Chapter 4
A week later
Walbrook Street
Kitty opened the door at the sound of scratching. Terry stood on the other side, his little tail moving at the speed of a fast carriage wheel. Her father was still farther down the street.
“Did you keep him company?” she asked the dog.
Woof!
He had begun following Pa to the door at night and was soon a companion for him as well. Kitty decided her father couldn’t change his mind about keeping the pup if he was earning his keep.
As her father entered, he bent to pet the dog. “He’s a good ‘un,” said Pa. “He walks ahead of me and barks if there’s someone down an alley. Gives me warning if there’s anything I should pay attention to.”
Kitty beamed. “I’m glad you’re happy with him too. I feel better when someone is with you.” The area her father patrolled wasn’t a rookery, but their neighborhood was no Mayfair either. There were bad people everywhere, as her mother used to say.
“Wouldn’t you rather have him with you at night when you’re alone?”
She shook her head. “Nah, Widower Mercer upstairs would hear me yell. He’d come down quick enough if I needed help.” Kitty would never say how much she’d love to have Terry with her in the evening. Besides, she’d slept better this week, knowing the dog accompanied her father.
“Is the young solicitor still making cow eyes at you?”
“It’s strange how the first week he didn’t give me any notice but a wave.
” Setting the steeped tea on the table, she sat down and began buttering a slice of bread.
“Then one day, he poked his head out the window, and he’s full of prittle prattle.
We speak for a few minutes every day, but he’s not such a flat anymore.
He’s terrible at jokes, but I laugh so as not to hurt his feelings. ”
“Still trying to impress you, then,” said her father with a knowing smile.
“His hair is combed now when he comes to the window,” she said with a chuckle.
“I like Mr. Cooper. He’s respectful and makes a good living, I think. Comes from a good family.”
“You know some Coopers?” she asked.
“Naw, he was raised by the O’Briens. Paddy was a Runner for years—that’s how we met—and he and his wife raised a whole brood of castoffs.” Pa picked up his fork and dug into his eggs and rashers, tossing a piece of meat to Terry. “All seven of them have made something of themselves.”
“Seven?” Her mouth fell open. “They took in seven waifs?”
He nodded, reaching for the bread as Kitty pushed the bowl of butter toward him. “The missus couldn’t bear a child, so they found another way to have a family. You’d like them. Nice Irish couple.”
Her mind was still catching up with raising seven children from different backgrounds.
“Remember me talking about Dr. Brooks? He’s part of that family. When he married, Mr. Cooper took his rooms.” Pa dropped a crust of bread for Terry.
“From orphan to physician? That’s quite impressive.”
She had assumed Mr. Cooper had come from a well-off family who sent him to university. It had never occurred to her that he might be an orphan. She smiled, feeling proud of him for some reason.
“Careful out there this morning,” Pa said around a mouthful of eggs. “Some thick pea soup and no sun to dissipate it. The alleys are still dark.”
The heavy fog was more than a nuisance. It could be toxic to those with weak lungs, like her mother. A pea-souper was a rancid yellow combination of fog and smoke. It often smelled of chemicals and could be so dense that it was hard to see the ground.
“I’ll wear my hooded cloak and cover my head,” she said. After finishing her tea, she carried her plates to the dry sink and set them in a large basin. “I’ll finish the kitchen when I return.”
“Good girl. Better to leave early and keep your eyes peeled. Some of those drivers don’t bother to slow down in conditions like these.” He turned to the dog. “Let her know if you hear wheels coming around a corner.”
Terry barked a yes, and when Kitty reached for her forest-green pelisse, he went to the door and waited.
She checked her pockets, then decided to grab more dried peas.
Hurrying to the cupboard, she grabbed a tin, opened it, and poured a handful into her palm.
A few spilled on the floor. “Jabbers,” she cursed as she hurried to pick them up before Terry ate them.
It was a chilly morning for April, the sodden air making the fog cling to her boots.
She pulled up the hood to keep the moisture from her hair.
