“Maybe you want to wash up, there, miss, before you pull that pickle outta the glass.” He jerked his head to the right. “Back ’ere.”
“My hands are perfectly clea— Oh. Oh.” I slid off the stool so quickly that I almost knocked it over. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“You owe me,” he said, leaning forward.
“Right. I’ll remember this, I promise—”
“For the ale, missy. Threepence.”
“Oh, right.” I dug in the small pouch pocket tucked inside my skirt and laid the money on the bar.
Remembering the situation at Lady Thistle’s where Mina had found a door marked with the double-C symbol that looked like an infinity sign, I took my time once I got through the small door he’d indicated. The door led to a narrow corridor that seemed to have been tacked onto the back of the building. The passageway was hardly more than a lean-to that would blow over in a strong wind. The corridor, I learned a few steps later, led to an alley.
Once I found myself there, outside, I stopped and looked around in confusion. I’d forgotten my warm, dark blue cloak on the stool in the pub, so now I was cold as well. There was no chance of any warmth from the sunshine (if there even was any today) back here, for the layers of the buildings were stacked on top of each other so haphazardly that they nearly met across the narrow alley.
Surely the pubmaster hadn’t sent me out here on a wild goose chase.
I walked a little way down the alley, becoming more and more annoyed once I realized how far I was from Lady Thistle’s—which was many streets and blocks away. If The Carnelian Crow had been accessed through the back of Lady Thistle’s—on the third street level— it certainly couldn’t be located in the heart of a Smithfield alley.
Drat. And blast.
I kicked at a pile of garbage and was rewarded by getting my shoe covered in rotting potatoes. The smell was disgusting, but I supposed there were worse things I could have stepped in.
Just as I turned to go back to the pub, I saw it. A rickety wooden door, set low in the side of a building four doors from the pub. It looked like it led down to a cellar.
And it had a symbol carved on it: the sign of The Carnelian Crow.
Miss Stoker
~ In Which Evaline Acquires a New Position ~
I looked around to make sure no one was watching, but the alley was littered with refuse and a single cat—and no one else that I could tell. Even the few windows that faced the alley were boarded up or dark and dirty.
I took a moment to be glad Mina wasn’t here to point out that I had neglected to bring a stake or any sort of weapon to defend myself against mortals. Even though I had brought a stake last night—and I certainly hadn’t expected to run into a vampire today, in broad daylight—I doubted that would have kept her from lecturing me.
I reached for the latch on the door. It opened easily and I looked down inside. Six stone steps that led into a tunnel or passageway. Even from above, I could tell there was some sort of illumination beyond, so I wouldn’t be feeling my way through the dark.
I stepped in and down, pulling the door closed after me. It was dark, narrow, and dim—although there was a single gasping light some distance away, so I could at least see where I was going. Mina would have been digging into my arm with her fingers if she’d been with me, and probably have her eyes closed, but the dim light didn’t bother me in the least. Nor did the close space and the low ceiling.
There was only one direction to go, but the passage turned at sharp angles several times. I estimated I walked for at least thirty minutes. There were no other doors or entrances the entire way.
If Mina had been with me (and if she’d actually opened her eyes), she probably would have been able to tell exactly where the tunnel led. She claims she has a map of London—including each alley and mews, as well as every railroad and omnibus schedule—printed on her brain.
I didn’t know where I was going, but I had no concerns. By now I’d concluded (or should I say deduced?) that Pepper’s friend Kitty had not only gotten a job working at the Crow—which made some sort of sense, for servants were needed for everything, even underground meeting places—and that she’d accessed it from the back of The Pickled Nurse. If this was the servants’ entrance, it made even more sense that it wasn’t convenient to get to.
When had servants’ entrances ever been convenient? Or comfortable, well lit, or clean?
At last, I came to an entrance. There was a high, small door the size of a cigar box inside the bigger one, obviously so whoever was on the other side could peek through.
First I tried the latch. The door was locked, as I’d expected it to be. I knocked briskly, hoping the sound would be heard through the thick wood.
After a long wait, I knocked again. Still no one answered. Drat. Here I was, so close—closer than even Mina had gotten—and I couldn’t go any further.
Then I saw the slender chain hanging next to the door. It went up and through a hole in the wall and resembled a bellpull. I gave it a good tug, and I was certain I heard a distant jangling sound.
I must have, for a moment later, the small peephole door opened. Two eyes peered out at me; I couldn’t tell if they belonged to a man or a woman, young or old.
“Who’re you?” It was an irritated-sounding man.
“Kitty told me I could get a job here.”
The eyes squinted, glaring at me. “Kitty, huh? She give you that too?”
“That’s right,” I said quickly, realizing he must be talking about the crow pin still on my collar. “She said the position here is much better than at Varrel House. I can work hard.”
The peephole slammed shut. Was that it? Had I said something that tipped them off—
No, the door was shuddering in its place, then there was a scraping noise as it opened.
“Well, come inside. Let’s see what we got ’ere.”
Without hesitation, I stepped over the threshold. I nearly gasped when the back of my neck immediately iced over. There were UnDead in the vicinity. At least a few of them. Why hadn’t I felt their presence before now?
