The Dark Between

by Sonia Gensler

  “You’d do that for me?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  A rush of affection prompted Kate to kiss his cheek, and she giggled at the boyish fit of cringing that followed. “What’s this?” She gently laid her finger on his jaw, tracing a bruise. “Has Martineau struck you?”

  He shrugged her hand away. “She never touched me. It’s nothing.”

  “This scheme, Billy—are you sure it’s safe?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She bit her lip. For such a scrappy kid, he seemed fragile and hollow-eyed in the lamplight.

  “Go to Tec’s cottage,” he said. “It’s too late to go anywhere else. I’m workin’ tonight, but I’ll come by in the morning or thereabouts.” His expression sobered. “If you don’t see me tomorrow, you’ll know someone’s done me in.”

  “Don’t say that! If the scheme is that dangerous, you shouldn’t try it.”

  “I was only joking.” Grinning, he reached down and pulled something out of his boot. “But take this, just in case.” He held out a knife with a four-inch blade. The slick ebony handle shone in the lamplight. “I’d give you the sheath, but it’s sewn into my boot. You’d better wrap the blade in something.”

  “Shouldn’t you just keep it?” Kate shivered at the strangeness of an angel-haired child holding such a thing.

  “I’d feel better if you had it,” he said. “Give me something in return, and we’ll swap back when I see you again.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “You might find a better situation and forget all about me. This way, I know we’ll see each other again.”

  Kate’s rigid spine softened at that. She looked about the room, considering her few possessions. “I don’t have anything that’s a match for such a blade.”

  “How ’bout your father’s watch?”

  She paused. “It doesn’t work anymore.”

  “That’s okay. It still might come in handy. You’ll get it back; I promise.”

  Kate stared at him a moment, wondering at this request. But his wide eyes did not blink, so she knelt by the narrow bed and retrieved a muslin-wrapped parcel from under the mattress. She unfolded the cloth and gave him the watch.

  As soon as it was in his hands, Billy opened it. His thin finger traced the inscription inside. “It’ll do perfectly.”

  “So it’s a fair trade … but only for now, right?”

  “Right.”

  She took the knife from him and placed it on the bed. Billy politely looked away as she sucked in a great gasp of air and buttoned herself into the too-tight dress she’d worn the day she first knocked at the service entrance of Mrs. Martineau’s house. The rest of her possessions—including the knife—fit easily into her mother’s old sewing basket, which she clutched to her chest.

  She turned to Billy, thinking to clutch him to her chest as well. “See you tomorrow,” she muttered, chucking him on the chin instead. He grinned and blew out the lamp, melting into the darkness once more.

  Kate stepped lightly down the stairs and through the corridor to the deserted kitchen. Without looking back, she opened the door and yielded herself to the damp embrace of night.

  Chapter 2

  A light rain fell as Kate picked her way over the slick cobblestones to the lair of the little detectives.

  Their leader had long ago been christened Thomas, but those who knew him called him Tec, for he managed a group of vagrant boys who “detected” spirit clues for Mrs. Martineau. Though only sixteen, Tec ran his business as efficiently as any grown man. He taught his team to scan obituaries, search trash bins, and question staff for details on Martineau’s clients, saving the cleverest boys for lock picking and stealthy home searches. All the detectives had sweet faces and enough schooling to know how to read, and were easily coaxed out at night with the promise of a meal, a few coins, and a safe place to sleep.

  Kate knew Tec and his boys lived in a ramshackle cottage near Castle End, but she struggled to remember the details Billy had told her. It took ages of shuffling through side streets and peering in windows to actually find the place. She pounded on the door and slumped wearily against the building to wait. When Tec finally opened up, she smiled.

  “Hello, Tec.” The sight of him always warmed her.

  He stared for a long moment. Then he glanced about before pulling her inside. “Missus will have my hide if she knows you’ve left the house to come here.”

