Frankie made one last effort to heave Mickey off. When he saw he couldn't budge him, he nodded curtly.
"All right, Mick," Billy said.
Frankie straightened his jacket. "What do you want?" he snarled.
"You, Francis."
"I'm flattered, Billy, truly. But I'm not that kind of bloke."
Billy ignored the remark. "Rumor has it Malone's losing his grip," he said. "First the Bark gets raided. Then the Taj."
Frankie shrugged. "It happens," he said. "Susie took a beating, but she kept shtum. Said she ran a lodging house, not a whorehouse. Coppers can't get anyone else to say different."
Billy looked up at the Taj. "Then why isn't the Taj open?"
"We're redecorating. Fancy a new color scheme."
"I heard Sid took a thousand quid out of this place a week. Maybe that's nothing to him. He's got more money than God, right? But what about your cut? What about you, Frankie?"
"I'm fine, thanks. Just rolling in it, me."
"But what of your talent, lad? Your skill? Likely lad like yourself oughtn't to be taking out rubbish, should he?"
Frankie bristled with embarrassment. He'd been thinking the very same thing. "I just came to check on the place is all," he said.
"So you're a watchman now? That ain't right. And from what I hear, it's not just you. Tommy, Ronnie, Oz, Desi--Del says they're in the Bark every evening. Just sitting on their arses. Sid's a businessman, right? Or so he likes to say. But as far as I can see, he ain't taking care of business. So what do you say?"
Frankie smiled. "I say go to hell, Billy."
Madden shook his head. He looked pained. "That was stupid, Frankie. Very stupid. Mickey, Del, teach our young friend here some manners."
But Mickey and Del never got the chance to teach Frankie anything.
There were villains who had to work up their anger in order to become violent. Men who went about the darkest side of their business reluctantly and clumsily. For Frankie, it was just the opposite. Violence was his calling, his art--and there was nothing he liked more than a chance to express himself.
Before Billy had even finished speaking, Frankie had turned, and smoothly, swiftly, even gracefully, thrown a punch to Mickey's windpipe. As the man staggered backward, he leaped at Del, grabbed his lapels, and kneed him in the balls. Del fell to his knees screaming, then vomited his supper onto the cobbles.
"School's closed, Billy," Frankie said. "Sod off back to Hammersmith. Don't come round here no more."
Billy shook his head. "Malone's not worth it, lad. No one is. I'm coming. You know that, don't you?"
"I'm happy for you, Billy. Want me handkerchief?"
For a few seconds Madden was silent, then he said, "Teddy Ko buy any hop off you lately?" He waited for an answer, but Frankie didn't give him one. "Didn't think so. Know why? Because he's buying from Georgie Fook now. Georgie's got his own connections in Canton. Bringing in loads of the stuff in the bottom of tea chests. Got himself quite a gang these days, too, and they're making a play for Limehouse. Better keep an eye on Whitechapel, too, mate. Max Moses and his madmen beat the publican down the Beggar silly last night. Told him he was to pay them now, not Sid. Why, Frankie, you look surprised!"
Frankie, never good at hiding his emotion, tried for a neutral expres-sion, but Madden's words had unnerved him. He'd heard about the beating at the Beggar and he'd told Sid just last week that Ko was too quiet. But Sid had done nothing, just buggered off west with some sick kiddie in his carriage. He should've put paid to Ko and Moses. And he should put paid to Billy Madden, too, for standing here bold as brass in his manor. But he wouldn't. Because Madden was right. He'd become weak. Or barmy. Or both.
"It's coming apart, Frankie. Can't you see that? Malone's played out and everyone knows it."
"Shut up, Billy," Frankie warned, but Billy didn't.
"The Chinese, the Italians, the Jews, they're all circling. They all want a piece. Not me. I want the whole thing. And I want you. I'll need a man like you and I'll make it worth your while. Think on it, Frankie. Malone's a sinking ship. Don't let him take you down with him." He turned to his men and barked, "You two! Get up! You're a disgrace, the both of you."
As Del and Mickey gathered themselves, rain began to patter on the cobbles. There was a dull rumble of thunder.
Madden held his palm up. "Storm's coming, Francis," he said. He fixed Frankie with his soulless gaze, then smiled. "See that you don't get caught in it."
Chapter 40
India set her teacup into its saucer. She gave a small, bitter laugh, then said, "My God, it never rains but it pours."
"Are you all right, Dr. Jones?" Andrew Spence asked.
"No, I am not."
"Can I get you something to drink? Something a bit stronger, perhaps?"
"Yes, please. After all, it's not every day you find yourself ruined."
India was sitting in the offices of Haddon & Spence, Solicitors, with Maud, Bingham, and Robert Selwyn Jones, Wish's father. They had been summoned to hear the reading of Wish's will. Freddie was to have been with them, but work had prevented him from coming.
