“On the contrary, my dear girl, I believe it is I who needs your help.” He set the shirt on a corner of the table and placed one hand on a cloth satchel beside it. “This contains detailed copies of the blueprints for the clockwork prosthesis and of my new will. I’ve been working on them since I arrived here. I was going to entrust these to a woman who helped me before, but, since you knew where to find me, I see my trust in her was misplaced.”
“Don’t be upset with Heldie, Mr. Folesworth. I don’t think she told anyone else. She’s just a bit simple.”
He chuckled at that and she glared at him, daring him to call her simple. His amused expression faded, and a sad smile took its place. “I apologize. You may be poor, but you are positively not simple. I think the word to describe you best would be unexpected, though remarkable is also in the running.” He regarded her with such a sorrowful look then that she had to look away, her tear-blurred gaze sliding down to the satchel. “I must apologize for my appalling manners. I never even asked your name.”
“Maeko,” she murmured.
“Just Maeko.”
Shame burned in her cheeks as she nodded.
“Japanese?”
She looked up at him, surprised.
“I’ve always been fascinated by other cultures. I suspected, from your features, that you had a good helping of Asian blood in you.” He coughed and nodded to himself. “I need someone to take these copies to this Detective Emeraude and bring her here or at least tell her where to find me. Can I ask you to be that someone?”
What he asked wouldn’t be easy. Searching for the detective without ending up in Literati hands would be difficult and she would have to think fast to get the woman to listen to her after their last encounter. Still, if Em came and spoke with Lucian, he could tell her about Joel and clear Ash’s family. That was why she had come searching for him, wasn’t it?
A prickle of trepidation climbed up the back of her neck when she nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll do it.”
His face relaxed, relief soothing some of the depth from the lines that etched his brow. “I have the originals hidden away with my weapon sketches, but these still mustn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
She nodded. Her empty stomach churned. “You should know your good friend Joel is looking for you and for the pirates accused of murdering your family. I’m afraid he’s on the right trail. He did this—” she pointed to the bruise from the gun barrel “—and he hired that bludger you hit with the candelabra to find you.”
Lucian bowed his head as if the weight of his thoughts was becoming too much to carry. “My mistakes have had an unfortunate impact on your life. I’ll do what I can to see that you’re compensated when this is over.”
“I could use some tin.” At his look, she said, “Not for me. It’s for my mum.”
He gazed at her for a minute then nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, but right now I can only give you money for transportation…and the shirt off my back.” He added the last with a wry smirk.
When he handed her the shirt this time, she took it and went around a line of crates to change, biting her lip against the pain in her shoulder. The shirt hung loose on her. She had to roll up the sleeves, but he was slender enough that the top button at least hit high enough to be decent. She walked back around and Lucian stared at her for a bit before shaking his head.
“Such a pretty young lady shouldn’t be running about in men’s clothes.”
Widow Jameson had said almost the same thing, though it was the memory of Ash saying she was too pretty to pass as a boy that made her duck her head to hide the burn of embarrassment behind her hair. Then she recalled with a stronger flush that she no longer had enough hair to hide behind. Ash. He probably hated her now, if he ever liked her in the first place.
“You don’t have to sweet-talk me, Mr. Folesworth,” she replied, a cynical edge in her tone. “I’m helping you because it’ll help the people I care about.”
He tilted his head to the side and regarded her, her bitterness rolling over him like a light mist. “I wasn’t cajoling. In all honesty, if you grew out your hair and put on a dress I think you’d find that most young men would agree with me.”
She shuddered. “Joel said something similar.”
His expression darkened. “That’s a discussion for another day, perhaps. Here.” He handed her a coin pouch. “There should be more than enough in there to get you around the city a few times while not enough to draw attention. I do hate to put this burden on you. However, since you know what this detective looks like and I daren’t be seen until I have protection, I don’t see that I have many other options.”
She gave him a discerning look. “Why didn’t you go to the Lits for help?”
He exhaled, his shoulders sinking, and leaned on the table. “For all that I supported their rise to power, I’m afraid I don’t know who among them I can trust. Joel has many allies in Literati organizations and my refusal of the weapons contract hasn’t made me popular with them. I fear that, without sufficient proof of his guilt, they may be as much of a threat to me as he is. For now, I put my life in the hands of a lovely young lady masquerading as a common street rat.”
She took the pouch and tucked it in a pocket, then lifted the satchel from the table and hung the strap over her good shoulder. “It’s no masquerade, Mr. Folesworth.”
Macak jumped on the table and walked to the nearest edge. He meowed up at her. She smiled and scratched his head. It was hard to leave him again, like tearing off a piece of herself, but she needed to know he was safe. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten you mate, but you’re safer here right now. I’ll be back. Promise.”
She hurried away, holding back foolish sorrow. After she helped Lucian out of his fix, maybe he’d be willing to let her visit Macak, though she found that hard to imagine.
A street rat dropping by the home of one of the wealthiest men in London? Not likely. Best to move on and forget any of this ever happened.
