Tarnished

by Cooper, Karina

  As if daring us to race him for it.

  “No, thank you,” I murmured, letting the two edges part once more. I didn’t take eliminations as a rule. And I had no intentions of fighting another collector for a murder.

  No, what I wanted was to see if another posting had been made for Mr. Bartholomew Cummings. Surely, if the Menagerie were so keen on getting their owed money, they’d post another.

  But there was none.

  There was nothing for it. I left the collectors’ offices and made my way through the idly busy streets. By day, there were more of the working and lower classes to be had. Women soliciting whatever coin they could; servants traveling to their homes below. Dock men looking for work or a drink, wagons creaking across the uneven cobbles, market stalls placed unevenly along the streets. Although the fog was deucedly thick, enough light filtered through to turn it all to a vapid gray.

  Bright enough to see and be seen. Thick enough to choke on.

  I preferred the streets at night—fewer people to see me, even with my disguise—but some things couldn’t wait. And I knew where to look to find Cummings.

  He was a barber by day; degenerate gambler by night. I would never trust a drunkard to hold a razor near my throat, but I hadn’t heard any rumors of accidental throat slitting, so I supposed he got on all right.

  It took me less than an hour to make my way to his small, but oddly clean, shop. I pushed inside, not bothering to remove my mask or goggles. There was no one inside save Mr. Cummings, wrapped in a stained white apron and focused on affixing a pinch of wax to his rather excellent mustache as he leaned close to a shining mirror.

  As the tiny bell over the door jingled merrily, he straightened and turned, smiling.

  It faded as he saw me. “Now wait just a moment,” he said quickly, throwing up a chapped hand. “This here’s a place for gentlemen.”

  I ignored that, stopping just inside, hands on my hips. “Have you paid your debts to the Menagerie?” My voice, typically so feminine, came out raspy through the respirator vents.

  His eyes narrowed. Then widened again, and he stepped backward so fast that he nearly tripped over his own barber chair. “Now, now, I paid my due last morning! You tell them—”

  I didn’t come any farther into the room, but something in my stillness must have made him think again about his belligerent order.

  His tone softened. Pleadingly. “I got hauled in by some heathen foreign bloke and we made a deal.”

  “We?” I queried, but the angry buzz flowing through my veins already told me what he was going to say.

  “My lord Hawke and I,” he said, puffing up his chest as if designating that rooster a lord lent himself some credence. “We’re square. Or,” he added, very quickly, “will be soon. Honest.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Your bounty?”

  “He swore it’d be pulled!” he said, almost a squeak.

  That lying, thieving bastard. I turned on my heel and stalked from the door, listening to its jovial jingle fade.

  So much for fair dealings.

  I pounded my fist into my other hand as I turned for the West India docks. Fine. I’d show him. So he thought he’d cheat me, did he?

  I couldn’t let it stand. If I did, word could get out that I was an easy mark. Gullible enough to take the work and never bat an eyelash if I didn’t get paid.

  That wouldn’t do.

  I withdrew my pocket watch, frowning at the delicate hands. I didn’t have time to corner Hawke now, and even if I did, I didn’t have a plan. I’d need one. For whatever reason, he’d decided to cut me out of the accustomed deal.

  I’d need to think on it. In the meantime, my “rest” couldn’t last too much longer, or Betsy would run out of excuses. I turned toward the docks, determined to come up with a foolproof method to shake my money out of the recalcitrant Hawke.

  I spent half of a precious hour at the ferries, talking with the dockworkers who were inclined to spill a word or two for the right incentive. I didn’t learn anything of too much worth—most of London society already knew about a certain lord’s unfortunate interest in the gaming hells, and there were no rumors of anyone more suspicious than usual taking the ferries.

  Still, it’s good time well-spent when I can levy a certain amount of familiarity with the dock rats. They may be more inclined to talk again when real news comes calling.

  Betsy was on the lookout as I arrived home, and the stark relief on her face was as obvious as if she’d shouted it to the district. She hurried me through the window.

  “What on—” I started to say irritably, but she waved her hands wildly and wrestled with my coat.

