by C. J. Archer
"They're still in Plum Alley."
"Who's taking care of them?"
"Huh?"
"Is there someone in charge now that Patrick is gone?"
"No," the taller lad said. "We got no one else."
"What about Miss Charity?"
"No one's seen 'er for months."
Tommy shook his head. "Do the children have enough food for a few days?"
Silence as the two boys looked down at their boots.
"Why not? Jack sent money to Patrick regularly. He was supposed to use it to care for you all."
"'E did," said Sniffles.
"'E didn't," the other boy protested. "'E bought the worst food, the stuff that's gone rotted. Sometimes it stank like old feet, or it 'ad somefing crawling in it."
Tommy clicked his tongue. "And I can see from your clothing that he didn't buy you anything new or warm like Jack instructed."
"Paddy bought 'imself good clobber," the second lad said. "For 'is woman too."
Tommy swore then apologized to Sylvia and me.
"How did Patrick die?" I asked the boys.
Sniffles wiped his nose with his sleeve. "We woke up two days ago and 'e was lying on the ground. Blood everywhere."
"Smashed 'is 'ead in, they did," the other lad said. "Right mess, it were." He spoke with more detachment than Sniffles, as if he took such violence for granted.
"Oh, my," Sylvia whispered, turning her face away.
"Right then, lads," Tommy said, standing. "You'll be taken care of here and we'll see to the welfare of the others. Come with me and we'll speak to Mrs. Moore. She'll find you somewhere to sleep and maybe some clean clothes. You can stay until Jack gets back, but not forever." He glared at the house as he said it, as if he knew it was futile to ask Langley.
"Should we go to the others in London?" Sylvia asked me as Tommy walked off with the boys. "Something must be done to help them, or they'll end up thieving. Jack and Tommy would be terribly upset if one of them were caught. They'd be jailed for certain."
I nodded absently. I was concerned for the children, but there was something more pressing to consider. "Patrick must have been murdered by Reuben Tate," I said. "And Jack has gone to see him."
Sylvia gasped. "You truly think Tate did it?"
"I think it likely. Patrick was afraid to tell Jack who paid him to steal the papers. He said his life would be in danger if he did. I don't think Jack quite believed him."
"Then Jack doesn't know how dangerous Tate is. Oh dear lord."
"We have to warn him, Sylvia. We have to leave today. Right now."
CHAPTER 13
"Do you think your uncle will allow us to go?" I asked Sylvia. We'd remained near the carriage, trying to decide whether to obtain Langley's permission to follow Jack or not. It boiled down to this single question, and her answer.
She pulled up the collar of her coat and sunk her chin into the fur. "No."
"That's settled then. We'll go anyway."
"Hannah! That's terribly rebellious of you."
"Rebellion would be leaving and not returning." I clasped her arm. "We can't let Jack stroll into a meeting with Tate without being completely aware of the danger."
"He has his fire to protect him."
"What if Tate has a gun? Or drugs him?"
"Yes, of course you're right."
"If we hurry, we'll catch him on the road or at least arrive soon after."
"Uncle could send somebody else," she said. "Tommy or Bollard."
"We'll take Tommy anyway." She still hesitated, so I added, "I've been kept in an attic most of my life, only doing what I've been told to do by others, going where I'm told to go. If coming here has taught me anything, it's that I am a free person now. I make my own decisions."
"I don't know," she hedged. "Uncle will be very angry, and I'm dependent on him. We both are."
"He won't throw us out. Not when he went to so much trouble to get me."
"Precisely: to get you. Not me." Tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly. "I am nobody."
"You're his niece!" I didn't feel quite as certain as I sounded. In many ways, she was as much a prisoner at Frakingham as I had been at Windamere. Most women were in one way or another. We weren't allowed to own property or open bank accounts, and many professions and educational institutions were closed to us. Now that I had left the only home I'd ever known, I was beginning to realize how much my welfare was in the hands of others.
"You're braver than I," she said.
