Clockwork Image

by L G Rollins

  The confident woman of moments ago was gone. Christina glanced over her shoulder and fidgeted where she stood. “The person who wrote that bloody message on the serving tray? That was me.”

  “You?” Tressa yelled.

  Christina jumped. More tears rolled down her cheeks.

  This woman was a mystery. One moment she was stronger than Tressa in facing Brox, and now she was back to a blubbering teacake. Some people Tressa would never understand.

  Christina’s words were so soft, Tressa could barely hear them. “I thought you must know about the child labor and not care. All I could do was hope to scare you away. Or, at the very least, get the authorities involved. It didn’t scare you away, so I set up a meeting with the Constable. I thought if I told him about what has actually been happening in Westwood, he might be able to stop it. Before I could get to Rayden’s, I ran into Jasper and he mentioned you and Mr. Broxholme were going to be there with the Constable. I got so scared, I didn’t dare show up.”

  The words spilled out of her mouth like steam from an old, hole-riddled engine. “I encouraged him to set up the buckets to take attention away from the fact that I wasn’t going to show. Please, I didn’t know what else to do. I just wanted someone to stand up and tell the truth.”

  Tressa couldn’t be angry at her. If Tressa had known that Westwood was still exploiting children, she would have never offered them money. She probably would have helped Christina with the bloody platter.

  “I didn’t know things were still going on,” Tressa said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to say something earlier.”

  Christina looked up at Tressa, smiling. “Things will be better now. Mr. Broxholme is a force to reckon with.”

  “Yes, but I believe he is going to need more than words to end this.” Tressa placed her hands on her hips. They would need evidence of what was happening. They’d have to work quickly.

  If it was her word against someone of high standing in London society, Tressa was certain she would not win. But how to capture evidence of something that only happened at night, and away from all eyes? “I need to see Jasper. Christina, this is imperative.”

  The young woman slipped her glove back on, tugging it firmly into place. “I promised Jasper I wouldn’t take you to him. But if you wrote a letter, I’d deliver it for you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tressa peered over the edge of the small bridge and deep into the water rushing below. How would Jasper respond to her letter? Would he be willing to help her? She wasn’t sure she could do this without him. Machines she knew, but not cameras. He had said he’d perfected a way of taking images without a flash.

  She glanced up at the clouds, brushed with pink and orange by the sunset. Oh, how she prayed her brother would come to meet her.

  The wooden planks of the bridge creaked and Tressa spun around. She’d come here to be alone, and to gather enough strength for what lay ahead. Brox stood with shoulders slumped and hands deep inside his pockets. He strolled up to her and leaned back against the bridge railing.

  “I spoke to every member of the board,” he said in a heavy voice. “They all deny any knowledge, though it was clear that more than a few were lying. Mr. Clark included.”

  “It’s a start,” Tressa said. With Brox’s hands in his pockets, she doubted he would reach for her as he had once been wont to do. She missed the small gestures—his hand on the small of her back, him offering his elbow to her.

  He tipped his head back, staring up at the evening sky. “I can’t believe I was so blind.”

  “I was, too. I knew it had happened. I didn’t know until this afternoon that it was still happening.”

  His head rocked to the side, and he gave her a half-smile. “Well, if the jack-a-napes could hide it from someone as attentive as you . . .” His gaze dropped to her lips and his smile slipped way.

  Brox stood up straight, his posture once more rigid. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m working on things and I’ll keep you posted.” He turned on his heel.

  He was going to leave because he thought she didn’t care. But she did. Kissing him was all she wanted. Tressa drew in a big breath and forced a few words out. “Brox, wait.”

  He stopped a few paces away.

  She would have to explain herself. If he was ever going to understand, she would have to speak of Westwood and why she’d withdrawn into herself the other day. He’d always heard her out and saw things from her point of view; he would understand this, too.

  “You’re going to need proof,” she said. Well, it wasn’t exactly on topic, but first she’d get him to stay and then she’d explain. One thing at a time.

  Brox turned around. “Yes. But I’m not sure what I’m looking for. If I can get a search warrant, I can search financial records. Those might show who’s paying for the child labor and give us a clue who is guilty.”

  Tressa moved to stand close to him, yielding to the pull she felt to be near him. If only she could let him know how she felt without her memories coming between them. “I’m going out tonight,” she said. “I’m going to sneak into Westwood and try and get some proof myself.”

  “Tressa, that’s dangerous.” He took hold of both her arms, then his hands dropped back to his own sides and he rocked back slightly. “I don’t want to see you hurt,” he added, his tone a bit flatter.

  “I won’t be.” She may not be strong enough to speak of the things that haunted her most, but she was plenty strong enough to sneak about an orphanage at night in search of proof.

  His lips twisted to the side, the movement holding Tressa’s attention. “Then I’m coming with you. Two eyewitnesses are better than one in court.”

  Tressa tore her gaze away from his lips and back up to his eyes, which were every bit as mesmerizing. “Are you sure?”

