Tangled Webs

by Lee Bross

  Lord Ellington was still flirting with her? After everything that had happened?

  “Thank you for the flattering offer.” And she was very flattered. But she only ever wanted to dance with Grae. Only ever wanted his hands on her.

  Ellington smiled and bowed. “I find I am almost saddened to be freed from your web, Madame Spider. If you find yourself in need of…anything…in the future, you have but to ask.” He lifted her hand and she didn’t miss the way his lips lingered a few seconds longer than was proper. “Good evening to you, my lady. I wish you luck.”

  With a slight bow and a genuine smile, he left her there on the patio.

  Arista watched him until he was out of sight. Elation slowly filled her body. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face. She had done it. She had actually done it. In two days’ time, she would be on board Grae’s ship, sailing away from London for good. If Grae were here with her, she would dance until her feet were too sore to move another step.

  Grae. Arista wrapped her arms around her middle and hugged herself. Grae was waiting for her; they would leave together. It was almost too good to be true. She pinched herself, and laughed.

  Several curious glances were thrown her way, and she didn’t even care. Tonight marked the end of Lady A. The end of her life as a thief. Of being controlled by those who only thought to use her.

  A hush fell over the crowd, and Arista looked up. A woman dressed in glittering turquoise silk stood midway up the grand staircase, watching the guests. People called out and she waved, making the bouquet of peacock feathers bounce and dip. It had to be Lady Amanda, Lord Luckette’s daughter. Arista had seen her only once before, at a different masquerade ball. She had a reputation for promiscuity.

  The lady’s eyes momentarily settled on someone, and Arista followed her gaze. A darkly clad man stood in a plain black mask along the perimeter of the room. Looking around, Arista could see at least three more dressed exactly the same, spaced evenly throughout the room. Alarm shot through her body.

  The Watch? The ones in charge of upholding the law and finding criminals. They were known to be ruthless in dispensing justice, and only their word was needed to send someone to Newgate for life. Arista shivered. There had been many close calls with the Watch when she was younger. Several of the children she had lived with had been hauled away by them, never to be seen again.

  The threat of the Watch was only one hazard of their jobs as pickpockets, though. And Bones’s wrath was a worse fate; so each day, they took the chance of getting caught.

  Had Wild sent them for her? Though the Watch and the Thief Taker General were separate posts, she knew many of the Watch were also on Wild’s payroll. According to the rumors, at least.

  Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. It was time to leave anyway.

  Arista skirted the darkened edges of the room, toward the door where she had entered earlier. One of the Watch stood between her and the doors. Had he stared at her a little too long? She forced her steps to slow. The man looked away and Arista moved past, exhaling in relief.

  Until a hand shot out of the dark and pulled her into a secluded alcove.

  She whirled around, and her knife was out and pressed against the offender’s throat in one fluid movement.

  “I see some things never change,” Nic said with an easy grin.

  The room suddenly dipped again and she grabbed his arm. Was he really there? “Nic?” She sheathed her knife and threw her arms around him. “Where have you been?”

  He took a step back, looking around them. His eyes became guarded. “You got what I left for you, I see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not exactly the way I hoped you would use them, gypsy. Those secrets were to be a negotiating tool with Wild. To ensure he didn’t try and double-cross you.”

  “How do you know about Wild?” She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed them talking. She pulled the veil up over her face so she could see him better. “What’s going on, Nic?” She could read him as easily as she read everyone else. Guilt made the lines around his eyes and mouth heavier.

  His voice lowered and he leaned in close. “Wild knows what you’re doing, gypsy. He’s had his eyes on you the whole time.”

  Thoughts slammed together in her head. Nic knew about Wild? About their deal? And Wild knew what she’d been up to?

  She gasped. “You’ve been watching me?” Her heart slammed against her ribs, threatening to break free from her chest. No. No, it wasn’t true. Nic would never betray her like that.

  But his eyes, hooded with pain, refused to meet hers. Oh God…she was going to be sick. She covered her mouth and pushed outside into the fresh night air.

  Her stomach tightened and her throat burned as she leaned over a hedge. When the convulsions stopped, her body ached. She glanced over her shoulder to where Nic stood just behind her.

  “Nic?” she said desperately. “Please tell me that it wasn’t you feeding him the information.”

  “I’m sorry, gypsy.” His voice sounded strained and tight. “You don’t understand.”

  The floor could have opened up and swallowed her, and it would have been less of a surprise.

  “You’re working for him? How long?” The words caught in her constricted throat, and she desperately swallowed the sob building there. This was Nic. Her best friend. She had trusted him.

