Tangled Webs

by Lee Bross

  “Across the hall to the right, miss.” The girl couldn’t be any older than Arista, but fatigue was written all over her sweaty face. It made her look as old as Bones. Her hands were red and chapped from her duties.

  “Thank you.” Arista dropped the fake accent and left the room.

  No one saw her, and she slipped into the laundry room easily. Huge tubs lined one wall, and the sharp scent of lye filled the air, burning her lungs. A rope was strung from one corner to the other, and clothes were pinned along it.

  It took no time at all to find a shirt, jacket, and trousers that looked about the right size. All were rough and patched, probably belonging to the stable boy. She’d never been comfortable stealing, much less from someone in her own situation, so she made a silent pledge to put them back as soon as she returned.

  The stairwell was dark and empty and Arista hurried up it. She pushed through the door and immediately stopped. In her haste to get back to her room, she’d exited on the wrong floor. These were the working rooms. Before she could duck back inside the stairwell, a door opened just three away from her.

  “A pleasure as always, my dear.” The man’s words were slurred, and he stumbled as he backed out the door. A throaty giggle followed his retreat. The door closed and the man straightened, put his hat on his head, and tapped it into place, though it still sat very crookedly.

  Arista didn’t dare move. Go the other way.

  He turned, as if he’d heard her thoughts, and walked right toward her.

  “Well, what do we have here? You’re a new one—I haven’t seen you before.” The man’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he focused on her. He took several stumbling steps down the hall. Arista backed up, the stolen clothes clutched to her chest. She didn’t miss the way he leered at her. Bile rose in her throat. Run. The command from her brain would not reach her frozen feet. She smelled the bourbon on his breath before he stopped in front of her. Without the benefit of either of her disguises, the boy or Lady A, Arista felt naked. Powerless. Her mind would not work at all.

  “My, you’re a pretty one. Where have you been hiding?” He ran a finger down her cheek and Arista pursed her lips tightly together. Still holding the clothes with one hand, she reached down with her other hand and inched the fabric of her dress up.

  She needed her knife.

  He must have sensed her movements, because a wide grin curled his mouth. “Eager, are you?” He leaned into her, pressing himself along the length of her body with only the rough cloth between them. His hot breath washed over her ear. “I like that.” He reached down and covered her hand with his, easing her skirt up more. The weight of his body pressed her harder against the door, and she couldn’t move. There was no room to lift her knee or drive her fist into his nose. Nothing Nic had taught her would work now.

  One of the man’s fingers trailed along her leg. Arista bit down on her lip so hard that she tasted blood. A vise tightened around her wrist and he held her hand firmly at her waist, her entire leg now exposed. She could not beat him with physical strength.

  With a soft sigh, Arista forced her body to go limp. He wasn’t expecting that, and lost his grip and balance at the same time. Drunks were unpredictable, except when it came to coordination. Arista had the tip of her blade pressed against his temple before he could blink. Arista, perhaps, wasn’t experienced at dealing with men like him, but Lady A was. Something inside of her shifted. The debilitating fear was gone now.

  “Leave now or I’ll sink this blade right through your skull,” she hissed. Becky would be proud of how cultured Arista sounded.

  “What the hell are you doing? Do you know who I am? I practically funded this entire place. I own you, whore.” The man reared back, but his glance flicked to the knife and he hesitated.

  This situation she could control.

  “They tell me that I like to play with knives a little too much,” she said softly, running the blade down his cheek until it stopped, right on the throbbing pulse in his neck. “But some men like that.” The man swallowed loudly. “Do you still want to play with me, my lord?” Arista pushed the blade against the man’s soft middle and he blanched. Men like him liked to pretend they owned the world, but underneath they were cowards. Especially when confronted with their own mortality.

  “You’re crazy,” he spat. Hatred blazed from his bloodshot eyes.

  “So I’ve been told,” she answered with a cold smile. “Now get away from me.”

