The Friday Society

by Adrienne Kress

  “Well, that’s what you’ve been hinting at, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “I . . .”

  “I’m not. I don’t care how drunk you get me, or how much you kiss me. I’m not sleeping with you. I mean, what kind of person do you think I am?”

  Andrew pressed his lips together and inhaled sharply through his nose. Then: “I think you’re the kind of person who oughtn’t hold onto something as meaningless as ‘purity,’ when it’s only natural . . .”

  “I know, I know, instinct and all that, right? Like with killing. Lust is only natural. Sex is only natural.”

  “Well, it is. But you wouldn’t know that, would you, you little . . .” He stopped.

  Cora felt a flame burn bright inside her. “What? What am I?”

  “A tease. So direct. So to the point, little Miss Bell. A servant girl who thinks she’s better than everyone. Who thinks she better than me, for God’s sake.” He turned and spoke out as if he had an audience. Okay, so clearly she wasn’t the only one who was drunk.

  “I’m going home,” she said.

  “I’m coming with you.” He grabbed her arm.

  “No, you damn well aren’t!” She pulled her arm back.

  “Make me.”

  “Make you what? That doesn’t actually work with what I said before.”

  “I could hit you now,” he sputtered. “I could hit you.”

  Cora laughed. She couldn’t help herself. The way he’d phrased it, it was like a small child’s threat.

  He didn’t hit her. She hadn’t really thought he would. He just stumbled backward and pointed at her. Pointed at her and stabbed the air a few times. Then he spat on the ground. Then he started to laugh. “I don’t know why I thought you were any different from the rest of them. You’re not.”

  He wanted her to ask “the rest of whom?”, so she didn’t.

  She was done with this. He was drunk; she was drunk. The night was over. She had more important things to focus on. She really wished Nellie were here to vent to. Or Michiko, so she could give him a good walloping.

  The thought of Andrew being walloped made Cora smile, and she turned and walked away. Leaving Mr. Harris to do whatever it was Mr. Harris did when he wasn’t being a complete arse.

  36

  Also This . . .

  NELLIE SAT STARING at herself in her dressing room mirror. She was dawdling. She knew it. The audience had emptied from the theater. The Magician had packed up. She’d insisted he head off, and here she was, still in her bathrobe, just sitting. Staring at herself. Or kind of . . . past herself.

  It was like all the events from the week had suddenly hit her, just after the curtain call. There was no rhyme or reason as to why now. But there it was.

  She was overwhelmed.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” she said, not moving.

  The door opened a crack, and the stage manager stuck his head in. “Copper’s here to see you, miss.”

  “What?” She shifted her gaze in the mirror to make eye contact with him.

  “There’s a copper outside what is requesting to see you,” he repeated.

  This made Nellie turn around in her chair. “Uh . . . did he say what he wanted, then?”

  “No.”

  “Right, let him in.” She gave the cord that held her robe together a quick tug and watched for the door to open.

  It did.

  Slowly.

  And even when it had opened enough so that a person might pass through it, nothing happened.

  “Hello?” Nellie called out.

  A paper-wrapped bundle of red carnations appeared a moment later, as if it was sent along first to make sure the coast was clear. Finally, a blond head appeared.

  “Officer Murphy!” said Nellie, suddenly putting two and two together. She quickly glanced at her appearance in the mirror and realized, well, yes, of course she was as pretty as ever. Then she jumped up and skipped across the room, opening the door wide. Officer Murphy stood staring at her as if he’d been caught doing something untoward.

  “Good evening, Miss . . .” He stopped and looked in a panic.

  “Harrison. Miss Harrison. But call me Nellie. You know that. Don’t be silly! Come in!” She stepped back, and Officer Murphy took a step into the room, leaving just enough space for Nellie to close the door behind him. She took a moment to examine him in his uniform from the back. Yup, just lovely. She returned to her seat in front of her mirror and sat facing him. Despite his body being in a new location, his posture didn’t change.

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Are those for me?” she asked, realizing that one of them had to say something. The words were remarkably clear and calm sounding despite the fluttery feeling she felt all over.

  “No. Yes.” He jerked his arm forward, just enough so that, leaning a little off her seat, she could take the flowers from him.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said, giving them a sniff and thinking cheap carnations more darling than any fancy bouquet of roses. This gave her a moment to look away from him and try to compose herself. It was crazy how he could make her heart race like that. He was beyond adorable. And his cheekbones were just delightful. She glanced up, and he looked as if he might cry, he was so physically uncomfortable. “Oh, for the love of Mary’s son, Officer Murphy, sit!”

  He did so without taking a moment to see if there was actually anything near him to sit on, and it was just plain luck that there happened to be a seat directly behind him. Clearly, it was a little lower than he’d anticipated, and he bounced a little to the side before sitting himself straight up again.

  “So . . . what can I be doin’ for you, then, Officer?”

  “Oh, it’s not like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s not official. Well, it is and it isn’t. It’s not that I’m here officially, but now that you ask, I have some news. Well, no . . . not news, not really, just . . . well, I’ve been looking into those flower girls for you and your friend, and there’s really not much to go on. But it does seem the description’s the same from witnesses who’ve seen him flee the scene.”

