by Darcy Burke
“You checked with everyone?”
Atlas’s annoyed glare was answer enough.
He hurried to soothe his friend’s nerves. “Of course you did. You found our blowen on Jacob’s Island. I’m sorry I asked.”
The thief moved back to the window, drumming his fingers on the sill. “I am as bloody stupefied as you are, Danny. Somewhere out there is a man who has clearly gone to great lengths to hide his identity, and I don’t know if I should admire him for his talent or send a bounder to waylay him.”
“While you ponder that, Kate has been working with him and God knows what he has planned for her.” Daniel gritted his teeth. “Hell, she could be meeting with him now.”
A combination of fear and jealousy burned through him and roiled in his gut. The look in Neal’s eyes had been enough to fire him up, but then the bastard had touched Kate’s arm with such familiarity and ownership. Kate had not shied away from him, despite her claims that they were merely business associates.
“Steady, lad,” Atlas cautioned. “That chit’s got escape artist written all over her. If you push too hard, she’ll flee faster than Mary Cut-Purse from the Peelers.”
“So what should I do? I can’t leave her alone in the rookeries, prey to the devices of someone calling himself Neal.” He couldn’t bear that.
“Have patience,” Atlas said. “If you continue on with this hunt, you’re going to need all the allies you can find.”
***
Kate pushed open the door to Osborne’s Pawn, a small shop not more than two rooms in total. The front consisted of a lobby where Osborne packed inventory into every corner with no discernible manner of sorting. Vaguely, Kate wondered if Osborne knew Atlas Greer, for their scattered assortment was similar.
Paul Osborne was one of the many freed black subset living in St. Giles. He operated a shop off of Oxford Street and was not as well-known as the fence Mrs. Jennings on White Cross Street, but that was his charm. While Mrs. Jennings deeply resented encroachment into her territory, Osborne cared about one thing and one thing alone: blunt. If profit could be made, he cared not the source.
Osborne looked up from the glass counter in the back, his long fingers nimbly picking through a tray of buttons. He was tall and lean, with the physique of a pugilist yet no love for the ring. His angular face was marred by a scar up his left cheek, which gave him an air of devilishness. With far too much charm for his own good and a flair for fashion, he was never short a whore for long.
His body stiffened as she came into the light of the lamp hanging over the counter, and his hand slid below the glass.
In a flash, Kate had her flintlock drawn. The pistol was already cocked, ready in preparation for touring St. Giles’s streets. “Must we do this every time, Osborne?”
“’Ello, luv, always nice to see a chit who can prime and pump.” The fence’s dark eyes twinkled as he placed both hands on the counter.
Kate smiled, indulging him. There were certain routines that became dear because they were familiar, no matter the initial idiocy. “Your games will one day get you shot.”
Unabashed, Osborne grinned cheekily. “I’d consider it an honor to be shot by the likes of ye.”
“Do cease, Paul, you know I’m not one of your girls. That smile won’t work on me.” She rolled her eyes.
“Ye fancy the Irish. No accountin’ for taste.” Osborne smirked. “What brings ye to darken my door, luv?”
She plucked the twine from underneath her bodice, lifting the necklace up and over her head. She placed the ring on the counter.
“Ye plannin’ on releasin’ it?”
She peeled her fingers back from the ring. Osborne snatched up the piece, catching it in the lamp’s light like she had done when Daniel had first given it to her.
He squinted. “Detail’s good. Ten shillings.”
“For that price, you don’t get to touch it.” Kate pried the ring from his grip. “It’s worth at least double that, as you should damn well be aware.”
“Be takin’ it elsewhere then.” Osborne shrugged, his keen eyes never leaving her face as the necklace dangled from her fingers.
“I will.” She started to pull the necklace back on over her, but Osborne’s hand darted out to catch hers.
“Sixteen and not a penny more.”
