Well Kept Secrets (The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 4)

by Liza O'Connor

  Thankfully the rag shop was only a block away and Mrs.—what was her name? Vic couldn’t remember. Maybe Xavier hadn’t mentioned it.

  Vic selected several skirts of dark blues, blacks, and browns, plus seven long sleeve blouses. She then added two pairs of men’s long johns, a petticoat and the boots with the least holes and most tread remaining.

  “I think that should do it.”

  The woman chuckled as she shook her head. “Men,” she muttered while selecting leggings, a corset, three camisoles, an assortment of ribbons, the best of the coats available, mittens, and a crocheted neck scarf.

  Arms loaded to their chins, they carried the pile of used clothes back to the old woman’s house.

  Xavier was nowhere to be seen when they entered. Once the woman relocked the door, she led Vic to the basement door and piled her arms with all the clothes. “I’m not allowed to go down there, so you’ll have to carry this by yourself.”

  “Wait.” Vic objected, but the woman was already gone…or maybe she just moved out of view so she could watch Vic fall down the bloody stairs. Refusing to give the woman the pleasure, she tossed the heaping pile to the floor below.

  An annoyed voice yelled at once. “For godsakes, Grumpy, nothing gets cleaned down here!”

  She stomped down the wooden steps. “Don’t call me Grumpy!” She focused at the walls of mirrors surrounded by gas lights. “My God, I feel like I’m backstage in an actor’s dressing room.”

  “And when have you ever gone back stage?” Xavier challenged.

  She lifted her clothes from the inch deep dust layer and carried them to a dusty red velvet lounge sofa. Choosing the dark blue skirt and the light blue blouse, she shook both out.

  As she undressed she studied Xavier sitting at the makeup table, wearing a faded red silk dress that yelled ‘lady of the night’. He’d darkened his eyelashes and lids until he almost looked sultry. Emphasis on the word ‘almost’.

  That nose just didn’t work on a woman’s face.

  When she tried to remove her anaconda shirt, it got stuck half-way, imprisoning her head and arms. “Help!”

  The almost not-ugly woman came to her assistance. Once the shirt was removed, long strong fingers massaged her crushed breasts, helping them recover from their daily oppression.

  She grimaced from his excessive help.

  “Does that hurt?” Xavier asked.

  “Evidently, dressing as a woman makes you forget how to be gentle,” Vic grumbled.

  A faint smile tugged at his lips. His hands moved down to the slight bow of her stomach. She pushed him away. It annoyed her that Xavier remained trim as a board while she grew fat.

  For some reason she had begun to crave food…sometimes the oddest things. Yesterday, she had to have smoked mackerel. She and Tubs traveled to five stores until she found what she wanted.

  She’d been dreading Xavier’s chides on her lack of control—mind over matter, and all that rot—but oddly, he had yet to make one impertinent remark about her extra weight.

  Lucky for him, because she also lacked patience right now…as Davy discovered today.

  When Xavier knelt and covered her bowing belly with kisses, she smacked the top of his head. “Do not kiss my fat. I don’t want it to think it’s in the least bit wanted.”

  For a moment, he seemed hurt by her words, but then stood and returned to his chair. “I gather by your plain, dreary clothes you won’t be dressing to seduce.”

  “Good God, no! And I question the wisdom in you doing so.”

  He glanced at her through his mirror. His furrowed brow indicated a worry she couldn’t account for. Perhaps he realized he’d lose this contest. While the proprietor might offer to pay Xavier for a bit of relief, Vic would get the job.

  “Did you buy a wig, or do you plan to tell him you had to sell your hair to pay a debt?”

  She groaned at her stupidity. What was wrong with her brain? She was better than this.

  “Any chance you have a wig to spare?”

  He nodded at a door to their right. She opened it and lit the gas light on the wall, illuminating the area. A whole room of wigs, possibly over a hundred, waited for her selection. Some were male wigs, which she had no idea even existed. She walked to the wall of women’s wigs. Some were piled high above the manikin’s head. Others looked like they’d been taken off poor dead people. One had the mange with large hunks missing, showing patches of scabby skin.

