The Reunion

by Michelle E Lowe

  His mum folded her hands together hopefully. “Do you know where he is?”

  The longing to have both her sons returned was almost too hurtful to watch. Pierce slowly shook his head. “Sorry, Mum. He could be anywhere.”

  The disappointment shattered the light in her bright gaze.

  To get off the subject, Pierce cleared his throat and said, “How much do you think François left you?”

  Blinking away her sadness, yet not before a couple of tears fell, Nona said, “In the letter, François stated the amount was enough to provide for the entire troupe.”

  Pierce rubbed his chin. “Really? Does anyone else know about this? Did you say anything to the authorities after your arrest?”

  “No. They believed we were merely passing through. I didn’t even have François’s letter on me.”

  Pierce’s grin widened. “Marvelous.”

  When Fan bought the townhouse, she renovated a room on the second floor to be her own personal bath house, equipped with a few brass tubs and an onsen. After everyone ate, Fan gave Pierce’s parents and Taisia dressing gowns before showing them downstairs to the bath house. While they enjoyed a much-needed bath, Pierce and Archie took a seat at the table.

  “Wine?” Pierce offered, raising the jug.

  “No. I’ve had enough to drink tonight.”

  Pierce shrugged and poured himself a glass.

  “What’s in your head, Landcross?”

  “Eh? What do you mean?”

  “You’re planning on doing something. I saw it in your face when you were talking about the inheritance.”

  “Oh. That,” Pierce said, lifting his glass. “I think I’ll go visit that lawyer.”

  Archie nearly fell out of his chair. “You’re going to do what?”

  Pierce put the wine jug down with a thud and repeated more deliberately, “I’m . . . going . . . to . . . visit . . . the . . . bloody . . . laaaaaawyyyy—”

  “That’s risky,” Archie scorned, cutting him off. “You broke out of Newgate Prison, and come morning, you’ll have every royal guard searching for you and your family. You need to get out of London—tonight—and run as fast as possible to the next country and keep going.”

  “I know the fuckin’ risk, all right?” Pierce responded in an irked tone. “And yes, we ought to flee, but by what means are we to survive, eh?”

  “I will give you money. Everything I brought from Southampton. It’ll be enough for a worthy head start. Just get out of England.”

  “The inheritance can provide for the entire clan,” Pierce reminded him. “We once had forty in all. Now it’s only Mum and Dad. Don’t know about you, but it sounds like a fortune to me.”

  Pierce took a long draught of wine. He expected Archie to say something, but he kept quiet.

  “My folks can’t live the same way I have. They’re performers, barterers, fortunetellers, minor tricksters—understand? Without funds, they’ll just end up as beggars on the street. They’ll no longer be able to travel as the free spirits they once were. They’re fugitives. Believe me, it’s not easy to stay alive as an outlaw, mate. Even I can’t thieve forever, especially if I’m providing for them, as well.”

  “Might I suggest getting jobs?” Archie threw in.

  “Still equals up to hard times. Not to mention, we’ll be hunted by bounty hunters for sure. This is a chance to give my folks a comfortable life.”

  Archie considered that.

  “I suppose,” he finally said. “My privileged background has prevented me from seeing how difficult it can be for others.”

  Pierce didn’t think the man privileged. He may have never needed to steal for his daily bread, but he had grown up in the nightmarish shadow of his abusive father, whose hatred had torn his own family to pieces.

  “Wanna trade places?” he offered jokingly.

  Archie snorted. “I respectfully decline.”

  Pierce half-smiled. “Thought you might.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Lawyer

  Lieutenant Javan had spotted the fireworks from the Mall. In fact, he was certain the whole of London had seen them. What concerned him was where they had come from.

  On Old Bailey and Newgate Street, a few fires had ignited on nearby buildings, including the prison itself. A brief spring rainfall and the fast work by the locals had extinguished the flames before they could spread. Over two hundred Newgate prisoners had escaped into the city, with only a few being caught or killed by the prison keepers. None of them mattered to Lieutenant Javan as he stood in front of the very cell where Pierce Landcross had been securely locked up no more than a couple of hours ago. Javan’s own words played out inside his mind.

