by Gaie Sebold
“Of course, of course, just as you wish – so long as it doesn’t cost enough to make the Treasury blink. I will give you a letter of introduction to the headmistress. I warn you, she’s a veritable dragon. Just what one needs, of course, in that situation, otherwise one dreads to think what they might get up to. The first pupils are due to ‘graduate’ in a few months. I don’t know what’s to be done with them. It will have to be handled with great discretion, or it might cause embarrassment.”
“They may prove useful after all,” Holmforth said.
“You really think so?” Forbes-Cresswell laughed, but his eyes were suddenly hard-focused on Holmforth. “You have plans for your little... protégée?”
“Yes.”
“Fascinating.”
FENCHURCH STREET STATION, a morning heavy with rain.
Men with stovepipe hats shedding glistening drops, clutching high collars about their throats with one hand and leather cases with the other, bustling to make their trains. Beggars everywhere; a beached sailor, one hand resting on the wall for fear of his peg-leg slipping on the rain-slick floor, the other hand holding out a shapeless, greasy cap. A woman collapsed against the wall, a small pallid child cupped in the lap of her ragged black dress, her face emptied out with exhaustion and hunger. A peeler, high helmet, blue coat and brass buttons, making his way through the crowd towards the pair with move-along in his eyes.
The clanging roar and reek and hiss; great clouds of steam exploding along the platforms, the smooth tug-and-pull of the great shining rods heaving around the wheels, slow then faster, chuh-chug, chuh-chug. The high imperious shriek of the whistles, sending pigeons in a great fluttering rush up into the rain-streaked iron-framed dome of the roof. The great engines of Empire, proud in their glossy paint and noble names, the Flying this and the Royal that, hustling their human cargo to its many destinations. And far above, like a fat, expensive cigar, the prime airship Gloriana humming her way over them all, carrying pricey necessities, like diplomats and brandy, far over the sea.
Eveline glanced up as the Gloriana’s shadow flowed over the station. The Gloriana. What a prize she would be! Stuffed to the gills with rich travellers and fancy cargo.
Sometimes she amused herself with schemes to rob the Gloriana, but she always got stuck at getting the stuff away. Unless you could fly the whole ship somewhere, without interference from passengers or crew, and whisk away the loot once it had landed, she couldn’t see how to pull it off. It would need too many people, and someone who could fly the blasted thing, and all in all it was far too complicated.
She preferred schemes she could manage all by herself, without relying on other people – at least, no-one other than the marks.
The station was crowded and noisy, and everyone was flustered and in a hurry, which gave plenty of opportunities for a quick profit. But she was finding it hard to pick a target. Frankly, she was bored. She liked something more challenging than pockets. Something that required a bit of planning. She looked around. Plenty of people who would yield, at most, a handkerchief or a handful of coppers; hardly worth it. Small stuff. She had bigger plans, like Ma. Ma was forever talking about one final big scheme, something that would set her up for life, so she could retire, but somehow it never happened. And even if Ma happened on such a thing, Evvie didn’t think she’d tell her – though she should. Ma was clever, yes. But Eveline knew that when it came to a proper scam, though she had less practice, she was better at seeing how things went together, and where they might fall apart. Maybe it was all the reading that had done it. Who knew?
Finally she spotted a prosperous-looking clergyman, his black coat straining at its buttons, his whiskers a-bristle with self-satisfaction, bustling through the crowd, fussing at his pockets. His hair shone with pomade, and his side-whiskers were so gleamingly black that they appeared to cast a faint shadow on his skin. Eveline knew that shadow for what it was – dye. Oh, ho, she thought. She felt in her purse. Yes, she had it. Now, she needed to think. Again she was dressed like a maidservant, neat and unobtrusive.
She pulled her mouth down, put a handkerchief to her eyes and worked her way towards the clergyman until she bumped into him. “Oh, I’m so dreadfully sorry!”
“Quite my fault,” the clergyman said. “Are you all right, my dear?” He laid a thick white hand on her arm.