"It doesn't feel like it. My heart is trying to break through my ribs. I'm determined to ignore it. For Jack." And for me. I needed to do this to assure myself I wasn't Langley's prisoner, that I could get away if I wanted to. I wouldn't allow myself to be locked up again.
"I'll get Tommy," I said before she could protest again.
When Tommy and I returned to the carriage, we found Sylvia waiting. She didn't look any less concerned, but at least she was still there.
"Let's go immediately." She extended her hand for Tommy to help her up the step. "We have coats and money. Uncle will still think we're going shopping in Harborough, but we'll go on to Hackney Wick instead."
"Excellent." I smiled at her. "You're turning out to be quite the rebel yourself, Sylvia."
"I want to go shopping in London after this is all over. Since we're not taking a change of clothes, we'll have to visit Oxford Street again."
At least she'd agreed to come.
***
We didn't find Jack on the road. He must have traveled faster than us, which wasn't surprising since he had the better carriage and horses to pull it. We stayed overnight at an inn on the way, and reached Hackney Wick late in the morning.
The suburb was indeed at the edge of the great city and we came upon it suddenly. The open spaces of the countryside gave way to featureless, interchangeable terraced houses and brick factories that spewed smoke from dozens of chimneys. Their high walls blocked passersby from seeing the machinations behind. Not that there were many passersby. I could count the number who walked the muddy street on one hand. Who could blame people for staying indoors? The air stank and the machinery beyond the walls whirred and clanged in an endless drone. We kept the window closed.
The carriage slowed in front of a double-story building squashed between two large factories like a small child smothered by fat adults. It was built of brown brick like everything else on the street, but it was a house, not a factory. The brickwork above the two top-most windows was blackened up to the roofline.
"Do you think this is it?" Sylvia asked. "Do you think he lives there too?"
"Langley didn't say. I do know it houses Tate's laboratory and factory. I can see the chimney stacks of the factory behind."
"There's no smoke."
Indeed there wasn't. The factory mustn't have been in operation. That would align with Langley's theory that Tate needed money quickly and by nefarious means. If his factory wasn't operational, he likely had no income.
Tommy opened the door for us and we stepped down to the unpaved road. "I'll lead the way," he said.
"Don't be absurd," Sylvia scolded. "You're a footman. You may escort us inside, but remain a little behind. I don't particularly want to meet this man on our own."
I didn't think Tommy's presence would make any difference to Tate. As Sylvia so bluntly put it, Tommy was a footman and few gentlemen paid attention to servants. To people of Langley, Wade and Tate's ilk, footmen were as featureless and interchangeable as the Hackney Wick houses.
"Do you think Jack is here?" Tommy asked, looking up and down the street. "I don't see Olsen or the carriage anywhere."
"He may have sent him away," Sylvia said.
"Why would he do that?"
Why indeed. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface since leaving Frakingham made itself known in the most intense way. Fear drilled into my core. One man was dead. Please God, don't let Jack be next.
"I don't think you should come with us," I
said to Tommy.
"What?" Sylvia cried. "Why not?"
"Tate doesn't know that we know about Patrick. Bringing Tommy may alert him to the fact he's here for our protection. Besides, while we're distracting Tate, Tommy can get into the factory and look around."
"That's very devious," she said. I wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not.
"What about the brougham?" Tommy asked.
"We passed some stables around the corner near the fire engine-station. Take it there and walk back. If Tate is watching us, then he'll think you've left. There must be another entrance into the factory that doesn't go through the front house. See if you can find it."
Tommy grinned. "It's a good plan, Miss Smith."
"And dangerous," Sylvia said.
"Thank you for your concern for my safety, Miss Langley, I'll be alright."
She sniffed. "I meant it would be dangerous for us alone."
"Oh. Right." Tommy tipped his cap then hopped up to the driver's seat. "I'll meet you back at the stables." He flicked the reins and drove off.
"I don't like this," Sylvia said, watching him go. "I don't like this at all."
"You have to stop worrying. It's written all over your face. Never let the enemy see your fear."
