Chapter 11
When Maggie and I arrived in the goods room, none of the others had yet returned.
Nell helped me change into my usual clothes, I emptied the thieving pockets, and Amelia recorded my poke, keeping her eyes on the ledger as I leaned over and initialed the margins.
Today was Amelia’s last day here. I longed to ask her where she would go and what her plans were, but there was no chance.
Leaving the three women together, I headed downstairs to the taproom.
I made my way through the crowd to the bar, where I asked Pat for a glass of ale.
For this past week I had kept my qualms about Maggie to myself, for it seemed I was the only one who felt them.
In the taproom and in our rooms, where we could have quiet conversations among ourselves, it seemed people were relieved, as Cathy said, that Maggie wasn’t changing the ring a whit.
Bea reported that Maggie was full of praise and admiration for our cleverness, and with one week gone, it seemed all would be well.
I might have believed the chatter myself except that I hadn’t been able to have a minute alone with Amelia.
At first, I thought it was simply because she was busy helping Maggie settle into her new role.
But as the week passed, I sensed Amelia was avoiding me—and my questions—which told me something was amiss.
With this her last night, I vowed to corner her, and I planted myself by the bar until Amelia appeared and asked for an ale.
I maneuvered around old Connors to reach her.
“You’re leaving tomorrow, and we haven’t had a chance to talk,” I said.
She sipped from her pot, one hand on the metal handle, the other cupping the bottom. “I’ve been busy, Kit, and so have you.”
“Have you found a place to live?”
“Not yet. I’ll stay with a friend for a time while I look about for rooms.”
“Will you send me your address?” I persisted.
“When I know it, of course.”
“And what will you do?”
“I haven’t decided,” she said with a show of patience.
“Amelia.” I lowered my voice and rested my hand on her arm. “You’re not easy with this. I can tell. Why?”
Her expression softened with affection and something like regret.
“It’s naught that concerns you, Kit.” She drank down her ale, set the pot on the bar.
“Take care of yourself and Sarah—and Mary, too.” She put her hand to my cheek—her fingers were cold from the ale—then, to my surprise, stepped forward to kiss my forehead, swift and feather light.
She murmured, “I’ll write soon,” and was gone before I could reply.
I might have stood there swallowing ale and my sudden loneliness except that James appeared at my side, curving his arm around my waist with a wide grin, and I felt a stab of surprise and disappointment.
Had he forgotten my worry about Sarah? Did he not know about Amelia leaving?
I gave him a look that told him I wasn’t in the mood for teasing.
“Oh, come on, Kitten,” he wheedled. He leaned over, his voice a murmuring singsong close to my ear that would have looked like flirting to anyone looking. “Have a drink with me.”
I caught my breath. “Kitten” was our old warning, a signal that the badger scheme was going awry, a sign to retreat. Or that someone was watching, and we needed to slip into character. Mindful that he might have news about Sarah, I fell in with it.
I rolled my eyes in laughing protest. “Aye, fine. Then you’re buying.”
He grinned in triumph. “Aye, then.” He picked up two glasses of ale and lifted one toward an empty table near the loudest group of card players, and I led the way to it.
Clearly, he’d chosen this table for cover.
I took the chair that put my back to the wall and my face toward the room, so he could speak without anyone seeing his lips.
“So you’re only pretending to flirt with me now?” I said, dimpling and looking amused for the benefit of anyone watching.
He plunked the two glasses on the table, sat in the chair opposite, and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll flirt with you in earnest as much as you like.”
I felt myself flush but held on to my smile. “What is it?”
“Let’s play.” He drew out a pack of cards and began dealing for rummy. I set a coin on the table, and he matched it. Under cover of the noise from the next table over, he asked, “How’s Sarah? What did she say?” He picked from the deck and laid down a seven.
I picked it up, mistrust and trust dragging at me like two warring tides. I made my voice noncommittal. “She’s all right.”
“Kit.” His tone made me look up. His eyes were searching, every bit of humor gone. “Do you not trust me for this?”
I wanted to, and it seemed he was trying to be kind.
“I know you wouldn’t hurt me or Sarah on purpose,” I said. “But you’re still tight with the Castle men.” I laid down a queen. “And—I know you’re still mixed up in something.”
He drew back, his expression baffled. “Why would you say that?”
I didn’t answer, and he settled a forearm on the table and leaned in. “Why would you say that?”