  “It would mean I could no longer be the prosecuting attorney, but I have several associates I would trust with this. I think we’d stand a better chance if I wasn’t prosecuting anyway, since I’m on the board.” He gave her a determined nod. “Just tell me when and where to meet you.”

  “Midnight. Northwest corner of the building across the street from Westwood.”

  They stood there in silence. Close, but not touching.

  “Tressa,” Brox said, his voice lower than before. “About last week.” He didn’t have to specify more than that. She knew what he was talking about. “I wanted to apologize. It was unforgivably forward of me. I also need to apologize for my coldness toward you since then. If all you want is friendship, I can respect that.”

  Lud, that’s not at all what she wanted. But how would he know that? Tressa thought back to that awful afternoon in front of his motorcar. She’d stood with her hands behind her back, nearly leaning away from him in an effort to not get grease on his bespoke suite. Then when he’d asked her, she’d scowled, overcome by her memories.

  Of course he thought she didn’t want him.

  “I’d be honored if you’ll let me join you tonight,” he said. “I promise I will be a perfect gentleman.”

  Tressa felt all the unspoken words piling up in her throat, choking her. He wouldn’t understand until she explained. Tressa opened her mouth. She had to say something, or he would leave and never speak of kissing her again.

  Hang explanations. “Devil take you, Brox.” Grabbing his lapels, she went up on tiptoe and kissed him.

  He remained motionless at first, stunned, no doubt. Then he melted against her. His lips moved over hers and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close against him.

  Tressa’s hands moved up his neck, her fingers winding through his hair.

  Take that, stupid memories.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tressa crouched low, hidden in the building’s shadow.

  Someone moved up behind her. “Hello, Tressa.”

  Tressa turned at the voice. “Jasper!” She kept her voice low, but couldn’t hide her joy. Throwing her arms around him, she hugged her brother close. “
I’m so sorry.”

  He hugged her back. “No, I’m sorry.” He pulled away and pushed a small black box toward her. “I brought enough cameras for us all.”

  “Not for me, I hope,” Christina said from just behind Jasper. “I don’t think I have the nerves to go in there at night and sneak around.”

  A tall form strode past the building. Tressa recognized Brox’s stride immediately. “Brox,” she called softly. “Over here.”

  He glanced up and down the street, checking that no one was watching him, and then ducked into the shadow beside her.

  “Hello, dear.” His hand rested lightly against the small of her back and he gave her forehead a quick kiss. “Ready?”

  Tressa nodded, exhilarated by his touch.

  Jasper grinned mischievously. “Looks like I missed more than I realized.”

  Brox stretched a hand out toward Jasper. “Welcome back.”

  They shook and Jasper handed him a camera.

  “Here’s the plan,” Tressa said. “We three”—she pointed to herself, Brox, and Jasper—“will slip in through the kitchen door. Christina said the new opening is through the first-floor linen closet and it opens into the middle of the hallway. We slip in, take pictures of everything, then get back out again.”

  Jasper spoke up next. “Lighting is going to be our biggest issue. These cameras weren’t built with cat eyes. I’ve brought a gas lantern, but if anyone is in there now, we can’t light it without being seen.”

  “We don’t know if the children are being forced to work tonight or not,” Tressa nodded. “So we’ll just have to get inside and work with what we have.”

  Brox turned his camera over a few times as Jasper quickly explained how to get the best exposure.

  “You said the three of us. What about Christina?” Brox asked after they were all confident they knew how to use the cameras.

  Christina shrank against wall behind her. The young woman had spoken up at a time when Tressa couldn’t. Repaying Christina was the least Tressa could do.

  “She’ll be staying here,” Tressa said, “keeping a look out. If we spook anyone inside and they make a run for it, she’ll be here to snap their picture, and see which direction they head.”

  Christina gave her a grateful smile as Jasper handed her the last camera.

  “All right,” Tressa said, looping the camera strap over her head so that it hung against her chest. “Let’s go.”

  The three of them stood and peered out into the night. There were no streetlamps, as this was not the wealthiest part of town. The area was empty. Only the occasional candle in a drape-drawn window lit the night.

  As one, they hurried across the street and around the side of Westwood. It was a large building, meant to house two dozen orphans, though it actually had closer to four dozen at the moment.

  Tressa reached the kitchen door and tested the handle. Bolted. No problem there. Tressa pulled a large wrench out of her back pocket and handed her camera to Jasper. With a firm whack the bolt gave way and they all slipped inside.

  Westwood was silent. The fire in the hearth was only a pile of red-hot coals. Dishes were washed and put away. No one was in sight.

  They moved out of the kitchen and down a hall, toward the first level linen closet. Blessedly, no other doors were locked and they moved from one place to the next undetected.

  The linen closet was small, barely big enough for all three of them. Jasper closed the door behind them and they stood in complete darkness. Silently they listened. Soft voices came from the other side of the wall. Tressa’s heart sank.

  The children were working tonight.

  Jasper’s hand took hold of her shoulder and pulled her close. He must have also taken hold of Brox’s shoulder, for she felt him lean in close to her and Jasper.

  “The hallway will be too dark for the cameras,” Jasper said.

