by Darcy Burke
She didn’t know how to be a fence and be the woman he’d loved at the same time.
The ferryman stopped the river barge in one of the man-made tidal ditches in front of the ugliest stretch of houses Kate had ever seen, each built on top of the other in a haphazard, jigsaw fashion with their ends jutting out over the Neckinger River. The windows were patched with scraps of broadsheets, a little space left from which onlookers could see out into the grime and muck of the drenched streets. Doorless privies opened out into the river. A house door opened and an occupant stepped out onto the makeshift porch, scooping up the scummy water into a battered clay pot. The woman raised the pot to her lips and took a deep sip.
Kate sucked in a hard-won breath, her stomach tumbling. In all of the rookeries, she’d never seen such filth.
Daniel dismounted from the river barge first, helping her onto street level. Jumping down off the barge and landing on the sludge, her boots sunk into the puddles of water the color of marbles. She wrenched her hand from his and shoved it deep within the pockets of her patched black coat.
He started forward, turning to look over his shoulder. “Come now. We’ve got a murderer to catch.”
She scurried after him, skirt bunched in her fist to keep the fabric from dragging on the ground.
Daniel shaded his eyes. “Atlas said Sally lives east of St. Saviour’s Dock.”
Every building was in an equal state of squalor, and the chipped wooden signs announcing each business were strung so close together that it all formed an indecipherable maze.
“There should be two more bridges that we need to cross, then we will turn left at the next ditch.” She nodded.
He took off for the closest bridge, a rickety wooden contraption stretched over thick water that ran red from the clothing maker’s dyes.
Like a river of blood. The dead would be cold to touch when their bodies were dug up, clammy skin caked in grave dirt. She shook her head, picking up pace as they waded through the mud puddles. Cold air smacked her face and she pulled her coat tighter to block out the wind.
“This bridge?” Daniel stopped in front of the swollen planks that stretched across Mill Lane.
The first board creaked but didn’t collapse, and so she took another step forward, growing braver with each advance. Crossing another bridge in similar state, they turned at London Street. In between roofless warehouses and crumbling squat houses sat the flash house where Benjamin Wilkes pimped his girls in conjunction with the abbess, one Mrs. Stuart. Though it was but nine in the morning, already the sounds of drunken revelry spilled out into the street where they stood.
Daniel reached for the doorknob, but Kate didn’t move. She stood outside the brothel, transfixed.
How many times had Daniel ended up in places like this? Did he ever think of these girls as anything other than objects to bend to his will?
At her hesitance, he hung back. Catching his eye, Kate glared back at him and pulled open the door.
They were met by a man who easily towered over Daniel, his shoulders alone the width of Kate’s outstretched arm. He leered through his one good eye. The skin was as swollen shut as melting cheese around the other eye.
“Flash panney’s that way.” His beefy hand extended to the left in the direction of the public house. He had a voice like the wheels of a curricle churning gravel.
“Actually, we wanted the fen, Sally Fletcher. I heard she docks here.” The patter words for whoring came too easily to him.
“It’ll be another bit of socket money if ye are both rough tradin’ on ’er commodities.” The man looked from Kate to Daniel and back again. “One shilling.”
Her stomach lurched. Daniel’s grip increased on her arm, but he said nothing. The less the broker knew of their business with Miss Fletcher, the better.
Daniel handed over a shilling. Snagging a tallow candle from the wall, the broker led them down the hallway. Daniel’s hand didn’t move from her arm, guiding her forward as they passed between throngs of intoxicated men. He kept her close to him, protected by his larger frame. Unexpectedly, she didn’t want to prove her independence.
The walls were thin, the doors thinner. Bed confessions spilled out into the hall, clouding her thoughts.
“Tup me harder.” The pain will remind me I’m alive.
“Ye’re nothin’ but a used-up cunt, ye bitch.” No one will love you once they know your past.
“Ye’ll do what I ask, whore, unless ye wanna die out on the street.” You’ll be snatched up again, stripped of everything you love as they make you fuck for your dinner.