  She moved to the clean, but simple wigs and selected a dark brown one.

  Loving arms surrounded her waist. “Most people who sell their hair will choose a wig near the same color. However, they’d never be able to afford human hair. If they had the money for that, they wouldn’t be selling their hair to begin with.”

  He moved her further down the wall to a series of unnatural wigs. Lifting a light blonde wig of white horse hair, he spoke softly in her ear. “This is probably all you could afford.”

  He then placed it on her head and turned her around so he could see it from the front. “A trick women use to make a wig look more natural is to allow their real bangs to show.”

  Once he tugged at both the wig and her short bangs, he led her to his chair before the mirror. He picked up a makeup brush and powdered one side of her face. “Having hit hard times, you’d be pale from the lack of food and good nutrition. He turned her to the mirror. One cheek was rosy and the other deathly white.

  “Since this assignment will last more than one day, you need to know how to do this. Otherwise, you’ll be showing up to work healthy tomorrow and that could get you killed.”

  Ha! So he did know she’d be the one hired.

  It took her several tries to get her left cheek to match her right, but finally she mastered the technique. She smiled at her success and her fabulous teacher.

  He responded with a scowl. “The poor never have shiny white teeth. So you are going to have to learn how to paint them. And the stain will last longer than this assignment, so be warned.”

  She liked her white teeth. “What if I don’t smile?”

  “Too risky.”

  “What if I came from money, only I fell in love with the wrong man and became his mistress when he married someone else? He had set me up in a moderately nice house on a quiet street and then moved to the country with his wife. Last month a man arrived and told me the lease was up and I had to go. I first moved to a boardinghouse nearby while I tried to contact him.

  “Name? And what part of the country? Details are important if you wish to live through an assignment.”

  Vic smiled as she thought of an improvement to her story. “His name is Jacko. I call him Jack. He and his wife have an estate in Litchfield.”

  Xavier nodded. “Well done! You may keep your white teeth. I will let Jacko know he has an abandoned mistress wandering about the docks. Otherwise, he might come into town and deny the entire matter.”

  Vic squeezed Xavier’s hand. He dearly missed his friend, Jacko. Upon getting married, the gypsy-turned-pirate-turned-thief had given up all employment and buried himself in the country making babies with his wife, Alice.

  “You can’t send him a letter telling him he has a mistress. Alice might read it. You should write and ask him to come into town for an important matter concerning L’il Pete. Jacko likes Pete a great deal. I’m pretty sure he’ll come, and then you can fill him in about his mistress when he arrives.”

  Xavier’s eyes sparkled. “Even better.”

  Satisfied with her disguise as a pale young woman of quality who had fallen on hard times, she rose and retrieved her second-hand boots.

  Xavier grabbed them from her before she could put them on.

  “Gads! Your feet will be frozen before the day is out.” To prove his point, he peeled back the sole exposing the bottom side of the toe section. He threw them to the corner and grabbed her good boots.

  Before she realized what he was about, Xavier had destroyed the outer layer of leather with a wire brush.

&
nbsp; “Hey!” She tried to save the yet-scalped boot, but he lifted it out of her reach. “I will buy you new boots when you return with unfrozen feet. This pair will come in handy for future assignments so it’s not a waste.”

  His rational observation silenced her protest. Once he finished destroying the outer appearance of her boots, he knelt down and tied them up, slicing the laces and knotting them twice on one boot and one on the other.

  He had been very wise to explain why she needed to have her boots destroyed, because otherwise he’d be sporting a bruise on his leg by now.

  Her left boot’s ankle lacing was too loose. She opened her mouth to complain, but fell silent when he stuffed a small derringer into the space between her boot and her ankle.

  “That’s not very comfortable,” she growled.