I didn’t have time to wonder more about that, for he was looking me over as if I were a farm horse. I gave him a good once-over too. No, not a vampire himself, I decided. But there was a flicker of intelligence in his eyes, so he wouldn’t be fooled very easily.
My prospective employer was short and burly and dressed like a royal servant. He wore black trousers and a black uniform jacket that buttoned up along one side with shiny jet beads each the size of a silver piece. The uniform coat was trimmed with looping red braid, and a cobalt-blue shirt peeped out from beneath at the cuffs and neckline.
On each cuff, and also on one lapel, was a small bird embroidered in red. The man’s hair—thinning and black—was slicked back on an oblong head that seemed too long for his short, stubby body. He wore a large mustache that curled up at the ends, and was tipped in the same vibrant red that trimmed his coat. A tiny scarlet (or maybe I should say “carnelian”) crow had been affixed to the front of one side of his mustache.
That little detail might sound odd, but actually, it looked almost dashing, for his mustache was thick and tall. The little crow sticker reminded me of the beauty patches worn by Marie Antoinette and the French royalty in the late eighteenth century. I wondered if that sort of mustache adornment would ever catch on in London Society, and if Ned Oligary would wear one.
“Ya don’t look too strong,” he said, frowning as he glared at me. “Gotta carry heavy trays. Can’t be dropping them on the clientele.” He emphasized the last syllable as if that made him sound fancy or something.
“I’m stronger than I look.” That was an understatement.
His eyes swept over me with blatant disdain. “Well, I ain’t got no choice, do I? Got the pin, Kitty sent ya, gotta let ya work. Short o’ staff right now anyways—first time in four years ’at’s happened. Bettilda done somethin’ to her blasted arm. Can’t be carrying a tray like that.”
<
br /> I reached up to finger the little crow pin as if to thank it for being my entree to the place.
“Ya gotta name?”
“Uh, yeah.” My mind went utterly blank. I blinked. My mouth wanted to move, but nothing came out.
“Well, what is it?” he demanded. His mustache bristled and the crow shivered.
Still nothing. “Uh…what’s your name?” I countered. “Sir.”
“Gillies. An’ that’s Mr. Gillies t’you.” He pointed and glowered. “Well? You forgot your name?”
My brain had unfrozen by now. “It’s Pepper. My name is Pepper.” That might work. If someone asked Kitty about her friend Pepper, at least there was a chance she’d play along.
“Awright. You get yer uny-form and report back here tomorrow night at eight o’clock sharp. Not before. I ain’t gonna have you sitting around waiting for the clientele to arrive, getting in the way. And I got stuff to do before She gets here anyway.”
“What about tonight?” I asked.
“Ain’t no one gonna be here tonight. It’s Sunday, ain’t it? Tomorrow, I said. Didn’t you hear me?”
“Uh…right. Where do I find a uniform?” There was no way I was going to leave without snooping around first.
An actual plan—with preparation and contingencies—was already beginning to form in my mind (Mina would be so proud). But I needed more information before I left. I’d have to shake off Mr. Gillies and check things out on my own. At the very least, I wanted to determine how many vampires were here. And what they were doing.
A little shiver danced over the back of my neck. Whatever they were doing wasn’t going to be pretty. It never was with the UnDead.
Mr. Gillies was still irate. “Right. Bloody damned uny-forms. Always gotta be something. Ain’t like I don’t got enough bloody things to do, now I gotta play lady’s maid too. Don’t know why Bettilda had to go break her bloody arm.” He was mumbling and cursing, and clearly didn’t think of me as the genteel Society lady I was supposed to be if he was using words like “bloody.”
That was completely fine with me.
“Just show me where to find them, and I’ll take care of it, Mr. Gillies,” I said in the most helpful tone I could muster. “You’ve got work to do.”
“Fine, fine, this way.”
I followed him up a short flight of stairs and then past several doors—none of them marked, all of them closed. There were no other signs of life, though I thought I heard the sounds of piano in the distance. And the more he grumbled and talked, the more it became obvious to me that The Carnelian Crow was some sort of club. And it was closed to clientele on Sundays.
And from what I could figure out, I was going to be waiting on tables and serving food and drink.
Well, there went my plan to have Mina come with me tomorrow as another waiter.
There was no possible way Mina Holmes could pass as a servant. Even if she could manage to hide her imperious attitude, she’d dump the tray on her first customer. Then she’d trip over the second one—probably land in his or her lap. And then she’d lecture the third about whether he (or she) had ordered properly and efficiently, and if anyone dared ask any questions about the food, she’d lecture them that they hadn’t observed enough about the menu.
No, that idea was not going to work.
So much for me planning ahead.
“In there.” Gillies jabbed at a door. “Don’t bother me unless it’s important—like the place is burning down or something. Be back here at eight o’clock tomorrow. Sharp.” He spun and stalked off in the opposite direction from which we’d come.
I could hardly believe my luck. Gillies was going to leave me to my own devices. I could do all the snooping I wanted.
I supposed I better look through the uniforms first, then afterward I could pretend I got lost on my way out. (Blooming Pete. Here I was, making a plan again.)
