by Eliza Lloyd
Someone shined a light in her face and peered down.
“Got her.”
“Danny!” she screamed. She opened her mouth and bit down on the first thing she could get her teeth into—someone’s finger. He swore and then decided to use his hands to keep her arms in place.
Someone clamped their arms around Imo’s legs and lifted her from the ground. She bucked and squirmed between them, but with both her arms and legs bound she could do nothing but scream.
The flame-lit sky dimmed as they passed through a narrow opening between two buildings. The passageway allowed one person at a time, and Imo did her best to slow them down, scraping her own body against the rough brick. They emerged on the other side of Old Fish Street.
She screamed her brothers’ names again.
The two carrying her breathed heavily from the exertion of her weight and the fast pace they tried to maintain.
Imo knew a moment of breathless fear as she was thrown high. Her arms flailed and she landed with a hard thud inside a wagon. She scrambled back. One of the men climbed inside the wagon with her, the other jumped onto the driver’s bench. She turned to her knees, ready to vault from the now moving wagon. A strong, hard club hit her from behind, landing on her shoulder.
“Keep the bitch down and get her tied up before we lose her.”
Imo’s right arm hung uselessly, but she made one more attempt to get over the side. The man in the wagon bed with her grabbed her ankle, knocking her backward again. Her head thudded against the hard planks.
Dazed, Imo thought she looked up, but she couldn’t see anything. She blinked but only felt tears sliding down the side of her face. She was lost.
And a girl lost in London was lost forever.
* * * * *
Imogene woke to the sound of her brothers’ voices—a distant buzz of swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain, which meant Charlie wasn’t with them. “Charlie,” she mumbled.
“You filthy cocksucker, who sent you?” Frank yelled.
She heard the sound of fighting and then the kind of retching that comes from being kicked in the belly. The next sound, that of a coughing gurgle, she’d never heard before.
She tried to roll, but her hands were bound behind her back and her feet secured with a sturdy length of rope. Oh shite. The fire. The two blokes who’d grabbed her.
The fighting and words dimmed and then came back loud and near her ear.
“Come on, Imo. Time to get moving,” Danny said.
He worked at the bindings at her ankles and then rolled her. She screamed as she landed on her right shoulder.
“Shit. She’s hurt, Frank.”
Danny tapped on her face. “Imo, can you walk?”
“Yeah,” she squeaked. Danny’s arm slid behind her so she could sit up. Every inch hurt like hellfire. He sawed on the ropes with his knife, jerking her shoulder more. She grimaced and tried to keep the pain from her expression. “What happened?”
“We killed ’em, that’s what happened. And we have to get you out of here.”
“Where’s Charlie?”
“He’s safe. Stay here while I help Frank get the other body in the wagon.” It was then Imo noticed the man sprawled out beside her and the smell of blood. Frank and his busy knife. The man in the wagon bed was the same one who’d promised to get Mrs. Cookson’s daughter out of the fire. He’d actually come for Imo. Tiny Etherton then? Would the Scot burn down an area he was pledged to protect?
Imo leaned against the wagon wheel, her head down and one hand holding her arm in a position that relieved the burning pain her shoulder. Her hand slid to the pocket where her money banged against her leg. The familiar bundle and the new addition of funds from Danny was still safe.
The boys struggled, but finally got the dead body in the wagon.
“Jeez, we’ll be dripping blood all the way to Deptford. Frank, find something to hide this mess.”
“Where are you taking them?” Imo asked.
“None of your business. The less you know, the better.”
Frank jumped on the driver’s bench. “What now?”
“Knife it!” Danny paced. “Let me think.” He rubbed his temples in agitation. “Aye, take the Southwark Bridge to Deptford, use the Kent Road and I’ll catch up with you there. If it gets on daylight, find a place to hide until I can get there.”
“Do you want me to dump them at the bridge?”
“Lud, no! They’d wash up at London Bridge next tide. No, get them to Deptford and let them wash out to sea. Push the wagon in too. Find somebody to buy the nag.”