  The man stumbled back a few feet and stopped. Without the knife at his throat, a bit of bravado returned. He brushed off the front of his jacket and straightened his hat. “I’ll see that you’re thrown out on the street with nothing, girl,” he sneered.

  A door somewhere down the hall opened, and the man turned his attention toward it. Arista slipped back into the stairwell and ran up the stairs as fast as she could. Her hands were shaking so badly, it took three tries to open the door at the top.

  Precious minutes had been lost because of that man, and her chances of being seen had increased. She had to get out of this place. As the hour grew late, more men would be roaming the halls. She couldn’t get the feeling of the man’s touch out of her head. If she’d had the time, she might have jumped back into the tub of cold, dirty water to wash it away.

  Arista counted seven doors and knocked softly. The door immediately swung open, and Arista stepped inside the darkened room. She met Becky’s wide-eyed stare in the flickering candlelight, and then her glance slid to the chair in the corner of the room. Her heart thumped against her ribs dully.

  Wild raised an eyebrow. He looked at the bundle of clothes in her arms.

  “I hope you have not changed your mind already, my dear?”

  “So I’m to be a prisoner after all, then?” Arista asked.

  Wild laughed. “Of course not, but I am invested in your safety. If you’d like to venture out, I’d be more than willing to provide an escort. At this hour, it is most prudent.” Just what she needed. Someone to keep watch over her every move. And report back to Wild, of course.

  “I’ve been on the streets since I was five,” Arista said, forcing herself to speak calmly. “I don’t need anyone to go with me.”

  “It would make me feel better, knowing you were protected. You have only just recovered, and I hate to think of you on the streets alone.”

  “He’s right, miss,” Becky chimed in. She wrung her hands together and glanced between Wild and Arista. When Wild smiled at her, the girl visibly relaxed.

  “I only wanted to get some air,” Arista lied. “I can’t move in this dress. But you’re right, it’s not safe. And I’m suddenly feeling tired. If you’d excuse me, I’d like to rest now.”

  Wild stood, and Arista hugged the stolen clothing tighter. Though the conversation was nothing but civil, Wild’s mouth tightened, and she knew he distrusted her.

  “Truly, I am not used to being inside for such a long time. I only wanted to stretch my legs in the night air, as I’ve always done. It’s safer as a boy.”

  “I understand, my dear. Really, I do. I don’t like long confinements, either. After tomorrow, you can come and go as you please. I only ask that you honor my request tonight.” He held out his hands for the clothing she had borrowed. Arista shrugged and placed the bundle in his outstretched arms, pretending the stolen clothes were of little importance to her. Of course he didn’t trust her yet. That was something she would have to earn.

  “Good evening to you, ladies,” Wild said. With those last words, he closed the door and left Arista alone with Becky.

  “Miss, what were you thinking?” Becky clasped her hands tightly in front of her, and she kept looking at the door as if expecting Wild to return any second.

  “There is something I need to do, Becky. Tonight. Now, help me figure out a way to escape.” Arista stalked to the window. They were high above the street, and had no way to climb down; it was pointless to try. With no idea where they were going in the morning, she had to get out now, while s
he still had the chance to find her way back to their old home.

  Deep voices could be heard from outside the door. Arista pressed her ear to the wood. A guard. Damn.

  “I need to go back to the house. Wild is looking for Nic, but I’m not sure I can trust him yet. I have to let Nic know that we’re okay, and tell him how to find us. I’m afraid he may think we died in the fire, too.” It was only half the truth. She and Becky would have the means to live any way they chose.

  “But if Mr. Wild said he was looking…” Becky twisted her fingers together and glanced at the door.

  “I’m sure that Nic will go back to the house, looking for a hint that we’re still alive. I’m just going to leave something so that he knows for sure. I’ll be back before anyone misses me, I promise.”

  She hoped to be gone and back before anyone missed her.

  “There’s a guard outside the door. I need a way to distract him.” Arista looked around the room for anything that might be useful. The only thing she had was her knife. That wouldn’t work. She wasn’t a murderer. The heavy candlestick? Would anyone believe he was simply sleeping if he were sitting prone against the wall? She had to take the risk.