  Tressa trusted him to know best when it came to taking pictures. “There were always candles in the workroom for the children to see by. Will that be enough light?” She could hear both him and Brox breathing beside her, but she couldn’t see a thing.

  “I’m hopeful it will be,” Jasper said. “Get as close as you dare, and focus in on those children closest to the light.”

  “We’ll stay here until the children move into the work room,” Tressa said. “Then we’ll follow a few minutes later.”

  The wait was taut with silence and trepidation. A couple of weeks ago, just seeing the door had been enough to bring Tressa to a complete standstill. Was she ready to walk down the hall again?

  There was a creak and then the patter of children being herded down the hall and into the work room.

  They stood, motionless, until the noise died off and all was silent once more. Tressa took a small step forward and ran her hands across one of the shelving units. “Christina said one of these swings open.”

  There was a click and then a gust of wind.

  “I think I found it,” Brox said.

  Tressa bumped into Jasper as they both pushed toward the sound of Brox’s voice. With hands out in front of her face, Tressa found the doorway behind some of the linens.

  And then she was in the hallway again.

  The chalk images didn’t glow as she remembered, but between the slivers of light coming from under the doors on either end, they did seem to stand out like ghosts against the dark walls.

  Some of the images were bright white, possibly drawn only moments ago. Others were faded, nearly wiped away from years of children brushing against the wall as they passed by.

  Tressa moved several strides down the long hall. This was where she had always stood. The wall was covered with several chalk images she’d never seen before, but behind them, nearly faded out of existence, were the jagged lines she’d seen so many times in her dreams.

  She’d never drawn pictures or messages like many of the other children. Her rebellion was only ever sawtooth, broken lines of frustration and anger. Tressa rested her hands against the wall; the feel of chalk against her palm set her skin tingling.

  Brox walked up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his forehead against hers. “I am so sorry.”

  Tressa pulled her hand off the wall. It was speckled with chalk. The very chalk she had put on the wall decades ago. “We’re here to end this and save the children. That’s all that matters.”

  They walked together down the hall and toward the back door. The work room was situated in the center of the large building. There were no windows and no other doors besides this one.

  Tressa tried the handle, but it wouldn’t twist. “It’s locked,” she whispered. Her large wrench wouldn’t do them any good now. If she tried to bust the door open, those inside would be alerted and there would be no chance to get the photographs they needed.

  “Here.” Jasper reached past Brox and pushed two narrow, yet stiff wires into her hand.

  Tressa crouched down, slipping them into the door’s lock.

  “What are you doing?” Brox asked.

  “I’m not a dunce. I know how to pick a lock.” Tressa twisted first one wire and then the next as she echoed what Jasper had said the night he’d force-started Brox’s motorcar. “If you’re upset, talk to Jasper. He taught me.”

  “It was one of the few times you listened to me.” Jasper said with a chuckle.

  The lock let out a click and the doorknob turned in Tressa’s hand. “Once we’re inside,” she whispered, “spread out. Stay in the shadows and get as many pictures as you can.”

  Both men nodded their agreement. Tressa inched the door open barely enough for herself to slip through. The room was just as she remembered.

  Lined with tables and small chairs. Little heads bent low over their work. Some were sewing. Others were washing, their hands rubbed bare and burned by the cheap soap. Shadows hung like thick curtains down all four walls.

  Tressa stuck close to the wall, moving down it until she was well inside the room. The candles were all burnin
g low, none giving off much light. Tressa moved up closer to one of the tables. Three young girls were sewing shirtwaists as fast as their tiny fingers could move. Tressa could see the shortest of the girls shaking.

  The one in the middle let out a soft yelp and stuck one of her fingers in her mouth. Then she quickly glanced over her shoulder, fear evident in her eyes. Pulling her finger back out, she gave it a gentle shake and returned to sewing.

  These poor girls. The urge to leap out of the shadows and pound whoever was forcing them to work all night long grated against her bones. The memory of painful cracking knuckles and palms made Tressa want to rub her own hands. Instead she clenched them tight and they pressed up close around the metal box in her hand. The camera. Right. She was here to help. Tressa raised the camera up to her face.

  If she could get good pictures of these dears being forced to work in such horrid conditions, she could put an end to this permanently.

  Tressa pressed the button and the workings inside let off a soft snap. One of the girls glanced up, her brow creased in uncertainty. Then she looked back down at her work and continued to sew on.

  Tressa continued on to the next table. More children sewing. More raw hands. One little boy yawned so big, he accidentally dropped what he was working on. A tall figure marched over and boxed the boy’s ear, hitting him so soundly the slap of fist against head echoed in the near-silent room. The boy let out a whimpering apology and quickly picked up the fabric once more.

  Tressa’s jaw tightened. She would not sit by and let these poor children suffer a moment longer. A hand rested against her shoulder, keeping her back and in the shadows.

  Jasper leaned in and whispered low in her ear. “You can either save these children right now, and only for tonight, or you can take pictures and use the pictures to save children for years to come.” He angled his camera toward the young boy and with the press of a button the clock workings inside snapped proof of what was happening.