  “But it could well save your life.” He paused and frowned first at the gun then her. “If you are frisked and the weapon is found, how will you explain it?”

  “Jack gave it to me before he left. It’s the only thing I have of his, so I didn’t sell it. Besides this new neighborhood is frightening. It gives me some sense of security.”

  “Have you ever fired it?”

  “Good heavens, no!” she replied in her most helpless voice.

  “Easy…Jacko has never cared for frightened women, and to be honest, they get eaten up fast at the docks. A little strength in your character will help keep you alive.”

  She should have realized that herself. She sighed with disappointment. What is wrong with me?

  He stood and pulled her into his arms. “Perhaps you should allow me to do this?”

  While she enjoyed his loving arms around her, his suggestion earned him a hard push. “No! This is my job! I thought of it before you.”

  His right eyebrow rose in challenge. “I seriously doubt that. I realized the proprietor needed further assessment when he claimed Maggie left work early.”

  Vic rolled her eyes. “So you decided to dress up as a street whore and apply for the job?”

  “No. I intend to be a lady of the evening, trying to make her living on the sidewalk outside.”

  “Oh…” That made more sense. “Well, I had decided to get a job there while I walked Pete back to the carriage. So we’ll never know for certain which of us thought of our plan first. But it doesn’t matter because both can be done.”

  He hesitated before nodding and his eyes darkened. “Or you can sit this out.”

  “Why should I sit anything out? I have the better position. Likely as not, a constable will roust you away.”

  He breathed in, then out and steadied himself. “You seem off your game, Vic.”

  Vic hit his chest with the palm of her hand, but she couldn’t garner any serious outrage. Truth was she felt off her game. Had been all week. “Well, this task is just what I need to get me back.”

  “Or die…” He spoke the words nonchalantly, but she knew that was just a front to hide his feelings.

  “No,” she softly assured him, moving into his arms. “My survival instincts will kick in and fix whatever is mucking up my thinking right now.”

  His arms circled around her. “Just remember, if you die, you’ll kill me as well.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say.” Still, she understood what he meant. If Xavier were to die, she wouldn’t be able to go on without him. She would find and kill the person who stole her reason to live, and then she’d take her own life.

  He pressed his lips to her wig and then spat in disgust. “God, horsehair tastes ghastly.” He pushed her back and went to a jewelry armoire, returning with a pearl hair comb with an ornate gold headpiece. He slipped her fingers into the five circles of gold.

  She laughed as she realized it was a weapon. He turned her palm up so she could examine the three inch prongs. Pressing on both sides he tugged and the comb released, revealing one slender three-inch long, steel pick. He curled her hand, hiding the deadly point.

  He slowly moved her hand to the side of his throat, his ear, and finally to his heart.

  She appreciated that he spared her a lecture to go along with his pantomime. Instead, he uncurled her hand, removed the weapon from her fingers and replaced the comb over the slender blade, positioning it into his hair.

  With a sexy leer, he ran his hand through his locks, his fingers slipping into the rings of the comb and making it disappear from sight. He touched her chest then her ear, so she could see how easy it was to retrieve and kill someone, despite its small blade

  Finally, he placed it in her hair. “Now you try.”

  By the third try she was just as proficient as he.

  “You don’t have to remove its cover to use it. Just use extra force. The comb’s teeth will break away. However, if you can save the comb, it can be used to hide the murder weapon after the fact.”

  She frowned at his comment. Not because it wasn’t a good observation, which two weeks ago she would have seen for herself, but because it indicated he believed the proprietor was the murderer. However, that did not agree with her assumption that the man who killed Maggie held power over the people who lived there. Apothecaries never held fear over people.

  Who was wrong? Her or Xavier? Normally, she would assume Xavier in the wrong, but since her brain refused to work to her expectations, she wasn’t certain.

  “I expect to return this to you undamaged. I suppose I have to revise my story that Jacko only gave me a gun to remember him by.”

