Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Vivian tried to push away, but he had one arm locked around her waist and the other one holding her hand, and he wasn’t letting go as he steered them back into the dance.
With anyone else, Vivian would have been pleasantly surprised by how good a dancer he was, but she wasn’t interested in any more surprises from George.
She didn’t like causing a scene, but there were times when it was necessary, and she was confident that Danny would have her back if she did.
She planted her feet and took a deep breath.
But before she could say anything, George jerked his head toward the back of the room. “Boss is upstairs waiting for you.”
Vivian stumbled as he pulled her out of the way of another dancing couple, who gave them an odd look as they went past. To her relief, he let go, and she took a quick step back to put distance between them.
Bruiser George gave her an amused look. She had the feeling that he enjoyed knowing he had flustered her. “Let’s go, girlie.”
“Not likely,” Vivian snapped. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He sighed, looking hurt. “Mistrusting girl.”
“You’re damn right I am.”
“Fine.” He was starting to look irritated with her, Vivian was pleased to see. “Then I’ll go sit at the bar, and you can go up on your own. Excuse me for trying to be a gentleman.”
“You’re not, and we both know it.”
“Just get on up there, will you?” he growled. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and I don’t need her thinking I’m the reason she has to.”
In spite of her nerves, Vivian felt a small smirk creeping across her face. “Guessing she wasn’t happy with you, then, about that dustup at the pawnshop?” she asked with mocking sympathy. “Poor George. In trouble with the boss.”
He glared at her. “I’m going to the bar. You’re going upstairs.”
“You can’t make me. Not here,” Vivian taunted. She saw his eyes narrow, but before he could do more than draw a deep breath in, she smiled. “But I’ll go to be nice. Get yourself a drink, George. You look like you need it.”
“One day, girlie,” he said softly as she turned away. “One day, that smart mouth is gonna get you in trouble. I just hope I’m there to see it.”
Vivian didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around, but the back of her neck prickled all the way to Honor’s office.
“Come in,” Honor’s voice called when she knocked.
The tableau was eerily familiar: Honor behind her desk, Hattie Wilson seated in front of it. An empty glass waiting for Vivian.
But she was already on edge from the day, and her conversation with Bruiser George hadn’t helped. So when she came into the room, she didn’t take the seat that had been left for her. Instead, she stopped a few feet from the desk and fixed her eyes on Mrs. Wilson. “Did you need something from me?”
Hattie Wilson gave her a slow look, then took an even slower drink from her glass.
She was elegant as always, in a dress of black-and-gray silk, a white fur stole wrapped around her shoulders in spite of the heat.
The veil on her tiny confection of a hat left her eyes in shadow, and Vivian wondered uneasily what they might have revealed about what she was thinking.
Vivian didn’t look at Honor, though she desperately wanted to.
At last Mrs. Wilson spoke. “You know what they say about if you want something done right. Since you managed to send George packing—I won’t say I’m not impressed, though I am curious about this young man he says you were with—I decided I needed to find out what you’ve learned myself.
About your little problem with my competition.
So tell me, Miss Kelly.” She took another sip. “What news is there for me?”
“The kind you don’t need to worry about anymore,” Vivian said slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Honor lean forward, though she doubted her boss would let any of the surprise she might be feeling show on her face.
Mrs. Wilson raised her brows. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Vivian hoped her expression was as impassive as those of the other two women in the room.
“Just poof, it’s gone away?” Hattie pursed her lips. “I’m going to need more than that.”
She couldn’t name Pearlie and Alba as the criminals using the hemlock calling card.
There was no point. Pearlie was gone, and she didn’t want to drag the rest of his family into it.
And Alba … Vivian didn’t like her much, but she clearly had no plans to keep going with what she and Pearlie had started.
She could have named Dr. Harris. For a moment she wanted to. She had a feeling that pointing the finger at him would mean the doctor was no longer a problem or a threat she needed to worry about. But she couldn’t do it.
She hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. And she couldn’t pretend, even to herself, that naming him to a woman like Hattie Wilson wasn’t as good as the same thing.
“No,” Vivian said, surprising herself with how cool her voice sounded. “You really don’t.”
Hattie looked genuinely surprised. “Do you not know who was behind it, or are you not going to tell me?”
“I’ll let you wonder which one. But it isn’t a problem you need to worry about anymore.”
“I don’t like it when people keep information from me,” Hattie said, her voice all the more menacing for how soft it was. She set down her glass and stood. “I did you a favor. I expect something in return.”
“Your return is that you don’t have to worry about this hemlock group anymore,” Vivian said, holding her ground through sheer stubbornness and hoping Hattie didn’t see her trembling hands. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“Miss Kelly, I hope you’re paying very close attention because I—”
“She’s not yours to order around.”
Vivian jumped. She had almost forgotten that Honor was still in the room. Hattie turned more slowly, but she looked just as taken aback. “Excuse me?”
Honor stood. Her smile was friendly, but her voice held a clear warning. “You’ve said your piece, Mrs. Wilson. I’m sure Vivian appreciates your favor. But she doesn’t work for you. She works for me. And around here, when a woman says she’s done talking, we respect that.”