  She brushed off his words with a wave of her hand, nodding at the two boys who sat by the potbellied stove. The room smelled of coal smoke, bacon, and dirty boy, but at least it was warm and dry on this damp August evening. She was safe now. Tec was kind—the most reliable person she knew. And though he must have known she fancied him, he’d never once tried to grope her like the old fools at Martineau’s.

  “Billy told me to come,” she said. “Missus has sacked me.”

  “Sacked you? You must have done something awful if she done that.”

  “I stumbled, is all. One of the sitters—a new gentleman—grabbed me and held tight while his friend turned up the lights.”

  Tec clucked his tongue. “You’re not much use to her now, I suppose. And she’ll have to back off the game for a time.” He glanced at the boys by the fire and lowered his voice. “Not good for us.”

  “You’ll get more work once Missus gets a new scheme worked out. I’m at loose ends, though. Can I stay here tonight, Tec?”

  “Course you can. We’ll find you a space on the floor, and I’ll lend you a quilt. But there’s more boys coming in from their rounds tonight. May not get quiet for a while yet.”

  She nodded with a yawn and stood waiting as he tossed a ragged quilt in the corner, several paces from the stove. He glanced at her, eyes apologetic. “It’s only proper not to jumble you up with the boys. And this way, you might not smell too bad in the morning.”

  “Ha,” she said, yawning again. At his prompting, she placed her basket and hat next to the makeshift bed, kicked off her shoes, and sank to her knees. Tiny clouds of dust billowed up from the quilt, tickling her nostrils. She gave Tec a sidelong look.

  “It’s all I’ve got,” he said.

  She hadn’t noticed before how his eyes were shadowed with weariness.

  “It’s fine, Tec. Just fine.”

  The boys came in throughout the evening, each announcing his arrival with a loud pounding on the door. Kate jerked awake each time, thinking Eliot was knocking down the attic door to punish her just as Missus had threatened. It was nearly impossible to fall back to sleep with her heart thumping, so she stared at the cobwebbed ceiling as Tec questioned the boys on their activities.

  Doubts plagued her. What was she to do with herself? How would she keep fed and sheltered? She was lucky to have this dusty pallet for tonight, but in another day she might be sleeping on a street corner or curled up under a shop awning—at least until the angry proprietor brushed her away with his broom.

  Finally she did fall asleep, but it was a heavy sort of slumber that dragged on her eyelids when she tried to blink herself awake the next morning.

  Head aching, Kate rose to her feet and stumbled through the room, sidestepping various lumps of sleeping boy on her way to the window. She pulled back the curtain to find the sun perched high in the sky. It wasn’t morning anymore. She turned back to the sleepers, stepping lightly around them and peering closely, but Billy was not among them.

  Kate jumped when the front door opened.

  Tec grinned at the sight of her. “Why so spooked?” he whispered, gentling the wild thumping of her heart. “It’s just me with the pasties.” As he lifted the large sack in his hand, the fragrance of onions and beef wafted toward her.

  Her stomach rumbled in reply.

  Tec glanced about the room before turning back to her. “The boys will wake once their noses catch a whiff of these. Come outside with me—the sun’s shining and I’ve something to show you.” He placed the sack on a chair, but not before taking two pa
per-wrapped pasties and placing one in each pocket.

  It had been ages since she’d walked outside in the full light of day. Kate raised a hand over her eyes, blinking against the glare of the sun in the nearly cloudless sky. The street bustled with carts and wagons, the occasional bicycle speeding through the knots of traffic. She couldn’t pause to look about, however, for Tec was making his way westward to a grassy area.

  He paused at the foot of a hill and turned to face her, eyes twinkling.

  She glanced beyond him. “It’s Castle Mound, isn’t it?”

  “Have you never climbed to the top in the daylight?”

  “Only at night with you and Billy. But that was forever ago.”

  “Thought as much. Let’s have our pasties up there. The sun is nice today.”

  A memory scurried through her mind as they climbed the steep, snaking path to the top. That night the three of them had sat upon the hill—Kate shivering in terror at the prospect of Missus catching her out of the house—Tec had told them the mound was the remnant of a fortress built hundreds of years ago. She’d nearly forgotten to breathe as he pointed out stars and helped them trace the constellations. He was such a clever boy, so quick with a diverting tale. In truth, she’d stared at him more than the sky, her miserly little heart opening like a flower each time he smiled.

