by C. J. Archer
Doyle brought in a tray of cold meats and salads, but I was momentarily distracted from the food by the ring box. It had moved. It no longer sat at the back of the desk, but near the front. Had he moved it? Had Doyle? He was the only servant allowed in, to clean and make the bed each morning. Mrs. Cotchin hadn't yet earned Lincoln's trust. But surely Doyle knew not to move anything, or if he did, to put everything back exactly as it was.
I eyed Lincoln to see if he'd realized that I'd noticed, but he concentrated on his plate of food.
"I have a lead," he said after a moment. "There's definitely a man named King in the area, but I can't pin him down. One lead tells me he lives in Pelham Street, another says he's in the vicinity of Swallow Gardens, and another claims there's a King in Lower Chapman. I did find the man named King in Pelham, but it's not the right one."
"Wrong age?" Seth asked.
"Wrong hands. They were smaller than mine. He was also blond."
"Did you go to Swallow Gardens and Lower Chapman?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I want to watch the areas, not ask more questions. Too suspicious. To watch both places on my own is too time consuming."
"You need us," Gus said, his mouth full of ham. "Want to go now?"
"Finish your lunch. We'll take a cab. You two watch Lower Chapman, one positioned at either end. I'll watch Swallow Gardens alone. There's only one exit."
"He might not be at either," I said.
"He might not. There was also a report that he's not in Whitechapel at all, but moved out of the district a few years ago. My source didn't know where."
We finished our luncheon, and the three of them prepared to head out, but I asked Lincoln to remain. "A quick word before you go," I said, turning my back to this desk and the mystery of the moved ring box. "It's about Alice. She received a letter from her parents demanding she return to the school. They're worried she's fallen prey to your charms and has become your mistress."
His brows flew up his forehead. "They have good imaginations for a couple as staid as Alice claims them to be."
"She's already written to them and explained the situation, but I think you ought to write too. Be friendly and agreeable, and reassure them that she's here merely to keep me company. Then invite them to stay."
"More visitors?"
"Alice doesn't think they'll come. She thinks they're doing this for show, and they won't follow through on their threat."
"I'll write to them this evening."
"Or I could draft a response on your behalf, since you're so busy and I have nothing better to do. You can copy it later, or change it, if you like."
"I like your plan."
He went to leave but I caught his hand. "Be careful today. It's not all that long ago that you were confined to bed with exhaustion and a head injury."
"I'll be more careful than usual." He pressed a warm, soft kiss on my forehead.
"You will?"
He drew away. "You make me want to be careful." He strode off, leaving me more certain than ever that there'd been times in his life when he hadn't cared about his own safety. That had changed.
After they left, I sat at my escritoire and drafted the letter from Lincoln to Alice's parents. I was just re-reading it when Doyle announced two visitors.
"Names of Finley and Mink," he said, wrinkling his nose. "They're waiting outside at the back of the house."
I invited the boys into the kitchen, keeping to one end, away from the painter and his apprentice putting the finishing touches to the wall. Cook handed each boy a bowl of hearty beef and vegetable soup. Finley blew on it then sipped straight from the bowl. Mink used the spoon. Despite the steam rising from the soup, they managed to consume it all in under a minute.
"Do we have anything else?" I asked Cook. "Some cake, perhaps?"
"Cake!" Finley's eyes almost popped out of his head. "We can have cake?"
Cook chuckled. "Aye, if you like fruitcake." He headed into the pantry to retrieve the leftover Christmas cake.
"Just a small portion," I said. "If you eat too much of anything you'll be sick." I'd eaten too much too quickly when I first came to Lichfield and thrown it all up in the corner of the tower room. Those days seemed so long ago now, but a mere seven months had passed. It felt like a lifetime.
Cook unwrapped the cake and cut off two small pieces and handed them to the boys on plates. Finley ate his in two bites, but Mink nibbled more carefully yet no less enthusiastically.
"Mmmm," Finley said around his mouthful of fruitcake. "This is the best thing I ever tasted. Eh, Mink? You ever had somefing as good as this?"
