by Lee Bross
An acrid aroma filled the air, even before she made the last turn out of the alley. Wet, charred wood. A dull thumping filled her ears when she looked at where the house had once stood. It no longer reached for the sky. All that remained of her home was a lifeless pile of broken pieces.
Something inside her snapped, and all at once, Arista could see her freedom. Nothing was left of her nightmare, her prison. Her tormentor had perished in the bowels of the hell he’d created. Laughter bubbled up in her throat. A fitting death for the likes of him. She inhaled deeply, letting the stench of this death fill her lungs.
Once, this place had filled her with a burning fear, but no more.
It was a terrifying and exhilarating thought. For the first time in her life, Arista had a say in her future. Her future might be clouded with uncertainty at the moment, but it was true nonetheless. The only thing missing was Nic.
Blackened wood crunched and snapped beneath her feet as she made her way over the pile of debris. Wild had been right. Not much remained at all. The fire had burned the building almost to the ground. Gritty soot coated everything. It smeared across her skin in black slashes.
The rubble would have been picked over as soon as it was cool enough to touch. Arista could hear the scratching of the creatures who were still salvaging inside the pile of burnt wood.
Her room should be just ahead, on the other side of the chimney. The fire had burned hottest there, where it had started. There wasn’t much left, and there was nothing she could recognize, except the barest hint of where the walls used to be. The straw mattress had been there, in the corner, and under it she had hidden things only a child would find valuable. A cornhusk doll Nic had made for her. The sketch on her wall. Gone. Everything was gone.
Her gaze slowly moved to the spot where she had last seen Bones. The Watch must have removed the body, but Arista still couldn’t resist the urge to dig the toe of her boot under a pile of boards and lift them up. As illogical as it seemed, she half expected Bones to come charging through the rubble and finish what he’d started. Her bruised ribs throbbed.
Arista kicked at the pile of burned boards. They fell apart into a mess of black dust and lumps of charcoal. What she wanted was buried deeper, where no one knew to look. Even she didn’t know the exact location.
Nic said that Bones had hidden it under a floorboard near the stove. If that had been pilfered, she might as well give up, rather than tear apart the entire house. It took several long minutes to make her way to the middle of the house. The chimney, almost entirely intact, rose up like a signpost. With only the stray light from a lone, unbroken streetlamp to illuminate the ruins, Arista had to pick her way slowly toward it.
A dark shape grew distinct from the rest of the blackness as she crept closer. The old potbelly stove still stood, but something else was different. She knew what it was almost immediately. The space in front of the stove had been neatly cleared, and the floorboards were torn up. Arista stuck her hand in the hole, roughly the size of her head, and found nothing. The letters, the money—it was all gone.
She sat down with a bump, not caring about the soot that was rubbing off onto her borrowed clothes. The noose of having to work with Wild tightened around her neck. Images of the fire flashed through her head. Bones had been more furious than Arista had ever seen before. He’d shouted that something had gone missing.
The secrets. The money. It had to have been Nic.
Nic took it all—and then left Arista to deal with the aftermath?
He wouldn’t do that to her. But she had the bruises on her body to prove that he had. No, something had gone wrong. Nic would never have left her to face Bones’s wrath alone. Not after he’d spent years protecting her from that terrible man.
Arista stood slowly and looked toward the waterfront, where a sliver of light was making its way over the horizon. Nic was out there, waiting until it was safe to contact her. She had to believe that—because the alternative was too horrifying to consider. He had everything, and he was hiding somewhere, waiting until it was safe to look for her.
She had to let him know she was waiting—give him some sign. With the toe of her boot, she scuffed an A into the soot, then turned back toward the maze of alleyways. A thick fog was rolling in from across from the river, and a chill settled over her skin, seeping into the threadbare cloth and making it uncomfortably damp. The sun would be up very soon. Already, a soft yellow pushed its way through the hazy pall. A cold waft of air blew over her, and she shivered. It felt almost as if Bones were still searching for his letters and money from some ghostly plane. She didn’t truly believe in such things—the streets had ground common sense into her—but when it came to Bones, no amount of horror was out of the question.
She picked her way back through the rubble as quickly as she could, the hairs on her neck standing up. She allowed herself one quick glance over her shoulder, but there were no ghosts. An eerie stillness filled the dawn. There were no sounds of children; no dogs barking; no sellers hawking their wares. An ominous feeling hung in the air. Arista started to run as soon as she was free from the burned-out row house.
Sprinting now, she wove her way through the narrow passages, making the automatic twists and turns that would lead her to Covent Garden.
Even blocks away, she felt like she was being watched.
The man stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a frown turning the edges of his mouth down. He did not look happy to be there. Arista could see the door to her room clearly from where she was, hunched down near the top of the stairs. She could not slip inside without him taking notice.
Entering through the front door had been easy. Disguised as a boy, she’d moved down the main hallway, unnoticed by two housemaids sweeping by with arms full of linens. After kicking off the boots and tucking them into a small alcove off the front door, she started up the massive stairway, the one with thick carpeting and a gleaming wooden banister. The one only paying guests used.