  Today, however, the view of the city held her attention. As she sat in the overgrown grass, her cheeks tingling with the sun’s warmth, Kate took in the alarming sprawl of Cambridge. So many rooftops, church spires, and college towers. She understood the small, dark confines of her former life—hard, but manageable. Now she had to contend with all this. It should have been exciting, but she felt a fist of fear clenching in her gut. How would she find her place?

  Tec interrupted her thoughts as if he’d read them. “What will you do now, Kate?”

  “I don’t know. Can’t think what’s out there for a girl like me.”

  “Seems to me you’ll have to go into service.”

  The fist in her stomach tightened again. “Service? You want me to work as a skivvy? I don’t have a mind to scour pots or scrub floors.”

  “Perhaps a lady’s maid, then. Or something in a shop? You’ve always talked proper, and your manners are decent when you try.”

  “I haven’t any proper references, Tec.” She stared down at the frayed hem of her dress, the holes in her boots. “I don’t even have proper clothes. None would have me.”

  “Maybe if you brushed your hair …”

  “Oh hush,” she growled. “What I need is a new scheme.” She smoothed her ragged plaits in silence before a thought struck her. “Could you use another detective?”

  He frowned. “I can’t see how that’d work. Especially now you’ve made a right mess of Martineau’s scheme.”

  “She’ll figure things out soon enough. And when she does, I could work the other side of the business. You know, cut my hair, wear trousers and a cap. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.”

  “Kate, you’re nearly a young lady now. That game wouldn’t work for long, if it worked at all.” He paused, his expression softening. “I’ll consider it, though. Stay with us another night. Once I’ve talked with Martineau, I’ll know better how we could use you.”

  Kate resisted the urge to fall upon him in relief. What would he do if she kissed his cheek? Would he put his arms around her and kiss her back? No, she was being foolish. He’d probably cringe just as Billy had.

  Billy.

  “Have you seen Billy?” she asked. “He said he’d be back this morning.”

  Tec shook his head. “That boy’s not one for keeping to a schedule.”

  “Do you know where he went last night? After the séance?”

  “I don’t.” He looked away. “Last I knew he was going to Summerfield College to do his sleuthing.”

  “The ladies’ college? What’s there to be sleuthed?”

  “Fellow named Thompson lives there—one of Eliot’s friends. Missus wanted the goods on all the sitters, but she seemed ’specially interested in those that knew Eliot.”

  The hairs on Kate’s neck prickled. “Missus said Thompson was friends with my father.” She searched her memory for the man’s face, trying to recall whether his eyes were kind or cunning, but all she could conjure to mind was that old-fashioned beard. “What do you know about Thompson?”

  “Not much at all. It were Billy tracking him down, not me.”

  Thompson. She had the queerest feeling about the man—like she’d forgotten something very important about him. After a moment of fruitless wondering, she sighed. “That Thompson fellow’s ruined everything. If he’s going to sweep into a medium’s home and expose her lies, he should find new places for all those that’s relying on her for a roof over their heads.” Kate climbed to her feet with a groan and brushed the grass from her skirt.

  Tec peered up at her, squinting into the sun. “What’re you going to do?”

  “I’m going to Summerfield.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s your new scheme? The college?”

  “It’s Thompson’s fault I was sacked. He owes me, and I’ll make sure he knows it.”

  He reached up and caught her hand. “Don’t be hasty, now. What if he don’t want to help you? What if he shuts the door in your face? It’s Sunday, after all.”

  She bit her lip. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Come back with me.” He squeezed her hand. “You need more sleep, for your brain is addled. I’ll talk to Martineau later—no need to go bullying this Thompson chap yet. Besides, Billy may be back by now.”

  But Billy was not there. Nor did he appear that night.