Mink didn't respond. He simply looked away, but not before I saw tears in his eyes. I'd wager he had tasted Christmas cake before, and the taste brought back memories of a happier time, perhaps Christmases spent with a loving family.
Doyle, Mrs. Cotchin, Cook and I watched them eat and drink. Finley finished first and got up to warm himself by the range. When Mink finished, he picked up his plate and cup.
"Where's the scullery?" he asked.
"I'll take them," Mrs. Cotchin said with a motherly smile.
"Come with me to the parlor," I said. "The fire's burning."
"Wait!" Doyle rushed out ahead of me, not running, but doing an odd fast walk. He headed into the store room and emerged a moment later with sheets. He handed one to each of the boys. "Sit on these. Mrs. Cotchin doesn't want your smells penetrating the furnishings."
"Be off with you, Mr. Doyle," Mrs. Cotchin chided. "They don't smell so bad." She did not, however, ask him to remove the sheets.
She was right and the boys didn't reek. They both wore the new clothes I'd given them the first day we'd gone to their den. A strong smell still wafted from them, but it was from their bodies, not the clothes.
I led Mink and Finley into the parlor. They both stopped inside the doorway and stared in wonder at the luxurious furniture, the thick curtains, and the expensive vases and other knickknacks. I'd been equally overwhelmed when I first saw the room.
Finley moved first. He set his sheet on the rug in front of the fireplace and sat down cross-legged. He stretched his fingers toward the heat. Mink followed but laid his towel out on one of the armchairs. He sat and stretched his feet and hands toward the fireplace.
I scooped some coal from the scuttle and added it to the fire.
"You done well for yourself, Charlie," Finley said quietly. "Real well. You sure you ain't his doxy?"
Mink kicked him.
"I'm quite sure," I said with a laugh.
"How'd it happen, then?" Finley asked. "How'd you get so lucky? Last I remember, you was being chased by some big men."
Although he asked the question, it was Mink who eyed me closely. He was as interested in my answer as Finley. Perhaps more so.
"It's a long story," I said. "The short version is that I was in possession of some information that Mr. Fitzroy wanted. He brought me here to extract it, and once I realized the importance of the organization's work, I agreed to stay and help."
"But his men roughed you up," Finley said, now giving me his full attention.
"Not as badly as you would think." I'd been terrified of Lincoln and his men in the beginning, but he'd never raised a hand to me, or allowed anyone else to. He may have put me into a precarious situation to win me to his side, but he'd later acknowledged that had been a mistake, and I'd forgiven him. It had taken much longer for Lincoln to forgive himself.
"Bet they was surprised when they noticed you was a girl."
"Surprised is an understatement, Finley." We both laughed. Mink continued to watch me, but the wariness was gone from his eyes. He seemed awed, surrounded by fine things and me, the woman who used to be a boy in his gang. Awed and a little sad.
"So tell me," I said, "you have something to report already?"
"We do," Mink said, becoming businesslike. "We decided not to ask for the man by name. Instead, we asked people if they knew someone with really big hands."
"Real b
ig," Finley echoed. "Gi-normous."
"That's clever," I said. It would separate them from Lincoln's own inquiries. Too many people asking about a fellow named King would raise suspicions.
"We only asked other gangs," Mink said. "Orphans, like us."
Another wise move. Mink was careful.
"Cross's gang knew someone with big hands." Finley took up the story. "Big feet, too. He sniffed out their hideout one day 'bout a year ago."
"Sniffed out?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
Finley shrugged. "That's what Cross said, sniffed out. He stole a fresh baked loaf of bread from the baker and took it back to their den. He says next thing he knew, the big hand man came. Cross says he was sniffing, like he followed the smell of the bread there."
"He must have found it another way," Mink cut in. "He must have followed Cross there."
"Cross says he didn't, and I believe him. He couldn't have just found the den, neither. It's hard to find, like ours. You gotta know its there. So he must of smelled the bread."