  “Yes?”

  “Not that they’ve seen much. Same coat and hat, mind. But no face. No features. Even the girl last night didn’t have much to go on. Grabbed her from behind, Miss Bell came on them before she could see. Said . . . and this was interesting . . . that he smelled nice, with cologne or something. Still, not much to go on.”

  “Okay . . .”

  Officer Murphy cleared his throat. “What it does mean is that your friend was right. It’s no coincidence that all the girls have been attacked.”

  “Well, we already knew that.”

  “Yes. I . . . yes. You did.”

  “But now you believe her, is your point.”

  “Yes. I . . . yes.”

  “Is there anything to be done?”

  “Well, I’m doing the best I can, getting the word out, asking for witnesses . . . but it’s all in my spare time and . . .” He petered off.

  “That’s nice of you,” said Nellie, because she hoped it would make him look less dejected and because it was true. It was really nice of him to look into this all on his own.

  Officer Murphy nodded once and slumped back into the small love seat. Then, realizing that relaxation wasn’t polite, he sat upright quickly again.

  Nellie smiled to herself. Poor guy.

  “So, why are you here, then?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Pardon?”

  “You said you weren’t here ‘officially,’ so why are you here?”

  “Oh. To see the show.”

  “Really?”

  “Well . . . everyone talks about the show . . . and . . .”

  “And?”

  “Oh, darn it all, I wanted to see you.” Immediately he looked terrified, as if he’d just said something foul about her mother.

  “You did?” She hoped she wasn’t going to be sick with ha
ppiness. Like bells in her head: He likes me! He likes me!

  “Uh . . .” He squirmed in his seat and finally just stood up. Pacing the room, he said, “Yes. You’re . . . sweet. I like how . . . energetic you are. You have a pretty smile.” He spoke without looking at her, almost as if he was reciting something to himself. Then he stopped and turned and looked right at her. “Will you go to dinner with me?”

  It was so surprising to see him suddenly so bold that Nellie said “yes” before she even had a moment to think. Of course, had she had such a moment, she still would have said yes, so it didn’t really matter much.

  “Great, so how long until you’re . . . you know . . . in clothes . . . ?” He blushed.

  “Oh, you mean right now?”

  “Yes, unless that’s inconvenient for you.”

  “No! No, it’s perfect, I’m starving.” It was true. But it was also true that she’d had dinner before the show. Fortunately, another true thing was that Nellie was always hungry.

  So he left her to change, and even though usually she’d take a little more time perfecting the picture, she was so giddy with excitement that she didn’t have the patience to make sure her hair was perfect or her corset pulled as tight as it could go.

  Soon they were out on the street and joined the after-theater crowd seamlessly. Though, because Murphy was still in uniform, a couple of Spanish tourists did stop to ask him for directions. Nellie thought the detailed directions he gave them for getting to Trafalgar Square were wonderfully well articulated. See, he’s smart too, her brain pointed out.

  They wound up in a small café in Covent Garden at a small round table placed on a small terrace on the lower level. Nellie did her best to keep her skirts beneath her to avoid having them stepped on by the passing foot traffic, and Officer Murphy kept apologizing at her slightest shift in her seat.

  “I’m fine!” she finally said with a laugh. “Once I’m arranged.” She shooed a curious pigeon away from her hem.

  “Some of the lads suggested this place. I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “Officer Murphy . . .”

  “Jeff.”

  “Jeff. Just because a girl needs to shift about some, it doesn’t mean she’s not happy. You try wearin’ all these layers and a bloody corset at the same time and see if you don’t find sittin’ a wee bit of a maneuver.”

  Officer Murphy nodded and, having nothing to add to such a statement, picked up the menu and examined it very studiously.

  Nellie feared that this might turn into a conversation of fits and starts and suggested wine, but Officer Murphy sheepishly admitted to not being much of a drinker, so they had some Italian coffee instead. The arrival of the food was a marvelous distraction. Officer Murphy was able to relax a bit and shared stories about growing up on the family farm. Nellie shared her tales of Dublin life as a young child, which she hoped would demonstrate that she wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he thought she was. And they found they had poverty and a strong work ethic in common. They also shared a love of animals.

  “I want to work with dogs,” said Officer Murphy energetically, taking a large and very confident bite of his raspberry tart. “We have one at the station, a bloodhound, as a pet, but he sniffs out all sorts of stuff on the blokes carted in. And I was thinking, after they tried them out on the Ripper case back in the day, that maybe it was worth a go again. They’re really smart, dogs.”

  “They absolutely are. And that’s a mighty fine idea, I think. Dogs could be a real treat in solvin’ and findin’ stuff. You know . . . have you thought about using this dog at the station to help you track down the flower-girl fella at all?”

  “To be honest, I hadn’t.” Officer Murphy looked intrigued.

  “Not sure how it’d be done, but seein’ as you don’t have any visual clues and you do have a scent, you said.”

  “That’s true!” He pointed his fork at her and smiled, revealing a bit of raspberry between his teeth that made Nellie smile to herself.

  “Maybe he left his scent on the girl or somethin’. At any rate, it’s somethin’ to think about.”