  Arista picked up the heavy candlestick and glanced at the door. The man was big, but if she hit him just right…

  “I have an idea, miss.” Becky grabbed the covered tray from the stand by the bed and opened the door. Though Arista couldn’t see anyone, she heard the deep tone of a man’s voice just outside the room. Becky said something in reply, then the door closed.

  It seemed like hours passed. Arista paced the room. What if Becky had been caught? What if Wild were questioning her? This might be the only chance Arista had to find Bones’s stash before Wild had her firmly under his thumb. He had saved her, but not due to any kind of chivalry toward her. He had reasons of his own.

  She had picked up the candlestick again when she heard voices in the hall. The door swung open.

  “Thank you very much,” Becky said, backing into the room with the covered silver tray in her hands. “You’re a very nice gentleman.”

  “Anytime, miss,” came a reply.

  Arista watched as Becky smiled at the man in the hall. She very rarely ever met a man’s gaze, and if it happened by accident, she always turned away first. When Becky closed the door, Arista saw the faint stain of a blush on her friend’s cheeks.

  Another reason why Arista had to figure out a way to get them out of this life; so that Becky could have one. Arista wondered if her friend wanted a family of her own. They’d never talked about it—never talked about any kind of future, really. Without a guarantee that there would even be a future, there had never been any point in talking about it. Now, however?

  The thought took Arista by surprise. Did Becky want that? Her own family?

  “Here, miss, I got these for you.” Becky’s voice broke through the strange direction of Arista’s thoughts. Arista could not focus. Why was she so distracted? Maybe because for the first time in her life, there was a promise of something more. The future, the freedom of her thoughts, made her mind go to strange places. She needed to focus on the here and now.

  Her friend lifted the silver lid, and underneath, there was a neat pile of folded clothes. They looked very similar to the ones Arista had stolen earlier. Becky had sneaked them into the room, disguised as food.

  “Becky, you are a genius,” Arista said with a big smile. She turned around, and Becky immediately began helping her undress. Soon Arista stood in just her shift and began pulling on the rough boys’ clothing.

  “I’m still not sure how you’re planning on getting out, miss,” Becky said. “That man that Mr. Wild put outside the door isn’t moving.”

  “Maybe you’d like to distract him for me?” she teased.

  Becky’s cheeks turned red. “He was just doing his job,” she said, and her glance fell to the floor.

  Arista wanted to pull her friend into a hug. Despite the scars and bandage over one eye, Becky’s goodness still radiated out.

  “I only need a few seconds to make it down the hall,” Arista said. She stepped out from behind the screen and adjusted the wool cap. The clothing hung a little loose on her frame, but it hid her gender more than her old disguise had. The only thing missing was shoes.

  She hoped that somewhere near the kitchen door, an extra pair of boots could be found. Otherwise she’d be running through the alleyways barefoot. It wouldn’t be her first time, but in the darkness she’d have to go slowly and walk carefully to avoid broken glass or sharp stones—and there was no time for caution.

  Becky chewed her bottom lip. “Are you sure about this? If you get caught…” They’d both heard the veiled warning in Wild’s tone, but really—what could he do to her? He needed her.

  Still, there were ways to ensure Arista’s cooperation without threatening her. One look at Becky proved that. And Wild, unfortunately, knew Arista would do anything to protect the girl.

  “As soon as I’m gone, I want you to lock the door and wedge the chair under the latch—do you understand?” Arista said. “I’ll use our usual knock to let you know it’s me when I return. Do not open the door to anyone else. Is that clear?”

  Her voice was sharp, but she needed Becky to listen to her—to do exactly as she said. “If Wild insists you open the door, blow out all the candles, tuck my dress under the blanket, and whisper that I’m sleeping. That should buy me a little more time. I’ll be back before daybreak.” Arista started toward the door.

  “And if you’re not?”

