Secrets in Scarlet

by Erica Monroe

  “You’d off the little girl?” Jennings’s voice shook.

  “Unequivocally. No room for sentimentality in this business,” Effie replied. A smacking sound echoed through the room. The crop she usually carried, he surmised.

  When she spoke again, her voice was deathly low. Thaddeus leaned further into the door, straining to hear. “You’ve got a little girl, don’t you, Jennings?”

  Bile rose up in Thaddeus’s throat. He tugged Poppy to him, away from the door, so that she couldn’t hear Effie’s words.

  “How’d you like it if you found your daughter slit clean open?” Effie’s voice rose in volume, cold and steely. “Because if you don’t move your arse, that’s what I’m going to do. And I’ll let Boz have his way with her first. You know how he loves the young ones.”

  His stomach roiled. He’d known revulsion, but the Larkers were even worse than he’d imagined. God, he wanted to make them pay. But not at the risk of Poppy.

  “We need to leave,” he whispered, giving Poppy a push toward the stairs.

  Poppy snapped to attention. Her eyes darkened, fury splashing over her pale cheeks. As if something had shattered in her, something that had been long on its way. Effie Larker had terrorized people for far too long.

  His brave, possibly foolish Poppy had reached the point where enough was finally enough.

  “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her.” Poppy murmured, rocking back against his frame.

  “What was that?” Clowes asked.

  Footsteps sounded through the room as all three charged toward the door.

  “Run, Poppy, run,” Thaddeus urged her, grabbing hold of her and giving her a push toward the stairs.

  But it was too late. The door was flung open. Silhouetted against her two guards, Effie Larker was a creature of the night, bereft of the blood that should have smeared her pearly teeth. Her frigid blue eyes scrutinized Poppy and Thaddeus with imperial detachment.

  Effie flicked her riding crop against her raised left hand twice. Following her signal, Frank Clowes sprang at Thaddeus, fists raised. Thaddeus deflected his blow with the truncheon, but Clowes was a strapping youth, all brawn with no brains. Swiftly, he swung at Thaddeus, and would have connected had Effie not grabbed the back of his tunic and pulled him back.

  “Patience,” Effie cautioned. “Enjoy the hunt. Have I taught you nothing?”

  “You’re revolting,” Poppy spat, peeking out from behind Thaddeus’s shoulder. “You ought to be in Bedlam.”

  “Mrs. Corrigan.” Effie’s red lips curled back in a sneer. “Or should I say Miss O’Reilly? How is your charming little bastard?”

  “I’ll rip you to shreds,” Poppy vowed, starting to go toward Effie.

  Thaddeus raised his arm, level at her throat. While she could have ducked underneath this, his movement served as a reminder for caution. If Poppy went rushing at Effie, he didn’t know if he could protect her.

  Poppy stilled.

  Effie shrugged, her gaze drifting from Jennings to Clowes and back to Poppy. She arched a single brow, bemused by all she saw. “If your master will let you off the leash. But then my boys will take care of you, won’t you, boys?”

  Clowes nodded immediately, but Jennings held back, sneaking an almost imperceptible glance at Poppy. Thaddeus noted the reaction, adding it to his plan. There was their ticket out of this mess. Effie had threatened the man’s daughter. If they could get him on their side, the odds would turn in their favor.

  The longer Thaddeus kept Effie talking, the better chance she’d say something truly deplorable, perhaps enough to make Jennings cross over to them.

  “Why did you do it?” Thaddeus asked.

  Effie blinked. “I like money. It’s simple mathematics, Sergeant.” She grinned, as if she’d remembered something pleasing. “I almost forgot—not quite Sergeant anymore, are you? Jonah was so sad to have to get rid of you. You made his job so easy.”

  “Pity for him.” Thaddeus rolled his eyes. He had to get Effie back on track, so she’d tell him something new that he could use. “What did Anna Moseley ever do to you?”

  Effie glanced at Clowes. “To me? Nothing. But she kept prying into Clowes’s life here, and we couldn’t have that.”

  Poppy shook against him. “So, you killed her.”