This side of the house was still. The rich men had gone home to their wives’ beds, while the working girls on the second floor were sleeping. The back of the house would be a flurry of activity at this early hour, and she didn’t want a confrontation. Not dressed as a boy.
She glanced up again, willing the man to move. Blast it. How could she be in her room before Wild arrived, if she couldn’t get back in? Maybe if she went outside and threw a pebble against the window, it would alert Becky, and she could distract the man again. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all Arista had.
Wild’s “request” had been a test. She knew that. And if she wasn’t there when he came for her…No, she would be in her room. That was that.
The carpet muffled her steps as she snuck back down to the second floor. Just before she reached the last step, a door far down the hall swung open. A man came out, his shirt tucked haphazardly into his trousers. He said something into the room that Arista didn’t hear, but the tone in his voice said more than enough. The door slammed, then a fist pounded on it as the man’s voice grew louder. “You thieving whore, let me back in. I’ll get my money’s worth out of you yet.”
The threat in the man’s tone made Arista’s skin crawl. She reached for her knife out of habit. More doors were opening now, and disheveled heads popped out to watch. The man turned, and his lip curled into a snarl.
“I’ll get my money’s worth from one of you girls, then.” He staggered down the hallway, and several of the girls shrieked and slammed their doors. The man bellowed in drunken rage and yanked on each of the door handles.
Arista backed up and her foot caught the edge of the step. She fell, quickly turning to catch herself on her hands and knees. A large black pair of boots filled her vision.
“Out of the way, boy,” a deep voice growled. A hand on her shoulder roughly pushed her aside and Arista sprawled awkwardly across the stairs. The man pounded past and stormed toward the drunk man. It took her a moment to realize that her guard had shoved her out of the way. He ye
lled at the aristocrat to step back, but he only sneered.
Her guard outweighed him by at least four stone. Only the spirits the aristocrat had drunk made him think it would be a fair fight. But that wasn’t her problem. An opportunity presented itself, and she took it. Arista sprang up the stairs as fast as she could and ran toward her room. The loud sounds of the fight below filled the air, and her heartbeat sounded equally loud in her ears.
When she got to her door, she rapped out the signal, and gulped in several deep breaths. What if Becky was asleep? Or not in the room? An icy edge of panic began to creep along her skin, and Arista knocked again. She tried the door, but it was locked, exactly as she’d asked Becky to do.
Just as she started to knock again, the door swung open. Becky stood back, blinking sleep from her eyes, and quickly let Arista slip inside.
“Thank goodness, miss. I knew as soon as you left, there would be trouble getting back inside. I waited, kept checking to see if you were back, but the guard finally told me to stay inside. How’d you get past him?”
Arista squeezed her friend’s hand. “There was a commotion downstairs. Quickly, help me clean this soot off my skin. I mustn’t arouse Wild’s suspicion when he comes for us.”
Arista stripped, and Becky made short work of the soot with a soapy rag, which was then dropped in the copper tub to conceal the evidence. Arista raised her arms and the soft fabric of her nightgown fell around her.
Becky tucked everything inside the silver domed tray as Arista crawled into the bed. “I’ll take them back right now, miss.” She lifted the tray and opened the door. “He’s still gone—should I go now?”
“Yes,” Arista whispered. The last thing she wanted was for Wild to find evidence that she’d blatantly disobeyed him. The door clicked shut, and Arista finally let her breath out. The throbbing that had started as she stood in the ashes of her burned-out home grew more painful. She pressed her fingers against her temples.
Nic would find them. He was probably waiting until Arista was alone. Even if he knew that she was at Wild’s brothel, it didn’t mean he could get to her. Maybe he had already tried. Yes, once they were away from this place, Nic would have the opportunity to contact her. That had to be what he was waiting for. She just needed to be patient a bit longer.
By the time Becky returned, Arista had regained her composure completely.
“Mr. Wild is coming, miss,” Becky said breathlessly. “He wasn’t too happy that David left his post to tend to the commotion below stairs, but I assured him that you’d been sleeping.”
“David?” Arista quirked her eyebrow, but then smiled as color covered Becky’s cheeks. It was nice to see something other than pain or fear on her friend’s face. But her expression quickly turned more serious.
“Miss…what you’ve agreed to, with Wild I mean, it’s…not because of me, is it?” Becky clasped her hands together tightly. Her glance slid to the door and back to Arista. “I know you can take care of yourself, and I don’t want you to feel…”
Arista swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Becky, I’m doing this for us. For both of us. And I don’t feel obligated,” Arista lied. “I need you more than you need me. Who will keep me from making foolish choices?”
Becky snorted, then covered her mouth. “Sorry miss, it’s just…” The red spots on her cheeks grew brighter.
“I know—I ‘never listen,’ Becky.”
“No, miss, you don’t. The only person who could keep you in line was Nic.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
“Do you think he’s okay, miss?” Becky asked softly.
“I really don’t know. But I have to believe that he is.” Any more talking was preempted by a quick knock at the door. It swung inward before either of them answered. Wild stepped into the room, his gaze darting swiftly between them before settling on Arista.
“Be ready to go in one hour. Everything has been arranged, as you requested.” He gave her a quick half bow, then turned on his heel and left the room.
