by Zoë Archer
His true name. The last disguise falling away. She could find him now, if she wanted. No hiding.
She forced out her words. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Alyce—”
“If you have to go, do it tonight. As soon as possible. Now.” The longer he stayed, the more she thought of things that couldn’t be, things she craved but would never have, and there was only so much she could endure before breaking down and howling like a beast.
He took a step back. His face was frozen, unbearably beautiful and withdrawn, like a stone angel. Anger crackled around him. But he said nothing.
She held out her hand. “At least, let us say good-bye as … as friends.”
He stared coldly down at her hand, then at her face. “No.”
And then he turned and strode down the hill, leaving her as alone as she’d been a month ago. No, she was even more alone, because she’d had him, and they’d belonged to each other, but now—now she knew what she’d lost, and what she’d never have again.
* * *
He didn’t have much to pack, and most of his belongings were already in his satchel from his recent travels. Simon sat on his cot and shoved the remainder of his clothes into his bag, followed by the photographs of his supposed “family” and letters from his “sister.” He had his own actual family to return to in London—though he seldom crossed paths with any of them. He didn’t miss them or not miss them. They felt the same about him. Handshakes, a few polite inquiries, and then they’d exhausted all points of contact. Months would go by, and then the routine would be repeated in someone’s drawing room or a ballroom. Semianonymous spaces for semianonymous encounters.
He spent more time, and exchanged more true words, at Nemesis’s headquarters, a shabby set of rooms above a chemist’s in Clerkenwell. He’d probably go there first from the train station, before heading home. At least at headquarters, he wouldn’t be alone. There was always someone there—Lazarus, Harriet, Marco. And the air would be thick with talk of the latest operation, schemes and plans hovering like smoke. Always something to keep him in motion, and people he could surround himself with.
He wouldn’t have to face this agony alone. He’d seen men in combat with their insides blown apart. They’d died, of course. What he couldn’t understand was how he continued to breathe and move and think when his heart had been ripped from his chest.
But he did. He folded up his clothes and put away his fake personal belongings, all the while attuned to the creak of the floorboards, for a woman’s light tread. But all he heard was Edgar walking toward him.
The older man sat down on the cot. “That’s it, then?”
“Henry and I had a long talk. He knows more about mines than I do, but we laid out a good plan for setting up a new system. I gave him the direction to send any letters and which telegraph station to direct any important messages.” He fastened up his satchel. “It’ll be a rocky start, but Wheal Prosperity’s got the tools it needs to succeed.”
“You’re not staying.”
“That was never the plan.”
“Thought that might have changed. Because, you know…” Edgar raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and glanced toward the window.
More sharp pain whistled through Simon. “London’s my home. Nemesis is my work. And she”—he couldn’t even say her name—“won’t leave. Stalemate.”
“You’d be asking her to give up a hell of a lot if she left.”
“And so would I, if I stayed.”
“Aye, the people need you, et cetera, and so forth.”
Anger poured acidly through him. “This isn’t a goddamn lark, Edgar. I’ve given up my life to Nemesis.”
Edgar held up his hands. “You and me, we haven’t known each other long, but I’ve got eyes and a brain. I know this doesn’t come easy. I also know that you and Alyce Carr are two damn stubborn people.”
Simon forced a wry smile. “Edgar, the matchmaker of Trewyn?”
But Edgar didn’t smile back. “If I had a lass who looked at me the way Alyce looks at you … and if I looked back at her the same way…” The creases in his face deepened. “I might not be so hot to jump on a train and put all this behind me.”
“I have to go, Edgar. I can’t turn away from the only purpose I’ve ever had.” He slung his satchel over his shoulder, his bones rusty, straining with each movement.
Edgar stood. “Like I said, stubborn. Ah, well. It’s been a bloody honor, Sergeant.” He saluted—not at all a proper salute, but it gratified Simon just the same.
Simon returned the salute—properly—then stuck out his hand. The two men shook, and Simon was glad that in the world of men, fewer words meant more. No lingering, no explanations or declamations. Just a handshake and farewell.
“May as well take one of the constabulary’s horses,” Edgar added. “Seeing as how we only have one lawman right now, and a long walk to the train station isn’t what any man wants after fighting a battle.”
As battles went, it hadn’t quite compared to Rorke’s Drift—not for blood or body count—yet he now felt the same raw pain of survival. With a nod, and a final look at the drafty, privacy-free room he’d called home for a short while, he left.
He exchanged good-byes with a few people as he went to the constabulary, and accepted their thanks, but he was careful to keep everything brief. Somewhere in the village was Alyce—either still by the churchyard, or perhaps she’d gone home. Either way, he needed to leave as soon as he could. Pull the spear out of the wound quick and fast. There’d be blood and pain, but he’d never survive otherwise.
After a final farewell with Bice, and his eager offer to lend Simon one of the horses, he mounted up and rode out of town at a quick trot. Full night had fallen. He left the light and warmth of the village for the open, dark countryside. On horseback, he’d be in St. Ursula shortly and on a train to London soon after that. He’d likely be back in London before midnight. There’d be a new mission waiting for him, and his Nemesis colleagues, who’d offer him a cup of tea and catch him up on all the latest news.
