The Friday Society

by Adrienne Kress

  All seemed forgiven now. Cora had expected it. Lord White had a tendency to act all huffy about something until he moved on to the next topic and then forgot all about being upset. It was almost as if he could feel only one emotion at a time. Besides, she knew he didn’t particularly enjoy being upset with her.

  “Well, well! Let’s see what you’ve done,” he said, pulling a seat between his two assistants and not noticing how little room he had to squeeze in. There was a pause as he looked at their work. “Not much, evidently.”

  “We were stumped, so we worked on other projects.” And . . . other things.

  It was impressive to watch Lord White work. He solved the problem of how to “make it go” in a matter of minutes, sticking pretty much to the original design specs. Then he set his assistants to their jobs and the day turned out to be rather productive after all.

  Andrew left before supper, and Lord White and Cora shared a pleasant meal in the formal dining room.

  “Now see, isn’t it better when you stay home at night instead of leaving me to go gallivanting around the city by yourself?” asked Lord White, scooping himself a second helping of mashed potatoes.

  When she didn’t respond right away, he looked at her with large trusting eyes, and she sighed.

  “Yes,” said Cora. “It is.”

  He smiled brightly and returned to the mashed potatoes.

  19

  And Then . . .

  NIGHT FELL OVER London. Lights were lit and glowed cozily from tall windows. Responsible people went to bed. Less responsible people ventured forth into the darkness.

  Three girls ventured forth.

  Michiko, dressed head to toe in black, the Silver Heart at her waist, tiptoed out the back door and into the alley.

  And Nellie grabbed a piece of toast as she said good-bye to the Magician, having to return to the apartment a moment later when she noticed Scheherazade had followed her out the door. “Stay, Sherry. Stay.”

  And Cora, overwhelmed by the day’s events, still a little light-headed from Andrew’s touch, and needing some air to collect her thoughts, slipped out through the kitchen when Lord White went to bed.

  * * *

  AND THE FOG rolled in.

  * * *

  CORA WAS THE first to stumble on the body. Her walk had led her back to the scene of last night’s crime, though she’d had no intention of returning. The carriage had been cleared and the street was empty. No traffic. No sounds from the city, even. Just quiet stillness and a white blanket over everything.

  She didn’t know why her feet had carried her to this spot. Clearly she hadn’t been thinking about the murder at all, but of her own silly concerns. Like did Andrew really like her? Or was he just trying to win her over because she was particularly tricky, unlike the other girls he knew? And if he did like her . . . why?

  Of course, there was also the little matter of her own actions. Was she simply attracted to him because of his looks? Had he been right in that? After all, he’d yet to prove himself intellectually. Though . . . he was pretty good at banter. But could one trust someone who bantered so effortlessly?

  And then there she was. At the place where a murder had been committed. Where a man’s head had been divorced from its body and a man’s life from this earth.

  Strange place to wander to.

  “Cora.”

  The voice creaked, pushed its way through the fog, and landed a few feet in front of her. Close enough that she heard it, but only just.

  “Yes?” she called out.

  A pause.

  “Help.”

  The voice was clearer now, and Cora realized it came from behind her, from where she’d just been. She retraced her steps, squinting out into the fog before her.

  “Where are you?”

  A pause.

  “Down . . .”

  Another pause.

  “. . . here.”

  For the first time, Cora let her eyes fall to the cobblestone road beneath her feet. She caught sight of the hand first, and as she moved toward it, the rest of the body came into view.

  It was a girl. Her age? Younger? Older? It was hard to tell. She had the world-weary face of someone who’d grown up on the street, but her eyes were wide with the fear of a small child.

  Cora knelt down beside her and finally saw the blood. The last thing to come into sharp focus. The girl was holding her stomach, a mess of red and fabric, her other hand outstretched and clutching at the stone street beneath it. Reaching out as if it was seeking something. The flowers from the basket that lay at her side fell along her torso and spilled onto the ground.

  A small, but strong voice. A familiar voice. “Knew it was you. Knew the other day too.” A pause to breathe. “Recognized you right off, even if you wouldn’t look at me . . .”

  “Oh my God.” The girl from yesterday. In the market. It all came flooding back. Cora grabbed the hand and felt it squeeze hers tightly.

  “What happened?”

  “I were comin’ to find you. To . . . get yer help. . . . But ’e found me . . . attacked me. . . .” The girl gasped then, and a trickle of blood seeped out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Don’t talk. Don’t say anything, I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

  The girl closed her eyes. “You sound like a real posh one now.”

  “Shhh . . .”

  “Some don’t fancy it, says it’s all airs. But me, I always knew you’d end up well.”

  “Please, you have to save your energy. . . .” Cora placed her hand behind the girl’s head and tried to prop it up, but it was a deadweight.

  The girl opened her eyes again. “Glad it’s you, ’ere now. Beginnin’ and the end.”

  Oh my God.

  Alice.

  The realization flashed bright across her memory. How could she not have recognized Alice?

  Tears welled up in Cora’s eyes.

  “Now, none of that, Cora. You’re the tough one. . . . Ain’t right.”

  And that was it.