  Becky’s soft question stopped her. It was always possible, that she might not return—especially wandering the alleys alone in those dark hours before dawn. Even with her superb knife skills, it only took one mistake.

  “Don’t think about it. I’ll return. I promise you.” Arista took the girl’s clammy hands in hers and squeezed. “Now, just imagine yourself at Haymarket Theatre—like the play I told you about—and put on a good show.” Becky’s lips trembled as she tried to smile.

  If she could bring Becky with her, she would. If they had anywhere else to go…

  “Ready?” Arista asked. The longer she waited, the higher her chances of getting caught. Becky took a deep breath and nodded. She released Arista’s hands and stepped to the door. Her hand shook as she reached for the latch, but she didn’t pause.

  “Hello again.” Becky moved out of the room and left the door slightly ajar. “My mistress is sleeping, and I find that I am not at all tired. I hoped that I could find someone to converse with. There aren’t many to talk to around here.”

  Arista heard the way Becky’s voice wavered and held her own breath. Would the man notice her nervousness and become suspicious?

  “Most aren’t here for the conversation,” the man said with a knowing chuckle.

  “This isn’t the kind of place I normally stay in,” Becky said. Her voice got a little fainter and Arista decided to take a quick look out the door. Sure enough, Becky had moved a few feet away and the man now had his back to the door. Becky glanced past the man and saw Arista.

  “I used to be a lady’s maid,” Becky continued. “Before…” She brushed a hand to her face and Arista watched her gaze slide down to the floor. Anyone would blame the maid. No one would ever dare point a finger at the lord.

  Arista took a tentative step into the hallway and paused.

  “Damned rich bastards think they can get away with anything.” His voice grew hard with contempt. The man shifted toward her and Becky put her hand on his thick arm.

  “It was the best thing that happened to me. I got away from him before something worse happened. He had a horrible reputation…”

  Arista missed the rest of the conversation. She made it down the hall, her bare feet silent on the carpeting, and opened the servants’ door before she dared to exhale. A quick glance back showed Becky and the man were still deep in conversation.

  Confidence surged through Arista, making her muscles sing. Three flights
of stairs and the kitchen door were all that stood between her and escape. Every creak from the uneven steps made her catch her breath, and it seemed to take forever to get to the bottom, but she finally made it without anyone the wiser.

  When Arista opened the kitchen door, there was more movement in the house than before. A half dozen kitchen girls were mixing and kneading huge piles of dough on the large center island. These must be apprentices, not yet experienced enough to do anything but turn the dough.

  One looked up, and an immediate spark of interest flashed in the young girl’s eyes. She looked about twelve or thirteen. Arista thought it peculiar, until she remembered she was dressed as a boy. She ran the last few steps and threw herself out the door. The fading sound of laughter followed her abrupt departure.

  So much for leaving unnoticed.

  The garden was full of shadows. The glow from the kitchen illuminated only the area right in front of the door. And there, on the side of the step, she saw a pair of boots. The errand boy must have put them there so as not to track mud into the house.

  With a quick, silent apology, Arista grabbed them and hurried toward the back of the garden, to where Wild had materialized earlier. Sure enough, a small gate was hidden in the dark. The alley that ran behind the brothel was so black she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Arista slipped the boots onto her feet as quickly as she could.

  Once she was free of the alley, she didn’t try to be quiet anymore. She simply ran. Her borrowed boots thumped against the ground, breaking the silence of the night with each step. In just three turns, Arista made it back to the familiar labyrinth of alleys that would lead her to Fleet Street—she could navigate them blindfolded if she had to. The shadows were quiet as she raced past. Even the ones who staggered home drunk from the taverns were asleep in their own beds at this hour.

  Only the sneaks who picked the pockets of those same drunks were out. The occasional whisper of movement was the only indication they were there. It was one job Bones had never required her to do, though he sent most of the children out to do this dirty work. It was a very dangerous practice. Sometimes the drunk would wake, and fight back. Sometimes an even more desperate sneak would rather stick a knife in a fellow thief than return empty-handed.