Sixteen shillings was a solid price, a good deal which would cover three weeks rent with still a bit left over. For a moment, she simply peered down at his hand covering hers, skin the color of rich coffee. His fingers curled around the gold and he attempted to yank the ring from her fingers. She slapped his hand away. Osborne shook his head. “Ye won’t get any better, luv. Not for this Irish piece. No wantin’ for it with the outcry over the new laws for Catholics.”
“Perhaps I won’t.” But she didn’t release the ring.
Through three generations of O’Reilly women, the ring had been passed down to the wife of the first-born son.
I want you to have this, Katiebelle. So you know I’ll always be with you, no matter what happens. You’re my heart, my ruler, my best friend.
She might get twenty shillings for the ring, if she went with a shop down in Bethnal Green that dealt in high-end jewelry. Unlike Osborne, she could not vouch that the owner wouldn’t sell her name to the Peelers, but it might be worth the risk.
“That ring—where’d ye get it?” Osborne gripped his sharp jaw between thumb and forefinger with a thoughtful mien.
Kate arched a brow at him. “I should think you’d know not to ask those questions.”
Osborne frowned. “Usually, yes, but when I get a bounder comin’ in lookin’ for somethin’ like this…”
“You said no one wants an Irish ring, and now you’ve got a market for them?”
Osborne’s gaze darted to the door. In the street outside, two men argued, or so she guessed from the adamant hand gestures. As the more portly of the two men swung the pawn shop door open, Osborne leaned forward on the counter.
“One toff does not make a market.” He lowered his voice. “Ye be careful, Kate. A pretty chit like yerself…I don’t want to see ye endin’ up in the gutters. Somebody’s out lookin’ for a ring like that, and I don’t got a good feelin’.”
“I can take care of myself.” Two and a half years without a damn bit of concern, and suddenly everyone worried over her welfare.
Not everyone. Daniel.
She stifled a sigh. “What did the man look like?”
“Black locks, solid build, cheekbones that sent my girl Fanny into fits.” Osborne sneered. “If that weren’t enough, bastard came with muscle, like I was goin’ to cheat him.”
Could that be Owen? He had said one of his boys had gotten the ring from a usual pilfer. To search through pawn shops in the rookeries indicated intent—as if he knew about the importance of the ring to her.
She swallowed, throat suddenly dry. As a new customer approached the desk, she slipped the ring into the pocket worn under her skirt. To have it on her skin felt too much like old times.
“Don’t be a stranger, luv,” Osborne called before she exited.
She began to suspect everyone she knew was a stranger of some sort.
Chapter Nine
Daniel breathed a sigh of relief when Kate emerged from the shadows of a crumbling building on King Street. He slipped his pocketwatch back into the folds of his coat. She was fifteen minutes late, but he didn’t care, for she was here.
They caught the next available hackney from the stand. The slightest touch of Kate’s gloved hand against his own as he handed her into the hackney surged desire through him. He wanted to be close to her again, hands intertwined, being a team as they’d been at her father’s company. Whenever he’d had a question on company policy, he could always come to her. Soon, he’d created reasons to seek her out in private so he could see her smile. She never had any reserve with him, and he loved her fiery spirit.
He had to believe that working together now was a step toward reconciliation.
&nb
sp; He ducked inside the cab and closed the door behind him. There was only one bench, lined in gray velvet with a twisted gash down through the center.
The carriage rocked once as the horses found their footing, and then they were off. If he moved a bit he’d touch her, feel the heat from her thigh. Her skirt was black as a mourning shroud. He resisted the urge to grab the hem in his hands and tear it in two, as if by destroying the dark fabric he could break them free of the tragedies of the past.
He laid his head back against the seat cushion and breathed in deep. The carriage had a faint odor of perfume from the last passenger. The team’s hooves hit the road in a steady rhythm.
Seek absolution for your sins by recognizing the wrongs you committed. The priest in his uncle’s parish had told him he could only repair the damage of his actions by proving he wouldn’t return to drink. He couldn’t ignore his failures.
