share these kinds of secrets with. So she nodded, then waited for condemnation.
Young unmarried women didn’t lie with men they didn’t mean to marry—and it was clear that she and Simon had no wedding planned. More than a few sermons had warned the congregation against the dangers of lust. But there was a greater threat than being considered a sinner: having a baby out of wedlock. Girls who got pregnant and either couldn’t or didn’t marry the father faced bleak futures, shame following them and their babes like a trail of poison.
