Chapter 6
The next morning early, keeping a keen eye out for a tail, I took an omnibus to Grosvenor Street and walked a circuitous route past a noisy crowd peering up at what must be the Fairleigh house.
Reaching the Willitses’, I hurried down to the servants’ area and knocked.
The door was jerked open by a harried-looking maid.
“I’m Sarah’s sister. Can I see her?” I asked. “It’s important. And I can wait until she has a free minute.”
“There ain’t no free minutes,” snapped the maid. “We’ve the young missus’s engagement party tomorrow and we’re already behind.”
“Please.” I pressed a half crown into her hand. “I only need a minute.”
Her eyes wide, she snapped her fingers shut over the coin, disappearing it into a pocket. “I’ll send her when she’s finished with the pots.”
I sat on the cold stone steps for over an hour. Finally, the door opened and Sarah stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Kit, what are you doing here?”
“You heard about the murders,” I said.
She nodded. “O’ course. The whole house is in an uproar.”
I took her arm, drawing her away from the door. “Do you know something about it? Is that what you wouldn’t tell me Saturday night?”
She tried to pull away, her eyes on my hand clutching her elbow.
I gave her arm a shake. “Sarah, for God’s sake!”
Her face screwed up like she was about to cry. “Kit, don’t yell at me! Why do you always get so angry? You’re just like Ma.”
The accusation stung, and I dropped her arm. “I’m not angry.”
“Well, you look it.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “You should see your face.”
I drew a breath. “I’m just worried. Because you’re not telling me the truth.”
“You didn’t tell me about Josie,” she said defensively.
“That’s different,” I said.
“How?”
“I don’t love her,” I replied. “Sarah, please. Did you see someone you knew? A Castle man?”
Her eyes widened. It was as good as a confession, and her face collapsed into relief and remorse. “Two of them, on the far side of the street.” She wrapped her arms over the soft part below her ribs, as if the memory made her queasy.
“How hard was it raining?”
“Not so hard I couldn’t see.” Her voice was a murmur. “Billy Winston and Tommy Finch, dressed like proper gentlemen. I saw them plain under a lamp.”
I stiffened. Tommy drifted in and out of trouble, but Billy was ruthless and ran straight toward it. “Do you think they meant to hit the house?”
She gave me an incredulous look. “What else could they be meaning, dressed like that here?”
With effort, I kept my voice soft. “Did they see you?”
Her palms curved over her elbows as her gaze skittered away. “No-o-o.”
“Sarah, please. I’m not going to yell.”
With a sigh she looked at me. “They might’ve.”
My heart plummeted.
I swallowed down the first hasty words that came to my lips. “That’s dangerous for you.”
Her brown eyes were wide, wounded. “You think I don’t know? I’m nearly fifteen, Kit. God sakes, you were running a badger scheme when you were my age. Do you think I’m a fool?”
“No, of course not.” My hands formed fists inside my pockets. “Can you . . . tell me exactly what happened, one moment at a time?”
“I told you. I saw them across the street, under a lamp. I recognized Billy’s walk and heard Tommy’s voice—you know its high pitch. I stopped, stepped out of the light, and turned my head. I stayed in the shadows until they were well past.” Her eyes were sober, earnest. “I swear, Kit.”
“When you stopped—was it a sudden movement?”
Her face fell. “I don’t know. Likely it was. I was surprised.”
I drew a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me straightaway?”
“Because I knew you’d be like this!” She spread her hands. “You might even try to get me to quit, and I like it here,” she said pleadingly, her chin tilting up. “And they like me.”
“I should make you quit, Sarah.” Although she might be safer here than at home, where Billy and Tommy lived.
If they had seen her, they might assume she worked in Mayfair, but they wouldn’t know which house—unless Sarah had mentioned the Willits name to someone at Elephant and Castle.
I longed to ask, but Sarah’s face told me she felt guilty and frightened enough already.
I scrubbed my palm against my forehead and let my hand drop. “You can’t tell anyone. Just because Billy and Tommy know you doesn’t mean they wouldn’t hurt you to keep you quiet. And a secret like this could be hard for someone else to keep.”
“I know what those men are,” Sarah said softly. “No one will know but us.”
