The Winter Rose

by Jennifer Donnelly

  "Dr. Jones? She's here?"

  "That's what I heard."

  "Bloody hell, Frankie. If Devlin finds her, she's done for."

  "How do you mean?"

  "He'll make her part of his story. Make her look bad. Land her right in the shit."

  "So what, guv? What's it to us?"

  "A lot. To me, at least. Come on."

  "Fuck's sake, Sid, I'm starved! And there's a nice pub right round the corner."

  Sid didn't even hear him. He had to find India. He made his way through the crowd of women, some standing, some sitting. Some looked bored, as if the inside of a police station was nothing new to them. Others looked dazed. He saw torn blouses, crumpled hats, bruised faces.

  And then he saw India. He didn't recognize her at first. Her face was bloodied. The neck of her blouse was open. Its collar was stained with more blood. She was with Ella Moskowitz. The two of them were bent over a third woman. Sid saw India lift her skirt, tear a strip of fabric from her petticoat and use it to bind up a jagged cut on the woman's hand. That fig-ured. The two of them helping hard-luck cases when they should have had sense enough to get out of there while they could. Sid saw Devlin. He was only a yard away, sniffing, circling, closing in. It was too late. He was nearly on her.

  Sid backed away. "Forget it," he said to Frankie. And then India turned toward him and he saw her face, saw her resoluteness and determination, her heart-breaking innocence. She was tired and dirty, he could see that, yet he knew she would stay in this grim, stinking place, tearing up her clothing, until every last wound was bound.

  "Oi!" he suddenly boomed. "Annie! Mary! I've been looking all over for you two. Get yourselves up out of this and get back to work!"

  India blinked. Ella looked at him as if he'd gone mad. Sid gave a sharp nod toward Devlin. Ella's eyes widened.

  "Keep your hair on, guv, we was just leavin'," she said. "Wanted a bit of a holiday, we did. Hard work being on your back all day, ain't it?" she added, elbowing the woman next to her. They laughed bawdily.

  "Two of yours, Malone?" a male voice said. It was Devlin. "Thought you were a businessman."

  "I am. These are me business partners. Two waitresses from the Taj." Sid looked at India as he spoke. Her mouth was open. He chucked her un-der the chin and closed it.

  "Waitresses, eh?" Devlin said, smirking.

  "Aye, and always happy to serve. Aren't you, girls? Mr. Devlin here's got himself a brand-new camera and he's awfully fond of it. Be a shame if it got broken like his last one did."

  "Relax, Malone. It's not you I'm after. Got some bigger fish to fry. Word has it the MP's flanc�got picked up. Spent the night in here with all the drunks and brasses. Would make a good story, that, what with election ru-mors hotting up and all. �MP Doxie's Liberal Ways'... something like that."

  "You're a right wordsmith, Dev," Sid said. He turned India's face away from Devlin's toward his own, making a show of examining the ugly gash on her temple. He saw that she'd gone pale. "Get this cleaned up, Mary. It's bad for business," he said, warning her with his eyes to keep quiet. "You sure the bird's here, Dev? What's her name?"

  "Jones, I think," Devlin said. "She's a doctor. Works for Edwin Gifford on Varden Street. A somber old Puritan, him. Bet he'd sack her if the story ran. Might make a good follow-up. That or an interview with Lytton. After his lady friend costs him the election."

  "You're all heart."

  Devlin shrugged. "Not my lookout. I have papers to sell. You know her, Malone? Know what she looks like?"

  "I'm afraid not. We don't run in the same social circles, me and the MP."

  "No, I don't suppose you do." Devlin frowned. He watched Sid lick his thumb and rub at the dried blood under India's eye. His own eyes nar-rowed. He studied her face.

  Sid smiled at him. "Interested, Dev? You'd never know it from looking at her, but this one's a right goer. Ain't you, luv?" he said to India. He took her chin, lifted it, and kissed her mouth. He licked his lips when he finished, as if savouring a bite of beefsteak. "You want a bit of that, you come round the Taj," he said, winking.

  "I'm a married man," Devlin said priggishly.

  "All the more reason," Sid replied. Then he clapped his hands. "All right, no more skiving. There's work to be done. Ta-ra, Dev," he called over his shoulder.

  Devlin grumbled a reply and moved off. Sid quickly escorted India and Ella out of the station. As soon as they were in the street, Ella kissed Sid's cheek and thanked him. "I've got to run," she said. "Me mum'll be worried to death. 'Bye, India. See you tomorrow."

  India didn't reply. She was looking at the ground.

  "You all right?" Sid asked her. "That's a bad cut."

  She raised her head. Her eyes were blazing. "How dare you?" she said, her voice shaking with rage.

  Sid was taken aback. He'd expected her gratitude. "How dare I?" he echoed.

  "Yes. How dare you?"

  "How dare I what? How dare I save you from having your picture splashed all over Devlin's rag? How dare I save your bloody job? And likely your bloody engagement, too? Wonder what Freddie would make of his fianc�mixing with whores. Brawling like a common criminal. Wonder what his voters would make of it."