  When Tec returned from Mrs. Martineau’s, he shook his head sadly. “She’s thinking to pack up and start anew someplace else.” He kept his voice low, clearly not wanting the younger ones to hear. “It ain’t certain whether she’s taking any of us with her. Perhaps you should try your luck with Thompson.”

  So the next afternoon Kate tidied herself as best she could and marched to the porter’s lodge at Summerfield College. In contrast to the sooty spires of the men’s colleges, the towered entrance to Summerfield was fresh and ladylike—four stories of coral brick with delicate white sash windows and a tunneled arch resembling a mouth gaping in surprise. The very sight of it made Kate fumble to straighten her hat and smooth the plaits she’d twice rebraided already.

  An iron gate, wrought in a dizzying pattern of entwining leaves and flowers, protected the arched entrance. The tall center gates, which looked heavy enough to crush a horse, were flanked by two smaller gates. The one at the right stood open—though not in a welcoming way, thought Kate. Gathering her courage, she stepped through and addressed herself to the porter’s window.

  “Hallo?” she called, her voice breaking on the second syllable.

  A man with greying hair came to the window, lowering his spectacles to frown at her. “May I help you?”

  “I am here to see Mr. Thompson, please.”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “He’s not in college.”

  “Might I come in and wait for him?”

  “No, you cannot wait inside for Mr. Thompson,” he replied with a snort. “He’ll not see you. Go knock at the service entrance and see if the cook will spare you a bite. Otherwise, be off with you.”

  Kate’s face flamed. “I’m not here for charity. I must speak with Mr. Thompson. He’s done me a grave injustice,” she added. “I’ll not leave until he hears me out.”

  “Mr. Thompson is not here, you little chit. Now shove off before I send for a constable!”

  Kate turned away, hot with frustration. A man stood a few paces off, satchel in hand. His eyes darted from her to the gate … and then back to her again. He was young and rather nice-looking, but with those fine clothes he clearly was a toff. She couldn’t trust him. However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him.

  She stepped toward him. “Did you hear how that man spoke to me? Do I seem a vagrant to
you?”

  “You don’t sound like a vagrant,” the young man allowed, removing his hat to reveal shiny light-brown hair. He didn’t talk like a Cambridge scholar. He didn’t even sound English. Irish, maybe? Surely the Irish were never so posh.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Boston.” He stepped past her and gestured to the porter, who now stood just inside the gate. “I’m here to see Mr. Thompson as well. My name is Asher Beale. I’m the son of Mr. Thompson’s colleague, Professor Harold Beale.” He held out his hand.

  The porter ignored the proffered hand, but respect softened his tone. “You can call me Jones, sir. As I was just telling the child”—he scowled at Kate—“Mr. and Mrs. Thompson are not in college at the moment. Best leave your card and call again tomorrow.”

  Kate drew nearer to the young man, taking cover in his shadow. “I can’t leave and come back tomorrow. I’ve no place else to go, and I’m not spending another night sleeping on a cold floor with a pack of smelly boys.” She swallowed hard against the panic bubbling in her throat. “It’s Thompson’s fault, and he’s the one who should remedy this state of affairs.”

  The porter mouthed the word remedy in apparent wonderment—clearly he hadn’t expected a rough girl to speak so well. Kate glanced at Asher Beale, noting that he also considered her with more interest.

  “I’m happy to leave my card, Jones,” he said. “But I do hope you would be so kind as to find someone to attend to Miss, er …” He looked to Kate for help.

  “Poole,” she offered gratefully. “Miss Kate Poole.”

  “Thank you.” He turned back to the porter. “Miss Poole clearly is not a vagrant and seems to be in some distress. It would be very gentlemanly of you to find someone who could speak with her.”

  Jones scratched his head. “This ain’t exactly regular.” He looked behind him and seemed to relent. “Young Miss Atherton—that’s Mr. Thompson’s niece—was wandering about the garden a short while ago.” He stepped toward the green lawn beyond the archway. “I do believe I still see her,” he said over his shoulder. “If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I’ll fetch her, though I can’t say she’ll have anything to do with either of you.”