“Kate?” He shifted on the seat toward her, the movement bringing her closer to him.
“Yes?” She looked at him expectantly.
“Do you remember me telling you of my sister, Poppy?” He rifled through the pocket of his greatcoat, pulling out a miniature not bigger than his thumb. Poppy when she was fourteen, her hair as blisteringly red as his, swept up into maiden braids.
She nodded, glancing at the picture. “What about her?”
“She has a theory that if we remain accountable for our actions, then we will never be sucked in by remorse.” Daniel slipped the picture back into his pocket.
Kate shrugged. “Regret is a useless emotion. I’ve learned from living here that I’ll do anything to survive. If that makes me wicked, then so be it.”
“I don’t think that about you,” he said. “I think you’re incredibly strong. You’ve been dealt a bad faro hand and you’ve made the best of it.”
Warily, she turned toward him. “Thank you. I’m proud of my independence.”
“You should be.” He’d half-expected her to chafe at his praise. “As your experiences have taught you, so have mine. I know I’m responsible for some of your pain. When we were together before, I wasn’t the man you deserve. You may have noticed some things have changed about me.”
She thought for a moment. “You didn’t order crank at the Three Boars.”
“No, I didn’t.” Pride edged his tone. Every day was a struggle and he’d take his victories when he could. “I haven’t had a drink for seven months and three days. I’d tell you the exact hour, but I made the decision when I was on the cut.”
She fell silent. The need for her to understand welled deep in him, a driving force since he’d quit drinking. Outside their window, Covent Garden flashed by in a flurry of activity: theater employees readying for tonight’s performance, women of pleasure already at their stations to ply their wares. This was the London he remembered, but none of it felt the same.
Become a better man, or die trying as a proper Irishman.
“I know, it sounds absurd,” he continued. “A Teague-lander without his spirits is no Irishman at all, as Mason made particularly clear.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair, tugging at the scarlet roots.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s too cowardly to be a real man, so he must poke fun at those who are.” Indignation lit up her face, anger on his behalf.
He grinned. “You think I’m a real man, love?”
She nodded, so slightly he might have missed the incline if he hadn’t been watching her. Her words gave him strength.
“I’ve done a lot of bad things. Spent too much time in hells and other places so dark no sane person would ever venture.” Hands clasped in his lap, he stared at an old stain on the sleeve of his navy greatcoat. A blot of whisky, held down by a droplet of ale and left to sit so long on his passed-out form that Poppy could not blot the stain away.
“Why are you telling me this?” Kate’s glance flickered from him to the window uneasily. “Everyone knew you drank, Daniel.”
“I’m telling you because I’m not that man anymore.” He didn’t cower under her distrust, or move closer to her. “That man was a bastard who hurt everyone he loved. My sister paid the price, and so did you.”
Kate sat up straighter. “What happened to your sister?”
“I didn’t think I was meant for farming when I came to London, and I didn’t want a damn thing to do with it once I went back to Dorking. I left Poppy alone, Kate. Alone when I should’ve protected her.” He ducked his head down, but that couldn’t hide his shame from her.
“Poppy had your uncle, didn’t she?” Kate asked.
He frowned. “Most of Uncle Liam’s time is spent managing the farm. Aunt Molly used to take care of us when we were young.”
“I remember when you went home for her funeral.” Kate reached over, squeezing his shoulder. Her touch lasted only a second, but it was enough. Kate had sat with him when he received the news about Aunt Molly, her arms wrapped tight around him.
With her at his side, he used to feel he could conquer anything.
“I guess I thought things would be the same as they’d always been. Poppy was apprenticed to a seamstress in town, so I didn’t think much of her being gone.” He swallowed down rising guilt. He should have known better.
“When I was off on my tour of Sussex’s touting kens, a wealthy merchant visited Dorking’s main inn for a fortnight, out on some sort of shooting expedition or whatever it is jackanapes do with their time. He met Poppy around town.” His fists clenched against the cushion, knuckles white. “Blackguard thought he’d have a bit of fun while he was away from London. He plied Poppy with lies.”
