His hand kneaded over the tense cords of his neck as he thought of the best approach.
“You’re reading the scandal sheets.” She pulled the other bit of newsprint from the table. “And the social column. Is anyone missing someone?”
He knew that she asked if he had found someone searching for their missing daughter, sister, or niece. He hadn’t thought of discovering more about her background. He was focused on another’s altogether at the moment.
“You don’t give up easily, do you, Alex?” Her voice was high and cracked as she slammed her closed fist over the tabletop. “I’m not going back,” she insisted. “I won’t.”
If he had learned anything from living in the same room as his pretend wife, it wasn’t to underestimate her temper.
“I’m searching for someone.”
“I see,” she sniffed again. Anne pushed off from the table and approached the wooden railing as if it were a trap.
P-R-E-A-M...-B...
“Can you read?”
His hand clenched into a fist. He could bloody well read if she would...
His thoughts quieted as her hand ran over the sanded grain, a sad smile spreading over her lips.
“You were saying the letters out loud,” she said, her eyes still focused on his surprise.
“I can read fine.” His answer was husky, so he swallowed and knitted his brows at the impossible girl. He grabbed the paper and spread it out in front of him like he had seen the gentlemen do as they waited for their shoes to be polished. “Fine,” he repeated.
“F-I-N-E,” she said.
He peered around the paper, his chest tightening.
“Oh, you’re so stubborn!” She marched over and grabbed the newsprint. “I spelled the word fine.” Her tone softened. “Not being able to read is nothing to be ashamed of. I can help.”
Anne had a proper education. She knew nothing of his struggle. Danny had taught Alex what he could once they escaped, but reading was never a skill Alex picked up quickly. Numbers, language even, but never reading. He could speak well when he must. He had manners certainly better than hers most of the time. But he was still marked by chains that had been around his wrists, still had those damn tattoos etched into his skin, the brands of the immoral. People like Alex were never meant to receive an education. There was no need for them to have one when they were destined to waste away in a room. An asylum, a prison; it made no difference.
Anne bent over the table and in a hushed whisper said, “Today is my birthday.” And just as quickly she laughed and sniffed back the tears that had been building in her eyes. “Anyhow, tell me who you’re looking for.”
His shoulders relaxed as he gazed up at her. His throat was dry and he desperately needed a drink. “I need to find someone for a friend,” he said instead. “My friend wishes to thank her for aiding him.” Alex stopped there. No point in confessing the rest.
“And does this friend have a name?”
“Of course, but you don’t need to know it.”
“Very well, so what is this lady’s name?” Anne sank into the seat beside him. “What makes you think she’ll be in the social column?”
“I don’t have a name for her.”
Her eyes widened with glee. “So, she’s a mystery?”
“I remember him mentioning that she possessed a terrible stutter.”
Anne slipped off her seat, sliding off onto the floor with a thud.
“She’s a member of good society,” he continued. “There must be mention of her.” He looked down at her. “What are you doing on the floor?”
She refused his outstretched hand and stood. “Not everyone is written up in the social column.” She brushed off her backside, trying her best to appear dignified. Alex held back a snicker. “And this mystery woman may prefer to keep to herself.”
There was no holding back the exhaustion. He only wanted what every other person possessed—an identity. He was so very tired of having to live with a name that wasn’t true. “It’s very important that I find her.”
Anne bit her lip then nodded. “Then you must.” She shoved the paper back into his hands. “Read this to me.”
She paced between the door and the table as he read, letter by letter, word by word, searching for the one person who knew who he truly was.
Chapter 6
Minnie didn’t meet anyone in the eye as she entered Mrs. Bowen’s. She swallowed back the bile that had been rising in her throat and trudged up the stairs, past closed doors that hid sin from the rest of the world.
Dearest Minnie, the letter had started. My dearest sister…
Her body was sore, her mind a blank space that held nothing except for thoughts of cold water and bed.
Teddy forwarded me your letter. I swear I won’t tell uncle, but Clara cries daily, wishing for information, and you know I can’t lie. Please, just write them. We all miss you. Cecily is ill again, keeping Clara busy with the doctors and nurses. Uncle wrote that he was on his way home to search for you. If you won’t come home, please write. I don’t wish to keep this secret but I was so happy to read of your adventure. Be well and I love you.
Your sister, always, Grace.
Her mind was still reeling when she entered their room, so it took a moment before she gasped and dropped to her knees, taking in the wreckage. The mattress was flipped over, the sheets and quilt ripped. The table was turned over, as was the dresser. The pitcher of water was shattered, water pooling around Alex, who sat on the floor with his back against the wall, his long legs stretched outward.
He rolled his head to meet her shocked stare, his palms open toward the ceiling.
“What happened?” She prayed they had been robbed. It would be easier to stomach. She feared the truth, even if he couldn’t say it, she would know and everything would change again.
His eyes were red, but his skin appeared free of bruises. She smelled no alcohol.
“I tried,” he said. Alex tipped his head and stared at the ceiling. “Go home, Anne. Please.”
“You’re wet.” She swallowed. “Stand up before you catch a cold.”