  That was the last thing she said, and it wasn’t poetic or profound. In fact, it was all about Cora, which seemed really inappropriate, seeing as she hadn’t seen Alice since she was ten years old when they’d run around together making a nuisance of themselves.

  Now Alice was lying still in the street, the red still seeping from her middle, and in it little purple and pink flowers.

  “Not again!”

  Cora turned at the voice and looked up. Nellie was staring at Alice’s body in horror, and Cora flashed back instantly to the night before when they’d discovered Michiko.

  Of course, Michiko hadn’t died.

  Cora stood. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was actually comin’ to find you. Headin’ to your place.”

  “You, too?”

  “Needed to ask your help. Who’s she?” Nellie knelt down and picked up a stray flower that had found its way onto the cobblestones.

  “She was coming to find me, too. Her name is Alice. We were friends when I was little, living on the street. She had a home, though . . . well, a room in a tenement. Her parents would take me in a lot. They were nice.”

  And then I vanished and never told them where I’d gone or why, thought Cora, finishing the story to herself. Her stomach was hollow, and yet despite how empty it felt, she thought she might still throw up.

  “Why was she comin’ to see you?”

  “I don’t know.” How could she not have remembered Alice?

  “Do you want a hug?”

  Cora looked at Nellie blankly. “What?”

  “You’re upset. It don’t make sense, but a hug can help.”

  “Uh . . . no . . . thank you.” It seemed unlikely that it would make much of a difference. “I could use some help taking her home, though.”

  “Well, I’m a right good lifter.”

  “Excellent.”

  Cora’s stomach clenched. As she reached for Alice, her thoughts went back to last night. She’d been so ca
valier about the dead guy in Nellie’s apartment, turned it into a big joke. And what about the headless Dr. Welland? She’d barely thought of him since last night. But this time it hit home. The men from last night weren’t just bodies; they’d been people, with lives and folk who cared about them. Just as tonight she carried not just a corpse in her arms, but Alice. Quiet, sweet Alice who only got in trouble because Cora got her into it.

  And she wondered . . . was it somehow her fault in this case, too?

  She shouldn’t have dismissed Dr. Welland’s murder as she had. Whoever this mysterious attacker in the fog was, he meant business. And Cora wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

  “Hello.”

  “Good God, what are you doing here?” Both Nellie and Cora stood upright as Michiko approached from the shadows. She was dressed head to toe in black, literally, for a hood covered her long sleek hair, so that she appeared to be a ghostly face floating in the fog.

  Michiko, of course, didn’t say anything; just looked at the body before her.

  “We’re takin’ her home,” explained Nellie slowly.

  “Home. Yes.” Michiko understood. Cora was certain of that.

  All three girls bent down and took hold of the girl. She wasn’t that heavy to lift, and Cora wasn’t surprised. Alice had been a bit of a frail thing to begin with, and being poor helped keep one’s figure trim. Well, that was a nice way of putting it. There was nothing fashionable about starving.

  “Follow my lead,” she said.

  They met few people on their journey, and the one elderly man they did pass nodded sagely, as if he’d long been expecting to see three girls carrying a dead body.

  It wasn’t until they turned down the dusty alley that led to Alice’s front door that anyone took any real notice.

  “Blimey, what’s that, then?” asked a rough voice, and though Cora refused to answer the man, he came up to investigate anyway. “That ain’t Alice, is it? No. Bloody hell!” He ran up ahead of them and was banging on the door before they even got a chance. “Toby! Mary!” He yelled so loudly that windows opened around them, heads peered out.

  Cora, Nellie, and Michiko carried the body to the door, which opened as they arrived. Alice’s parents stood in the frame. Toby, a short squat man, stood protectively in front of his tiny wife.

  “Mr. Foster . . .” started Cora, but he had no interest in what she had to say. Silent tears started streaming down his cheeks the moment he saw his little girl, and without uttering a word, he stepped to one side to allow the three of them to bring her across the threshold. The door shut out the man who’d banged on the door and the rest of the prying eyes.

  It was an awkward moment, standing in the small public stairwell, but soon Mr. Foster scooped up Alice out of their hands and into his arms, and they were following him up three flights of stairs.

  The place hadn’t changed in all the time that Cora had been living at Lord White’s—though, Cora thought, it seemed smaller. The same faded wallpaper peeked out from under several layers of grime. And the stairs creaked as much as they ever had, letting everyone in the building know someone was using them. It had been extra frustrating when the someone who was using them had been trying to sneak in late at night, Cora recalled. And that smell. That same smell of sweat and body odor, of men and women worked to the bone. Of boots tracking in the waste, human and animal, from the street. Of booze and burned meat.

  Doors opened as they passed, just a crack, just enough to see what it was this time. And then they closed. As they always did.

  The room the Fosters rented was on the third floor, and as they entered it, Cora noticed how it, too, seemed unchanged. Neat and as tidy as Mary could make it, with her hand-sewn quilts covering the walls as artwork. A dwindling fire burned in the small coal stove, a luxury that the Fosters had always been proud of.

  Gingerly, Toby laid his daughter on the small mattress in the corner, the same mattress Cora and Alice had snuggled on to keep each other warm whenever she was a guest.