  “I did no such thing,” Effie stated with a smirk. “I requested she be killed, yes. And though I would have done it myself, mind you, Boz got to her first. Quite a hassle for me, really. He’s always so fired up after a slaughter, expecting things from me.” She sighed, smacking the crop against her hand once more. “You must know how that is, Poppy, from one whore to another.”

  That was quite enough.

  Thaddeus stepped forward, his truncheon brandished. This wouldn’t continue. He’d end this.

  In an instant, the atmosphere changed, as if a thread had been snipped in the fabric of their lives. It hit him, the raw anticipation of death. No longer were they five people engaged in an irregular cluster outside his bedroom. They were adversaries, locked in combat.

  Jennings and Clowes bore down on him, while Effie Larker cornered Poppy. Blood pounding in his head, he struck out with the truncheon, connecting with Clowes’s leg. Take out the leader, Joseph had said. If Clowes was defeated, Jennings might fall back.

  But the blow wasn’t enough to stop Clowes. He recovered, landing a punch to Thaddeus’s right arm. Jennings lingered, taking a step forward toward Thaddeus, but stopping. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching the fight uneasily.

  And Thaddeus could hear Poppy, somewhere down the hallway now. The grunt as something slammed into her body. Effie Larker’s coolly gruesome tones. He tried to dart to the left. He had to get to Poppy.

  And then Clowes’s fist connected. Clowes pounded into his stomach with the strength of a man who’d grown up on these gore-stained streets. A second later, Thaddeus fell back, stumbling. Pain seared through him. Startling, awful pain, which stole the breath from his lungs and left him gasping for air.

  His fall back had put just enough distance between him and Clowes that the blows no longer connected. He had the advantage of being taller man, his arms and legs long enough to give him a better range.

  He swung out blindly with his truncheon, feeling a stab of grim satisfaction when it connected with Clowes’s chest. Offering Clowes no chance to recover, he drew back quickly and hit him once more. Another hit, another block, parry, parry, thrust. The moves became a dance, and he’d always found dancing simple. It was a matter of rhythm and numbers.

  Dully, he registered the pain. Thaddeus viewed the scene as if he was out of his body, watching from a rooftop perch.

  There was nothing outside of this fight. He’d break Clowes. And if Jennings came for him, he’d break Jennings too.

  He’d save Poppy.

  Effie towered over Poppy, sheathed in a frosty blue dress. Despite the closeness Poppy felt no heat emanating from her. Nothing but chilly cruelty, in the cut of her sharp chin and the chisel of her cheekbones.

  She was a madwoman.

  Effie smiled, and it struck Poppy in the gut that she knew that smile. She’d seen it on Edward, as he’d turned around to get one last look of her, swathed in the satin sheets he’d deflowered her upon. She gripped the flintlock to her tighter, holding it in her right hand.

  “Poppy,” Effie intoned.

  The sick taste of victory had lined Edward’s voice when he’d said her name. Just like this.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she tracked Thaddeus’s movements. He’d the upper hand on Jennings, but Clowes had come back for more. She had to trust Thaddeus knew what he was doing.

  For in the split second she’d looked away, Effie had snaked her hand out, catching Poppy’s hair. Effie tunneled her pointy nails in, digging into the tender flesh. She tugged hard.

  Poppy’s eyes watered. As the pain beat in her head, she clawed with her left hand at Effie’s grasp. She tried to slip her fingers underneath of Effie’s, to pry off a few finge
rs at a time. Her grip on the flintlock loosened as Effie dug in deeper.

  “I’m going to enjoy killing you most of all,” Effie hissed in her ear, low and lethal. “You little slut. Did you think you could hide from me? I can smell the stain on you.”

  Poppy kept working on Effie’s fingers, applying pressure to her pinkie.

  She could get a better grip if she used both of her hands, but that meant dropping the flintlock entirely. It was her only weapon. No, better to stay in this position, so that if Effie moved at all she could wrench from her and use the pistol…

  “If I had to be punished, so do you,” Effie told her. “No one escapes the wrath of God, Poppaea.” She rotated her wrist, bending Poppy’s hair around her hand.

  Poppy screamed, as pain sliced through her head. Black spots dotted her vision.