The wardrobe chamber was neat and organized, and it didn’t take me long to find what I needed. The female uniform was similar to that of Mr. Gillies, complete with tiny red crow insignias. I bundled everything up and shoved it into a canvas sack I found. Then, slinging the bag over my shoulder, I peeked out the door. No one seemed to be around.
I followed the sensation on the back of my neck, wishing I had a stake with me. Or that I was wearing a silver cross. (Who’d have thought I’d find an UnDead on my way to the market on a Sunday morning?) But then I realized even if I had the stake with me and found the vampires, I couldn’t do anything about them. The smell and residue of UnDead ash would be a definite giveaway, not to mention the fact that one or more of the vampires would have disappeared. And I supposed the noise from the actual staking would probably alert anyone else who was around.
The sound of piano had become more distinct. I followed it, reasoning that wherever the instrument was would also be where the entertainment happened—that is, in the main room of the club.
I was correct (Mina would be so proud). There was an opening that led from this backroom area to another chamber from where the music—and now a female voice—was coming. Instead of an actual door, there was a swath of translucent black fabric acting as a barrier. I could see a faint shimmer of light through it.
When I carefully moved the curtain-like door enough to peek through, I saw that on the other side of the silky door was a waterfall of glittering red beads that hung in front of it.
And, finally, I got my first glimpse of The Carnelian Crow.
The club was several levels above The Pickled Nurse when it came to decor, cleanliness, style—and technology. I couldn’t help but gawk when I realized the ceiling of the place was a square-shaped dome made from glass, which revealed the foggy winter sky above. Through the sides of the dome, I could see the edges of the buildings that rose above the club’s walls, bordering closely.
From what I could tell, The Carnelian Crow was in either a courtyard or alley, completely hidden by buildings on all sides. It was no wonder no one knew how to get here. The place was completely out of sight from the street, and could probably only be accessed via underground tunnel or by going through a storefront to the rear.
Like Lady Thistle’s.
Or through any other storefront that bordered the same alley as The Pickled Nurse. Who knew how many other secret entrances there were.
I glanced toward the small, low stage near one end of the room where the piano player and a female singer were practicing their act. Neither seemed to notice me. She continued to croon in a dusky voice about wanting to give all of herself to all of me, or something like that. The piano followed along without a hitch.
I didn’t want to take any chance of being seen, so I was careful to barely move the silk-and-bead curtain, and didn’t poke my head through too far. Even so, I could still see quite a bit of the room. And though there wasn’t any lighting except two lamps near the piano, enough illumination spilled through the glass ceiling to enable me to see how the place was furnished.
Four fireplaces studded the room, two on each of the side walls—including the one through which I was peeking. I could smell a tinge of wood smoke and knew they’d been in use recently and, as there was a definite chill in the air, probably would be as well tomorrow night. I wondered if setting and managing the fires was one of Mr. Gillies’ tasks.
Scattered through the center of the room were five round tables, each with four upholstered, high-backed chairs around them: two black, one red, one cobalt. The tables were covered by a luxurious fabric of red paisley on cobalt brocade. Matching blue crystal glasses and a decanter sat in the center of each round.
Along the edge of the room were four more round tables, each cupped by the semicircle of a privacy wall around the back and sides. Instead of chairs, a curved bench seat built into the privacy wall offered seating.
Large, ornate birdcages of brass, each base half the diameter of a carriage wheel, added to the decor. Three hung suspended from the ceiling on chains of varying lengths, and there were another three on bl
ack pedestals throughout the room. As far as I could see, the cages were empty of crows—carnelian or otherwise—but each contained a cluster of black pillar candles of different heights and sizes. They would look like small bouquets of flame when they were lit.
At the back of the room, directly opposite the stage with the piano and musicians, was a massive tapestry that shivered silkily from ceiling to floor. The background was the signature cobalt blue, and on it was a crow: black with carnelian accents on the top of its visible wing, and brilliant blue eyes. A smaller version of the same silken banner hung behind the stage.
Besides the faint aroma of wood smoke, other scents hung in the air. There was an unidentifiable essence that was faintly sweet and pungent, and not altogether unpleasing, and reminded me a little of the night in the opium den.
But, most unsettling of all, there was also the underlying scent of blood: deep, rich, as if ingrained in the very furnishings. I subdued a little shiver. I have a problem with lots of blood and gore and spilling guts…
I swallowed hard and pushed it away. I was a Venator. I had no time for weakness.
Then I finally saw what I was looking for: another door.
If I was standing at the servants’ entrance, then that other one must be where the clientele came in. If I wanted to find out where it led, I was going to have to be very careful.
After glancing once more at the musicians (the singer was still crooning something about all of me), I adjusted the bag with my “uny-form” over my shoulder, then carefully slipped beneath the curtain and its beaded attachment. I did my best not to make the fabric ripple or the hanging beads click against each other.
Once inside the main room of the club, I crawled along the wall toward the other door, using the tables as cover between me and the stage. Crawling wasn’t the easiest thing to manage in skirts and petticoats, so I bunched up as much of the fabric as possible and held it gathered against me as I inched along.
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