"Where did you learn that little gem of wisdom? A book on battle techniques?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. Come on."
I walked off and when Sylvia caught up to me, I was glad to see she didn't look as if she wanted to throw up her breakfast anymore. "Do you suppose Jack has already been here and left?" she asked.
"It's entirely likely. He may have even gone to fetch the police, or be on his way back to Frakingham already. But we're here now and we must go inside and find out for sure. Just in case..." I couldn't say it, couldn't hear the words out loud.
"Yes," Sylvia said heavily. "Just in case."
A housekeeper wearing a spotless white apron answered the door upon our knock. I took this as a good sign. The presence of such a matronly looking woman was a comfort. Tate wouldn't do anything with her near, surely.
She directed us to sit in the small downstairs parlor while she fetched her employer. We hadn't been waiting one minute when the man I assumed to be Reuben Tate walked in.
He wasn't very tall, but he was whip-thin and hollow-cheeked. He was about Langley's age if the white hair was an indication, but where Langley had wrinkles around his eyes and across his forehead, Tate had none. His face was as smooth as a polished tabletop, and just as shiny. Indeed, the hair at his ears was slightly damp too. The shirt sleeve that should have housed a left arm was folded and pinned to the side of his waistcoat. He wore no smoking jacket or house coat, but he didn't look like the sort who went for such a casual appearance anyway. He was too neatly dressed. His hair was perfectly combed and his chin cleanly shaved. Much like his face, there wasn't a single wrinkle in his clothes and the shirt collar and trouser creases were sharp.
"Welcome," he said, giving us a shallow bow. "I commend you both on your courage. I could see that it wasn't an easy decision to send your driver away and speak to me by yourselves."
So he had indeed been watching us. I was glad that I'd guessed correctly and sent Tommy on his own errand, but disturbed too. I was also deeply disturbed that Jack wasn't there, yet not particularly surprised. When we'd not seen the carriage outside, I knew we'd missed him. Clearly he hadn't managed to get Tate arrested.
Sylvia shifted uneasily beside me. "My name is Sylvia Langley," she said, thrusting out her chin. "I believe you know my uncle."
"How is August?" Tate asked. He didn't seem surprised to hear her name, and I wondered if he'd recognized her somehow, or expected her.
The polite response seemed to catch her unawares. "H, he's w, well, thank you."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it. And who is your charming companion?" He turned a rather bland smile onto me, but behind it was genuine curiosity.
"My name is Hannah Smith," I said. "I'm a friend of the Langleys."
His sharp intake of breath preceded a long pause in which he studied my face, my hair. I felt a blush rise to my skin and I looked down, away. In less time than it took to blink, he was crouching before me. He touched his long finger to my chin and made me look at him, so he could finish his study. I jerked away, and he slowly backed up to his seat without taking his gaze off me.
"Hannah," he murmured. "Hannah...Smith. Of course. Of course." He chuckled to himself and thumped the chair arm with his palm.
I glanced at Sylvia and she lifted one shoulder. She had no idea what Tate was talking about either. One moment he was a civil gentleman, and the next he was mumbling to himself and cackling like a witch. It seemed August Langley wasn't the only mad scientist in England.
"You haven't been under August's roof this entire time," he said. "I would have noticed."
"No. I haven't."
"Mr. Tate," Sylvia said in a crisp tone that was reminiscent of Miss Levine. "We're looking for my cousin, Jack Langley. Has he been here?"
Tate either ignored her or didn't hear. He was once more looking at me with such earnest that I wanted the chair to swallow me up. It was as if I'd delivered a miraculous cure to a dying man or offered up a profound piece of wisdom. I wasn't afraid of him, but I was unnerved and very curious. How did he know my name? How did Langley? Tate might hold some answers to key questions that Langley wouldn't give up.
"Do you know me?" I asked, breathless.
"Yes. And no." He grinned, revealing crooked, yellow teeth. They were at odds with his neat, crisp clothing. "Hannah Smith, where have you been for the last eighteen years? I've been looking for you."