Alex banged his head against the wall, a dry heartless laugh scratching from his throat.
Minnie stood and walked closer, even as he held his hands out to warn her off. “You won’t hurt me,” she said softly. She focused her eyes and edged closer, afraid that if she blinked everything would change. “Have some faith.”
It was a long moment before he replied, “That’s a tall order.”
Minnie sank to her knees and stretched her hand out. When he didn’t flinch away, she cupped her cold palm against his cheek, warm and covered in bristled growth. Much darker than the unnaturally blond hair on his head. “If you do not tell me what is happening, I cannot help.”
“I don’t want your help.” He looked her in the eye. “And I’ve had enough of sharing my life with you.”
She placed the rubber ball in his hand. His blue eyes slowly looked down to the ball in his open palm, then up to her again. The words were hard to force out, but eventually she said, “Mrs. Bowen won’t agree with your decorating choices.”
He chucked the ball across the room, but there was too much in its way to return.
She desperately wanted his arms around her then as she felt the tears coming. What she had just endured. If she told Alex, he would see it right. But he wasn’t the Alex who could help. He couldn’t even help himself in that instant.
“I lost my position at the factory,” he confessed.
“I made some extra money today anyhow.” She shuddered at the thought. “We’ll be fine.”
“F-I-N-E.”
“Ah, a joke, Mr. Marwick?”
She stood and rested her hands on her hips. “Well, up with you. The room won’t right itself.”
“I can’t right myself.”
Minnie reached down for the pillow on the floor and hit him beside the head. “I think you can if you put your mind to it, darling.”
“You want
nothing to do with my mind.”
Her smile dropped as another bit fell in place around Alex the mysterious. “Don’t tell me what I need.” She lifted the pillow and hit him again, forcing herself to laugh as feathers swirled around them.
He growled and for brief moment, laughed. Short and deep. It surprised Minnie so much that she didn’t notice at first that he had pulled the pillow out of her hand. She wasn’t quick enough to outrun him once she did. He swung the pillow upward against her hip. She fell back a step. She scampered over the overthrown mattress in search of the second pillow. “I’m perfectly capable of deciding my own opinion of you,” she said, speaking over her shoulder.
“And?” he asked, rising to his feet.
“Careful for the glass,” she cautioned, holding out her hand.
He threw down the quilt to cover it, not taking his eyes off of her. “And?”
Minnie titled her head to the side. “You’re tolerable.” She squealed as he charged after her with the pillow. They chased each other in circles, climbing over the upturned furniture. “Fine, you’re capable,” she conceded, jumping onto the table.
He spun around, holding the pillow in the air, his eyebrow arched. “I don’t think you’re capable of making decisions at all, if that’s what you think.”
“You’re annoying.” Without thinking, Minnie jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck, her ankles crossed tightly at his waist.
Alex ripped the pillow from her hand, twirling her around as if to shake her off. She relaxed against his body, tightening her hug. Her laughter fell away with the remaining feathers into a thick silence. Her grip loosened until his hand released her feet and she slid down his back to the floor. She froze once he faced her and dropped his pillow to the floor. Alex stepped closer and bent down until their noses almost touched.
“You’re the best man I know,” she whispered.
His hand hovered next to her face as if he was going to cup her cheek. She wanted that—to feel his hands over her skin until their roughness melted into tenderness. Minnie stood waiting, holding her breath, praying for his touch. Her chest tightened, a pang echoing around the area of her heart. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, offering her lips to him.
His warm breath tumbled over her lips as he whispered back, “How can you be so cer—”
“Help!” Mrs. Bowen cried from the front door. “Alex! Someone, hurry.”
Minnie and Alex rushed forward, running downstairs as Mrs. Bowen hurried into the kitchen. A tall man carried Headly in his arms, the boy more blue than full of life. His pants were covered in blood.
“Get the doctor, Alex. Please. There was an accident at the factory. They’ve written young Headly off as dead.”
Minnie stood in the doorway of the kitchen as Mrs. Bowen cleared off the tabletop with a sweep of her arm. “Heaven above, we all need to be praying for him. Poor lad. Alex, the doctor.”
The question was there; it always was. With what money?
Minnie reached into her pocket, unfolding the letter from Grace. The dear girl had included some money for a fare home. She reached out and shoved it into Alex’s hand. His eyes went from her to Headly. Mrs. Bowen ripped the seam of his pants, revealing a mangled leg, the flesh torn, bone breaking through the skin. She made the sign of the cross.
“Go ahead, Alex. I’ll stay. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”
He nodded gravely and left, leaving Minnie to stand by Headly. She found a stack of rags and made a tourniquet, knotting the fabric below his knee, hoping for the best. She helped Mrs. Bowen clean out his wounds as best they could, trying to stem the blood. Then she sat next to him on the table, resting his head on her lap and holding his clammy hand, so small.
This is what waited for her if she remained: misery. The people here were some of the hardest working people she knew, they were honorable—mostly—and they lived in squalor for it while the rest of society came slumming, satisfied to gawk from their beautiful carriages.
