by Bonnie Dee
He stared at her. "You'l have us al turned into dol s by the time you're finished. If you want to convince the Brotherhood you're an al y, you might want to keep some of your radical ideas to yourself. Come along then."
Dash opened the door and led her from the room into a corridor with wal s and floor of stone. Moisture slicked the wal s, and a fur of green moss grew on them. Victoria's eyes shot up to the supporting girders--also made of stone. She wondered how far underground they were and if the decrepit ceiling was likely to col apse on top of them at any moment. The idea of being buried alive sent a shiver through her and she found herself crowding closer to her guide, as if he offered protection.
"Where is this place?"
He shook his head. "I can't tel you that. Suffice to say, it's where a lot of people are forced to live when their landlords boot them out."
Victoria fel silent and paid attention to her surroundings as she walked alongside Dash. It could have been another world.
Although she'd read about such a labyrinth below Paris, and of course the Roman catacombs, she'd had no idea so much activity took place beneath the streets of London. The way was narrow and shadowed, lit by a miner's light Dash wore on his cap. Other corridors and rooms periodical y opened off the path, but Victoria could see little inside except occasional moving figures or lights. She got the impression of nefarious doings just out of sight, and danger lurking around every corner.
They entered a larger space, nearly a courtyard, with support beams placed here and there to keep the building above from col apsing into the subterranean chamber. More carbide lights as wel as kerosene lanterns were attached to the beams, il uminating the area. Suddenly there were many ragged people going about their business as if in a marketplace. Goods were bartered and money changed hands. The people were a strange amalgam of various levels of poverty. Some were dirty, gaunt and dressed in ragged clothing, and as pale and thin as wraiths as if they hadn't seen the sun in years. Others appeared better fed and clothed and less furtive. She guessed they did their dealings in the world above as wel as down here.
"Who are they al ? Where do they come from?" She couldn't help but ask it even though Dash had told her as much.
"The unemployed," he stated flatly. "Criminals. And people so poor they can't begin to get a leg up in the world. The underbel y of your great London."
"But underground? Why?"
"There's no place up there for them. Many can't afford to pay even the most meager rent. Down here is a safer world for the likes of us."
"You count yourself as one of them yet you speak like an educated man. Why can you not find a position, real employment?"
"I've no formal education and no one to give me a reference. I could ship out to sea. The shipping industry hasn't yet embraced the use of automatons. But here in the city, there's no work left for someone like me. I had a job as a barkeep for a time, but lost it when the proprietor bought a mechanical employee to serve up drinks. Since then I've kept body and soul together in other, less legal ways."
He took Victoria's arm and guided her around a group of people shouting out bets and cheering. The sound of crowing told Victoria they were watching a cock fight.
"There've always been people living on the fringe like this, but never in such great numbers and it's only getting worse. The courts move faster, the deportation ships are ful er, and the gal ows busier." He looked at her with solemn eyes. "Make no mistake. They are trying to exterminate us and clean up their city."
A pang of guilt shot through her, fol owed by a desire to help.
She'd always had a soft spot for the poor, il , abused or helpless and gave generously to various charities, although she'd never personal y become involved. Her work on the automatons had been her attempt to help correct injustice. Replacing little children in the factories with mechanical devices that could do the same work had been her contribution to the world. She'd not meant the labor-saving automatons to cause more woe to the poor.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, but Dash had already turned away. He took hold of her hand to lead her through the throng and down another byway. His grip was strong and she clung to him like a child afraid to lose track of its parent on a busy street.
At last he stopped in front of a door and knocked on the weathered wood. A panel slid back and a pair of eyes appeared in the opening. They scanned Victoria before the grate shut and the door opened.
Victoria took a deep breath, wil ing her fluttering heart to calm.