  But seconds later, her vision cleared. A red lock of hair hung from Effie’s fingers.

  She was free.

  Poppy dived back, out of Effie’s reach. She held the flintlock up, placing her finger on the trigger. How many times had she seen Kate take this stance? Countless. She could fake her way through this. Effie didn’t need to know she’d never shot the gun before.

  Effie started to go toward her but stopped when she aimed the flintlock. Coming to a dead stop, Effie watched Poppy with wide eyes, tracking her movements.

  “If you take another step toward me, I’m going to shoot,” Poppy cautioned.

  Effie looked from Poppy to her two guards. Jennings stood off to the side while Clowes and Thaddeus continued to spar. Thaddeus was getting the better of Clowes, for while Clowes was a bigger man, Thaddeus was far spryer. A bruise already darkened Clowes’s chin, while Thaddeus’s shirt was ripped. But he didn’t seem to be laboring hard enough that she need worry.

  “Jennings, get her!” Effie barked.

  Jennings looked at Poppy, looked at the gun, and remained where he was.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have threatened his daughter,” Poppy remarked.

  “You’re a fucking bitch, Effie,” Jennings growled. “I hope they take you down.”

  Still eying the flintlock in Poppy’s hands, anger flashed across Effie’s face. “After I slit your daughter’s throat, I’ll make sure you join her in hell, Jennings.”

  At that sick threat, Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Step back,” she ordered Effie, coming nearer to the woman. “Keep backing up until you reach the banister.”

  At first, Effie didn’t move. Poppy closed in on her. Removing her finger from the trigger, she jammed the butt of the gun into Effie’s side. Effie scrambled backwards. Once Effie was far back enough, Poppy could strike her with the gun. Hopefully, the impact would knock Effie out. Then Poppy and Thaddeus could flee.

  When Poppy thought she finally had the upper advantage, something clicked in Effie. The taller woman came at Poppy in a flurry of scratches, kicks, and slaps.

  Poppy concentrated on keeping hold of the gun, gripping it in two hands. She fought off Effie’s attack, using the flintlock as a billystick. She kept scooting Effie back. They were at the railing.

  But Poppy was not quick enough, and Effie’s hand landed hard against her cheek, as her foot connected with Poppy’s shin.

  God, the pain.

  Desperate to stop the attack, Poppy slid one hand down lower on the gun, while the other gripped the middle. She thrust the gun upwards. The butt of the gun slammed into Effie’s chest.

  She heard the connection before the effect of it became obvious: a hard pop, that of bone breaking from the impact. Effie was flung backwards, the force crashing her into the banister.

  There was a splinter, then a crack, as the banister split under Effie’s weight. Poppy barely managed to throw herself back in time.

  Effie Larker plummeted toward the ground, legs flailing, mouth open in a scream. Her body jackknifed in the air. At the last second, she attempted to regain her balance, her arms pinwheeling.

  There was a crack, and then a snap, as her neck broke upon impact. Her flattened corpse crumpled in an uneven heap. Red, red blood spilled from her skull, pooling in an irregular circle around her head.

  Effie Larker was dead.

  25

  She’d killed Effie.

  Poppy approached the gap in the railing where the balustrade had once been. She edged forward. If she took a step forward—one single step—she’d fall, joining Effie’s mangled body on the ground level.

  Her hand rested on the saw-toothed wood. The remaining barrier, stalwart and bold. Reminding her that in the worst of times, there were those who did not cower. They stood up and fought.

  Like the man who came to stand behind her.

  Thaddeus placed his hand on her shoulder. Gently, so gently she almost didn’t realize she was moving, he helped her back from the railing. He turned her so that she could no longer see downstairs, as if sensing that she needed to be removed from the scene, that if he didn’t make her stop looking, she never would. Effie’s body was burned into her brain.

  Poppy could barely breathe. Any attempt at words turned into indecipherable groans. Thaddeus held her to him, stroking her back. She sobbed, long, desperate cries about this death that turned into mourning everything she’d lost in the past two years.

  “It was an accident,” he said.

  His voice rumbling in her ears made her think for a few seconds that he was right. She hadn’t intended for Effie to fall back. She couldn’t have known that the banister would break.