"I believe you," I said. If the man shifted into an animal then he would have an excellent sense of smell, like Harriet. "So what happened then? Did he try to steal the bread?"
"Nope," Finley said. "He wanted them to work for him."
"Doing what?"
"Running messages, spying, that sort of thing. He said his gang needed some children to work for 'em."
"His gang?" I echoed. Could he be referring to the group of wolf-like shifters reported in the newspaper a year ago?
"Cross refused," Mink said. "When he asked the man why he needed children, the man said it was because young 'uns don't get noticed when they're little. It's not 'til they're older and bigger that they get caught. That got Cross worried. He's real careful, and he protects his gang. It sounded like the man wanted them to do something dangerous, or something that'd get them in big trouble with the pigs, so he refused."
"And what did the man say then?"
"Nothing," Finley said. "He left and didn't ask again. Cross reckons he found another group of children. Plenty of 'em in London, and most ain't careful like Cross."
Very true. Cross sounded a lot like Mink. His name wasn't one I recognized from my days living on the streets. "Did he describe the man's appearance to you?" I asked.
"He did better than that." Mink's lips stretched into a small smile, the first I'd ever seen on his face. It made him look even younger, like the child he was, instead of the adolescent he was pretending to be. "He said he often sees the man around, but he's always at the same place at the same time, every day like a clock."
I sat forward on the chair. "Where?"
"Butcher in Smithfield. Cross reckons they have a regular arrangement. The man with the big feet goes to the butcher's at the end of the day, after the market's all closed and everyone's gone. He gets any bones that's not sold and are starting to go off."
"How late in the day?"
"Dusk."
I glanced out the window. The rain had held off, but it was still cloudy. Dusk arrived early in January and must be about two hours away.
"Lincoln should be back by then," I said. "In the mean time, who would like a bath?"
Finley looked horrified. "What we want to do that for?"
"I can get kerosene for the lice," I said as Mink scratched his head. "Or we could shave your heads. Yes, let's do that first, and then you can have a bath. Mink?"
"S'pose," he muttered.
Finley sniffed then wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Not me. I like my dirt, and my lice."
"You do not," I said with absolute certainty. "I heard you complain about the lice a thousand times when I lived with you."
"I did not!"
"You do," Mink said.
"Come on then," I said cheerfully. "Let's do it outside in the courtyard." I rose and so did Mink, but Finley stayed stubbornly on the rug.
"I ain't moving," he mumbled.
Alice walked in, but stopped when she saw the boys. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company." She smiled at them. "Are these friends of yours, Charlie?"
Finley jumped to his feet and wiped his hands down his trousers. He bowed to hide his red cheeks. "Name's Finley," he said. "Pleased to meet you."
"Finley, Mink, this is Miss Everheart," I said.
"Everheart," Finley repeated. "Pretty name." He grinned.
She smiled back.
"I was just taking the boys outside to give them haircuts. Lice," I added.
She pulled a face. "Do you want me to fetch Bella?"
"Thank you."
She headed up the stairs while I led the boys back to the service rooms. Finley came meekly, his cheeks still a little pink.
"You think there'll be time for baths after?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
I smiled. "Of course. You can go first, if that's all right with Mink."
Cook set up a chair in the courtyard while Mrs. Cotchin fetched warm water and clean towels, and Doyle looked for scissors and a razor.
Alice returned, shaking her head. "Bella refused, and Lady Vickers stood up for her," she said. "She doesn't want Bella catching their lice and giving it to her." She drew in a fortifying breath and began rolling up her sleeves.
"I'll do it," Doyle said.
"There's no need, Doyle," I told him.
"I don't mean any disrespect," he said, removing his jacket. "But have either of you used a razor before?"
Alice and I looked at one another. "Perhaps you're right," I said. "We'll assist you."
Finley sat down and meekly allowed Doyle to shorten his hair with the scissors first then shave the rest off. Afterward, he ran his hands over his bald head. "Do I look like him now?" He nodded at Cook.
Cook scrubbed his head.
"You've got eyebrows and lashes," Mink told Finley.