They were shown into a room, bare of all trappings but a straw mattress strewn on the dirt. A soiled blanket stretched across it, not long enough to reach from corner to corner. A battered coat, rolled up into a ball, served as a pillow. Nothing to mark it as different from the brothel she’d been at before.
Her hand clenched tighter around the handle of the flintlock in her pocket. She wasn’t that same girl anymore. No one could hurt her now.
She’d make damn sure of it.
Willing herself not to think about whatever might live in the godforsaken mattress, Kate took a seat on the edge and folded her long legs up underneath her. They might appear less intimidating to Sally if they were sitting.
She let her gaze flick over to Daniel. He had to duck to enter the room. His broad shoulders appeared wider in these confines; his hands were stronger, his stance more intimidating.
The vulgar cacophony of the couple next door embraced the air like choleric death, squeezing out the life in her. Her gaze fell to the dirt floor.
The mattress sagged as he dropped down next to her. He doffed his hat.
“Kate.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t believe she’d allow him to speak. “About before—”
He would never think her worthy of him. He’d say he did, but when he got the full picture—her life, the things she did to survive, he’d change his mind.
Anxiety clenched her stomach as she met his gaze. How could he still want her? Her lip quivered under the intensity of his stare. She shouldn’t be ashamed. She’d endured the damn streets and become something more. She had a flat of her own and connections with the thieves of Chapman Street.
He ran a hand through his thick ginger locks. Her stomach tightened. God’s balls, she loved him when he looked disheveled, roguish and ready for anything. Kate tugged her knees closer, wrapping her arms around her legs.
The door swung open, the creak of unoiled joints echoing. A small, ethereal -looking woman stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. If it had not been for the threadbare clothing she wore, Kate might have believed she was a fairy. She was beautiful, with golden hair that hung down her back unrestrained and round cheeks that would have been cherubic had she proper food. The threadbare gown that hung loosely from her shoulders had a neckline cut precariously low to reveal her small bosom. Her lips were heavily rouged. She stared at Daniel and Kate, her blue eyes widening with surprise that was almost childlike. Likely she’d been at this since she was just above adolescence.
“Shall we be gettin’ started?” She shuffled toward the straw mat, her bare feet kicking up clouds of dust.
“Are you Miss Fletcher?” Daniel pushed himself up from the mattress. He turned to face her.
“That be my name.” Only for a second did Sally look up. Her eyes narrowed in upon Daniel and her tiny body trembled. Had she recognized him?
“Ezekiel says ye paid double. I don’t want trouble, sir. I’ll do what ye want.” Sally’s unsteady fingers reached behind her and undid the back closure of her dress. The fabric gaped around her. On the top of her left breast a vicious w-shaped brand scarred her skin.
“Er, you see.” Daniel swallowed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “What I mean to say is—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Kate’s voice rang out firm and clear, that same commanding tone she had always used when dealing with the workers at Emporia. She had fought for
their respect, winning it through her hard work and acumen. “You may do up your dress. We came for information, Miss Fletcher.”
Her almond-shaped eyes blinked rapidly. She looked behind her shoulder at the door. “Who told ye I was a snitch? If Wilkes ’ears—”
Kate understood the girl’s fear. Sally’s pimp owned her body. In the eyes of the law, she had few real rights.
The men we trust with our lives will hurt us in the end.
“No one said you were,” Kate murmured. “We found you on our own. I promise you, Wilkes need never know of our visit. I’d rather cut my own wrists than have you be hurt by that bastard again.”
“Please, I beg ye.” Sally’s chin wobbled, her voice but a whisper. Her pale face was ashen, the streaks of dirt on her cheeks in stark contrast. “Ye’re with the Peelers, aren’t ye? I won’t wag my lips. I can’t.”
“We don’t work for anyone. My name is Daniel O’Reilly.”
“I thought it be ye.” Sally clasped her hands together to hide the shaking of her body but Kate recognized it. She didn’t look at them as she mumbled. “’E was a good man, my Tommy.”
“Miss Fletcher, I didn’t kill Tommy Dalton,” Daniel declared.