My eyes darted to his hand where it rested, a loose fist, on the table. “Because you don’t get calluses like those from recordkeeping at the Custom House.” I reached to pick another card, and he laid his hand on top of mine, wrapping his fingers around.
“It’s my turn to draw,” he said quietly.
“And yes, I do get calluses like this from work. There aren’t enough docks at the Custom House, so the ships moor three or four deep in the river, which means I have to row out to count the casks and crates before they offload.
” Gently, he removed my hand from the deck, picked, and laid down the card.
“Jaysus, Kit.” His voice was subdued. “Why didn’t you ask me?
I’d’ve told you the truth.” The bruised look in his eyes was like a hook in my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking on the words. “But—it’s Sarah.”
“Yeah, it’s Sarah,” he said pointedly. “You’re not the only one who looks out for her, you know.”
Remorseful, I said, “She told me you have.”
The lines around his mouth softened. “You’re not the only one looking out for you, either, Kit.”
My surprise at the notion held me utterly silent, and after a moment, he gave a small shake of his head and his gaze dropped to the cards. “It’s your turn.”
I picked from the pile, holding the card long enough to consider my words before I played it and said under my breath, “She says there were two Castle men in Mayfair that night, and the moment she saw them she ducked out of the light and hid her face.”
“I heard it was Billy and Tommy, but still no one’s mentioned her,” he said.
The hard rock of worry inside me softened.
“Is that who she saw?” he asked.
I nodded.
“They’re lying low in Bermondsey.”
Relieved at the thought of them far from Mayfair, I grinned for the benefit of whoever was watching. Still, I’d join the group around the fire before I left, to see if any of the Castle men acted strange around me.
“There’s something else.” James leaned both elbows onto the table, holding the cards in a fan before him to half cover his mouth. “What do you know about Maggie?”
My nerves twanged. “She was sent to Swan River for stealing a bracelet twenty years back, was married to a monster, and came back quick as she could. She’s shrewd and clever, and a good actress. I don’t much trust her. Why?”
“Don’t show surprise.” He laid down a seven.
I gave him a look. “You know I’m collecting sevens. You’re helping me win.”
“Yeah, I’m bloody trying, Kit.” The look he gave me was half humorous exasperation and half such kindness it tipped my heart sideways. I wasn’t used to having someone trying to take some of the worry off me.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. I took up the seven and laid down a nine.
“Emma’s wondering if Maggie’s here for more than just taking over the ring.” He picked up the nine and played a knave. “She might be here to even scores.”
A sudden coldness slid along my veins at the thought of Maggie, artful, resourceful, and clever, coming back here for that. “What sort of scores?”
“Emma said she heard there was bad blood between Maggie and her jenny,” he said, “over a man they both liked.”
Despite myself, my hand halted on the way to the deck, sudden as if someone had grabbed my wrist.
“We’re just playing cards,” James reminded me softly.
I picked.
But I couldn’t even read the card in my hand while the pieces were fitting together in my head.
The idea that my ma had betrayed Maggie to steal a man’s attentions was easy to believe. What if Maggie came back bent on revenge against my mother? Would she now take it out on me?
My voice shook as I tucked the card into my hand. “My ma was Maggie’s jenny the day she was caught. Amelia told me.”
“Jaysus, Kit.” James’s voice rasped, and he reached a hand to his glass, taking it up for a sip.
“The very first time I saw Maggie here,” I said, “she stared like she recognized me.”
“Because you look like your ma.”
I nodded. “And ever since then, she’s made a point to be friendly. Asking about Sarah, praising me for being clever, even saying my ma was kind to her.”
James had known my mother, so he understood how unlikely that was. “You think she’s trying to get round you.”
“Of course. The day Maggie took me out thieving, I asked her about being caught. She told me the bare facts—but she never mentioned my mother was her jenny. It would be a natural thing to tell me, wouldn’t it?”
“Sounds like she was hiding it.” He took up the three and discarded a king. “But your ma’s beyond her reach, and she can’t blame you for what she did.”
I picked a card from the pile. “Maggie believes the dead can see what happens on earth. What if she thinks my ma can see her hurting me?”
James’s eyebrows rose. “She said that? That the dead can see things?”
“Yes.” I laid down a six, my blood running cold again as I recalled how earnest Maggie had looked. And now I had a good idea why she’d said it to me.