  “Hurry!” she hissed. “M’lord Helmsley is below.”

  “Why is—” I caught myself, slapping both hands over my dirty face. Buggery and blast! I’d forgotten Teddy utterly in my insistence to snoop and God only knew what he’d think if he found me dressed like a man—collecting corset aside.

  Not that I expected him to bully his way upstairs and into my boudoir, that wasn’t his style. As easily as he discarded the more onerous expectations of propriety, he wasn’t a belligerent man.

  Still, I’d promised him my company, as I did every Wednesday regularly, and I knew he’d be smarting over the invite that led to my social destruction. He’d be eager to see me.

  While I’d all but forgotten. “Right,” I said grimly. “Quickly, then.”

  Betsy worked hastily, disappearing while I bathed off the lampblack in my hair and scrubbed my face. She returned, helped me dry and coiled my still-wet hair up on my head. She pinned it viciously as I winced. “I told Mrs. Booth you’d been sleeping,” she said.

  I smiled gratefully. “You’re a queen, Betsy.”

  “I’m a liar,” she sniffed, but her grin flickered. “They thought you were still reeling from the earl’s visit, anyway.”

  And wasn’t I? But not in the way the rest of my household thought. My smile turned grim as I studied myself in the mirror. Since it was after tea, she’d chosen a new gown suitable for a cozy dinner at home. Teddy was a frequent guest, after all, and I had no desire to stuff myself into full dress for him.

  Or, really, ever.

  Fanny allowed me to get away with a somewhat less elaborate gown only with Teddy, and so I wore a simple dinner jacket in bronze poplin and a skirt to match. I clipped the pocket watch to my jacket, tucked the faded disc into the tiny pocket at the side, and nodded. “How do I look?”

  “Why?” Betsy asked baldly. “Trying to charm the viscount’s son?”

  I snorted. “Teddy’s easily charmed, and easily distracted, by much prettier women than me.” And, I suspected, more readily available by the pound.

  “Pish-tosh,” Betsy scoffed, throwing out Mrs. Booth’s favorite dismissal. “Off you go.”

  I grinned, adjusted the jaunty little hat I’d insisted she pin to my mass of still-wet hair, and swept out to meet my guest.

  He rose as I entered the parlor, eyes narrowed. “Where the devil have you been?” he demanded.

  “Sleeping,” I replied easily, lying without a thought. “I had a rather long night, you know.”

  Any suspicion etched in his sharp eyes vanished, replaced by raw apology, and he threw himself back onto the settee with typical foppish flourish. “Damn that Compton,” he swore vehemently. “Everyone was saying that he’d danced with you before the cut.”

  I sank into a chair, and though I’d intended to brush it off, my mouth twisted. “So he did.”

  “Didn’t you know who he was?”

  “How, exactly?” I asked. “Should I have asked him, ‘Excuse me, sir, but are you in fact the Earl Compton and do you intend to cut me after this dance?’ ” I waved the very idea away as Teddy snorted. “Her Ladyship’s been after me since the beginning.”

  “Maybe she saw you dancing with her precious son.” He sneered the words, even as his long legs kicked out to cross at the ankle in easy familiarity. “Saw a spark? A bit of something?”


  “Don’t be daft,” I said sharply.

  But the memory of the earl’s hands on my waist wasn’t fading as quickly as it should have. I wanted to know why.

  Even as I really didn’t.

  “Truth be told,” I went on, treating the matter as if it were only a puzzle. A case to be studied, solved, and then discarded. “You know as well as I that any such invite must have been given with her blessing. She went out of her way to set me up in as public a crush as possible,”

  “That much must be true,” Teddy allowed. “The fine ladies of L.A.M.B leave a certain something to be desired in terms of kindness.”

  “She’s hated me for years,” I said, suddenly sullen. “She and her little salon think I’m the devil.”

  “Oh, come now.”

  “As good as,” I replied, wrinkling my nose.

  He raised a dark eyebrow, his grin edging in. Quick, far from innocent, and impish as he could be. “Maybe your raw beauty scared the woman senseless.” I snorted, a most unladylike sound. “She happened to see her precious son dancing with the prettiest lady in the room and saw a future trapped in a dowager house, far from London. Exiled to the country.”