Except that James had already guessed she’d seen someone, though he didn’t know who.
A cart clattered to the top of the stairs, drawing her gaze. She looked at me miserably. “It’s another delivery for the party.” Her face was pinched with worry, but she stepped away. “I have to get back.”
“Be careful about going out until I know they didn’t see you.”
She nodded her promise and slipped back inside.
As two delivery men carrying wooden boxes of food came down the steps, I put my back against the wall to let them pass. The door opened and the housekeeper—her silver chatelaine at her waist—shooed the delivery men inside.
How difficult would it be for Billy or Tommy—or any thief dressed as a delivery man or a remover—to enter the house? Not very. Certainly not during the days before or after a party.
This house was as much a target as the Fairleighs’—indeed, more so, with all those engagement gifts stacked in piles and ready for the taking. No doubt the engagement, if not the party, had been announced in the papers.
I turned away, my stomach in knots.
As for her accusation that I was acting like Ma? That was a shot that stung and burrowed deep. But I could bear that, so long as Sarah was on her guard.
Dreading the thought of seeing Billy and Tommy at the inn, I spent the day away from Elephant and Castle, so it was dark by the time I reached my lodging house and made my way upstairs.
A light came from under the door, and I composed my face, conscious of all I couldn’t tell Mary.
I opened the door to find her in her wrapper, with her brown day dress in her lap, squinting as she sought to thread a needle.
The curtains were drawn, and the lamp cast a dull yellow glow.
“Ach,” she said with a look of relief, holding them out to me. “Could you? The eye’s tiny.”
With the ease that came of long practice, I slid the thread through the eye and passed it back to her. “I’ll do it for you, if you like. Just let me get out of my things.”
“Thanks. I’ve fixed one rip, but this one’s tricky. It’s not along a seam.”
I hung my coat on its nail and removed my boots, placing them under the bed.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Just tired.” I took the dress, casting a quick eye over the long stitches that puckered the fabric.
Mary’s hands were thieving clever, but she was no seamstress.
I rustled around my drawer for my small scissors, slipped a point under the threads, and began to snip.
In the corner, the coal hissed inside the stove.
“Any news of Josie?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Mary said. “Trial will likely be tomorrow or the next day.” A pause. “Bea’s in a state.”
“I hope she knows it wasn’t her fault. I heard Josie’d been drinking.”
Mary nodded. “She still feels rotten, though.”
We all knew what a guilty verdict meant. Amelia had influence, but it only went so far.
I pieced the edges of the first rip together. “Turn up the lamp, would you?”
Mary spun the key to brighten the flame, and I made a series of tiny, regular stitches, holding the fabric taut to prevent puckering. I sewed in silence until Mary broke it: “Bea was talking tonight about what she’d do if she wasn’t thieving. She wants to work in a shop.”
I looked up to meet her gaze. “Did you tell her your plan?” Mary wanted to open her own bakery someday.
Mary shook her head deprecatingly. “No. It’s years off. I need at least another two hundred pounds to open anywhere decent.” She paused. “Sorry about Sid blurting out about Josie. Did Sarah ask you to quit again?”
My eyes on my stitches, I replied, “Mm-hmm.”
“I figured she would.” The horsehair and straw crinkled as Mary shifted on the bed. “Brings the danger close, doesn’t it?”
A flare of cold prickled at the back of my neck. “We’re more careful than Josie.”
“But shops are getting sharper.”
“So are we,” I retorted, looking up. “Why are you being like this, when you know neither of us can afford to stop?”
“Kit.” Her blue eyes looked hurt.
“There’s no bloody point in talking about it.” Bending back over the dress, I jabbed the needle into the cloth and sewed until the second rip was mended, knotted the thread, and bit it off, close. “There.” I handed it back without meeting her gaze.
“Thanks.” She hung the dress on one of the nails, then climbed into bed. “Should I turn down the lamp?”
“I’ll do it.” I changed into my nightdress, hung my dress, and twisted the lamp key before turning on my side.
“Good night, Kit.” Her voice was kinder than I deserved.
She understood I was angry, but not at her.
“I’d quit if I could,” I said, my voice a rasp.
“I know.”
“Good night, Mary.”
The church bells struck the hour, the toll lingering in the curdled air of the foggy night.