  "I wasn't mixing with prostitutes, I was--"

  "Doesn't matter. That's how the papers will tell it."

  "You went too far, Mr. Malone. You shouldn't have said what you did. You shouldn't have kissed me. It was highly improper. I imagine you enjoyed yourself immensely, but--"

  Sid snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

  India looked so hurt that he immediately regretted the remark. He was about to say so, when he heard laughter. It was Frankie. He'd forgotten all about him.

  "Frankie, see Ella home, will you?"

  Frankie looked at Sid, then at India. His eyes darkened. He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something.

  "Now," Sid said.

  Frankie nodded curtly and trotted off in the direction Ella had taken. Sid looked at India again. At her torn clothing. At the jagged cut on the side of her face.

  "How'd that happen anyway?" he asked.

  "Horse," she said tightly.

  "You're lucky it wasn't worse."

  "Very."

  Christ, why were they at each other again? Sid wondered. They could never talk without rowing. Not at Ko's. Or in the hospital. Not at the Bark. And not here, either. All he'd wanted to do was help her. To make things right for her. Couldn't she see that?

  "Sorry for interfering Dr. Jones," he finally said. "My mistake." He touched the brim of his cap and made his way through the milling crowd.

  "Mr. Malone, I ...wait lease wait..." India said, but he didn't hear her.

  "Malone!"

  Sid looked around at the sound of his name and spotted Devlin hurrying down the stairs with his camera. "Malone, you tosser, you!"

  He turned back to India. Her eyes were fearful. She looked like a trapped animal. "Can you run in your boots?" he shouted.

  "Yes!"

  "Then for fuck's sake, woman, do so!"

  "Come on, it's not far now," Sid urged India.

  They'd been running flat out for ten minutes, but they still hadn't man-aged to shake Devlin.

  "Malone, wait! I just want to ask a few questions!" they heard him yelling, only a street away.

  India stopped. "Mr. Malone," she wheezed. "It's all right. I'll talk to him. I can't go any farther. I can't. I just won't let him take a picture."

  "He'll pop that bleedin' thing while you're walking toward him. That's what he did to me. Told me he just wanted to talk, tucked the bloody thing under his arm, and then whoosh! The flash goes off and he got me. Let him get a picture and you're done for. Right now he's got no proof of anything. The beaks didn't take any names. But if he gets your photograph he's at least got proof you were standing on Dean Street, roughed up and blood-ied. It won't look good for Lytton. Not one bit."

  "Why do you suddenly care so about Freddie, Mr. Malone? He doesn't care about you. He'
s trying to put you in jail with all possible haste."

  "I don't care," he said, looking away from her searching gray eyes. "Not about Freddie."

  "Malone! Just give me a minute!"

  "If you can go another few yards, I can get us out of here."

  "All right."

  They ran to the end of Dean Street, where Sid suddenly pulled India into the doorway of a squat brick house. The door to the ground-floor flat opened as they pounded down the hallway. An old woman stuck her head out. Her milky eyes focused on Sid, then lit up.

  "Hello, luv!" she said. "Looking a bit breathless, you are. Needin' me cellar?"

  "I am, Sally."

  "Come on, then."

  She led them to the small, dingy kitchen at the back of the house and opened a door. A flight of steps led down from it into darkness.

  "I owe you, Sal," Sid said, kissing her wrinkled cheek.

  "You owe me nothing. Raysie sends his regards. Lamp's on the shelf."

  Sid grabbed a small miner's lamp and fumbled with a box of matches. They all heard a loud battering from the front of the house.

  The old woman sighed. She reached past Sid and took down a heavy iron frying pan from a shelf. "Who's it this time?" she asked.

  "Newspapers."

  "Diabolical, they are. Worse than the rozzers." She patted his cheek. "You take care of yourself."

  "And you, Sally," Sid said. The lamp was glowing now. Sally waited un-til they were down the stairs then shut the door behind them.

  "Mind yourself," Sid said, leading India across the dank, low-ceilinged room. He stopped in front of a battered armoire.

  India hesitated. "We're not hiding in there, are we?" she asked. "It's just that it's rather small, and..."

  "And what? Our elbows might touch?"

  "No, that's not it. That's not it at all. I just ...I..."

  "Let's go. We've no time for chatting," Sid said. He pushed aside some moldering dresses and an ancient mackintosh. India gasped when she saw what they'd hidden--a narrow passageway.

  "Bend low," Sid told her, climbing into the wardrobe. When he was in the passageway, he reached back for her. When she'd climbed through, he pulled the wardrobe's door shut from the inside and put the clothes back as they were.

  "It's a bit of a slog--maybe ten or twelve streets from where we are now--but at least we won't have to run it," he said.

  India looked wide-eyed at the passageway. Sid followed her gaze, taking in the sodden walls, dripping with rainwater and, worse, the low earth ceiling with its shroud of cobwebs, and the rutted, puddled ground. Denny Quinn had told him about this tunnel. No one knew who'd built it or why.