The day was dreary, and Kitty desperately wanted to finish her route and get back to her warm home.
She had mending to do waiting next to the rocker by the stove.
Terry would curl up next to her and sleep between his shifts, as Pa called them.
The yellow vapor still hadn’t dissipated by the time they turned the corner onto Wormwood. The narrow street was shadowy at the best time of day, but now, Kitty paused and squinted into the murky lane. Terry growled.
“There’s nothing to see, silly dog. Why are you growling?” She bent to scratch his ears, then moved forward. After waking Mr. Lockton, barely seeing his curtain fling open, Kitty breathed a sigh of relief. She had an eerie feeling, and watching the scruff on Terry’s neck rise didn’t help.
Near the end of the lane, before the buildings stopped leaning so much and daylight could be seen, Kitty saw a dark form. A man or a woman?
Shouting erupted. Definitely two male voices. Kitty slowed her pace, hoping they would move on. She was so close to Bishopsgate. As she drew near the man, still arguing with someone in the alley, a hand struck out and grabbed the man by the throat, pulling him out of sight.
Kitty screamed, and Terry began growling again. Run, screamed a voice in head. Run!
She obeyed, picking up her skirts and making a dash for the corner.
But as she passed the alley, her feet seemed to move in slow motion.
A body lay on the ground, and another man wearing a neckcloth over his face stood over him.
As the standing man looked over his shoulder, his gaze locked with Kitty’s.
The fog shifted around his head like a gothic portrait, briefly showing his face.
The cloth fell to his chin, and Kitty could just make out a short beard.
A large pale scar zigzagged down the side of his face, disappearing under the facial hair.
Something flashed in his hand. A knife. The stranger moved quickly toward her, and panic froze her to the spot until Terry began barking. The tough little terrier charged the man. Kitty grabbed the folds of her pelisse and skirts and ran as fast as she could.
Behind her, a deep voice cursed as the growling grew louder. She heard a sharp cry—her dog—then silence. When she got to the Fenley sisters’ house, she sat on the front step to catch her breath.
And burst into tears.
Kitty wanted to go back for Terry, but she was terrified to run into the man again. A man who might have just murdered someone. She sat for a moment, her face in her hands, sobbing. Until a warm tongue licked her knuckles. She peeked between her fingers, and Terry kissed her eyes.
The relief sent her into a giggling, hiccupping episode, sweeping Terry into her arms and hugging him as she rocked back and forth. She stayed there until the trembling eased.
“You might have saved my life, and I deserted you,” she mumbled into his thick coat. “I’m sorry, Terry. I’m so sorry.”
The dog licked her again, his tail thumping against her leg.
“I’m glad you don’t hold a grudge. I promise never to desert you again,” she whispered in his ear. “Let’s finish this and get home. Pa will know what to do.”
The sisters appeared behind her, wrapped in robes, mobcaps askew on their heads.
“We heard you crying,” said the elder sister. “Are you all right?”
Kitty nodded, not sure what to say. If she was a witness to something foul, she didn’t want to involve the Fenleys.
“Oh my dear,” said the younger sister, “you’re shaking. Goodness, were you almost hit? Days like this always bring a few casualties from those wild drivers.”
“People are always in such a hurry,” admonished the elder sister. “Life goes fast enough, I say. Slow down and enjoy it before it’s too late.”
As the Fenleys discussed the dangers of traffic and bad drivers, Kitty was able to collect herself. Assuring them she was fully recovered and fine physically, Kitty bade them good day.
One more stop.
This morning, she would not tarry with Mr. Cooper.
She wanted to be home with her father, his big, strong arms around her, telling her all would be well.
When the solicitor opened the sash and leaned out, she waved and abruptly left.
His confused expression at her change in routine almost made her turn around to explain. But her fear won out.
Kitty ran the rest of the way home, Terry on her heels. She burst into their small set of rooms, shouting for her father. He came from his room, rubbing his reddened eyes.
“What is it, luv? You’re white as a ghost,” said Pa.
“I think I saw the making of one.”