Dash put a hand on her waist and propel ed her in front of him through the doorway. Victoria was aware of that warm pressure on her lower back and oddly comforted by it. In the space of something less than an hour her kidnapper had become a man she felt connected to, although she couldn't for the life of her have explained why. But her mentor, Professor Samuels, had dril ed into her head that a scientist couldn't discount accidents, anomalies or exceptions to a rule. And in the course of al her experiments, Victoria had learned that sometimes the creative spark came from an unexpected source or a new invention was born because of a mistake. Being too formulaic and bound by rules was no way to break new ground. So she would accept this development, this bizarre twist in her life, and discover where it led. And she would trust in her guide on the journey--a man who cal ed himself Dash.
Chapter Three
"You've actual y done it." Robeson rose from the ruined armchair, its horsehair stuffing oozing from every seam, and strode toward Dash like a king deigning to descend from his throne. "I didn't think you'd have the stones."
"It's a mistake, I tel you," Perrier chimed in, shaking his shaggy head. "I've said it before and I'l say it again, this is not the way to get people on our side. We'l al end up with our heels swinging.
'Tis a bad idea altogether."
Dash gazed around at the motley assortment of leaders who made up the committee that represented the Brotherhood. He saw them, as though for the first time, through Miss Waters's eyes. Robeson, the weasel, looked exactly as crafty and dangerous as he was. If there was one person in the room Dash trusted the least, it would be Rogue Robeson. The man came from a long line of butchers but his clan was also notorious for their less savory pursuits--bookmaking, prostitution, thievery and opium dealing among others.
Annie Hyatt pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her long, thin nose and regarded Miss Waters with quiet detachment over her knitting needles. Dash knew the woman would hold her counsel to the end, letting the loud, opinionated men clash and clamor for a while and only then putting in her careful y considered counsel.
Fretful Simon Perrier poked at the fire in the grate and pul ed the col ar of his sweater closer around his neck. No fire could ever quite take the damp chil from any of these subterranean chambers, and old Perrier suffered from a persistent cough.
"You've brought disaster on us. That's al I have to say about it."
Of course it wasn't al . Perrier would always have more to say.
The newest addition to the committee of the Brotherhood was a wel -groomed and soft-spoken man who cal ed himself Jones and didn't offer a first name. He'd attended one of their public meetings and stayed afterward to ask questions. He offered little history except to say he'd been a butler for a particular family like his father and grandfather before him--until an automaton replaced his position. Dash liked the man's intel igence and calm demeanor. In some ways Jones reminded him of his mentor, Mr.
Brownlow.
Bandy-legged Robeson strutted up to Victoria Waters. The stocky man was nearly a half-head shorter than the woman and he had to tip his head back to stare up into her eyes. "So you're one of the brains behind the invention that's ruining me business pursuits. Most of my clientele ain't got two farthings left to rub together. Unemployment is doin' me in."
Dash took Miss Waters's arm and guided her past Robeson to the only remaining seat in the room, a claw-footed monstrosity that smel ed of mildew. "Please sit, Miss Waters."
She smoothed her skirts and took
a seat as if she were in a wel -
appointed London drawing room. Dash was suddenly acutely embarrassed by the dilapidated furniture and the dirty pit of a room. As much as he liked to pretend to believe otherwise, class was more than an outdated concept. In the presence of a real lady like Miss Waters, he felt like a filthy reprobate.
Dash stood near her chair to face the others sitting in a haphazard circle. They didn't look much like leaders of a creditable organization.
"I've explained our cause to Miss Waters and she's offered to help," he said simply. "No ransom demand, no press, just an honest negotiation between the Brotherhood and the Commission."
"Your demand for representation is reasonable," Miss Waters chimed in. "I'm certain I can convince them to comply. I do have some sway."
Perrier turned from the fire, brandishing the poker in one hand.
"That's it? A promise from this woman that she'l 'help' after you've kidnapped her, and you believe it? This plan was bad from the beginning. I always said so. But no one listens to an old man."
Dash looked to Jones and Annie Hyatt for support. He considered the former butler and the onetime watchmaker al ies.
