Chapter 28
It could have been anything, of course. A railway disaster at the station. An accident with a costermonger, or a carriage. A murder that had nothing to do with us.
But an undertow of worry sucked away my relief over Sarah being safe and her story told.
“We’ll wait here,” I said to Mr. Fuller. He nodded and started toward the door, the ends of his coat flapping like bat wings.
Sarah stared at me. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know. Let’s wait,” I said quietly. Mr. Fuller reentered the division, shutting the door behind him.
Sarah took my elbow firmly, turning me toward her. Her eyes locked on mine. “Kit, answer me. What’s happened? What haven’t you told me?”
I couldn’t reply, for all I could think of was the look on Mary’s face as she spoke of Maggie having taken her mother from her—and the look on her face not three hours ago, as she came out of the bakery.
Oh, Mary, I thought, fear scalding my insides. What have you done?
I never would have believed it of my friend, but into my mind came Mr. Fuller’s words about monsters. One begets another. Dear God, has Maggie turned Mary into one, too?
My heart ached, twisted, tightened inside my chest as we waited.
Somewhere beyond the omnibuses rattling over the cobbles, the hiss of the wind cutting the corner, the muted chatter of steamers and the blaring horns of tugboats, there was the sound of a moan, perhaps, a last breath of air coming through teeth.
Sarah’s hand on my arm tightened. “Kit, he’s back.”
Mr. Fuller strode toward us and stopped in front of me. “She’s dead,” he said grimly. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Who’s dead?” demanded Sarah.
“Maggie O’Connell. They just found her.” His brown eyes blazed an accusation. “If you’ve mixed me up in this, so help me . . .”
Sarah gave a small cry, but I kept my gaze fixed on him.
“How could I have done it?” I retorted. “I’ve been here at the Yard for the last two hours! And before that, I was with Sarah. Last I saw Maggie, she was alive. And Sarah was with me when I saw her.”
“It’s true,” Sarah added shakily. “She was alive. It was close on ten o’clock.”
“It doesn’t mean you didn’t plan it!”
“I didn’t!” I said through gritted teeth. “I swear to you!”
Mr. Fuller grunted and his manner eased. “Who did it, then? Who else had a motive?”
Beside me, Sarah drew in her breath.
To keep his eyes away from her, I replied. “I don’t know. Perhaps someone resented her taking over the ring.”
He gave a look of impatience. “You know but you won’t say.”
“I don’t know,” I repeated. It was the truth, and perhaps he saw it, for he threw up his hands and stalked back to the Yard entrance.
I turned away, praying Mary was already on one of the trains out of Lambeth.
“If Maggie’s dead, does this mean we can stay?” Sarah whispered.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know, Sarah.” Heartsick, I couldn’t think. “Let’s get away from here.”
Now I understood Mary’s final look. For her mother’s sake, and perhaps for mine and for all the other thieves, she had killed Maggie, taken the diamond, and gone. I’d never see her again.
The look she’d given me hadn’t been only an apology. It had also been goodbye.
Together Sarah and I headed to Amelia’s.
She would want to know that the Yard had been told and what Mary had done.
We took an omnibus east, dismounted, and walked north, Sarah holding my hand the whole way.
I pushed open the door from the street and remembered the first time I’d climbed these stairs, not noticing that I’d broken the thread across the step.
I knocked at the door, and it was opened—by Mary.
“You’re still here?” I hissed, stepping inside and shutting the door. “You need to get out of London! Maggie’s body has already been found. The constable arrived at the Yard when we were still there!”
“I didn’t kill her, Kit,” Mary said.
“You didn’t?” Sarah asked breathlessly. “But . . .”
My eyes darted about the room—still furnished, as it had been let, but emptied of any sign of Amelia—no coats on the rack, no satchel in the corner. Mary’s eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled.
“Amelia,” I said and dropped my hand from her arm.
“She made me swear not to tell you.” Mary drew a long breath. “She felt responsible.”
“She shouldn’t have. It was Maggie who caused all the trouble.”
“I know.” Mary dashed her tears away and pulled a folded letter from her pocket. “She left this for you.”
I opened it and found only this: My dear Kit, change is not always bad. Take care of Mary and Sarah. I shall miss you. A.
The sight of these last words, in a hand that was so familiar, broke me.
Sarah read over my shoulder. “At least she’ll be able to join Adam, wherever he is.”
Mary said to Sarah, “She left you a letter, too. It’s in there.” She pointed to the room Adam had occupied. Sarah went to fetch it, and I took Mary by the arm, pulling her over to the window where the street noise would hide our words.