Kate shivered. His voice rumbled, thicker and rougher. She remembered that tone well: he’d used it to win every damn argument with her.
Sally began to shake harder. “Ye slit ’is throat. ’E didn’t deserve to die, and ye slit ’is throat.” Sally’s words tumbled out quick. She clamped her hand over her mouth.
“He didn’t deserve such a fate, and that’s why we’re here,” Kate said.
“Don’t tell me yer lies.” Sally traced Daniel’s every movement warily, her bruised knuckles whitening as she clutched her spindly arms to her chest. “Peelers ’ad a witness, and still ye got away with it. There be no justice ’ere– no one to ’elp Tommy when ’e needed it.”
”I wanted to help him. Miss Fletcher, I see his face every night before I go to sleep.” Daniel propped his elbows up on his knees, resting his chin in his hands. “But when I got to that alley, he was too far gone for me to save. Someone else killed him, and I want to find that person.”
“I ’eard ye ran.” Sally’s voice quivered.
“I did. But I’m back now, and I won’t leave again.” He locked eyes with Kate, holding her gaze.
“Why should I believe ye? Ye took him away from me.” Sally bit at her bottom lip.
Why should I believe you won’t tire of me?
Daniel broke their gaze, angling his body toward Sally. “Because if I was guilty, why would I be here asking you to help me find his killer? I’d be as far away as possible, hoping that the case stays buried forever.”
The prostitute stood up straighter, her expression thoughtful.
Kate patted the space on the mattress next to her. “Miss Fletcher, come sit down with me, would you? No one is going to hurt you. We merely want to talk.”
Gingerly, Sally took a seat on the edge farthest from Kate. She suspected obedience had been trained into Sally at the penalty of death.
No one should have to live like that, sacrificing their free will to the caprices of another.
“Wilkes did that to you, didn’t he?” She pointed toward the brand on Sally’s breast. It was covered by the bodice of her dress, but nothing could erase the knife mark from Kate’s memory. “He’s a fucking bastard. What he’s doing, it’s not right, and it’s not just. He wants you to think that he owns you, but I don’t believe that. Maybe I’m still naïve. Devil take it, I refuse to think that you can’t be something more than what Wilkes has made you.”
“’E controls everything, ’im and the abbess,” Sally whispered.
Kate leaned forward, lowering her voice so that only Sally could hear her. “Everything but your mind, Miss Fletcher. What you’re going through…the fact that in spite of it all, you found Tommy, that’s pretty amazing. Wilkes couldn’t touch that part of you. It’s yours and yours alone.”
Sally’s small fingers tightened against the rim of the straw mat. “I’m scared.”
“Of course you are,” Kate whispered. “Can I tell you a secret? I’m scared too. Bone-numbingly terrified that if I take a chance on the unknown, I’ll get burned. I know what it’s like to wish you’d die so you could stop hurting. People tried to break me before, but I survived. I think you’re stronger than you realize. I think you’ll survive too.”
Sally sucked in a breath. Slowly, she let go of the straw. She nodded, her posture straight, shoulders back, and a glint of determination in her ocean eyes.
Daniel leaned forward. “Tell us about the days before Dalton was killed. Was he acting out of the ordinary? Did he say anything that might indicate he was in trouble?”
Sally smiled wistfully. “Tommy was always in the muck, runnin’ on the edge of the law. ’E was small as a tot and could fit through the windows of ’ouses so thieves used ’im as a diver. As ’e grew, Tommy moved up in the ranks. Stole more, better stuff. When ’e found warehouse work, ’e might’ve been clean.”
“It’s hard to break away from of those kinds of connections.” Kate thought of Osborne, Owen Neal, Mrs. O’Malley and her damn soda bread. All of them stuck in patterns of iniquity because the alternative—to starve and die out on the streets—was far worse than Newgate Prison.
“’E always said ’e’d buy my freedom.” Sally’s face had taken on a forlorn quality, her wispy frame huddled on the mattress. “When ’e got enough saved, we’d leave England and never look back. Two weeks before ’e died, Tommy came to me all cocksure, like ’e’d won a bleedin’ fortune.”