Hattie seemed about to reply. But then she stopped, her lips slightly parted, staring at Honor.
“I just realized who you remind me of,” she said.
A slow smile spread across her face, and she began to laugh.
“Oh, that’s rich. And yet not.” Her voice grew a little mocking.
“It isn’t as if you’ll ever see any of that money. ”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Honor said, her voice so even and cold that Vivian suspected she knew exactly what Hattie Wilson meant, that Vivian herself was the only one in that office who was still in the dark.
“Of course not.” Hattie gathered her fur around her, still laughing, as she made her way toward the door. “Very well, we’ll leave our business here. Perhaps we’ll cross paths again in the future.” She took one more look at Honor and laughed again. “Have a good night, Ms. Huxley.”
They could still hear her laughter drifting up the stairs as she left.
“What was that about?” Vivian asked Honor.
“I could ask you the same thing. What do you mean, it isn’t a problem anymore?
” Honor came around the desk, then seemed to think better of it, stopping several feet away from Vivian.
But her worry was still there, peeking out from under her usual cool expression.
“Does it have something to do with why Beatrice isn’t singing tonight? What happened?”
Vivian shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Part of her wished that Honor would reach out again to comfort her, wrap an arm around her the way she had in the cab that night. But neither of them made any move toward each other. “It’s kind of a long story.”
Honor went back to her desk and poured an inch of liquor into the empty glass.
She held it out to Vivian. Their fingers brushed against each other as Vivian took it, but Honor’s face stayed impassive.
Vivian hoped hers did, too. “We’ve got time,” Honor said softly, leaning back against the edge of the desk.
She stayed that way while Vivian spoke, her voice sometimes speeding up with excitement or shaking with remembered fear.
Vivian didn’t look at her, and when she had finished, she downed the entirety of the glass in one gulp, then coughed, her eyes watering at the bitter sting of the liquor.
When her vision cleared again, she found Honor watching her, jaw tight and fingers clenched around her own glass.
“Do you feel safe, knowing he’s still out there?” Honor asked quietly.
“No.” Vivian shivered again. “I mean, I do for now, I think we’re kind of … we’re stuck, aren’t we? Him and me and Bea. We all know too much that can hurt the others. I don’t trust him, so I don’t know how long that will last for. But I don’t know what to do about it, either.”
Honor nodded, staring into her glass, but Vivian had a feeling that her mind was elsewhere.
At last she looked up. “But safe for now,” she said quietly.
“Which I’m glad to hear.” She took Vivian’s empty glass before heading back around to the other side of her desk.
Setting them both to the side, she pulled out a few papers and began to sort through them.
“I’ll have one of the boys tailing you and your sister for a few days, just to be sure.
Indulge me,” she said, glancing up from under her lashes as Vivian started to protest. “I keep my people safe.”
“All right,” Vivian agreed. At least Honor thought she was worth that much. She hesitated, then asked, “What did Mrs. Wilson mean, at the end there? Who did you remind her of?”
Honor’s eyes were back on the papers. “I already said, I have no idea what she was talking about.”
She wasn’t telling the truth, Vivian was sure. But if there was one thing dancing and working at a place like the Nightingale taught her, it was that the roundabout approach was a much better way to get folks talking than pressing them for details that they didn’t want to share.
“Ellie said you taught her some of the signing language, and that’s how she could talk to her neighbor. How do you know it?” Vivian asked instead. “That’s how you came up with the club’s signals, right?”
“My sister,” Honor replied after a long pause. She kept her eyes on the papers as she said it.
Vivian stared at her. Somehow, she had never thought about whether Honor had a family or not. It was impossible to picture her in any other world than the one she had created at the Nightingale. “You have a sister?”
“Had.” Honor looked up at last. Vivian realized she must be getting used to reading Honor’s nearly inscrutable expressions, because she could see the edge of sadness that was lurking there. “She died a few years back. Influenza.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Honor shrugged, back to her search.
She must have found the papers she wanted, because she pulled several out, though she kept them turned away from Vivian.
“She had pretty limited hearing. A neighbor taught her and me so we could sign to each other. The schools for deaf kids don’t like to teach signing, but there’re everyday folks that know. ”
“Not your parents?” Vivian asked softly. She didn’t want to be fascinated by the rare glimpse behind the curtain of Honor’s private life, but she couldn’t help wanting to know more. Without meaning to, she took a step closer.
Honor must have heard the interest in her voice, because she glanced at Vivian again, a wry smile on her face.
“If you’re very good, pet, maybe, maybe one day I’ll tell you about my parents.
For now…” She tapped the edges of the papers in her hands against the desk, two sharp little thwacks, knocking them into a neat line.
“It’s time for both of us to get back to work. ”
Vivian wanted to ask more, but she made herself nod and turn to go.
Honor’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door. “Vivian…”
She glanced back over her shoulder. Honor was watching her, not speaking. Then she gave a sad smile. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me too,” Vivian agreed.
And she made herself leave.