Eveline looked up at him and gave a quivering smile. “Yes, only... my mistress is going to be so dreadfully angry!” Rounded vowels and a faint burr on the consonants, a country lass not long in town.
“What, because you bumped into someone? Surely she couldn’t be so unkind.”
“No, it’s... oh, I shouldn’t trouble a gentleman with this. You’re of the clergy, sir, ain’t you? Be so good as to offer a prayer for a poor girl, for if I get turned out, I shan’t know what to do, and can only hope the angels are watching me!” She gave a small gasp as though she were fighting tears. She didn’t let herself actually cry – some girls could do it and look pretty, but it turned Evvie into a gargoyle of swollen eyes and snot.
“Hush, hush,” the clergyman said. “I’m sure it’s not so bad as all that. Why don’t you sit down with me and tell me all about it?” He put a heavy arm around her shoulders and guided her to a nearby bench. He smelled of Macassar oil and snuff.
“The thing of it is, sir,” she said, between sobs, “my mistress sent me to... oh, I shouldn’t say it... but she’s not had an easy time, sir. And she gave me her dead husband’s stick-pin to take to the dolly-shop, to get some money, saying we should get it back when her investments come good. Only they told me it’s worth nothing, being only brass and glass, and they wouldn’t advance me but a few pence for it. And he was smiling so.”
“Well, well, that’s hard, but surely your mistress won’t blame you?”
“I think she will, sir. And as I was leaving, he said, ‘Come back when you’re less proud,’ and I’m not proud, sir, only afraid I shall be turned out.”
“He sounds like less than a gentleman. I think your mistress should better have sent someone else to deal with him.”
“There was no-one else to send, sir, apart from the boot-boy, and he’s a good boy, but simple. But why would my mistress’ husband have had a cheap pin? He was always a well-dressed gentleman, like yourself. And a gentleman like you is sure to know. Do you think this is nothing but a gimcrack?” Eveline took out of her purse the stick-pin she had been carrying for just such an occasion. It was a very fine stick-pin, in gold, with a gleaming diamond set in its head; she had lifted it from the cravat of a swell cove in the Strand only days before.
“Well, it certainly looks fine enough,” he said, judiciously, feeling its weight in his hand, then holding it up to the light. “And you know, I think I see a hallmark. Yes, look, see that mark there?”
Eveline widened her eyes. “Yes, sir. What does it mean?”
“That means it’s made of gold, you see? So it’s most probably genuine. I think the pawnbroker, seeing an innocent young girl... you’re not long up from the country, are you?” He put his hand on her shoulder this time.
“Why, that’s right, sir. However did you guess?”
The clergyman gave her back the pin, tapped his nose, and gave a smug smile. “I think this villain tried to get this from you for less than it was worth, that’s what I think.”
“Oh, sir, how dreadful! Whatever shall I do? I daren’t go to another, what if they are all such cheating wretches?”
“I tell you what, I’m about to go visit my dear mother at Tunbridge Wells. Why don’t you accompany me? The train leaves shortly. And then perhaps we can...”
“Oh, dear,” said a voice. “Eveline, what are you about now?”
It was him, the grey-coat man, turning up right there, quiet as a cat, smiling patiently. He knows my name! She jumped up, but before she could run, his hand was on her arm, clamped like a steel cuff. “Don’t be foolish, child.”
Fear rose jittering in her brain, all ratsqueal and clawscrat
ch. Her hands went cold. But part of her pulled back, like it always did, watching. She knew that trick, speaking the target’s name; she’d heard of Whicher doing that. It was meant to make a person feel hopeless, as though he knew so much they might as well give up. But cons did the same, getting under a mark’s skin by seeming to know things about them.
He wasn’t acting like a copper. He hadn’t arrested her. “My dear sir, I hope she hasn’t been troublesome. I’ll take her now.”
Eveline realised she was gaping like an eel on a slab and closed her jaw.
The clergyman looked almost as confused as she felt. “Are you... who are you?”
“The person who just prevented you from being robbed.”