After opening the door a tiny crack to see if it was clear, she slipped out and hastened away from the building to lessen chances of someone seeing where she had come from. Morning light gave a pale glow to the thick, smelly yellow fog draped over this part of the city like a moldy blanket, rolling in off the water of the Thames a few streets over.
Until she reached more populous streets, she startled at every sound. As soon as she could, she boarded an omnibus, clutching the satchel close, all too aware of how appealing a mark it would be for others of her trade. Jostling in the cramped seats made her wounds hurt and she felt the warm spread of fresh blood seeping from the cut under its makeshift bandage. The smaller cuts on her neck earned her more than one awkward glance, but the collar of the shirt hung too loose and her hair was too short to cover them, so she pretended not to notice. She could hardly get off fast enough at her stop.
As she walked up the street to her mother’s house, the exhale of a fancy steamcoach coming around a corner caught her attention. Her nerves crackled and she ducked down alongside a wall at the next house down. A coach that nice was probably passing through, but her pulse still raced with fear, keeping her from leaving the spot.
The door of her mother’s house opened just as the steamcoach chugged to a stop out front. Maeko peeked around the corner. Lottie stared at the coach for a second, closing the front door behind her. The door of the coach opened. Lottie set her jaw and walked toward it. Maeko’s breath caught in her throat when Joel stepped out, cold sweat rising on the back of her neck. She clutched the strap of Lucian’s satchel tight. Did he find out somehow that Garrett was there?
Lottie stopped in his path. “Can I help ye?”
Joel didn’t answer immediately. He eyed the house from under the brim of the gray coachman hat in scowling silence and Maeko trembled with the certainty that he would somehow spot her. He finally turned his frown on Lottie.
“A cabman told me he dropped an unusual trio here the other night. A drunken man and two youths—”
Lottie started to step around him and his hand shot out, grabbing her arm in a pinching grip. He yanked her close, putting his face in hers. “I do mind. I have to find them. If they’re not here, then where did they go?”
Maeko chewed her lip and twisted the satchel strap in her sweaty grip. Would he dare do anything to Lottie there, in the open, where anyone could see? She’d seen the crazy in his eyes, but there had been a certain calculating shrewdness there as well.
Lottie lifted her chin, staring into those eyes. “I didn’t ask ’em and I don’t much care long as they stay away from ’ere. I run an ’onest business, so, unless ye gots some togs as need launderin’, I suggest ye be on yer way.”
Joel glared at her. She winced as the flesh of her arm bulged around his tightening fingers, but continued to hold his gaze. Then he let go, the perfect shapes of his fingers rising red on her pale skin. Lottie sneered at him before stalking away. Maeko held her breath as he stood glowering at the house. When he didn’t move, she tucked herself alongside the low wall and focused on breathing soft and shallow. After what seemed an eternity, the steamcoach chugged off down the road. She took a deep breath.
Too close.
She sat for a time until the shaking eased then hurried to the door and slipped into the dim house, tucking her chin to try to hide the visible cuts. A patched blanket hung from the ceiling, sectioning off the back of the main room where she assumed Garrett still rested. Her mother sat in a corner, her fine boned hands working at stitching a hole in another blanket. The door clicked shut. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide, then she breathed a small sigh, the anxious lines in her face fading.
“Sumimasen.” Maeko forced an apologetic tone, though it rankled a bit. Right now, she needed to set aside awkwardness with Tomoe. Besides, barging in on someone harboring a wanted man was a daft thing to do. “I should have knocked.”
“Yes.” Tomoe cast her eyes down. “The cat—”
“I know. He found me. He’s safe.”
Tomoe looked up in surprise then frowned. “Are you well? You look pale.”
Someone stepped around the curtain.
Ash.
Maeko closed her eyes, hiding the giddy rush of relief at knowing he was safe, especially now that she knew both Joel and Em had come so close to finding them. She opened her eyes again, inhaled the rich aroma of something cooking, and reached to pull the satchel off her shoulder. Searing pain ran through the cut in her other shoulder. The room spun. She reached for a table to steady herself and missed.
Tomoe half rose, but Ash was there first, catching her arm. He focused on the wounded shoulder and his eyes widened.
“You’re bleeding.” The distress in his voice brought a flutter to her stomach.
Did he actually care?
Turning her head, she saw that blood had soaked through the cloth bandage and a line of bright red seeped through the shoulder of the shirt. The room spun again. Ash still held her elbow and she leaned into his hand to keep her balance. He took her chin in his free hand and lifted, turning her head to get a better look. His brow furrowed. His hand moved down then, one finger tracing beneath a cut on her neck. She jerked away, not because it hurt this time, but because it felt shockingly pleasant.
He flushed and pulled his hand back. “What happened?”
“I was attacked in an alley,” she replied. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing wouldn’t still be bleeding.”
“Bring her here,” Tomoe pointed firmly at one of the chairs next to the little table.
She stood her ground. No. I won’t be beholden to her.
Ash took hold of her wrist and tugged, gentle but insistent. His cautionary look when she didn’t budge said her there was a lot more force in reserve that he would use if necessary. “Don’t be stubborn. Let your mum take a look at that. Or do I have to carry you over?”