“More chance of being seen that way.”
“I don’t fucking care!” Danny hissed. “Get the bodies out of London or we’ll all end up at Newgate before nightfall. Get going, Frank. Don’t worry, I’ll find you. And be careful.”
Frank glanced at her and shot her a grin. “Now I’ll be able to beat you at arm wrestling.”
“Not a chance,” Imo shot back, but not with her usual confidence.
The wagon disappeared into the night. The hooves hitting the cobblestone echoed faintly in the distance.
Danny turned and started walking. She fell into step with him, each footstep jolting through her shoulder and arm. Within a few blocks, she realized that the men who’d captured her had taken her nearly a mile from Old Fish Street, and that the place their brothers set their attack was about as empty a place as they could find. Danny had always been the smart one.
“Am I walking too fast?” he asked.
“No, I can keep up. Did everyone get out of the house?”
“I don’t know.” He took several more long steps before he said, “I doubt they could save the house.”
“We have to get back to Charlie. He’s probably worried.”
“I imagine.” Danny might sound calm; she knew he wasn’t.
Finally, they got to Old Fish Street where several people still milled about, the acrid smoke still thick in the air. The house next to Mrs. Bunton’s had also caught fire and most of the men carried buckets and hoes, attempting to put out the still-burning embers.
“Wait here while I find out what’s going on.”
“No.” She wasn’t simply being defiant—she didn’t want to be alone.
“Let’s find Charlie, then.” They pushed around the bodies until they found him sitting on the hidden steps where Danny had instructed him to stay.
Imo noticed the dirt and ash on Charlie’s face and the tears that had made a trail clear to his jaw. He stood, still hugging the package that held her hated dress, and then he ran toward Danny. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”
They all stood with their arms about each other for a couple of minutes. Imo didn’t care that hell was blazing from her elbow to her neck. These were the only people on Earth who mattered to her and she’d nearly lost them tonight.
“We need to find Mrs. Bunton.”
“Can’t. She’s dead,” Charlie said.
“What?”
“They think the fire started in her room. They couldn’t find Mrs. Cookson’s daughter either. I heard people talking.” Charlie shrugged, not really comprehending what Mrs. Bunton’s death might mean for the four Farrells.
“The fire didn’t start in her room. Someone set the house on fire.”
Of course, that’s how they could grab her. They knew she’d be desperate to get away from the burning building and no one was really paying attention to strangers.
Mrs. Bunton was dead? And little Adele? Just when she began to feel sorry for herself, she was reminded that there were worse things—like dying in a fire.
This was her fault.
“What are we going to do?” The chasm in Imogene’s heart cracked a bit wider. Tears wouldn’t help, but cry she did.
“I’ve been thinking about that. We have to leave now,” Danny said.
“But where will we go?” Charlie latched on to Imo’s good hand. Danny turned West, a direction they rarely needed to go. Imo walked betw
een them.
“Be real quiet now. I don’t want to attract attention. The Farrells who lived on Old Fish Street are dead. Remember that.”
They walked in the silent darkness, slipping past night watchmen, cadgers and the occasional reveler. Imo rubbed at her pocket, feeling the comforting presence of the money she’d earned. Hard to believe money had become a constant in their lives. And the getting of that money was what had called attention to them. She would have reached for Danny, had her arm not hurt so bad, just to feel his steady presence. She wondered how he was able to calmly lead.
Charlie carried the dress package under his arm. She was tempted to throw the rag behind the next shrub she found. Still, Mrs. Bunton had helped her pick it out and the next time she wore it, if there ever was a next time, she’d remember their friend.
* * * * *
They passed through some of the more fashionable areas of town, surprisingly quiet considering the parties and whatnot that went on and finally they turned north.
Fitzroy Square!
Danny was taking them to Mary FitzPatrick, Mam’s friend and the one adult who actually cared about their existence. Imo should have guessed. But how could Mrs. Fitz take them all in? The high and mighty lord who employed her wouldn’t want dock rats underfoot.