As if nothing had changed. As if it would go on as it always had before.
The farther Simon rode from the village, the more he realized that one thing had changed and would never be the same again: him.
He’d keep up his work for Nemesis, live his two lives as an operative and as a gentleman, but he was as empty and hollow as an exhausted mine. The best part of him had been chipped away and melted down, and was worn around Alyce’s finger as an invisible band.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” asked Sarah.
Alyce looked up from the stove as her sister-in-law stepped inside the cottage. “Getting supper ready. Don’t think anyone’s had a mouthful all day.”
“But what are you doing here? I saw Simon riding out of town not twenty minutes ago.”
Alyce stirred the stew bubbling on the stove. They’d have better meat at the store, and soon. Maybe they wouldn’t have to stew everything to make it edible.
“Alyce?” Sarah placed a careful hand on her arm, but her gentle touch only sparked pain and anger.
“Just leave everything behind?” Alyce snapped. “Forget my friends, my family? My work?”
“As a bal-maiden, smashing rocks for the rest of your life.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that work.”
“Aye, but, Lord, Alyce, the things you’ve done these few weeks! You can do more than breaking up rocks.”
Scenes flashed through Alyce’s mind: sneaking into the managers’ house and stealing butter, changing trains and changing identities, the looks on the owners’ faces when they realized how she’d duped them, and how she’d battled against the constables like one of the mythical warrior women from long ago. And in all those scenes, Simon was there. Simon, who might not have trusted her at the beginning, but who came to believe in her as no one had. Who pushed her and made love to her and … God … loved her. Truly loved her.
�
��There’s so much work to be done with the mine,” she said.
“With many good and clever men taking care of that. Not that your say wouldn’t be helpful, but the burden isn’t yours to take.” Sarah eased herself into a chair that creaked beneath her weight.
“And there’s you and the baby,” Alyce said. “I can’t leave you now.”
Her sister-in-law patted her belly tenderly. “You’ve already given me and the baby the best gift already—the mine. Because of you, we’ll have dignity, freedom. All the things we didn’t have before.”
Alyce had nothing to say to this.
“As for taking care of the baby,” Sarah added, “I’ve got cousins and neighbors. I wouldn’t be the first woman to have a baby without a sister by her side. And Henry will do his part.” She smiled with determination. “I’ll make sure of that.”
Alyce paced away from the stove, but there was nowhere to go in the tiny room, and she found herself trapped in a corner. “So I’m useless here. Nobody wants me.”
Sarah sighed. “You bloody pigheaded woman—of course we want you. Most of all, we want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” Alyce retorted, then amended, “I will be. Someday.”
“I think your happiness, and your heart, just rode out of town twenty minutes ago.”
Alyce turned and braced her hands on the wall. She rested her forehead against the plaster, barely resisting the impulse to knock her head against it.
There was a groan behind her, but she couldn’t tell if it was Sarah or Sarah’s chair that made the noise. Her sister-in-law placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Do you know what I was most afraid of on my wedding day?” Sarah asked.
“Vomiting on the vicar?”
Sarah chuckled. “No, silly. It was you.”
At this, Alyce turned around. “Me? Why on earth would I make you afraid?”
“Because I’d never met anyone like you. Certainly no woman. I was just a meek village lass, but you were so different.” She shook her head, her eyes shining. “I wasn’t afraid of pleasing Henry so much as I was certain you’d find me a little milksop. All I wanted was to be like you. Confident. Independent. Unafraid.”
Alyce stared. Her sweet, kind sister-in-law admired her. “And now you think I’m cowardly.”
But Sarah only shook her head. “I think if there’s something you want badly enough, you go after it. That hasn’t changed. I suppose the question now is—what do you want?”
Alyce felt the beat of her heart, the cool of the night air as it sneaked between cracks in the wall, the breath in her own lungs, and the huge emptiness inside her. She could survive without him. But it would be a barren endurance, empty of joy or passion. Or love.
She bent and pressed a kiss to Sarah’s cheek. Then grabbed her shawl from its peg and hurried out into the night. All she hoped was that she could make up the distance between them.
* * *
He hadn’t gotten more than three miles out of the village when he’d stopped his horse. The dark hills rolled ahead of him, and the lights of Trewyn were dim little flecks behind him. He was nowhere—in the in-between. Ahead, the life he knew. The person he’d made himself into, and the role he knew how to play. Behind, a wholly different existence. One he couldn’t truly envision living. But there was one thing, one person, who kept him anchored there.
Alyce.
Merely thinking her name filled him with fathomless pain. And immeasurable pleasure. She was both. He cursed her stubbornness, but how could he curse one of the things he loved about her so much? And curse him if he wasn’t just as bullheaded as she.
So, where to go? Forward, which was really backward, or backward, which was truly forward?
Away from London, away from the village, he was completely himself, no distractions, no roles to play. Just a man. A man who wanted a woman with every ounce of his being.
He wheeled his horse around. Just as he was about to kick his mount into a canter, he heard it. His name.