  This will be the last time you ever escape me, Pierce Landcross.

  But, then, Javan left for the palace. Why did he leave? He should have never let Landcross out of his sight. Now the outlaw was gone once again, and so was his entire family.

  “He’s an elusive fox, that one,” came a voice at the threshold.

  The lieutenant craned his neck to where a young man casually leaned against the wall. He wore dark brown, pinstriped slacks, a green vest, and a frock coat. His derby hat had a few lengthy peacock and quail feathers in it.

  “Who are you?” Lieutenant Javan demanded.

  When the stranger raised his chin a bit more, Javan saw blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

  “You ought to thank me. I’ve been tracking down some of the more dangerous escaped prisoners. I haven’t felt this alive in decades.”

  He started approaching when the lieutenant quickly pulled his gun.

  “Halt!”

  The stranger stopped. “I shall not kill you because you are a decent man, Lieutenant. But if you shoot me, I will break your arm in several places.”

  “You’re the vampire who ambushed us last night,” Lieutenant Javan said without lowering his aim.

  The devil grinned and mockingly bowed to him. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Javan’s first encounter with vampires was in his youth. In India, during the Maratha War, he was nearly killed when a couple of vampires attacked his fleet. The demons were known to hunt in the area, and so, Javan had armed himself with a sterling silver knife, one he had used to stab a creature in the chest, killing it. He longed for that knife now.

  “What do you want, fiend?” Javan demanded.

  “I simply wanted to tell you that Landcross is mine, and that I plan to deal with him myself.”

  “If you’re after him, why didn’t you kill him the other night? Why set Landcross free?”

  The devil bit his bottom lip with a dangerous fang. He licked some of the blood from the corner of his mouth. “That is my affair. I only came to offer you a warning to leave him be.”

  “Landcross will face justice. I shall see to it personally.”

  The vampire snorted and turned his back on him. “Not if I get to him first.”

  Javan slowly pulled back on the gun’s trigger. He had a clean shot. However, he wisely knew not to take it.

  “We shall meet again, Demon,” he yelled to the creature as he headed down the steps. “And when we do, it will be for the last time.”

  “Then it’s a date,” the vampire called, vanishing from sight. “Ta.”

  Lieutenant Javan lowered the gun and sighed deeply. It was a strange encounter, but one he would be more prepared for in the future.

  * * *

  When Archie told Landcross’s mother about her son’s intentions, he never expected such a reaction from her. Landcross had been looking out the window, enjoying another glass of wine, when his mother stormed in, dressed in a long kimono.

  “You intend to do what?” she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

  Her son jumped a mile high, spilling his wine all over himself.

  “My shirt!” he cried out, staring down at the red stain.

  His enraged expression quickly switched to a boyish fearfulness as his mother marched toward him.


  “Your friend told me you plan on visiting the lawyer,” she spouted off, stopping in front of him and placing her hands on her waist.

  Nona Landcross was a petite woman, yet she carried a certain dominating demeanor that made even Britain’s greatest thief quake in his boots.

  Landcross looked up at Archie with a cross expression. “You had to tell my mother on me, mate?”

  “You are not going,” she said.

  Landcross redirected his focus on her.

  He took in a deep, deep breath. “Yes, I am. It’s our only chance.”

  Mrs. Landcross burst out in raging French, yelling so fast that Archie had difficulty keeping up with the meaning. He relied on mannerisms to understand some of what was being said.

  She stomped her foot and wagged her finger at her son. He, in turn, threw up his hands and then placed them on his waist, speaking French to her in the same angry tone.

  Jasper Landcross came up alongside Archie with arms crossed. “It’s as if they have never been apart. They used to argue like this a lot.”

  Archie chuckled while imagining his friend as a wee boy, arguing with his mother.