Andrew Spence, Wish's solicitor, had informed the assembly that they would be inheriting no monies or personal effects, as the estate would be auctioned to satisfy the claims of Wish's creditors. Then he'd told them that India would be receiving the title to 1,200 acres of ranch-land and an abandoned farmhouse on Point Reyes in Marin County, California.
"Lovely land, I'm told. Bordering a place called Drakes Bay. Quite close to the headlands, as the ordnance survey shows. Stunning view of the water," Spence had said, pushing the map across the desk.
India had glanced at it. It was all wavy lines and numbers and meant nothing to her. "But what about the money?" she'd asked.
"Money?"
"The money I gave to my cousin to invest in the land. Might I have that back, please? Instead of the land?"
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
"But why?"
"Because the money's been spent," Spence said slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton. "Your cousin used it to purchase the land. That is the bad news. The good news is that the deed to the land is now yours. You are-- were-- business partners in the Bluffs, a resort hotel that was to be built on the Point Reyes property. Your cousin has since passed away. You survived him. Therefore, as his partner, the land goes to you."
"So there is no money. None at all," India said, still unable to comprehend what the man was telling her: that her money-- all of it-- was gone.
"There's a little bit of cash, or rather there will be after Mr. Jones's various investments are liquidated, his automobile is sold, his furniture, etcetera--but I'm afraid it will go to settle his debts. His creditors have a claim on the proceeds of his estate. He owes a particularly large amount to a builder whom he engaged to begin work on the hotel. That payment"--he consulted the papers in front of him--"was for ten thou-sand dollars, and unfortunately it is not refundable. The builder informed us that he used the bulk of it to hire teams and laborers for foundation work. The hole is dug, I'm afraid. In more ways than one. His claim is only the first of a dozen or so that must be satisfied from the proceeds of your cousin's estate."
"And I don't have a claim on the estate?"
"No, you're not a creditor, Dr. Jones," Spence said patiently. "You're a business partner. You gave him your money to invest on your behalf. He doesn't owe you goods or services as a result. According to the contract between the two of you, the idea was that once he'd taken his company public, he would buy you out. But sadly that has not happened." He smiled patronizingly. "Those are the risks we must accept when we invest."
Spence rose and bustled about his office offering everyone more brandy. They all accepted except for Wish's father. He kissed his nieces and left. India watched him go and her heart ached for him. He was a broken man after the death of his only child, and rarely left his home now.
The coroner had ruled Wish's death accidental, but India knew
her uncle worried that his son had taken his own life. She worried about that possibility, too. Freddie had taken her out to supper a few nights ago, to cheer her up after Gifford dismissed her, and they'd talked about it. She'd tried to tell herself--and him--that suicide was unthinkable. Wish would never do such a thing. It wasn't in his nature. He'd had money troubles before, plenty of times, and he'd always weathered them, but then Freddie had reminded her about Wish's ring. It was given to an ancestor of Wish's mother's, a naval captain, by Lord Nelson himself, and had the Nelson family crest on it surrounded by a ring of diamonds. Wish had valued the ring highly, and often said he would never part with it.
"His troubles must have been very bad indeed--or at least he believed them to be. He would never have given the ring up otherwise," Freddie had said, and India had found herself reluctantly agreeing. Wish had adored that ring. Her uncle Robert had asked for it after his death and had been shocked, and heartsick, to learn it had been pawned.
Spence sat down behind his desk again, then said, "At least your cousin had no other business partners, Dr. Jones. Only yourself. Therefore the land need not be subdivided. There will be no protracted legal wrangles over who gets how many acres. You're quite lucky, you know."
India shook her head. Lucky was not the first word she would have used. Destitute was a better choice. I can sell the land, she thought. But how? And to whom? It was terribly remote, accessible only by a long carriage ride down a bad road from a train station in the middle of nowhere. Wish said the owner had been trying to sell it for years before he'd bought it. It would probably take her years to resell it.
"India, did you give him everything?" Maud asked.
"Yes."
"My God, how could you be so foolish?"
"I thought I could make money for my clinic."
"You and this damned clinic!" Maud said angrily, her voice raised. "It's not enough that you poke around in guts and muck..."
India did not want a lecture now. She felt as if she were holding on by only a thread, and the thread might snap any second. She had just got-ten back on her feet after Wish's death, and after her beating at the hands of Fred Coburn. She'd lost her position with Dr. Gifford, and now she'd lost all her money, too. What would she tell Ella? She tried to calm herself. At least they still had the donors' money. It was in an account in Barings Bank, in the clinic's name, and was not affected by Wish's death.
"It's not enough that you expose yourself to every disgusting disease, or that you were nearly beaten to death..."
"Maud, please," India said, irritated. She was trying to think of what she was going to do for money, how she was going to keep the clinic going, and all Maud wanted to do was scold.
"Don't Maud, please me, India! I saw you! Your eyes were swollen shut. Your face was fifty shades of purple. Freddie said it was insanity, and he was right." There was a brief silence, then she added, "You're totally ruined. You'll have to give up your flat. You'll live with me, of course."