  "Take hold of me jacket and stick close. Ground's a bit treacherous."

  "Where are we going?"

  "East."

  "What about Devlin? What if he follows us?"

  "No worries. He won't get past Sally. She's dead accurate with that frying pan."

  "How do you know her?"

  Sid didn't reply. He was fiddling with the lamp as he walked. There was plenty of kerosene in the base, but the wick was dodgy. It was flickering. They had a long walk ahead of them and he wanted the light to last. There were things in the tunnel that didn't like light.

  India tried another question. "Who's Raysie?"

  "Sal's old man," he said.

  "Where is he?"

  "Dying."

  "Dying? In the flat? Let's go back. Perhaps I could help him."

  "In the hospital. Stomach cancer."

  "Which hospital?"

  "Bart's."

  "That's one of the best."

  "So I've heard."

  Another pause, then, "You're paying his bills, aren't you?"

  "What's that to you?"

  She was about to reply when she stumbled. At the same time there was a terrible, high-pitched squeaking. Sid heard her gasp, felt her hands clutch at his back.

  "You didn't say there were rats!" she cried.

  "I thought it best not to. Are you afraid of them?"

  "No." He heard her swallow--hard. Then, "Yes. Yes, I am. And tunnels. I'm claustrophobic."

  Sid sighed. "Now you tell me."

  "I tried earlier, but you wouldn't let me!"

  "Look, just forget you're in a tunnel, all right? Pretend you're walking on the street. Don't think about it."

  "What about the rats?"

  "They're more frightened of you than you are of them."

  "I don't think so."

  He was surprised by her admission of fear, by her sudden vulnerability. It softened his angry feelings toward her. He reached for her hand and squeezed it, and was surprised to feel her squeeze back. He tried to get her talking again, thinking it might distract her. He told her he thought he would have the supplies she wanted soon. He asked about her clinic and if she was any closer to opening it.

  "You're trying to keep my mind off the rats, aren't you?"

  "You've seen right through me." He hurried his pace, pulling her after him. The bloody wick was playing up and they weren't even halfway through the tunnel.

  "Tell me something about yourself. It's only fair," India said. "I told you about my family, my studies, everything, when you were in the hos-pital. Now it's your turn. Quid pro quo, remember? I'll start you off. Where were you born?"

  Sid said nothing.

  "East London by the sound of your voice. What were your parents like? One of them must have had red hair. According to Mendel's laws, at least.

  Mendel was the first geneticist, you know. He studied the inherited traits of peas."

  "I'm not a pea, missus."

  "I realize that, but all living things contain genetic material and share it when they reproduce. Was it your mother? Did she have red hair?"

  Sid said nothing. But he was pleased to see the tunnel snake to the left--the turning was the halfway point.

  "Do you have any brothers? Sisters? No?" India pressed. "Did you have a dog when you were a child? Cats? A budgerigar?" She sighed, then said, "This isn't fair! I talked to you when you were in the hospital, now you should talk to me."

  When he still didn't reply, she said, "You're angry with me, aren't you? Look, I'm sorry. I really am. Please don't be."

  "I'm not. I just don't like talking about meself."

  "No, I meant that I'm sorry for earlier. At the jail. You tried to help me. You did help me, and I behaved badly in return. I can't imagine how angry Freddie would have been if I'd gotten myself into the papers. I owe you my gratitude, Mr. Malone."

  "It's Sid. And you don't owe me anything. We're even."

  "I don't understand."

  "You saved me. Now I've saved you. We're quits."

  "Yes. All right. Quits."

  Was it his imagination, or was there a shade of regret in her voice? He didn't have time to dwell on it because he'd seen movement up ahead. On the ground. It seemed, in fact, as if the ground itself were moving, but he knew it wasn't. He was just trying to figure out how to hide what was coming from India when his problem was abruptly solved. The wick guttered wildly, then went out. They were standing in total darkness.

  "Please tell me that you know your way out of here," she said. "Please."

  "I do. There's a bit of bother up ahead, though. A big puddle. Deep one. I'll have to carry you over it."

  India was quiet for a few seconds, then she said, "There's not really a puddle, is there?"

  Sid didn't answer. "You hold the lamp and I'll hold you. Ready?"

  "We can't go back?"

  "I'd wager any amount of money that Devlin's waiting right outside Sal's door."

  "All right, then. I'm ready."

  There was a bit of fumbling. Sid accidentally brushed India's bottom. "Sorry," he quickly said.

  "It's all right," she replied.

  Finally he got his arms under her and lifted her off the ground. She was light. As light as a child. She put her arms around his neck and he could smell the scent of her--lavender, starch, and sweat.

&n
bsp; "It's not much farther," he said. "Once we get past the puddle."

  "Talk to me, Sid. Please. Tell me something. Anything. You were a boy once, weren't you? Tell me what you did. What games you played. Hoops? Mumblety-peg? Croquet?"