  Landcross shook his head vigorously at her. Her tone only became sterner. She jabbed her finger into his chest as she spoke. Archie hissed, thinking about Landcross’s healing brand mark. Kuzentsov soon entered, wearing a knee-length silk kimono.

  “All right!” Landcross exclaimed loudly at his mother, throwing his hands up again.

  He stepped away from her, who concluded the argument with, “Do we understand each other?”

  “Oui,” Landcross answered gutturally, walking straight toward Archie.

  Archie didn’t think much about his friend’s approach until Pierce punched him hard on the arm.

  “What’s happening?” Kuzentsov asked.

  Landcross’s ears perked up at the sound of her voice. Archie snickered to himself about how Landcross appeared weak in the knees when he saw her standing so beautifully in her robe, her skin still somewhat damp, water dripping from her washed hair. Archie knew he was smitten. Even if his friend hadn’t realized it, the signs were there, waiting to be recognized.

  “My idiot son wants to see the lawyer,” Mrs. Landcross huffed, pointing at him.

  Kuzentsov looked shockingly at Pierce. “You can’t be serious. It would be too dangerous.”

  “We have come to an understanding,” Mrs. Landcross assured. “Pierce and I are going there together. Besides, the will was left to me. I may have to be there to claim it.”

  Archie glanced at his friend, who only shrugged at him.

  Kuzentsov stepped forward, her eyes full of concern. “Nona. You can’t. Please, it’s not worth the risk.”

  “It will be all right,” Mrs. Landcross consoled, taking Kuzentsov by the hands. “François’s letter also stated that I must claim the inheritance under my maiden name instead of under the name ‘Landcross,’ remember?” She glared at her son. “For safety reasons. We shall be gone no more than an hour.”

  “Where is the lawyer’s office?” Landcross asked his mother.

  “It’s located at 125 Willow Walk.”

  “When does he open?”

  “Probably eight o’clock. We should leave at seven.”

  Archie thought the entire thing was mad. They needed to vacate the city before soldiers swarmed the streets. Then he reviewed Pierce’s reasoning and decided that it was, in fact, their best option. With enough money, the whole family could easily bury themselves in another country. Being the traveling sort, they must know hundreds of places. They could travel clear across the globe! Thinking on it, there was just as much risk in running now without funds to help with their escape as there was in seeking out their inheritance.

  “Aye, seven o’clock it is,” Pierce agreed bitterly.

  He obviously didn’t want his mother coming along.

  “Yes, well, speaking of the hour, I should be returning,” Archie interjected, realizing he’d been out late enough. “I told the palace guards I was merely going out for a short ride.”

  He shook hands with Jasper Landcross and Mrs. Landcross embraced him. They thanked him for everything and Archie wished them luck.

  Pierce followed him out into the hall where the warm, smoky scent of burning opium sat in the air.

  “Arch, I just want to thank you for saving me tonight.”

  “You’re my friend,” Archie stated meaningfully. “You’d do the same for me.”

  “S’pose,” he said in jest.

  “What are your plans once you get the inheritance?”

  “Make our way west towards the nearest harbor and catch a ship out.”

  “How are you going to get to the port?”

  “Dunno. Fan doesn’t have much in the way of transportation except for her rickety ol’ buggies.”

  “I can give you a lift. Our coach is big enough for everyone. And any soldiers we encounter on the road might not bother searching a high-class stagecoach.”

  Landcross considered that a moment. “You sure, lad?”

  “I am. We’ll be by in the morning around nine. You think you and your mother will return from the lawyer’s by then?”

  Pierce smiled mischievously. “Oh, aye. I’ll be back in plentily of time.”

  Archie had no idea what he meant by that.

  “You should go,” Pierce urged. “We’ll meet up tomorrow.”

  Archie left for Queen Street, where his horse waited.

  When he returned to the palace, he headed straight to the bedroom where Eilidh was awake and waiting. She stood by the window, her arms crossed. Her stiff pose sagged with relief and she let out a heavy sigh. Her thankfulness for her husband’s safe return only lasted seconds before her expression hardened.