“Let go my arm!” Damn, in her panic she’d let the accent slip. “I don’t know what you want, but I don’t know you!” She tried to shift her arm and his grip clamped down harder, grinding flesh against bone. Eveline turned to the clergyman. “Please, sir, don’t listen to him, I’ve never seen him before!” She widened her eyes and looked helpless. The clergyman was going red with discomfort.
Grey-Coat leaned down and muttered in her ear, “Stop it, Eveline, or you’ll be on a transport to Australia within the week. Be still.”
Transport? So he was a copper. How long had he been following her? What did he want? He had her arm behind her back now, pulling her tight against him so the clergyman wouldn’t be able to see. If she tried to run, she’d tear her own arm out of its socket.
“She seemed to be in distress,” the clergyman said. “She told me some story about her mistress, and a diamond stick-pin...”
“A diamond stick-pin? If she has such a thing, sir, I assure you, she did not come by it honestly. It seems I intervened just in time. The pin?” He held his hand out with a patient expression. Evvie thought about jamming the pin through it, but he gave the smallest possible shake of his head, as though he’d heard her think it. “I don’t advise any foolishness, either.” He raised the hand holding her arm, so she was almost on tiptoe. It hurt. If she jabbed him, he’d dislocate her, that seemed clear enough.
She dropped the pin in his palm. There. Now you’re handling stolen goods. Maybe I should call a copper. The grey-coated man raised his eyebrows, and put it in his pocket. “I can assure you she stole it,” he said.
“Well, sir,” the clergyman said, glaring at Eveline, “I shan’t waste any more of my time. I might have missed my train!”
Eveline felt an uprush of fury. She knew what he’d intended for her, she was certain. A little ‘now don’t you worry,’ a hand on your arm, and the next thing you knew they thought you owed them whatever they wanted to take. And of course he’d believed every word Grey-Coat said, just because he was a man, and posh with it.
She bit down on her anger. Fury’d get her nothing but trouble – Grey-Coat had, at the moment, all the cards.
He smelled of clean linens and soap. He might be slightly-built, but he was strong, and had looked as though he could run – she already knew he could move swiftly and unobtrusively. He was a nice-looking cove, if you went for that sort of thing, with that pale gold skin and those grey eyes. Oh, and he looked familiar... no, that was wrong. Not familiar like she knew him, but familiar in some undefinable way.
Fear swelled into her throat; she swallowed it back and tried to think. Grey-Coat was smart, and wanted her for something badly enough to grab her in broad daylight, in front of a witness, but without arresting her. Why?
You’re too curious, Evvie.
Maybe, Ginny. But I want to know why he’s so all-fired interested in me.
She relaxed her stance a little. He didn’t let go.
The clergyman disappeared in the direction of the Tunbridge Wells train, casting a suspicious glance over his shoulder. “So much for the church,” Eveline said. “Abandoning a girl that way. Shameful, I call it. You could be the devil himself for all he knows. All I know, too. What do you want, mister?”
“I have a proposal for you.”
“That’s very flattering of you, sir, but I don’t think we should suit,” she said.
“I suggest you stop attempting to display your cleverness, Miss Duchen, and listen.” He leaned closer, and whispered in her ear. “That is, if you wish to have a future that does not involve the steerage section of a dying hulk. It is possible you might survive the journey; a number of convicts do, though I believe about one in three die. Even should the ship prove seaworthy, the chances of disease are high. As, indeed, are the chances of rape. Should you survive, the fate of young women in the colonies is seldom a pleasant one. I know you are no Drury Lane vestal – it is to your credit that you have, at least, avoided that profession – but women being very scarce in the colonies, it is unlikely you would have a choice in the matter.”
Eveline knew plenty of whores; Sal was only one of them, and Sal only did it when she couldn’t make enough with her stitching. There’d been poor Millie Stephens, younger than Eveline, already rotting and crazed with the pox. She’d tried to drown herself in the river, and been hauled out, only to end up in Cross Bones graveyard a bare few weeks later. The thought of that, and in a country so far from anything she’d ever known, with no chance of ever coming home... “What do you want with me, then?”
“Come with me,” he said, beginning to walk, shifting his grip so it was less painful but no less firm.