Alyce, calling his name. Coming for him.
He urged his horse into a gallop. She emerged out of the darkness, a slim shape of strength and windblown beauty. Before the horse even stopped, he’d swung down from the saddle and taken her in his arms.
“I was turning around—”
“I was coming after you—”
He held her close, and her arms wrapped around him. “I can’t imagine life without you.”
“I can’t, either,” she answered. She gazed up at him, a frown between her brows. “But how can we make this work? A gentleman and a bal-maiden. London and Cornwall. It’s impossible.”
He kissed her, heated and deep. “I don’t know,” he confessed a long while later when they’d both lost their breath. “But those are details. We’re clever people.”
“By hammer or by confidence scheme,” she agreed, “we’ll find a way.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.” She said it almost as a challenge, which was so like her, he almost laughed, but his heart was too solemn, too exultant for that.
“As for impossible”—he kissed her again, and she returned it, gripping him tightly—“I’m from Nemesis. And you’re the bal-maiden who won’t hear the word ‘no.’ For us, there’s no such thing as impossible.”
EPILOGUE
The English Channel, 1887
Alyce stood in the bow of the packet as it steamed through the choppy waters. Many of the passengers had retreated inside or taken to their cabins, sickened by the bounce of the ship upon the waves. But the ship’s rising and crashing down felt like her own heart wheeling and soaring. She didn’t feel ill at all. Far from it. Excitement was its own wave within her.
She leaned back into Simon’s warmth when he came to stand beside her. He braced his hands on the rails, surrounding her, yet she didn’t feel trapped. Only secure.
She’d imagined this very scene, long ago in Plymouth. And now it was real.
“We should make landfall in half an hour,” he said.
“So soon?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. Her first ride on a ship was over almost before it began.
She heard the smile in his voice. “I think you’re the only one aboard this steamer who’s sorry to see this voyage end.”
“Not too sorry,” she answered, turning around in his arms so she faced him. They were alone in the bow, so it wasn’t too scandalous for her to press herself against him as closely as she did. “Because then we’re in France, and I get to be part of a Nemesis mission.”
He gazed down at her with affection. “You sound more excited to work another confidence scheme than see Paris.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to do both. And do them with my new husband.” The plain band was back on her ring finger, except now it was genuine, placed there by Simon in the church at Trewyn a month earlier. Sarah and Henry had been there with their infant daughter, as had Harriet, Eva, Jack, and a burly but kind man named Lazarus. Even by Trewyn standards, the wedding had been small—but that had been by choice. Alyce didn’t want to put on an extravagant show when she knew the next day she’d be moving away.
Since then, there’d been adjustments. She received letters regularly from Henry, keeping her apprised of developments at Wheal Prosperity, and she’d write back with her suggestions. Sarah wrote her, too, with more domestic news, and those letters she’d read and reread, feeling as though part of her were still in Cornwall.
London still baffled her, sometimes overwhelming her with its size and commotion. But she’d had an excellent guide in Simon, who explored the city with her by day. And by night, they explored each other. She was learning, too, how to live in his town house that seemed so impossibly big for just two people, yet it wasn’t a cold, unwelcoming place. Little by little, it became not merely his, but theirs.
She’d sometimes catch Simon with a confused look on his face, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with this new life.
“Do you regret your deci
sion?” she’d asked him one night, fearing the response but needing to know the truth.
“Not regret. I just … I think I’m happy.” He sounded so baffled by the idea, it nearly broke her heart. But she made sure to keep him happy, even if it mystified him.
He’d introduced her to his family, too. When the dinner had been announced, terror had gripped her. His father could cut him off for marrying her. She’d wanted to use the same part she had played in Plymouth—but Simon had argued that if they couldn’t accept her for who she was, he didn’t want their approval or money.
In the end, she’d convinced him that he did the most good for Nemesis as a gentleman in good favor with his family. His connections to the upper ranks provided valuable information for Nemesis’s objectives. So, reluctantly, he agreed, and she’d been presented to his family as a mine manager’s daughter. Simon’s father had been one of the most intimidating men she’d ever met, and he hadn’t exactly welcomed her with a warm embrace, but she’d passed muster enough to keep Simon from disinheritance. And, if his father was any sign, Simon would age very well, indeed.
Since then, she and Simon had dined with his family twice more. It wasn’t ever comfortable.
The one thing that hadn’t taken much getting used to was being a part of Nemesis. She’d thought that adjusting from being a bal-maiden to someone who helped others find justice would be a rough change. The most difficult part was seeing how much injustice there truly was in the world. She’d been sheltered in Trewyn, aware only of the plight of the miners. London had opened her eyes to rampant cruelty. It was one thing to know that people could hurt one another—she’d seen it at the mine—but she’d never forget the faces of the girls rescued from a brothel, or lose the smell of the dank alleyway where children forced into thieving gangs slept.
But with each case, each wrong righted, she felt herself more and more grow into the work. Simon was easing her into it, with small bits of surveillance and collecting information. Though she’d always be a bal-maiden, she matured into this new self, and it was exactly right. Especially because he was with her.