  “Did you see the fireworks?” she asked shortly.

  He chuckled as he carried in a bottle of wine with him. “Oh, yes.”

  “Don’t you laugh, Archie Norwich. I was worried sick for hours.”

  He approached and kissed her deeply, sliding his hand up her body until it rested at the curve of her chin.

  “Let me pour you a glass of wine,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

  * * *

  Fan had her servants bring up more hot water for Pierce to bathe in downstairs. He was thrilled to wash the smell of Newgate Prison off himself. The warm bath was welcoming, but he scarcely had time to enjoy it. As soon as he cleaned up, he got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist while drying his hair with another. He checked himself in the mirror and lightly touched the bruise on his forehead. The mark would deepen in color by morning, but there was little he could do about it. Taisia sure could clobber a person good.

  Taisia.

  Thinking of her caused him to smile.

  Someone knocked, and before he could grant the person access, Fan walked in. She had changed into something more her style, a silk kimono embroidered with peacocks and rose blossoms. She was wearing matching britches underneath, her long hair braided and draped over her shoulder.

  “Getting out already?” she complained disappointingly.

  “Always trying to catch me naked, eh?”

  She grinned slyly.

  “I have a weakness for younger men.” She pinned her sights on his chest. “Where did you get that brand?”

  Pierce glanced down at the jagged burn mark. It was still rough, and dead skin was constantly flaking off it. “I got this from someone I owed a painful debt to.”

  The figure eight made Fan’s thin eyebrows rise as she studied it.

  “What?” Pierce demanded.

  “The symbol should be whole. It isn’t good that it does not connect.”

  “Why?”

  “An incomplete lemniscate can signify the loss of something. Have you lost anything of importance as of late?”

  “Just my sanity here and there.”

  Fan’s lips pressed together with her suspicion. “I’ll give you some ointment for it. Good sal
ve that’ll heal the wound right up.”

  “Have any pain remedy? I have aches all over.”

  “I bet you do,” she said, studying the fading bruises on his torso, granted to him by Ivor and his men. “You and your family can stay here tonight, but I must insist you leave come morning.”

  “No worries, Fan. Cheers for everything. You have gone far and beyond for us.”

  “You are a good man,” she praised him. “And you were also one of my best smugglers. Not to mention, you did save my life, remember?”

  He rubbed the knife scar at his side. A competitor of Fan’s, a fierce Scottish woman named Coria MacCrum, had stabbed him when he jumped in to save Fan shortly after she had her crew stole back their own smuggled goods from Coria. The blade slicing into Pierce was singularly the most painful injury he’d ever experienced—and it nearly killed him, to boot.

  “I think we are square, shì?”

  “Aye.” He picked up his stained shirt and scowled at it. “I’m going to visit the lawyer about the inheritance. My mum insists on coming with me.”

  “You may need her there,” Fan pointed out.

  “Aye, but it’s too risky. With the right disguise, I can pull off this bit myself.”

  Fan approached and snatched the shirt from him. “These old rags of yours won’t do. I might have something for you.”

  “Have anything for Mum?” he inquired cryptically. “Y’know, to keep her resting for a while?”

  Fan let out a cackle.

  “I might have a bottle of laudanum lying about. I can slip some into your parents’ tea before bed.”

  Pierce was delighted. “Brilliant.”

  Fan brought him a gentleman’s outfit. A pair of dark plaid trousers with black leather suspenders, a forest-green shirt with a cravat, and a stunning, steel-colored, bespoke, double-breasted paisley vest. She even included a black, circa 1840-style jacket, which would prove useful since leaving his dapper coat inside Archie’s stagecoach. Fan had no shoes to give him, but she had a servant polish his scuffed boots as best he could. The hat was of the latest fashion. It was a green and grey striped short top hat. A thick thread crisscrossed over a black swayed section running down the front center from top to brim, with a burgundy cloth band wrapped around the crown. The band was knotted behind the hat and hung down several inches.