“Where?”
“To my carriage, to begin with.”
“I don’t think I should be getting into carriages with men. That sort of thing can stain one’s reputation.”
The look he gave her was utterly without humour. “You are a very lucky young woman, Miss Duchen. I am about to offer you the chance at a better life. Strive to appreciate that.”
She wondered, briefly, if he was after a mistress – then dismissed the thought immediately. A fancy cove like him could afford a lot fancier than Evvie Duchen. And he didn’t strike her as the type, unlike the clergyman. He looked at her and handled her as though she were a parcel – or an untrained dog.
But he wanted something from her. And that was a good place to have a mark – if they didn’t want something, you’d no lever. If this was a long game, he’d have to get up early in the morning to play Eveline Duchen. “All right then, guv’nor,” she said, now all East-End-and-a-lump-of-coal. “Lead the way, why don’tcha?”
HE LED HER to a horse-drawn carriage, plain as homespun, even a little shabby, though the horse looked glossy and well-fed. She was glad it was not a steam-hansom; with their hard-latching doors and disconcerting speed, they were a lot harder to get out of in a hurry. The driver was huddled in a greatcoat with a battered hat pulled down over his brows – apart from a brief glance at them, he neither moved nor spoke.
Her captor handed Eveline in as though she were a lady, though without letting go of her arm until they settled, opposite each other, into the creaking leather seats. He leaned back and regarded her with a cold, unreadable eye. “Well,” he said. “You are in some ways a rather foolish young woman, are you not?”
Eveline looked back at him, warily, and said nothing.
“I would have thought your pride in your abilities would force a disclaimer from you, but perhaps I was mistaken,” he went on.
“You can’t expect a common girl like me to understand all that fancy talk,” she said.
“Now you see, I rather do. Because you have already demonstrated your cleverness. Really rather unwise, in your profession. My name is Holmforth. I work for Her Majesty’s Government. You may be able to be of service to the Empire – if you are capable of being educated, of taking orders, and of operating with discretion. It is that last part, the matter of discretion, which troubles me. It troubles me, Miss Duchen.”
“If you find me so troublesome, Mr Holmforth, then why don’t I just go on my way, and we’ll say no more about it?” Eveline reached for the door of the carriage.
Holmforth’s cane whicked through the air; the bronze ferrule slammed into the door a
n inch from her fingers. “Don’t be more foolish than you can help,” he said. “Besides, you must be a little curious, surely?”
She shrugged. “All right. Don’t see why Her Majesty’s Government would be interested in the likes of me. Never have been before, that I know about.”
“You may have skills that will be of use to us.” He leaned back, placing his cane carefully at his side, steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, and regarded her with those icy blues.
“What sort of skills?”
“That, you will discover.”
“You don’t know whether I’m any good at what you want, but you want me anyway? What happens if I’m no good at whatever it is?”
“I am sure you will do your best, will you not? It is a chance at a better life. What is there to keep you from it? You have no family, only a gaggle of thieves. They will hardly notice your absence.”
Wrong twice, Eveline thought. She did have family. Uncle James, who had so kindly offered them a place under his roof. And if she disappeared, Ma Pether’d do her damnedest to find out what had happened, if only out of caution.
Much good that’d do her if she was face down in the Thames.
“You are unconvinced,” Holmforth said. “You know James Lathrop is dead.”
Two emotions jabbed through Eveline so fast they were hard to distinguish from each other. One was shock – not only did he know her, he knew about Uncle James, which meant he knew more than anyone else, including Ma Pether. In fact, he knew more than Eveline herself.
The other emotion was a furious joy. Dead, is he? Good! I hope he suffered!
Holmforth was watching her closely. She tried to school her face to a look of calm disinterest. “Do you wish to tell me why, having been offered a comfortable home on the death of your parents, you chose, instead, the life of the streets?” He leaned forward. “Or perhaps you would like to tell me what happened to Charlotte?”
Eveline’s breath caught, before she could help herself; she knew he’d noticed, too, but refused to give him the satisfaction. “Don’t know what you mean,” she said.