The Friday Society

by Adrienne Kress

  Why were they here? And why were they hiding behind a curtain?

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m hiding behind a curtain,” said Nellie quickly. Michiko understood the gist of what she said and nodded.

  “It’s a . . . long story.”

  Michiko didn’t know what to say. Or how she’d articulate anything she’d wanted to say in the first place.

  “Okay, see, I found out that the dead man, you remember, not the one in the street, the other one, from my place, was a member of the Society of Heroes, and then I found out that Mr. Carter gave a bunch of money to another member of the society, and I was thinkin’ that maybe he had somethin’, some papers or . . . somethin’ . . . that would help me find out what was goin’ on and such.”

  Michiko raised her hand to silence her. “Mr. Carter’s house,” she said, pointing down to the ground.

  “Yes. I know.”

  Michiko nodded. “Heroes?”

  “There’s a secret group of scientists. And it’s got somethin’ to do with the dead man in my flat.” Nellie spoke more slowly and Michiko could distinguish each word. It was still difficult to understand. Something to do with science. And Mr. Carter. And a dead man. The dead man Michiko had found on the street? The dead man in Nellie’s apartment? There were too many dead men.

  Whatever it was, Nellie clearly thought there was a connection with a dead man and this house and was investigating. But in the middle of the day? And in her underwear?

  “Why dress like that?”

  Nellie looked at herself then back up. “It’s easier to climb when you’ve got your legs free. And I’m used to doin’ this sort of stuff in my costume, seemed to make sense . . .”

  “Costume?”

  “Yes. My costume. Or . . . one of my costumes.”

  It still didn’t make a lot of sense that she would be in her costume, but it didn’t make sense for Michiko to mistrust Nellie either. What other reason could she have for being in Mr. Carter’s study in her underwear . . . well . . . actually . . .

  “Mr. Carter here?”

  Clearly the look she gave Nellie was enough to make the girl gasp and then giggle. Nellie gestured for Michiko to come over to the window, which she opened. Then she motioned for Michiko to stick her head out and look up. Michiko leaned out and looked in the direction where Nellie had pointed. At first she didn’t see anything, but she kept looking hard until she saw a fine rope or wire or something dangling down over the roof.

  Michiko pulled herself back inside.

  “See? I broke in. I wasn’t . . . invited . . . if that’s what you were gettin’ at,” said Nellie with a wink.

  “Broke in . . .” Oh! She broke in! A bit criminal, but not anything more . . . illicit. She broke in because . . . she wanted to find information about the dead men. Yes, that was it! “Did you find?” she asked.

  “Nope, nothing so far,” said Nellie a little sadly. “No papers. At least, nothing important.”

  “You think he know? Maybe he know.” It was hard work having this conversation, but for the first time in a long time, Michiko wanted to try. Maybe that had been the problem all along. Not that she couldn’t learn English, but that there hadn’t been anyone she’d been all that interested in having conversations with in the first place.

  “He knows something. He got scared when Cora talked to him.” She paused. Then repeated: “Scared.”

  “Scared.” Mr. Carter was scared. Yes. He must be. Mr. Carter had hired Callum to teach his family how to defend themselves. He was scared. What did scared men do with information . . . “Fire.”

  She pointed at the large fireplace and Nellie’s eyes opened wide. Together they flew across the room and crouched, staring into the cinders. Likely all they’d find was ash, but it was worth looking, wasn’t it?

  “Son of Mary and Joseph, look at that.” Nellie extended a black-gloved hand and gingerly pulled out a piece of paper that had fallen to the side of the iron cradle that held two charred pieces of wood. It was covered in black, but still whole. Still existed in its paper form, not turned to ash and dust. It was all that was there, but it was something. Something that wasn’t meant to be found and so probably exactly what they were looking for.

  Nellie examined it closely.

  “You see?” asked Michiko. What had Nellie noticed?

  Nellie shook her head. “No. That is to say, I see somethin’, but I can’t tell what. But I can discover what.” She grinned and stood. “Thank you, Michiko.”

  Michiko bowed.

  And then Mrs. Carter let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  * * *

  NELLIE ALMOST DROPPED the paper in shock and turned, as did Michiko. The scream had come from downstairs, but it was so ear-piercing that it startled both girls. “What in the name of all that’s holy . . .” Nellie skipped quietly to the door and opened it a crack. A maid flew past just at that moment, but fortunately she was so distracted she didn’t notice Nellie peeking through the door.

  “What?” asked Michiko at her side.

  Nellie shook her head and opened the door wider. “Go,” she ordered Scheherazade on her shoulder. Miraculously the bird seemed to understand and flew across the room to the open window. Then Nellie and Michiko slipped through the door and, staying flat to the wall in the hallway, made their way to the staircase. Like children sneaking out of bed while their parents had a party downstairs, they peered through the railing.

  Mr. Carter’s bloodied body was lying on the marble floor. Mrs. Carter was next to him in a flowing dressing gown, and Sir Callum Fielding-Shaw was standing off to the side, looking so casual he might as well have been whistling.

  “Why did you bring him here?” screeched Mrs. Carter at the two men standing in the shadow of the doorway. “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

  “’E said take ’im home. So we did.”