The house was pitch black inside, not even a single candle lit the interior foyer. The homes in the square were all three stories, set side by side.
Once Mary found them in the dust-yards, they’d been to see Mary twice, both times asking for money when they couldn’t cobble together the ten pennies Mrs. Bunton needed for rent. Danny had told them early on that Mary would have liked to see them more often, and she hadn’t said not to visit, but Danny also told them that the old stick who owned the home wouldn’t appreciate four orphans eating his bread and mudding his floor.
Mary had a decent job. It wasn’t until a year or two ago that Danny also told Imo the man who owned the place housed his mistresses on Fitzroy Square and that it was no place for impressionable children. Well, they weren’t children anymore and Imo had done her fair share of debauchery. What she hadn’t done, she could guess at.
“Imogene, listen to me carefully. None of us is going back, do you understand? For no reason. If those dead bodies show up too soon, the person who hired them is gonna start asking questions. And that’s gonna lead to the Farrells. Mary will take you in or help you get a job, I’m sure of it. Especially since me and Frank won’t be around.”
“What?” She grabbed his jacket sleeve. “You’re not leaving us alone.”
They stopped. “Listen to me, both of you. It will be a safe place until I can figure something out. Don’t mind what happens to me and Frank for now. Mary will help.”
“I don’t want to kiss some lord’s arse or carry his slop buckets,” she hissed under her breath.
“Hush, would you? It’ll only be until things settle down and until I can find us another place away from here.” They stopped at the south side of the square. “You remember the house?”
“Yes, but where are you going?”
“I have to help Frank and make sure he’s safe. You and Charlie find a place to hide until morning. Ain’t nobody gonna open the door to orphans this time of night. In the morning, knock on the back door and have them find Mary. She’ll know what to do. And both of you forget for the time being you ever heard of the Farrells.”
“How long will you be gone?” Imo clutched Charlie’s shirt at the neck; he pressed into her side. Never had they been separated for more than a few hours. “You are coming back?”
“Yeah, but not for a few days. Even if a few weeks pass, don’t fret. We both have enough money to get by for a long while. But I will be back.”
“What about Molly and the baby?”
“Jeez, haven’t you figured out the baby ain’t mine, as much as she’d like to think so? Forget Molly, forget Old Fish Street and our life there.”
They hugged briefly. Danny brushed the top of Charlie’s head.
“Don’t let nothing bad happen to Frank,” Imo whispered.
“And you don’t let nothing bad happen to Charlie,” Danny said, rustling Charlie’s hair before he left.
Danny disappeared into the thick blackness of the night, leaving Imo and Charlie, the two least able to defend themselves, alone in the night.
“Aw, he’ll be all right. I’ll pray for some angels to follow him,” Charlie said, his quivering voice betrayed his lack of confidence. Yet Charlie would pray and Imo felt the better for his simple belief.
“I think that’s a good idea. You probably ought to say a few for us too.”
Imo gripped Charlie’s hand in a show of protection. In reality, she did it because she was afraid. They walked around Fitzroy Square looking for any nook to settle in. Imogene spotted the night watch on the north side of the square. They went to the back side of the house and found the mews. A latch door at the side of the building came open. Horses stamped and snorted but were all secure in their stalls. The smell of manure, wet straw and horse sweat permeated the air. Imo didn’t mind the smell. At least it was honest.
She thumbed a signal to Charlie and they scooted toward the wooden ladder and climbed to the loft. Charlie went first, reached back for the package and Imo was quick, making short work of the climb, even one-handed. A welcome stack of straw and hay greeted them and they settled in with little noise and less movement.
“Give me that package.” Imo unfastened the strings and freed the dress from its six-month captivity. She spread the whole over both of them. They might as well be warm.
“You should wear this tomorrow.” He patted the dress. “They might take to a girl better than two boys.”