"Thank you, Maud, truly. But you know that won't work. We'd be at each other in ten minutes."
"I don't know why you would say that."
"Teddy Ko. Limehouse."
Maud glared. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk about self-destructive habits."
"You know how I feel about it," India began.
Maud cut her off. "What if I were to give you some money?"
"There would be strings attached, I'm sure."
"India, how very rude you are! I'm trying to help you!"
"You were raised by the same mother as I was, and you know as well as I do that where money is concerned there are always strings."
"What strings? I would simply give it to you!"
India gave her a look. "And this money could be used to open a clinic?"
"I was rather thinking you might use it to establish a private practice. In Harley Street."
"You see? Strings."
"You're impossible! I don't know why you won't let me help you," Maud said.
"Is Harley Street your idea of help, Maud? It's the last place I would go!"
India was on her feet now. Maud's expression was thunderous.
Bingham, distressed, looked anxiously between the two angry women.
"Here, Maud old mole, have another," he said, grabbing Spence's brandy. "Indy, you too. Sit down. Calm down. You're upset. Neither of you is thinking straight." He poured, then sat on the edge of Spence's desk. He stayed that way for a few minutes, biting his thumb. Then he said, "You've blown this all out of proportion. You're not ruined, India. Of course you're not."
India raised an eyebrow. "I'm not?" she said.
"No, aren't you forgetting something?"
"Am I?"
"Yes! You'll be married soon. And when you are, you'll have the dowry. A very generous one, I might add. That will keep you and Freddie very comfortably, won't it? And then there's the Berkeley Street house."
"Bingham--" Maud began.
"What on earth are you talking about?" India finished.
"The London house. Your house. Well, yours and Freddie's," he said, smiling, as if that explained everything. He soon saw that it didn't, so he continued. "You know... Lady Isabelle's wedding gift."
"What?" Maud said, shocked. She turned to her sister. "India, Mama's giving you the London house? Why didn't you tell me?" she asked indignantly.
"Because I didn't know!" India retorted. She sat back in her chair and tried to take a deep breath, but couldn't. Her corset suddenly felt excruciatingly tight. Had her mother been talking to Freddie about a dowry? When? Why hadn't he told her? She didn't want anything to do with her parents' money or their possessions. He knew that. Why had he gone behind her back?
"You didn't know?" Bingham echoed, confused. And then he went pale. "Oh, blast. Oh, damn. I've let the cat out of the bag. It must've been a secret. Freddie probably wanted it kept a surprise. He'll gut me. You won't tell him I blabbed, will you, Indy? You'll pretend to be surprised, won't you?"
"I won't have to pretend, Bing. When did he tell you this?"
"A few weeks ago. But I'm sure it's true. He mentioned it again just the other night. When he told me what had happened to you at Dr. Gifford's. The mad girl--Alice Little--and her mother. The rubber johnnies and all that."
Bingham continued talking but India barely heard him. She now felt as if she couldn't breathe at all. "Bing," she said quietly, "how do you know my patient's name?"
"What? Oh, um Freddie told me."
"But I never told him."
"India, you're making no sense. You did tell him. He took you out to supper to cheer you up--remember? Look, it's been a shocker of a day. Wish's will. The money. Maybe we should get a spot of lunch."
"No, I never told him my patient's name," she said again, more to herself than to Bingham. "To do so would violate her privacy. I would never tell anyone her name."
Maud groaned. "Oh, for God's sake, what does it matter? I saw a Lyons tea room on the way in. Let's go there."
But tea was the last thing on India's mind. She rose. "I have to go," she said abruptly. "Now."
"To Lyons? Good. We're coming with you," Maud said.
"No, to see someone. A patient." She rushed to the door and pulled it open.
"Indy, wait! What's going on? What's wrong?" Bingham called after her.
She turned. Her eyes were huge in her face. Her expression was an-guished. "Oh, Bing," she said. "Absolutely everything."
Chapter 41
India stood on the steps of 40 Myrtle Walk, a shabby two-up two-down in Hoxton.
"I'm looking for a woman by the name of Little, Alice Little," she said to the man who'd answered the door. "Does she live here?"
The man shook his head. "No one here by that name. You try next door?"
"I've tried every house on the street," India said wearily.
"Sorry, luv," the man said, closing the door.
India walked down the steps, bitterly disappointed. That was that. There was no Alice Little. At
least not in Myrtle Walk. Maybe there never had been. For all she knew the woman could have given a false address or name. She stared down the narrow street, wondering what to do next. She wanted to find Alice Little. Had to find her. There were things she needed to ask her.
Right after she'd left Maud and Bingham, she'd taken a hackney to Brick Lane. She had no idea where Alice Little lived, but she knew Ella might. The woman had an incredible memory. She knew nearly every pa-tient at Varden Street by face and by name, and often by address, as she was constantly sending them reminders to pay their bills. Alice Little had given Ella no trouble, though. She'd come to Varden Street only once and had paid her bill the same day.
The Winter Rose Page 42