“Miss? Are we really leaving?” Becky asked.
Wild had agreed to her terms, which meant that Arista had entered into a new partnership. The wisdom of her decision would remain to be seen. “Yes, Becky, I guess we really are.” Reluctantly, she pushed the covers aside and sat up. “Everything will be fine, just like I promised.”
Becky didn’t believe her. Arista saw it in her face, but her friend said nothing. She only helped Arista get dressed once more in the blue frock. Wild told them nothing about where they were going, but if this person was a business associate of Wild’s, anything was possible.
An hour later, the carriage pulled up to the front of a neat townhouse in Talbot Court. Honest middle-class merchants lived in this part of London. The footman climbed down and opened the door, then offered his arm to Arista. Bright mid-morning sun shone down, a rarity in fog-shrouded London.
This was a home, and behind the door, there were people inside. She had not expected this.
Families lived here; real families.
“Are you Ana?” A fresh-faced girl in a beautiful pink morning dress smiled down at them from a small balcony above the front door. Her curly hair had been pinned back, but some had fallen free, and it bobbed around her face as she bounced on her toes. She appeared to be around the same age as Arista.
Arista’s feet hit the ground, and she froze. This wasn’t going to work.
“Oh, you are, I just knew it! I could hardly wait for you to arrive.” The openness of the girl’s expression took Arista by surprise. Scorn, contempt, fear—those were familiar emotions in faces around her. Friendliness? Rarely. But the girl was not pretending. Her smile was artless, not forced, and her body was relaxed as she leaned out over the wrought-iron rail. As she spoke her hands moved wildly in the air. Everything about the girl spoke of sincerity.
“Do come inside! I asked Mama to put you in the room next to mine, but Papa insisted you should be in the guest room downstairs. We seldom get visitors, and when we do, they’re usually wrinkle-faced old men who talk business all day. I adore your short hair. Mine is an unruly mess all the time. Perhaps we can convince Mama to let me do the same with mine? We are going to be such good friends, I just know it!” Her merry laughter rang out and she disappeared back into the house.
A dull, smothering unease settled around Arista, like a coat that fit too tightly. Friends? No, this would definitely not work at all. “Becky, I think we should…” Her maid was already deep in conversation with a white-haired man who stood in the open doorway. They were chatting like old friends, and Becky actually giggled.
He took the valise from Becky, and then stepped back to allow her inside. “Miss?” Becky asked, looking back toward Arista. The butler and carriage driver also watched her. Her skin grew hot under all the scrutiny. The dull thump of her heartbeat sounded in her ears. Every nerve in her body urged her to flee. Becky must have sensed her distress, because she quietly moved to Arista’s side.
“It’ll be okay, miss. I can tell already that they are good people.” Arista closed her eyes and sucked in a long breath. That was exactly what she was afraid of. Thieves, blackmailers, and whores were familiar territory. Arista knew what was expected of her, and what to expect in return. Here, she knew nothing—definitely not how to behave correctly.
Already, she had increased the awkwardness by just standing there in the small courtyard.
“Ana!” The girl waved from beside the butler. “Come!” At Becky’s urging, Arista took a step forward.
“Don’t let old Wilson here intimidate you,” the girl said with a bright grin. She reached up and tweaked the man’s cheek. Arista could see the sparkle of affection in his eyes. Even the servants weren’t afraid to show how they felt.
Arista was the intruder here, surrounded by her lies.
“I’m Sophia, and it is so very nice to meet you. You have the most beautiful eyes, but I bet you hear that all the time. And your dress! I—”
>
“Sophia,” a stern but equally cheerful voice said behind her.
“Mama! Come and meet Ana.”
“You will scare our guest away, child.”
Had there been a slight emphasis on guest? Did the woman know why she was really there? When her gaze met the woman’s, Arista wasn’t sure.
Her eyes were not cold or filled with disdain, but they were not as welcoming as her daughter’s had been. “Ana, my husband said to expect you. I am so very sorry to hear of your loss. So young to already be a widow.”
Becky’s hands squeezed Arista’s arm. In the carriage, Arista had explained to Becky what Wild had told her. They were to stay with a merchant who owed him a favor; the story was that she was a young widow, in London to settle her late husband’s affairs.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Arista said, careful to keep her voice low and neutral. “Truth be told, I did not know Sir Reginald very well, and had only met him on one occasion before we wed. His death was most sudden and unfortunate.”
The grip on her arm turned viselike and Arista squeezed back, a gentle but firm reminder that Becky should remain silent. Thankfully, aside from a low murmur in her throat, Becky did not speak. With their lives so full of deceit, Becky knew well how to play along.
“Come inside, both of you—you must be weary from traveling such a long way,” the woman said. “I am Marguerite Sinclair.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair,” Arista said, following the woman as she turned and made her way down the foyer.
Paintings hung on gleaming wood-lined walls. A modest staircase rose to the left, and there were three doors to the right, all closed but one. Marguerite stopped in front of the second door, which was open. “Wilson will show your maid to your rooms. My husband, Robert, would like a word with you before you rest, please. Thank you, Ana.”