“What did he say?” Daniel asked.
“’E took my ’ands and said, ‘Sal, I’ve got all we need. I found us a cull and that’s goin’ to give us our lives. Ye’ll be able to paint those pretty pictures ye like and I’ll be a farmer.” Sally’s eyes grew misty. “I should ’ave known it was all Bedlam.”
“Did he talk about the job? Did it have anything to do with a company called Emporia?” Daniel sounded far too eager.
Kate stiffened. Her cheeks flamed. Daniel hadn’t been there when the papers had ripped apart the Morgan name, when Kate’s dearest friend Justine had betrayed her. When she’d learned that the only person she could depend on was herself.
He wanted Papa’s company to be guilty.
Sally shook her head, befuddlement crossing her ethereal face. “I don’t know. ’E’d go meetin’ with Wilkes and some other men after work. That’s how ’e found me, you see, ’e knew Wilkes. A few days before Tommy—before they killed ’im like an animal—I saw them fightin’ outside ’is door. I didn’t get close enough to ’ear much. I ran like a coward, and then Tommy was dead.” Tears fell down her face, mixed in with the grime on her cheeks. “I didn’t save ’im. I didn’t tell nobody ’bout Wilkes’s involvement. The boys ’ere, they never liked Tommy.”
“Do you know who the other men were?” Daniel asked. “Perhaps Jasper Finn?”
Sally nodded, biting her lip nervously. “Finn’s the only one I know by name. ’E comes by to lay with Amelia. But if ye come to take ’im on, ye’d best think again. ’E’s got men everywhere.”
Daniel placed his hand on top of Kate’s, squeezing. For a second, their eyes met and her chest fell with the breath she’d not known she’d been holding. She angled her body toward Sally, dropping his hand.
“We don’t know what he looks like. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Kate asked.
“I can do more than that.” Pride seeped into Sally’s voice. “Like I said, I draw. Don’t go thinkin’ it’s any good now, but it’s better than nothin’ I figure.” From the depths of her dress, Sally pulled out a rumpled stack of foolscap, held together by three strings of twine tied in bows. She flipped through the sooty parchment, giving them quick flashes of faces and landscapes as the pages turned.
“When Tommy died, I asked around. Stopped when Wilkes got wind and gave me a beatin’ for not mindin’ my
own matters.” Sally stopped on a particular sheet and handed the book to Kate. “That there’s Jasper Finn.”
Chapter Eleven
Kate had been lied to again.
Her hand clenched around the page. Owen Neal’s chiseled features stared back at her, rendered with skill in charcoal. His high forehead, tapered cheekbones, straight nose. Even the few streaks of gray in his black hair were caught in perfect replication. Dalton had been right about Sally’s talent at least—in another life, she could have been renowned.
“He can’t be. How could I have missed this?” She hated the shake in her voice from the little pull on her heart.
Over two and a half years, she had gotten to know Owen. Danced around his overtures, never allowed herself to become serious with him, for she knew damn well the heartbreak that came from attachment. A few kisses here and there didn’t constitute a relationship. With him, she felt safe.
Daniel looked over her shoulder. “Isn’t that the man I saw you with?”
The movement brought him closer to her, his breath on her neck. Kate scooted away from him, turning back to glare at him. “You are not helping,” she hissed.
Somebody’s out lookin’ for a ring like that, and I don’t got a good feelin’.
Osborne’s warning came back to her. The ring was safe in the secret box in the wall of her lodgings where she kept jewels too high profile to fence right away.
How well did she truly know Owen? She’d checked him out before doing business with him. People knew of him at Three Boars. They said he’d moved to town a few years ago from Surrey, established himself quickly as the ken cracker to beat.
She shoved her hands into her pockets. She must think, arrange the facts carefully. Kate inhaled, kept her breathing even. Owen had brought her numerous items from jobs he pulled. Enough that she believed in his identity, when names and faces shifted in the rookeries without warning.