  Nellie thought the voice sounded very familiar, and she crouched lower to try to see the man’s face.

  “Besides,” said the other one, “there ain’t nothin’ for ’im. ’E’s as good as dead.”

  “Yes, well, thank you, gentlemen,” said Callum, finally speaking up. He walked over to the door and made to close it in their faces when one of the men stuck his foot in to prevent it.

  “I don’t suppose ’e’d be willin’ to contribute in the name of science . . .”

  “Whatever are you going on about . . .?”

  “’E’ll be freshly dead, see, and such bits of a person could be right ’elpful to the scientific community . . .”

  “Get out!” wailed Mrs. Carter. “You vultures, picking off pieces of him . . . Get out!”

  This time the door was properly closed, and Nellie knew exactly who the mystery men were. Messrs. Staunch and Proper. Again.

  “Hey, you! What are you doin’?” Nellie looked up and saw one of the butlers at the far end of the hall staring at her and Michiko.

  Nellie stood and ran; so did Michiko. “Madam!” called out the butler. “There’s thieves about!”

  Michiko grabbed Nellie and pulled her into the nearest room, which happened to be Mr. Carter’s bedroom. She saw Michiko close the door and lock it behind them. They ran to the window and opened it wide. Scheherazade almost flew right into their faces.

  “Scared,” the bird squawked quietly into Nellie’s ear as she came to rest on her shoulder.

  “I know.” She gave the bird a scratch under the chin, then turned to Michiko. “Coming?” she asked.

  “No.” Of course, “no.” Michiko had been admitted into the house. It was Nellie who was trespassing. With a quick thank-you and a wave, Nellie slipped out through the window and heard it close behind her as she stood tentatively on the narrow ledge. She was now several floors lower than her rope. Glancing down, she noticed the retreating figures of Mr. Staunch and Mr. Proper and hoped that they wouldn’t think of looking up. They were deep in conversation, though, and didn’t seem interested in anything in the vicinity.

  The
n, an idea.

  She took Scheherazade off her shoulder, placed her on her forearm, and pointed at the thin dangling line. “Fetch,” she said. Please fetch, oh please.

  Scheherazade flew off Nellie’s arm in the direction of the rope and, like a very good bird, unhooked it and carried it back to her. The parrot got another solid scratch under the chin for her efforts before being sent with the rope back to the tree with Nellie holding on to the far end. This time the parrot seemed most confident in the task, almost excited to be performing it, and easily hooked it around a thick branch.

  Nellie called Scheherazade back to her and handed her the piece of burned paper she and Michiko had found. “Careful,” she said. “Gentle. Take it over there.” She pointed to the tree once more. The bird took the paper delicately in her sharp beak and flew to the branch to wait for her mistress. Then without any hesitation, but with a silent prayer, Nellie swung on the rope to the tree. Her legs wrapped around the branch, and with very little effort she was safely sitting. She unhooked the rope herself this time, wound it up, and attached it to her belt. Then she waited till the coast was clear, jumped to the ground, put her long coat back on, and retrieved the paper from the parrot.

  She had no idea how to find out what had originally been written on it. But she was certain Cora would be able to. First, though, she needed to go home and change.

  And, with Scheherazade on her shoulder, Nellie strolled as casually as she could down the street and into the afternoon crowd.

  30

  And What Has Cora Been Up to This Whole Time? . . .

  “ARE YOU IGNORING me?”

  “I’m working. We need to get this done by the end of the day. The delivery boy comes at nine.” She was so close to finishing this device, no thanks to Andrew, who was apparently all thumbs when it came to such intricate work.

  “Where were you yesterday?”

  “With Lord White.”

  “All day.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you avoiding me?”

  “Not everything revolves around you.” Except, of course, that he was perfectly correct in his assumption. She had been avoiding him yesterday. She’d returned just in time to see him walking along the street in the opposite direction and had felt both relieved and a little disappointed to have missed him. And yes, she’d been ignoring him since he’d shown up—late—this morning.

  Today had been entirely devoted to working on the device, as a delivery boy was coming to pick it up after supper. A very hungover Lord White instructed her to put on the finishing touches and had locked himself up in his office for the rest of the day, only occasionally letting Barker in to see him.

  After the initial problem-solving issues, Cora had been set right on track, and she had spent the early hours of the morning putting together some of the larger brass elements. The hollow glass ball that went into the middle portion had cooled overnight and was ready to insert, and she’d been in the very middle of that very delicate task when Andrew had burst into the room.

  She hadn’t made eye contact with him since.

  So she finally did now.

  Immediately she felt flushed, even though she knew it didn’t register on her face.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said, putting down the device for a moment.

  “Anything.” Andrew pulled up his chair eagerly and took her hands in his before she had a moment to react.

  “How did you get this job?”

  Andrew gave her a sideways glance and then said, “Well, to be honest . . . it was all a bit of an accident.”

  “Accident?”

  Andrew rolled his eyes. “Some of the lads and I were bored one night. We were wandering down the mews that backs onto this house, and one of them pointed to the delivery doors and said that that’s where Lord White lived. He said he’d seen deliveries made and always wondered what Lord White got up to. After he said that, I thought a lot about it. Finally, I returned later that night, and . . . well . . . I broke in.”