“I’m not surprised,” Kate said. “She was what, seventeen? Too young to know any better. It happens all the time here.”
She looked straight ahead in the carriage, her expression blank. Stripped of any emotion. Had other men preyed upon her because he hadn’t been there to protect her? Or worse, did she classify him in the same category as Mr. Clarendon? He hoped not. Yet he’d taken Kate’s virginity and hadn’t married her.
Damnation, he was almost as bad as Clarendon.
“Clarendon seduced Poppy. By the time she realized she was with child, it was too late. He’d already left town.” Daniel brought his fist down on the cushion, pounding into it. It wasn’t Clarendon’s face, but it’d do for the moment.
Kate shook her head. “He wouldn’t have done anything to help. Perhaps suggested a way she could get rid of the child.”
The carriage banged along, churning gravel and bouncing with each wheel turn. His stomach sloshed at the idea of little Moira not being in this world.
“Who is Poppy staying with now?” Kate asked.
“There’s an older woman in the village whose daughter moved away recently. Poppy needed help with the baby and Mrs. Daubenmire missed having children around. She was happy to come live at Uncle Liam’s.” Daniel relaxed against the bench, comforted by the knowledge that Poppy was well taken care of back home.
Kate nodded. “That sounds like the perfect solution for both of them.”
“It is. Watching Poppy, I figured if my sister could take the news of her increasing in stride, I’d best puzzle out a way to deal with my own issues. So I stopped drinking, went back to my uncle’s farm and there I’ve been until this trip.”
“And you haven’t taken a drink.” She smiled. It was a slow, small smile that didn’t compare to the eclipsing grins she used to give him, but it was something.
He didn’t tell her of the short relapse he’d had after Moira was born. It didn’t matter. “Every time I want gin, I drink a cup of tea. I am down to four cups from twelve.”
“That’s growth, I think.” She nodded.
The carriage came to a stop and she leaned back to peer out the window. He followed her glance. A merchant wheeled his cart across the road, cutting into traffic.
He dared to readjust, sitting closer to her. Her long ebony skirt brushed against his tan breeches, dark to his newly gained light. “My niece Moira is the most comely
of babies, and Poppy the best of mothers.” He let his fist open up, splaying his fingers across the edge of the seat.
“Strange how a newborn babe can make the most depraved of situations seem sweet,” she noted wistfully.
His heart squeezed. Her knee brushed against his, hip next to hip. He angled his body so that he could face her, knee still touching.
“Do you ever think of it?” His voice broke, too vulnerable to stop when he knew damn well he should. “Of the life we might have had together. I do all the time, Katiebelle. I picture a little girl with your high cheekbones, hair as red as mine to mark for the entire world that she’s an O’Reilly. Or a lad with your stunning eyes and my nose. When I thought I’d never see you again, I mourned the loss of them as I mourned you.”
She gulped for air, gaze locked on the window. “I did—I do.”
He looked over her shoulder. The granite towers of Newgate Prison rose in the distance as the carriage turned the corner of Newgate Street and the Old Bailey courthouse.
“I was scared.” He hated the rawness of his words. How could she respect him, when he was a broken man?
He wasn’t even sure he respected himself.
***
Seeing that monstrosity of a prison now with Daniel not even an arm’s length from her, it struck Kate harder than she’d imagined. Four wards arranged in a square around a central courtyard, though they could only see one wall of the horrific structure.
“I couldn’t face gaol.” Daniel’s voice barely rose above the din of cab wheels striking gravel. “They would’ve kept me in a cell not fit for a dog, the stench of waste so thick in the air I’d retch the second I entered. Mindlessly running the treadmill and listening to the screams at night, waiting for the turnkey to call my name for collar day. I know you think I should have taken my chances with the trial, but I couldn’t. I won’t hold it against you if you find me weak.”