“Headly, listen to me,” she whispered, leaning over to his ear. He whimpered as shouts echoed outside, the sound of a horse racing up the cobbles. “I’m going to tell you a story about a brave boy, just like yourself. Listen carefully now, you’ve got to keep fighting. You’re going to be well, but you need to want to be here. There’s so much for you to see of the world…” She sighed, fighting back tears. “One day, far away from rainy England, a boy happened upon a tiger, deep in the jungles of India...”
§
Over the course of the night, a crowd had gathered around the poker table, the bet books came out, and Alex pretended he was in the middle of an incredible stroke of luck.
It wasn’t luck.
He couldn’t stomach another night of listening to Anne cry herself to sleep in their small room. He would manage another windfall. This time he would convince her to be prudent and they would find some place safer to stay. They would buy warmer clothes for winter. He would learn to keep his damn mouth shut and hold down a job like a man. He would pull himself together.
There wasn’t an honest thing about the way he was playing cards, but for Anne, he would tackle those demons another day. For whatever reason, she hadn’t left him, though she had plenty of reason to do so. He would overcome the darkness inside himself. He had before. Alex would work on his control. Danny had helped him, but he was gone. Alex couldn’t allow another to shoulder his burden without facing the problem himself. It was easier to follow, to be passive and fight only when he needed. He wouldn’t put the responsibility on Anne to see him through the worst. That was his burden. That was his battle.
He threw down the ace and smiled down at the table. Sometimes his mind was brilliant when it worked correctly.
“You’re quite the card player, Mr. Marwick.”
Alex snapped his head up to put a face with the cold voice addressing him. “It’s only a bit of luck,” he said, folding the rest of cards onto the table. Anne’s hand curled around Alex’s shoulder, but he pushed it off.
“It looks like a great deal of luck to me.” The older man tugged at his cuffs, then cracked his neck. “Mr. Ainsworth, the owner of this casino.”
This was the problem with luck. She could be a fickle bitch if you toyed with her long enough. He watched as the crowd parted. There were police waiting in the hall.
He didn’t want trouble. Mr. Ainsworth must have had Alex watched and investigated, otherwise his name would never have been mentioned. That didn’t mean he wasn’t bitter at being caught. He tipped his hand to his forehead in salute at the smug bastard.
“Go back to the boarding house, Anne,” he whispered into her ear. He didn’t want her to see what was about to happen.
“Alex?”
“Go,” he said, steering her toward the front of the casino. “Straight there. It’s late and...please, just go.” He lifted his hands once he reached the hallway. “Reach into my pocket,” he whispered. The police eyed them warily, but he was more focused on her, the way her hand trembled as she removed the small knife from his pocket. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
It was difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat as Anne pushed through the crowd and never looked back.
“Well, gentlemen,” Alex said, “I believe we have somewhere to be.” He followed them out into the dark, their hands shoving him into the barred wagon.
Mr. Ainsworth held a lit cigar in his hand. It was the sole point of light in front of Alex. He didn’t like being at such a disadvantage of not knowing the man who arrested him.
“Best of luck, Mr. Marwick,” he shouted.
The wagon rumbled away but all Alex could think of was Anne, all alone.
§
Having grown up in a privileged family, Danny saw to Alex’s education on polite manners. Why he ever thought Alex was deserving of such knowledge was beyond him. He gave up trying to figure out Danny years ago.
Danny thought it was important to live. To have the courage to be governed
by one’s heart. A person’s heart, he had said, was the only piece a person possessed of themselves that could not be taken away.
Remembering this, Alex was civil to those coppers, even when they took a baton to him, again and again. He was respectful and answered what he could. He behaved because no matter what they thought, Alex had a heart, one he wouldn’t let fall to another’s control.
There were punishments for those who didn’t do right. Alex had had his hand in wrong for too long now, cheating at cards to try to make life easier because being honest had failed him. Because he failed himself one too many times. And Anne.
His head rang from another hit. Alex laughed in spite of himself and spit a mouthful of blood out at the copper’s feet. There was a price for everything and this was it—a baton upside the head, another fist to the stomach.
They threw a photograph of Danny onto the floor in front of him. His friend’s body bleeding out on the filthy street, as if Alex could forget that day.
“His father wants to bring the man responsible up on charges for his son’s murder.”
Alex shook his head and looked away from the picture.
“He had the same tattoos as you.” They reached for his hand and pushed up his sleeves to reveal the others on his forearms. “Petty crimes. Whereabouts?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Liverpool.”
“How did you meet Daniel Carrier?”
He hadn’t known the name of the place when they left, only that it was in Ireland. He still remembered Danny and the woman with a face full of freckles, bundling him up for the journey to England. He remembered being too weak to walk the ship’s deck, hiding way from the light beneath the blankets. They had talked about the name of the place then, but he couldn’t remember it now. That was the day he fell into the world. The day he met the color green.
The baton slammed into his stomach. Alex groaned and bent in half, as far as the cuffs would allow. His wrists were raw, even after having survived years in chains. “It was an asylum in Ireland,” he said. “I was born there. I don’t remember the name of it.”
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