She relented, knowing she was too weak to put up a fight. He led her to the table and pushed her down into a chair, careful not to touch the injured shoulder in the process, then reached for the satchel. She scowled at him, but let him take it when he scowled as fiercely back, his green eyes flashing a warning. He set the satchel on a pile of folded clothes on a stool in the corner.
“She’s your patient now, Ms. Ishida.”
Tomoe’s gaze homed in on the growing bloodstain with professional scrutiny. She sat in another chair beside Maeko and unbuttoned the top few buttons, pulling the shirt askew to expose the shoulder. Maeko grabbed the front and held it together over her chest for modesty’s sake. Tomoe helped adjust the shirt so it wouldn’t fall open then turned to the crude bandage.
The torn cloth stuck to part of the wound and Maeko gasped, tears springing to her eyes. Tomoe scowled at the bandage and pursed her lips, the taught expression making a scar that ran at an angle under her nose stand out stark against her skin. She got up and left, returning a few minutes later with a bowl of water. She took a wetted rag from the bowl and laid it, dripping wet, over the bandage.
Maeko shivered as cold water dribbled down her skin under the shirt. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against the relentless sting as the water soaked through. A warm hand took hold of hers under the table and squeezed it. She opened her eyes. Ash had moved a chair up to sit on her other side. He smiled encouragement and she closed her eyes again, her chest aching at the fact that he chose to offer her such support even after the mean things they’d said to each other.
Tomoe worked the cloth free a little at a time and made a small hissing sound, not pleased with what she found beneath it. Ash’s hand clenched on hers, easing up when Maeko gave him a sharp look. He managed an apologetic smile, though the color had faded from his face. Not fond of the sight of blood, she supposed, though she chose not to look at the wound herself, as much for the pain the movement would cause as for the sudden worm of squeamishness in her stomach.
“This should be properly closed.”
Maeko’s empty stomach clenched tight and she broke out in a cold sweat. Closed. Stitched. A painful prospect.
“Are you sure? Can’t you just wrap it tighter?”
Tomoe didn’t answer. She considered the wound for a minute in tightlipped silence then went to rummage around in a concealed cupboard set deep in one wall. She returned with a cup of something and held it out to Maeko.
“Drink this.”
Maeko shied away, remembering the burn of the absinthe Lucian had given her. “What is it?”
“It has laudanum drops in it. It will reduce the pain and help you to relax.”
Maeko choked down a swallow of the bitter fluid with her mother looking on sternly and felt the faint burn of alcohol in her throat. She started to hand it back. Tomoe stepped away, nodding encouragement. Maeko’s stomach churned. Chaff once told her that it was easier to swallow strong liquor if you exhaled first. She blew out, holding her breath so she wouldn’t smell it, then poured it down her throat and promptly choked, coughing. So much for that technique.
Tomoe laughed into her hand, glancing over it almost shyly at Maeko who giggled self-consciously in return. Tomoe smiled, a beautiful expression, even with her scars, and took the cup away then began gathering and laying out the materials she would need to suture the wound. Maeko watched with a growing dread. A person never minded needles much until they were pointed their direction.
Her mother sat down again and her eyes tracked to the smaller cuts across Maeko’s throat and the bruise below them. “How did this happen?”
Too many questions would stem from the truth. Maeko retreated to the old sanctuary of silence.
>
Tomoe wasn’t going to let her stay there. “Maeko?” A firmer tone now. A demand with no foundation.
“It doesn’t matter,” Maeko snapped. “It can’t be undone.”
Tomoe clenched her jaw, the muscles twitching with suppressed irritation. She began to clean the wound. Maeko’s limbs were beginning to feel heavy with the effect of the laudanum, but she still had plenty of power to twist away from the pain. Ash squeezed her hand again and she did her best to stay still, gritting her teeth while Tomoe finished cleaning. When she pressed the needle tip into the angry flesh at the edge of the wound, Maeko jerked away.
Tomoe looked past her, nodding to Ash who released her hand. He slid his chair closer and moved to the edge of it so that he now straddled the back corner of her chair. Sitting between him and her mother with the table in front and the chair back behind, there was no longer room for her to move away. Ash took the wrist of her injured arm in one hand, placing it on the table and pinning it there. He was stronger than she gave him credit for and she couldn’t help resenting the restraint. Then he put his other hand against her cheek on the injured side, turning her face away from the wound and the contrasting gentleness of that touch made the flash of resentment fade. When her mother resumed working and she tried to pull away, his grip on her wrist held her firmly in place. The growing sedation of the drug made it even harder to fight him. A whimper rose in her throat and tears burned in her eyes.
“Sorry, Maeko,” he murmured.
Grinding her teeth, she turned further away from the pain, tucking her face against his neck. The contact might have proven embarrassing under normal circumstances. In that moment, the smell of him and the warmth of him helped ease the fear. The laudanum lulled her, lessening the sharp sting of the pain.
“Ash.” Her lips brushed the skin of his neck when she mumbled his name.
He inhaled. There was a long pause, then, “Yes.”
“I didn’t mean what I said when…” she trailed off, trying to recall what she had said. Something about him being a prat.
The Girl and the Clockwork Cat (Entangled Teen) Page 19