  Xavier smiled. “Yes, and if in a search the spike is discovered, you should look surprised. Jacko is known to plant weapons on other people without their knowledge.”

  “Really?” She had never known him to do so.

  “Back in the old days, his ability to sneak weapons onto the men working for whoever wanted him dead saved his life many times and removed several crime bosses from London’s dockside.”

  She wanted Jacko to teach her that trick. “Maybe you can convince him to come back and work for us.”

  A wistful faint smile crossed his lips. “Jacko will return when he is ready and not a minute before.”

  She hoped he was wrong, because her senses said they’d need his help to get this crime resolved.

  Chapter 5

  The door jingled as ‘Jane Eyre’ entered the dreary apothecary. Seeing no one in the store, she assumed the owner was in the back room. Hands clasped before her, she struck a demure pose as she waited for the proprietor to return. Only her tapping foot betrayed her annoyance at people who couldn’t mind their business—literally.

  Resisting an urge to sneeze at some odd odor permeating from behind the counter, Vic wondered if the owner kept the room so dark because some chemicals reacted to light, or he just didn’t want to clean. Or perhaps many of his patients suffered from headaches.

  She nixed the later consideration. If he cared about people with headaches, he’d get rid of the annoying odors. But more to the point, if he cared about customers at all, he’d have shown up by now.

  After what seemed an eternity, she called out. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  After her fifth call, a voice bellowed from the back. “For the love of God, I don’t have time to wait on you just now!” A surprisingly well-dressed, portly man opened the door separating the back rooms and the storefront. “Come back after I’ve hired new help.”

  “But that’s why I’m here. I heard you might be hiring.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

  “My new landlady. She said you were probably short one helper.” Vic grimaced. “If you haven’t replaced her, I would like to be considered for the job.”

  He stepped further into the front room, closed the door behind him, and looked her up and down several times with his beady eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Jane Eyre.”

  “Have you worked in a shop like this before?”

  Damn it! She should have tutored with a chemist so she could lie and say she had. “No, but I’m a fast learner.”


  “Can you read?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled a thick leather book from beneath the shelf. “This tells you how to make whatever a customer asks for and the bottles are labeled. If you can’t find all the ingredients, don’t worry about it. Just use the stuff you’ve got.” He paused. “Think you can manage that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, then you’re hired.” He turned to leave.

  Inside Vic was congratulating herself, but she had to stay in character. “Wait! How much am I to be paid?”

  He spun around and glared. “First, you have to prove you’re worth anything. I’ll let you know your salary at the end of the day.” He stormed out before she could ask any more questions.

  Needing more light to read the book, she opened the curtains letting the late afternoon sunlight stream in. Given the sun would set in less than a half-hour, she took it upon herself to light the lamps. She had barely lit the second lamp when an old man entered from the street, described his stomach pain, and asked for ‘sumkin’.

  She hurried to the book and discovered a problem. It expected her know what she wished to prepare. Searching below the counter, she found several other books, one of which offered cures for alphabetically listed problems. Unfortunately, more than one ailment had his symptoms.

  “Where exactly is this pain?”

  He pointed to his lower right abdomen. “Hurts like hell. Makes me feel like I’m gonna toss my guts and I’m burning up with fever. I think it might be malaria.”

  Vic looked up malaria. The symptoms fit, but before she sold him quinine, she came around the counter. “Where exactly does it hurt?”

  Rolling his eyes, he pointed to the area, again.

  “May I touch you?”

  “What for?”

  “I think you may have appendicitis.”

  The man backed away from her. “You’re crazy. It’s malaria I got, now give me something for it, or I’ll go elsewhere.”

  “You should really see a doctor.”

  “Can’t afford no doctor. Just give me something.”

  Vic wanted to refuse, but if she did, he’d just go somewhere else and she’d probably lose her job. “All right, but if this doesn’t help, then you need to see a doctor. If it’s the appendix, it will need to be removed by a surgeon.”