  Officer Murphy did appear to agree as he thought about her suggestion quietly for a full two minutes, and Nellie began to fear once again that the conversation would stall. But once he’d taken careful stock of her suggestion, he launched into a story about himself as a kid trying to hop a ride on one of the neighbors’ horses, not realizing that one hadn’t been broken yet. And Nellie had a perfect story to go with it, about the time she’d rescued a foal from a truly nasty blacksmith just down the street from where she and her ma had lived. She’d sneaked in, in the dead of night, and walked it all the way out into the countryside.

  “It took all night,” she was enthusiastically saying until she realized that maybe she should stop telling the nice young police officer all about her breaking-and-entering experiences. She changed the subject: “I like your mustache.”

  “You do?” His hand flew up to it instantly.

  “Normally I like a clean-shaven face, but on you it works. It makes you look official.”

  “Well, to be honest, that was part of the point. Everyone at the station kept calling me ‘boy’ and even ‘kid’ sometimes. Thought it might make me look older, and . . . like you say, official.”

  “And they stopped calling you names.”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “But that’s all right,” he said. “They put you through your paces when you’re new. Make you do all the grunt work and also make you feel right pathetic as often as possible. Everyone goes through it. It’s a rite of passage.”

  “Well, I think it’s all a little silly. Men always say about us girls that we need to be taken care of like children, and yet you all play games and make believe with passwords and no-girls-allowed societies.” Well, now she was starting to sound a bit like Cora there.

  “I don’t think girls are like children at all. You’re just . . . softer . . . gentler. You think about nice things, is all. You don’t see the dark world and you need us to protect you from it.”

  “Bollocks,” said Nellie with a laugh. “You think I don’t know about darker things? You think I’m soft?”

  “You look soft.” And, appropriately, he said it softly.

  Nellie realized that he wasn’t trying to provoke her. He was only trying to compliment her in his way. “Well, a person can be soft and strong. Looks can be deceiving. I think it’s just a matter of boys gettin’ to know us girls better. And not in a funny-business sort of way.”

  “Well, I know I’d certainly like to get to know you better.”

  “Is that your way of askin’ me out again, Officer Murphy?” Nellie gave him her coyest of smiles.

  His eyes widened in that familiar horror. “Oh no. I mean . . . I didn’t mean it that way—”

  “Because if it is,” she said, interrupting him, “then I’d be very happy to say yes.”

  The terror was gone and he sighed with relief. “Oh good. Grand. Good.”

  Nellie reached across the table and took his hand in hers, causing his face to return to that familiar pink. And she was pretty sure she wasn’t exactly snow white herself.

  PART FOUR

  The Team

  37

  . . .

  AND THEN THERE was an explosion.

  It happened in the morning. Just as the foot traffic was picking up in the city, as those manning the market stalls were greeting their first customers, and as a bright sun fought bravely to make its presence known through a thick veil of gray cloud.

  It happened as Cora and Lord White had just arrived at Westminster.

  It happened as Nellie and the Magician were feeding the animals.

  * * *

  AND IT HAPPENED as Michiko and Hayao sat on a slanted rooftop and took a break from the marathon they were running across the city skyline.

  They had both overslept and were now making up for lost time. And though it was dangerous to run in daylight, it was amazin
g how easy it was to avoid detection in a city where everyone kept a firm gaze on the street beneath their feet. A city of bowed heads.

  Taking a break was a luxury they enjoyed, knowing Callum was out of town. Michiko had no idea when he’d be back, but it wouldn’t be for a day at least, which meant she not only had time to train and be a teacher, but also to hunt the Fog.

  She had taken the extra precaution, nonetheless, of wearing her new mask along with her usual black outfit. She was getting used to it now. It wasn’t nearly as tricky to see through as it had been that night at the Tower. Though, she suspected, daylight helped.

  Right now the mask lay in her lap as she and Hayao sat in silence. She’d said it was another test of patience, but truly she’d just wanted some quiet in order to sit and admire the view, the one that looked out toward the river and St. Paul’s domed cathedral roof. She knew that under the layers of soot there was a gleaming white building. But it seemed to make sense that one of the tallest structures in the city should reflect the general dirty gray. She’d never been inside. She thought it might be nice to go visit someday.

  She saw the explosion before she heard it. As if to taunt her little fantasy, something like a meteor flew from out of a low-hanging cloud and struck the dome. It was so shocking and unbelievable that Michiko was pretty determined to believe it hadn’t happened. Then . . . the inside of the cathedral burst outward, and less than an instant later Michiko heard the roar of destruction.

  The moment of the explosion was accompanied by a wave of air that pushed toward Hayao and her, along with dust and debris. Instinctively, she pulled Hayao down against the roof, protecting him, and holding her other hand over her head, a feeble attempt to prevent an injury. Which, really, didn’t offer much protection.

  But, fortunately, they were far enough away from St. Paul’s that they were in little danger. Their greatest threat, really, was the chance of getting some grit in their eyes.

  “Are you okay?” asked Michiko nonetheless.

  Hayao nodded, but didn’t look at her; he just gaped at the altered view in front of them.