  Poppy hadn’t wanted any of this.

  “She’s dead.” Her words were muffled by Thaddeus’s coat. Devoured, the way the ground had sucked in Effie.

  “I know, love,” he said. “No one could have accounted for that. Do you know how many times I’ve leaned against that banister? Hell, I might have met my doom.”

  That brought forth another round of sniffles from her. She’d almost lost him so many times in the past few weeks. From ignorance, from fear, from these vicious attacks. A life without Thaddeus, a man she hadn’t even known before moving to London, now seemed unconscionable.

  “Ah, shit,” he muttered. “That wasn’t the proper thing to say. I simply meant—”

  “I know what you meant.” She pulled back from him, daring to smile. To laugh, if only a brief chuckle before the moroseness stole at her mind again. Because when this was all said and done, she hadn’t meant for Effie to die.

  “She would have killed you,” Thaddeus said. “Poppy, you do understand that, don’t you? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  It amazed her even then how he managed to read her thoughts. And now, in the face of this horror, he held her close.

  She’d been defending her life. Defending Thaddeus, damn it. But Effie had wanted to snuff them out for the pure joy of killing, for the obstacle they posed to her plans.

  Though Effie Larker might not have carried out Anna Moseley’s murder, she had ordered it. Anna had not done anything to warrant her bitter end. She was disposable and no one would miss her. No one that counted, at least.

  Anna’s death warrant had been sealed the day she took an interest in Frank Clowes.

  Where was Clowes? Poppy had forgotten about him. She’d forgotten about everything but the mashed body downstairs.

  Reluctantly, she pulled away from Thaddeus’s embrace. A quick look around assured her that Jennings had fled the scene, probably as soon as Thaddeus had come to comfort her. Clowes, meanwhile, sat with his back against the wall. Taking a step closer, she saw his hands trussed up behind him with what appeared to be a…neckcloth? She glanced back at Thaddeus.

  Yes. He’d definitely used his neckcloth to tie up Clowes. And he’d gagged Clowes with his handkerchief, too.

  This struck her as absurdly funny. So much so that she would have laughed until tears streamed down her face, had she not made the mistake of glancing down at Effie. A particularly sobering sight if there ever was one.

  Poppy stepped back from Clowes, back into the sanctuary of Thaddeus’s arms
. Away from the man she’d once thought of as a friend.

  Clowes had stood by as the Larkers murdered Anna and he had not complained.

  Poppy couldn’t contemplate this any longer. This betrayal, on so many levels, of everything she’d thought made sense. In the beginning, she’d trusted the Larkers. Believed they’d do what was right for their employees.

  She’d never imagined that devastation like this could be possible. After Edward had left, Poppy had thought she’d known the worst pain possible. Yet the torture Abigail had endured was far, far worse. Hand smashed. Livelihood gone. How would Abigail continue on after treatment at the hospital finished? Poppy barely knew how to go forward with her own life.

  She was tired, so very tired.

  But she was safe.

  Thaddeus pulled off his coat. He took her hand, steering her down the stairs. He stuck to the outside of the steps, so that he could guide her seamlessly out the door, holding his coat up so that she wouldn’t glimpse the carnage. His arm remained around her, even as he opened the front door.

  When they stepped out onto the street, the crisp night air slapped her face. Reminded her that outside of this violent house, London was vibrant, bursting at the seams with activity. For a second, at least, she allowed herself to hope that someday she’d move happily within that crowd, free of this perpetual gloom.

  Together, they stood on the stoop. She tilted her chin up and breathed in. This area, veering toward affluence but never quite achieving it, didn’t smell as her familiar rookeries did. She missed the dirt, the stale ale, the lye of soap from the washerwomen. The outside of Thaddeus’s townhouse smelled of fresh lilacs, of cobblestone and apple.

  But it was better than the blood of inside, so she sucked in a long whiff of air. Her heart rate had slowed. Her breaths no longer came in frantic pants.

  Thaddeus watched her closely, his brows furrowed. He ran his thumb underneath her chin, staring deep into her eyes, as if he might be able to see into the depths of her soul if he looked long enough. Perhaps he could.