  Color swept into my cheeks, and I flung a dismissive hand at him. “Oh, be serious. You know I’ve no intent to marry.”

  His expression sobered. “I know. Why should you? Your estate is yours in a year’s time.” Then a kick of something at his mouth; a glint in his eyes as he lowered his head and studied me through lashes I’d always envied. “Don’t think I haven’t considered asking, you know.”

  “What?” I straightened. “For me? Why ever for?”

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He shrugged fluidly, thin shoulders moving. Typical laissez-faire ease. “We’d be a good match. We get on famously enough, and you know I’d never touch your fortune.”

  He was serious. I looked at the honesty written clear as day on his hawkish features and something softened inside me, soothing away the tension of lies, fatigue and worry. Heedless of propriety, I rose, crossed the parlor and settled to the cushion beside him. “Of course we’re friends,” I assured him, taking his gloved hand in mine. “And a kinder, sweeter, more courageous friend I couldn’t ask for.”

  He squeezed my hand, and I saw the same softening reflected in his expression. Even if that lazy half smile lingered at his mouth.

  “Which is why,” I continued in the same tones, “I will do you the enormous favor of saving you from myself.”

  His half smile twitched. Widened. “You’re sure?”

  “Well.” I paused, as if deep in thought. “How do you like the taste of arsenic?”

  Teddy’s laugh cracked like a gunshot. He threw his head back with it, letting it free with the forthcoming familiarity that I loved so much, and he squeezed my hand between his. “Your point is well made,” he said when he could again, chuckling still. “What a bloody idiot, that Compton.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  A finger tucked a stray tendril from my cheek, but there was nothing in Teddy’s expression but lingering humor, that defensiveness he always displayed on my behalf, and a touch of devilish mischief. “He could have found in you an excellent companion,” he told me. “Even if you do like to stick your face in the fireplace.”

  My hand flew to my cheek, even as my stomach turned over.

  “Only a smudge,” he told me. “I’ve gotten it. See? I’m a real gentleman, I am.”

  “So you are.” But my chuckle wasn’t entirely easy. Had I missed a spot of lampblack? Was it in my hair still?

  “A fine catch,” he added, but with a wicked, teasing grin.

  I rolled my eyes. “I am going to send for Booth,” I said evenly, without heat. “And he’s going to bring this week’s periodicals. Let us just focus on Mr. Horatio’s theory of aether-to-oxygen ratio, shall we?”

  “If you insist.” Teddy laced his fingers behind his head. “You go first.”

  I smiled, innocent as an angel. “I think it’s bollocks.”

  Another crack of laughter escaped from his lips, and everything was once more as it should be. “Which bit?” he asked, grinning.

  “The one where he insists that aether can be lit in an enclosed tank,” I said. “Enlightened men have proven time and again that if you enclose something without air, it will fail to burn.”

  “But aether itself is a compound that we know nothing about.” This was the Teddy I know. Quick minded, sharp and opinionated. I flicked my fingers at him as I pulled the bell to summon my staff.

  “Not true,” I corrected swiftly. “We know what it can be used for, and what it is similar to, which gives us insight into its makeup.”

  We could go ’round like this for hours, and as Booth brought in the stack of periodicals painstakingly delivered from around the globe, we launched into a debate that could rattle the ears off a saint. Mid-debate, I snatched the fireplace poker from its resting place and brandished it like a sword at him, as if I’d pierce my point to his heart. “If anything contains aether,” I said, “then it means we do, too. Is aether just life simmered down to a single compound?”

  “Impossible,” Teddy replied, watching me swing the poker warily. “Air holds aether, and air isn’t alive. Aether is just a compound, one of many required to make life.” He reached up, having long since stripped his gloves for tea, and I yanked the poker away from his grasp.

  “Aether is not, in fact, life. Then we’re agreed,” I said triumphantly, and tossed the poker to him. “Allez, hop!”