“Someday Charlie, I think you are going to be as smart as Danny.” For the first time that night, Charlie smiled. He snuggled in beside her. She heard his whispered prayer for Danny and Frank, so she said one of her own.
As she drifted off to sleep, she remembered Danny’s words: We can’t go back. Imo tried to rouse herself as something important drifted through her mind.
She was never going to see Jack again.
* * * * *
The energetic sun already leaked into the rank stables, but it was the sounds below that alarmed Imo. She’d meant to be out of their hiding place before anyone came to work. Charlie’s big eyes blinked. She put her finger to her lips then rolled toward the ledge overlooking the horse stalls. The sweet smell of straw filled the air around her and her arm ached with the first movement of her body.
Only one stableman worked and he was at the other end, hefting a pitchfork and whistling a cheery tune.
She turned back to Charlie and smiled. They could still get away without too much of a rumpus. She whirled a finger, telling Charlie to turn around.
Imo pulled off her clothes and once she was naked, except for her worn boots and holey woolen stockings, she reached for the dress. It didn’t seem like such a fashionable monstrosity now that she needed to look the part of a semi-respectable, long-lost niece.
Charlie glanced over his shoulders. “Why do Frank and Danny like titties so much?” he whispered.
She found the light soft chemise, plain and simple and a good protection from the wool.
Imo glanced down at him as the dress came over her head and settled on her body. She shoved her arms in the sleeves and wiggled it into place. The bodice closed with several small wooden buttons and Imo struggled to fasten them in the tiny enclosures. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask ’em,” she whispered. She folded her worn clothes, wrapped the paper around and then retied the string. Never knew when an old set of grubs would come in handy.
“Ready?”
He nodded and was on his feet in a shot.
“I’ll go first. You drop the clothes and then hurry down,” she ordered.
Imo peered toward the working man. He was bent, his pitchfork poised to lift a pile of straw and shit. Just as he turned, she backed toward the ladder and, in spite of
the bulky skirt and a lame arm, was down in a flash. The package dropped. She stepped back and then made the signal for Charlie.
Outside, Imo counted the houses, using her finger to number them. Mary was at the third one. Imo was going to say she was Mary’s niece. Relatives would be more welcome than orphans, although often they were the same thing.
“Imo, you have straw in your hair.”
“Oh, saints above. I probably have shit on my shoes too.” She batted at her hair and her dress and then turned to have Charlie shoo away the clinging grass on her backside. “You too.” She brushed his shoulders and plucked a few sticks from his hair.
She checked the bottom of her shoes just to be sure.
Danny was much bolder about making demands of strangers. He just knew how to make people want to do what he wanted them to do. When she knocked on the door, it took several moments before a young woman appeared. “May I help you?”
Imo poked Charlie and he stood up straight.
“We’re here to see Mrs. Mary FitzPatrick.”
“I’m sorry. Mrs. FitzPatrick isn’t seeing anyone today. She got word that her father passed away in Leeds.”
“But it’s real important.” At least she was home. What if she had been gone? Danny hadn’t planned on that and Imo would have been anxious to wait.
“Who are you?” the servant asked.
The niece story seemed inappropriate now. She would have known her own relative had died. Instead, she grabbed the package from Charlie. “We have a package for her.”
“Well, then I’ll see it delivered.” Imo handed it over.
“May I tell her who it’s from? There’s no name.”
“Oh, tell her Imo... Imogene... Just tell her Imogene.”
The servant nodded and swiftly closed the door in their faces.
“What now?” Charlie asked.
“I guess we wait.” They sat down on the squared rock-hewn stoop at the back door. Imo hoisted her full skirts and tucked them between her knees so the hem didn’t get too dirty. She rested her injured arm in her lap. The ferocious pain now seemed confined to the top part of her shoulder and she used her good hand to rub it for a minute.
“Wanna play cards?” she asked. A one-armed woman could still turn a trick or two. She would cheat against her brother, just to keep in practice.