Jones didn't disappoint him.
"Miss Waters, as you can imagine the Brotherhood felt pushed to this extreme measure and not al of us agree on the best course of action. We five speak for a much larger group with many strong-wil ed factions. Some are displaced workers, but there are those who have been marginalized since long before the automatons were invented. We need at least two seats on the Commission to begin to address al the Brotherhood's concerns."
Dash admired Jones's upper-crust accent, adopted from a lifetime of being in service. His reasonable tone invited the listener to agree with him. Dash might have the same ideas, but he could never express them so wel or so calmly.
"Damned right," Robeson chimed in. "At least two seats, but that's only the beginning. If we don't see some real change soon, there'l be consequences."
Dash's hand curled into a fist. He'd love to punch Rogue's mouth and stop him from saying another word. Bombs were Robeson's proposed solution to the automaton problem. Wiping out the factories where the things were manufactured as wel as destroying them on an individual basis. But violence couldn't halt progress.
Annie Hyatt put down her knitting in her lap and laced her gnarled, arthritic fingers which could no longer perform the intricacies of her craft. Creating and repairing timepieces had been her life's work but a mechanical person now sat at her bench. The young apprentice she'd careful y groomed to replace her had also been let go and the boy had fal en in with a criminal element, been arrested for a misdemeanor and deported.
"Miss Waters," Annie said, "I would like your honest opinion.
What do you think are the chances this headlong rush into populating the workforce with automatons wil end?"
"I truly don't know." Miss Waters's red hair swayed as she shook her head, and Dash had an urge to plunge his hand into the thick mass and learn what it felt like. "There are many good reasons for reexamining the country's increasing dependence on mechanical labor. The socio-economic upheaval is only one of them. It is my belief some flaws in the working systems have not yet been worked out. There are cases of automatons either breaking down or mis-performing their tasks, which I had hoped to present to the Commission today before I was...diverted from my appointment."
Dash concentrated on the toes of his boots. In a flash, he relived carrying her unconscious form and was both ashamed and guiltily aroused at how her soft body had felt in his arms.
A knock at the door interrupted the discussion. Perrier hobbled over to answer it. After a few words through the slat, he opened the door to let in Rat, a boy of about nine with a severe overbite and a scrawny body. His nickname matched his appearance as he scurried to Dash.
The boy's breath rasped in his lungs. "Best come quick. Lizzie's been 'acked up by the Slasher! They found 'er in an al ey on Bright Street. The one behind Crawler's Pub."
"What?" But Dash didn't need him to repeat it. His stomach felt like he'd swal owed a stone, and his flesh went as ice cold as one of the Slasher's victims.
"I seen it," Rat continued. "'er bel y's wide open, guts everywhere, lying in a puddle of blood, she is. Bobbies al over the place, but I thought you'd want to come anyway."
"Sh. Stop." Dash held up a hand. Memories tumbled through his mind; Lizzie teaching him how to pick pockets, what to nick and what wasn't worth bothering with. Lizzie cooking a meal of leavings from a tavern rubbish bin. Lizzie showing him what his cock was for when he was twelve. Lizzie resting a cool hand on his burning forehead the winter he'd nearly died of pneumonia.
Lizzie turning tricks in the al ey by Crawler's Pub. Lizzie glowing with rage and cal ing him an uppity little cunt when he'd started working for Brownlow at the bookstore. He hadn't talked to her much in the years since then, but she was stil Lizzie, his Lizzie.
And now the Slasher's Lizzie if Rat was right about what he'd seen. "You're sure it was her?"
"Yeah." The boy's head bobbed on his skinny neck, looking top-heavy enough to break it. "It were 'er. I'm sure. I thought you'd wanna know."
Dash fished in his pocket and thrust a few coins at the child then turned back to the others. "I have to go."
"Lizzie Turpin?" Mrs. Hyatt asked.
He nodded.