Mrs. Cotchin had gone to draw the bath and came out to announce that it was ready. She took Finley upstairs while Mink sat for his haircut. "When we get home, we're getting rid of all the blankets, the mattress, all of it," he said.
"I'll see what I can find here to replace them," I told him. "Are you sure you don't want to spend the night? We can fetch the other boys."
He didn't answer straight away, and I suspected this was something they'd discussed after we left this morning and a decision had not yet been made. "Not tonight," was all he said. "Maybe later."
So they were waiting to see how this arrangement turned out, and if we could be trusted. I didn't blame him. I'd find it hard to trust people being so kind to me, too, even if one of them was an old gang member.
After his haircut, Mink went up for his bath. Finley helped Doyle gather all the spare blankets and a few pillows that we could find. He turned out to be quite a handsome lad, despite his crooked teeth, but not as handsome as Mink. Without the greasy, lank hair covering Mink's face and the dirt on his skin, he appeared older. I guessed him to be about fifteen, although it was difficult to tell, as thin as he was.
"You both scrub up well," Alice said, inspecting the boys like they were about to lead a parade. "I'm very impressed."
"The blankets are stored in the coach," Doyle announced. "When would you like them and the boys delivered to their home?"
"Not yet," I said. "The boys will go out with Lincoln when he returns." I checked the clock. It was nearing four. If he didn't get home soon, it would be dark and the opportunity gone. "Perhaps we'll have tea while we wait."
"There's no time for tea." Mink looked out the parlor window at the sky. "If we don't go now, we'll miss him. You'll have to wait for tomorrow."
Another day would only drag things out. I bit my lip and looked at the sky. Lincoln would hate me going without him. He'd worry.
But Smithfield wasn't Whitechapel, and the fellow meeting the butcher hadn't harmed Cross or any of the others.
"Doyle, I'm going to a butcher's in Smithfield. The boys will come with me. Will you drive us?"
"Won't the market be closed now, Miss?"
"
We're not there to shop. Please ready the carriage. Ask Cook to help if you need it."
"Hang about," Finley said, going pale. "We're going to drive there?"
I nodded. "Alice—"
"I'm coming with you," she said before I could ask. "You're not going alone."
I smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that. It'll be quite safe. We won't even need to get out." She fetched coats, hats and gloves and we waited for Doyle to bring the coach around.
Cook handed each of the boys a woolen cap. "You'll be needing these now. Mind you put up your collars. You be noticing the wind on your necks more."
The boys put on their caps and pulled up their collars. "Thanks Mr. Cook," Mink said, holding out his hand.
Cook shook it.
Finley was too busy staring at the horses and coach, approaching from around the side of the house, to shake hands. He gulped audibly.
"Are you afraid of horses?" I asked him quietly.
"No. I ain't never been in no coach before."
"You'll be quite safe." I put out my hand, but he didn't take the hint.
Mink, however, did. He crooked his arm and I took it. He led me down the front steps to the coach. I looked back to see Finley catching on and offering his arm to Alice. She smiled sweetly and accepted it. His blush disappeared into his cap.
"Call out when you're ready, miss," Doyle said from the driver's seat.
"Just a moment, I've got an idea. Doyle, please take us to Lord and Lady Gillingham's residence in Mayfair first. I want to ask Lady Gillingham if she'd like to join us."
"Why?" Alice asked once we were settled on the seats, the spare blankets intended for the boys' den piled on our laps.
"Because she needs the adventure, and to do things her husband doesn't want her to do." It was, perhaps, a fool's errand. She'd most likely refuse to come with us, preferring to abide by her husband's wishes. Of course, she may not even be home, or he might be, and then my plan would come to naught. But the devil inside me wanted to try, wanted to encourage Harriet to stand up to her husband in this small way.
Fortunately, Harriet was home but her husband was not. She was allowed to receive callers and go out. "But not with you," she added, greeting me in the entrance hall. "Gilly said if you came here, you weren't to be allowed past the entrance." Hence why I spoke to her on the threshold with the door open.