  Teddy snatched the heavy iron out of the air, his eyes narrowing on me.

  I grinned, wiping my now sooty hand on my skirt heedlessly. “What?”

  He turned the poker in hand lazily as he sat back into his chair. We were terribly opposite in that regard; I was always pacing, while he expended as little energy as possible. “What of alchemy?” he asked thoughtfully.

  I screwed my face into an incredulous grimace. “Don’t even start,” I said, flinging a hand out at him as if to ward away the thought. “There’s no such thing.”

  “No such thing as magic, no such thing as alchemy.” He pointed the poker end at me. “For a scientist’s daughter, Miss St. Croix, you are awfully closed minded.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Alchemy is what a bunch of old men called magic, just so we wouldn’t think them crackers when they went looking for things like everlasting life and gold from metal,” I scoffed. “Let’s stick to true science, shall we?”

  “Like aether?”

  “Exactly.”

  He grinned, the way he did when he felt he’d scored a point. “Aether,” he repeated, “which until fairly recently was thought to be nothing more than magic?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, dropping into the chair across from his so smug scrutiny. “But it’s not,” I countered. “Ergo, it’s science.”

  “And alchemy isn’t?”

  “It’s not real,” I said evenly. “Therefore, no, it’s not science. It’s a bedtime tale.”

  Even when he got a bee in his bonnet about such things, our debates were an excellent way to spend the time, and it focused me for the hours I had to let pass before my mission later that night. When Teddy finally made his good-byes, I was all but crawling out of my skin with anticipation.

  I still had to sit through dinner. Every minute was an excruciating wait. Fanny seemed in decent spirits, however, and I blamed the earl’s visit for that.

  Finally, I could claim a headache and retire. I returned upstairs and found my collector’s uniform. Only this time, I wore my corset on the inside, hidden under a man’s shirt and working coat. It would be a bit of a struggle to get to my weapons in time, in the off chance I’d need them, but as I drew a cap low over my ears and covered my blackened hair, I told myself I wouldn’t need them.

  I left Betsy muttering darkly behind me, appalled at my appearance, and hurried below.

  Chapter Seven

  I had never traveled as much as I did today. I w
as always careful, mindful of followers or interested eyes. I had to be even more careful now; the more I took the ferries in a day, the likelier the talk.

  I was several days out of a bounty, though, and at the end of my patience.

  I made my way to the Menagerie. As it always was, the grounds were lit just well enough to see where one trod, and the fog remained at bay. Amid the colorful lanterns, a few patrons—mostly men—strode from one point to the next. I didn’t bother wondering from whence to where, as the Menagerie could quite literally cater to nearly all tastes and pleasures.

  And I knew more than most how well a façade could hide those deeply rooted desires.

  Pulling my coat more firmly around me, I hurried along the well-tended paths, each Chinese lantern lighting my way in a multitude of hues. I bypassed the private gardens, and this time, I decided to make at least an attempt for courtesy.

  A pair of women halted for me, but all beginnings of flirtation ceased when I lifted my hat in wordless introduction. Talitha and Jane, midnight sweets promenading arm in arm in gowns fit for a moonlit ball, were this shift’s lure, then.

  Pretty enough girls. Each golden-haired and fair-skinned, near enough alike that in the theatrical gloom, they could easily be sisters. Lures would stroll the grounds in apparent idleness, engage those in between pleasures, or those patrons who hadn’t yet decided where to go.

  Many is a man, gentleman or otherwise, who has been trapped behind the gates until dawn, lured back each time by the pretty temptations of the Midnight Menagerie.

  I knew them both, albeit in passing. Asking for the whereabouts of their employer raised Jane’s eyebrows, and her painted lips curved in a smile I was sure she practiced in her boudoir. Wicked, it was, and knowing. “He’s out at the amphitheater, love,” she told me, lacing her fingers over Talitha’s arm. “ ’Tis a feature tonight. You want to see this yourself.”

  “Isn’t he—”

  But Jane patted Talitha’s arm, tipping her bright head toward the girl. “Let the collector do her business, then,” she said cheerfully. “Come by and see us soon, won’t you?”