"Christ and Holy Mother Mary, what's this city coming to?" Perrier murmured as he crossed himself.
Even Robeson offered a sympathetic, "Bloody sick bastard.
Fuck!"
Victoria Waters looked up at Dash with concerned eyes.
"Someone you know has been murdered?"
Dash didn't have time to figure out what to do with his captive. He looked to Annie. "Would you take care of Miss Waters until I get back?"
Victoria leaped to her feet. "I'l come too. I'm no longer your prisoner, correct? I do not wish to stay here. Take me with you."
Dash hesitated. How could he tel her she wasn't a captive and then treat her like one? But he couldn't simply let her go, not until they'd finished making a decision about what would happen next.
"I'l stay in contact with you, I swear." She reached for his coat sleeve and looked up into his face. "And I'l accomplish what I promised."
Robeson pushed between them, jabbing a finger into Dash's chest. "We ain't done talking yet. Leave her here."
Dash slapped the man's hand aside, his hackles rising. Robeson simply breathing in the same room as him rubbed him the wrong way. He despised the man and didn't want to leave Victoria anywhere near him. Who knew what Robeson would take into his head to do with her--and he had plenty of flunkies who'd fol ow his bidding.
"I'l keep her with me." Dash reached out to take Victoria's hand.
She grasped his without hesitation.
"At least blindfold her," Perrier said. "She could lead the beaks right to us."
The old man had a point. Dash looked at Victoria and without missing a beat she reached into her coat pocket and pul ed out a long white gauze scarf, the kind women wore over their hats when they went motoring. "Wil this do?"
He was impatient now, anxious to be on his way. He had to see Lizzie's body before they took her away, had to see for himself if she was real y dead. He hastily tied the scarf around Miss Waters's eyes before taking her hand and walking her to the door. He shut it behind him on Robeson's grumblings and Perrier's complaints.
Victoria stumbled alongside him down the rough passageways.
He should never have embarked on the foolish misadventure of a kidnap plan. The last thing he needed now was a captive to look after. His stomach churned and his fear for Lizzie's life swel ed in his chest like gasses expanding in a dirigible.
At last they reached the west entrance of the Warren. There he stopped and pul ed the blindfold from her eyes. She blinked and looked around, taking in her surroundings.
Dash knew he wasn't thinking clearly or acting wisely. In his original plan, he'd en
visioned keeping Victoria blindfolded and releasing her at night somewhere far from the Warren, perhaps in the park in front of her own home. But his view of Victoria Waters had changed. Despite his usual y wary nature, he believed her when she promised not to tel the police she'd been kidnapped.
He prayed he was right in trusting her.
They'd traveled several city blocks underground and now had to walk a few more to reach Bright Street. Victoria was pink-cheeked and breathless. A hansom cab passed by and Dash considered simply sending her home. He frowned, caught in indecision.
Victoria patted her perspiring face with the scarf before stuffing it back into her pocket. She looked at him with a grim, resolute expression. "Shal we go?" Her heels tapped over the board walkway and Dash moved into step alongside her.
Neither spoke as they hurried to the site of the Southwark Slasher's latest kil --the fourth according to the papers. But considering the district where the murders took place, it was possible there'd been others never found or reported. This wasn't a place where people rushed for the nearest watchman when there was a crime, and the women who'd been kil ed weren't the type beloved relatives would report missing. Whores were expendable. They died from disease or violence and few missed them.
But Lizzie was not expendable and Dash would miss her even if they rarely saw each other anymore. She'd raised him and cared for him as much as she was able.
A crowd was gathered at the mouth of the al ey behind Crawler's Pub. Dash slowed as he neared the site of the murder. He'd have to push his way through the crowd in order to see her, and suddenly that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Miss Waters squeezed his hand, reminding him of her presence.
He glanced down at her. She was a slight thing, the top of her head coming just to his chin, but her grip was hard.
"This is a friend of yours? Perhaps it's best if you don't see..."