"How do you know who I am?"
"Hannah," Sylvia said, "perhaps we shouldn't be asking Mr. Tate that sort of question without Uncle present."
"Don't listen to her," Tate said. His top lip pared back in a sneer. "Langley doesn't have your best interests at heart, Miss Smith. I know him far better than both of you, and I know he cares nothing for you."
"I beg your pardon," Sylvia said huffily. "You know nothing of the sort."
The housekeeper re-entered carrying a tray. She poured tea for us then left without a glance back. Once she was gone, Sylvia grabbed my hand. "We're going. Clearly Jack isn't here."
I patted her hand and she caught it too, trapping both of mine. "I want to hear what he has to say," I said.
"Please, Hannah," she whispered. "Let's go."
Tate handed a cup and saucer to Sylvia. "At least stay for tea. You might also find what I have to say interesting."
"I want to stay," I said to her. "Just for a few minutes."
Her fingers tightened around my hands, then she let go. She accepted the cup then put it down on the table. "No. Come, Hannah."
I shook my head. Tate pressed the very edge of his lips to the rim of his cup and sipped. "I'm not the enemy, Miss Langley. I've made some mistakes in the past, but I'm not out to harm either of you, whatever Langley has led you to believe."
"He hasn't led us to believe anything," Sylvia muttered.
"What has he told you about me?"
"That you two were partners once," I said, "and that you bought his share of the business with your proceeds from the sale of a drug."
He took another sip. "The bare facts. True enough in essence."
"Mr. Tate," said Sylvia, "where is my cousin?"
A small crease connected his eyebrows and, after his gaze flicked to the door, it finally settled on her. He took another sip and regarded Sylvia over the rim of the cup. "Don't fret, Miss Langley, he's well. After we talked he wanted to explore the factory. My assistant has taken him on a tour."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sylvia turn to me. I didn't need to see her face to know she was confounded by Tate's calm manner. I was too. I almost preferred the slightly hysterical chuckling. This blank evenness felt unnatural. He was hiding something, and by the way the teacup trembled, it had to be either excitement or fear. Considering we were young, female and
in his home, I doubted it was the latter.
"Why would he want a tour?" I asked. "Jack came here to confront you over the theft of Mr. Langley's papers. Do you deny you stole them?"
"No."
"So you admit it!" Sylvia scowled. "Then why hasn't Jack had you arrested?"
"Because we had a very profound discussion, and he no longer believed involving the police was necessary. Shall I tell you what I told him?"
I desperately wanted to say yes. I suspected the things he'd said to Jack were tightly interwoven with my own burning questions about how Tate and Langley knew me. But Sylvia was right. We needed to ensure Jack was safe first. Afterward, I would seek out the answers.
"We'd like to see him," I said.
"Let him be, ladies. A lad like Jack needs time away from women and prattle once in a while. There can't be much for him at Frakingham with only you two and that cripple for company."
The one-armed man was calling the wheelchair-bound man a cripple? If my sense of humor hadn't been leached out of me by Tate's odd declarations, I would have laughed out loud.
"Our conversations are quite lively, thank you very much," Sylvia said with a sniff.
Tate pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and dabbed his forehead, but the shine remained. "Tell me, Miss Langley, does your uncle still have that silent ogre hovering about? I remember when he first came to work for August."
"Bollard? Yes, why?"
His lips flattened and he carefully re-folded his handkerchief on his knee. "He's not what he seems, you know. He's...devious. Watch him, Miss Langley. Watch him very closely. That's my advice to you."
I was beginning to think Tate would win if there were a Mad Scientist competition between him and Langley. No wonder they'd fallen out. Two such men in a confined space would be a formula for an explosive relationship.
"We'd like to see Jack," I demanded. "Immediately."
His lips flattened. "As you wish. But first, let me tell you what I told him. I'd like the chance to defend myself. What I'm about to tell you not only eased Jack's mind, it spurred his interest in what I'm doing here. Shall we talk as we walk to the factory?"