  “That’s probably why he installed that new locking system two weeks ago.” Cora remembered overseeing it. Why on earth had Lord White not told her about any of this? Probably, as with many things, he just didn’t think to. Some days she practically had to read his mind, he could be so uncommunicative.

  “Lord White was, of course, working and caught me right away. But we were in a bit of a predicament. See, now I knew about his secret lab, and if he reported me . . . I’d probably be going to the nick.”

  “A posh boy like you . . .” Seemed unlikely.

  “The lads and I like to have fun. I’ve been caught more than once.”

  “Not very clever, now, are you?” This story really didn’t impress.

  “My parents have said I could use a bit of a lesson and told me if I ever got in trouble again, they wouldn’t be bailing me out. Well. Lord White and I struck a deal. He wouldn’t report me if I wouldn’t tell anyone. The thing was, it all looked so interesting that I asked him for a job. And here I am.”

  “Do you really want to be an inventor?” she asked. It didn’t seem like he did. All he’d done in the afternoon was reorganize, yet again, the tools and update the stock sheet. He hadn’t even touched the device, which Cora hadn’t minded one bit. And she had it on good authority from the glass blower, who was still on the premises when she’d gotten in last night, that Andrew had spent most of the afternoon napping in the corner.

  Andrew sighed. “I thought I did. On the surface, it all looks marvelous. But after these past few days, I’ve realized it’s a lot of dull work. To be honest, I don’t know what I want, and I don’t think it really matters. Why should someone like me work?”

  Cora thought that an odd question. “Because it’s satisfying, because . . . of passion . . .”

  Andrew pulled his chair in close at that, and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “I have passion . . .”

  Cora’s heart was pounding fast again. She didn’t understand how he could have such an effect on her when what he was saying was so pathetic. “Look at Lord White . . .”

  “I’d rather look at you . . .”

  “He’s rich. He’s a lord. But he gave up his seat in the House of Lords so that he could run for Parliament. So that he could follow his passion of someday being Prime Minister. He didn’t need to do any of it. And this, this laboratory . . . he works just as hard here and only charges for the pleasure so that people don’t figure out he’s someone that can afford to do without. He gives away all the money he earns here to charity, and . . .”

  Andrew’s fingers had made it to her neck and were gently caressing it. She lost her train of thought.

  “You really like to talk about Lord White,” he said, leaning in and kissing her cheek.

  “Well, he’s my boss . . .”

  “Not everyone speaks of their bosses like you do.”

  “He took me in . . .” She could feel his hot breath on her ear and she closed her eyes.

  “What do you think he wants from you?”

  That made her open her eyes.

  “Wants from me?”

  “You know what I mean . . .”

  “No,” she said, gently pushing him back so they were face-to-face again, “I don’t.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Oh, come on, Cora. Look at you. You’re lovely. And you worship him . . .”

  “I don’t worship—”

  “He’s trained you well. What else could he possibly want from you?”

  Her passion had changed drastically into hot rage. It was an easy transition to make. “I don’t know, maybe he wants my talent. Maybe he wants my company because I’m interesting. Maybe he can’t live without me since I organize every facet of his life, know his dietary restrictions, keep track of every penny in his bank account, all his plans for the future.”

  “Now, don’t get angry . . .”

  “Why not? Why shouldn’t I get angry? You’ve just said my value as a person is wrapped up in my appearance a
nd—”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Look, just stop, okay? Let’s not fight again. Besides, you have a lot of work to do.” He tried to smile, but she gave him a look that prevented it.

  “You’re right. I do.”

  Typically, anger distracted her from whatever she was doing, but there was something in this particular brand of rage that suited the task at hand perfectly. It had something to do with proving to Andrew that she was more than just a pretty face.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said quietly a few moments later.

  “No, you aren’t.”

  “I’m not sorry for thinking what I did; after all, you are beautiful. But I didn’t mean there wasn’t anything else to you. I just didn’t think Lord White was aware of it.”

  “Well, he is.”

  “Good.”

  She hadn’t stopped working, but she directed her focus back where it belonged.

  “So we’re friends again?”

  She looked up at him and gave him a look of death.

  “I’ll take that as a yes?”

  31

  . . . And Back to Michiko . . . Again . . .

  THEY WERE BANGING hard on the door. Michiko closed the drapes to the window and took a deep breath. Then she crossed the room and unlocked the door.

  It burst open and she took several steps back into the room.

  The butler who’d spotted her and Nellie was in front, followed by Callum and Mrs. Carter. Clearly thieves were of far more importance than the dying man downstairs.

  “See, ma’am! I told you!” said the butler, very proud of his clever ability to spot individuals who were already in plain sight.

  Callum sighed hard, and Mrs. Carter stormed over to her. “What are you doing in my husband’s room?”

  The good thing about not being able to speak the language: You don’t have to answer questions. “No understand.”

  Mrs. Carter grabbed Michiko by her shoulders and shook her. That was unpleasant. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

  Yes, because shouting and shaking will make understanding easier. “You tell Michiko go. I go.”