  Now nothing would keep Alice warm.

  Toby pushed his daughter’s hair from her face and sat down beside her, holding her hand.

  “Did you see ’im?” asked Mary quietly, setting herself in her chair by the fire and gesturing for Cora to take the other one. She gestured to Nellie and Michiko, too, but they seemed content to stay in the corner by the door.

  “No,” replied Cora.

  Mary nodded. “It started a few nights ago. First Gwen, then Annie. Then Beth. All flower girls. We warned her. Told her not to go. Just for now. But Alice, she—”

  “Was stubborn.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Mrs. Foster, it’s me, Cora Bell.”

  Mary covered her mouth with her hand and her stoic expression faltered. Her eyes filled with tears that made them shine in the candlelight. “Oh my. Cora Bell. Now, ain’t that somethin’. She said she was going to find you, to ask you to help. That you’d listen. Said somethin’ about seein’ ya the other day. But I never thought—”

  “She recognized me right away. She recognized me through the fog.”

  “She were always a clever one. Never thought it of herself, though.” Mary couldn’t hold back anymore, and Cora was astounded to see the woman, who had always been so strong and yet so kind, finally break down. Funny how memories could just come back to you as clear as day after not having thought about them for years. Mary Foster had always been the one to go to if things got tough, if life got hard. Harder than it already was. She could fix any problem, make you feel right again.

  So seeing her upset, even though she hadn’t seen her in years, made Cora’s throat so tight she thought she might stop breathing.

  “I want you to know,” Cora said, fighting the tears back with each word, “that I’m going to find the man who did this. And I’ll bring him to justice.”

  It sounded so grand, so noble. She didn’t feel either, particularly.

  Mary reached out and grabbed her hand. “The police ain’t interested in the likes of us. Even though it’s a pattern as clear as any, they say it’s just coincidence. But they’d listen to you, like Alice said. What with your new . . . arrangement.”

  Cora wondered exactly what the people of her old community thought that arrangement was. She was pretty sure she knew where their imaginations had taken them.

  But she just nodded.

  “Now, how about a cuppa?” Mary stood.

  “That’s lovely of you, Mrs. Foster, but I should be getting back. It’s quite late.” Cora rose and glanced at Nellie and Michiko. She was impressed how they didn’t seem to mind being so inconvenienced. Especially seeing as they’d all only just met the day before. It wasn’t as if they owed her anything, especially not loyalty.

  “Right,” said Mary. “Well.”

  She looked at Cora, and Cora looked at her, and everything felt so completely odd.

  How does one leave a room that had been a second home once, a family one hasn’t seen in seven years, and a flower girl growing cold in the corner?

  In the end, there’s only one way.

  Through the door.

  Once the door was closed and all three girls were standing on the other side, Cora quietly said, “Bye, Alice.” She leaned her forehead against the door. Then, in barely a whisper, added, “I’m an awful person.”

  “You’re not,” said Nellie, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.

  “Didn’t even say good-bye back then. Didn’t even come to see them.”

  “What, you were ten, right? You were a little kid. Now, don’t you go judgin’ a wee kid.”

  Cora turned to face her new friends. They were friends, weren’t they? It was okay for her to think of them that way, right? Not that she deserved friends, not with how easily she could just forget about people, desert people . . .

  She just stared at Nellie and Michiko, not able to articulate what she wanted to say. Not knowing what that was in the first place.

  “Let’s get you
some fresh air, then.” Nellie wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder and escorted her down the stairs and into the now-empty narrow street.

  20

  Three Girls and Three Men

  NELLIE DIDN’T KNOW Cora particularly well. This was because she’d only met her the night before, and you just couldn’t get to know a person that quickly. Like the Magician—it had been almost two years now and he’d still surprise her with a new story or a new talent. But she was good at reading people. It was her thing. And she knew that Cora was hurting. Bad.

  The street air seemed to calm her a little bit, but Nellie knew a good walk would refresh the senses best. She led her friends back toward Lord White’s, a place she’d never been to but had ascertained the whereabouts of that afternoon.

  “Uh,” said Nellie after they’d wandered out onto the empty high street. Though there couldn’t have been fewer people on the road than on the narrower streets they’d navigated, it seemed even more deserted because of its size and the lack of the usual daytime bustle. The fog today was yellower in hue than the night before, and the lamps glowed like little suns at equal intervals along the street. Little creepy suns.

  “Did you say something?” asked Cora.

  “Well, it don’t seem right to ask you for a favor . . .”

  “Why not?”

  “Well . . . uh . . .”

  “What is it, Nellie?”

  “You remember that bloke . . . the one in my sittin’ room . . .”

  “The dead guy, yes.”

  Nellie turned to examine Cora’s expression, but it didn’t flinch, so she continued. She explained the story from earlier that day, about the weird Dr. Mantis, and even mentioned the eyeballs, because they were particularly noteworthy. Then she brought up the checkbook and Mr. Carter.

  “And I was thinkin’, seein’ as you seemed to know everyone at the party last night . . .”

  “I could talk to him about it. I can’t see that being a problem.”