“Did Amelia leave you a letter?” I asked.
Mary shook her head.
“Because she didn’t need to,” I said slowly. “You were in this with her, weren’t you? How did she do it?”
Mary’s gaze flicked to the room where Sarah had gone and back to me. “Two quick stabs under the ribs, same as Maggie did to my mum. Then she flipped her cloak and got on the train.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t tell me where she was go—”
“No, I mean, where did she do it?”
“In the railway station.”
“In a crowd,” I said. “And people didn’t notice?”
Mary’s blue eyes were steady. “There might have been a disturbance farther down the platform at roughly the same time.”
“Kit, look what Amelia’s done for us,” Sarah said, coming toward us with an opened letter. She handed it to me, and I read aloud:
There is a shopfront on Dean Street off Fetter Lane, only a few streets from my rooms, that I think would be an excellent location for a sundry and stationer shop and tearoom, especially as a tearoom just closed nearby and people will be looking for a new one.
Mary’s bakery items will be just the thing.
Contact Mr. Brownlee at Dean Street, number sixteen. He is expecting you. ádh mór ort. A.
I wondered how long Amelia had known she wouldn’t be here. But she’d made sure Mary was. My heart tripped an uneven beat of grief and gratitude.
Mary reached her hand for mine. “Don’t go,” she said softly. “Don’t leave London. The Yard will catch Billy—if he’s even still here. He’d be a fool if he was, with the newspapers all carrying his picture and Tommy’s.”
Sarah’s eyes were bright with hope and pleading.
I felt myself weaken. I couldn’t say no to them both. “We’ll stay for now,” I said.
Two days later, I woke in James’s bed with Sarah beside me.
Mary remained at Amelia’s, for the rent had been paid through the end of the month.
James was still in hospital but improved enough that he was allowed to come home, and Sarah and I planned to fetch him in a cab. I slipped out from between the sheets.
“Kit! Where are you going?” Sarah sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes wide with alarm and accusation. As composed as she had been at the Yard, she was jittery in the aftermath. I imagined she would wake like that for a while.
“I want to get the papers,” I said. “And I’ll bring back something for breakfast. Don’t worry. You’re safe here. Lock the door behind me.”
She shifted her legs around the edge of the bed. “No, I’ll come with you.”
I was about to refuse until I saw her face. “All right. Go on and dress. I want some fresh rolls while they’re still hot—and some jam.” We were less frugal these days, treating ourselves to delicacies.
Sarah donned a dress, I buttoned her up the back, and we walked out toward the bakery with Sarah’s hand looped through my elbow.
The streets were comfortingly busy, and I kept my eye out for anyone from Southwark but saw no one.
It was a blessing to be unknown, and not for the first time, I longed to truly make a fresh start here.
“Scandal! Scandal!” bellowed a boy on the corner, waving the paper.
It seemed to be the catch-all word for any sort of news.
“You get the rolls,” I said to Sarah. “I want to buy a paper.”
She nodded obligingly and stepped inside the bakery. I approached the boy, gave him a coin, and took the Mirror, unfolding it to read the headline and scan the story—which occupied two-thirds of the front page—right there in the street.
shocking successes for the yard! fairleigh murders solved! criminals apprehended!
A quick glance through the article confirmed that both Billy and Tommy had been caught, the trial was set for three weeks hence, and Sarah’s name was nowhere to be found.
With a sigh of relief, I tucked the paper under my arm, and when Sarah reappeared with a brown-paper parcel, we returned to James’s rooms, where we dove into the rolls, slathering them with butter and jam.
When we’d eaten our fill and finished the pot of tea, I extracted the rooms-to-let listings from the paper and handed them to her, folded neatly.
“I’d like you to take these and begin looking for a place nearby for us—you, Mary, and me. Can you do that?”
A moment’s hesitation, then she asked, her face cautious. “Are we going to stay, for good?”
“I think we can,” I said, brushing crumbs onto my plate.
Her face brightened, and she slathered one last roll with jam. As she finished it, she looked thoughtful. “It’s silly, I know, but I found myself wondering what they think of me at the Willitses’.”
I’d not given that much thought. “Mrs. Rice suspected you of running off with the two pounds she gave you for the market. I told them you hadn’t.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’d hate them thinking I’d do that.”
“You aren’t thinking of going back in service, are you?”
“Of course not,” she assured me. “I’d much rather run a shop with you and Mary.” She hummed as she began to read the to-let notices.