  He dragged his fingers through his hair, inhaling through his teeth with a sharp hiss. “You know it’s always been about the money for me. I’m not good, like you. Wild came to me months ago, offered me a position in his operation. We’d break into a few houses, take some valuables, and then those rich bastards would pay Wild to ‘find’ their stolen belongings. Wild knew about you—knew that I escorted Lady A to her meetings. He wanted to meet you, so I set up the meeting with Wild at Lady Carstair’s. Left the note for Becky to find.”

  Rage burned through her veins. She took a step closer and pressed her fingertips against his chest. “You set me up. I almost died that night. Becky almost died.”

  He met her agonized stare. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I was coming back for you, I swear. Wild was going to meet us in the alley, but I got tied up with something else and ran late that night. When I finally got there, the building was on fire, and had been burning for hours. I was sure nobody was alive in there. I didn’t know Wild saved you until almost a week later. I wanted to see you, but he said you’d agreed to work with him, and he wanted me to stay low.”

  It all fell into place with sickening clarity. The heat inside her vanished, replaced with a heavy coldness that seeped into her bones. Wild had known where Nic was the whole time. He had never looked for him—didn’t need to—because Nic was working for Wild. Long before the fire.

  Nic knew how much she valued the little freedom she had, and how much she wanted to get out of this life. He’d basically indentured her to Wild without her even knowing.

  “I didn’t give you all those secrets so that you could just give them all back. Damn it, gypsy, you were supposed to use them to negotiate with Wild. To solidify your partnership with him. To make sure he didn’t set you up.”

  He ran agitated fingers through his hair again and glared at the space behind her.

  “Secrets destroy people,” she said. “I’m tired of being a part of that.”

  Nic scrubbed a hand over his face. “They deserve it. You always thought so, too. Those rich bastards who think they own the world—they deserve everything they get for being greedy.”

  “I’m done, Nic. I’m getting out. I don’t want this life anymore. It’s killing me from the inside.”

  “It will kill you from the outside, too, gypsy. Wild won’t let you double-cross him. Did you think you’d just disappear after you agreed to work with him? You think Bones was vengeful? I promise that anything he did to us would pale in comparison to what Wild is capable of.” His voice turned low and urgent. “He already knows what you’re doing, gypsy, but you have one small adva
ntage. He doesn’t know that I’ve told you. He won’t expect you to try and run yet. That’s why you need to get out of here.”

  A sob caught in her throat and she stiffened when he pulled her close. The arms that had once been so familiar were like a stranger’s. His drawn-out sigh brushed across her ear. There were no spikes of excitement, no goose bumps now.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was finding you a way out.” He sounded so lost that for a minute, she believed him.

  “Come with me,” she said desperately. “There’s still a chance for you, too.”

  Nic shook his head and chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down her spine. “You should know by now that I’m a thief, through and through. I love this life, gypsy, just as much as you hate it.”

  “I’ve got passage on a ship in two days,” she admitted.

  Nic shook his head. “That’s not soon enough. I mean it—you have to get out of London tonight.”

  “I’ll hide. He won’t find me. I know how to go unnoticed.”

  A sad smile crooked his lips. “Everyone notices you, gypsy, you just don’t see it. Go to the ship’s captain. See if you can board early, and then don’t leave your quarters. I’ll see if I can distract Wild long enough for you to sail.”

  “Are you sure you won’t come with me?” He shook his head. “Be safe then, Nic. And thank you for keeping me safe all this time. Without you, I would never have made it.”

  Nic leaned close and gently kissed her lips. It was a goodbye. The kind that said, I’ll never see you again. Tears danced in her eyes.

  “Goodbye, Nic,” she whispered. Unable to be near him anymore, knowing that this was the end, Arista spun around and started for the doors. Her vision was watery and she almost didn’t see the member of the Watch that stood just to the side of her exit.

  She expected him to reach out and stop her as she passed, but he barely glanced her way.

  It took her an hour to navigate the dark streets and return to the townhouse. Several times, she had the feeling she was being followed, but doubling back and waiting revealed no one. It had to be her own paranoid mind working against her.

  She would pack tonight—sneak out before anyone knew she was gone.

  Maybe leave a note for the Sinclairs, thanking them for their hospitality and mentioning she had left London by coach. It might buy her enough time to keep Wild from looking for her at the docks, at least until they sailed. Exhilaration and dread and sadness all mixed in her chest. She hated to lie to Marguerite and Robert, but there was no other way.

  The garden was dark as she snuck through it. In her room, she pulled off her black wool dress and slipped into a dark blue day dress that did not need to be laced tightly. Over it she wore a dark grey traveling cloak.

  She pulled out two dresses from the wardrobe. Neither was remarkable. She laid them on the bed and folded them, then carefully rolled them up to take advantage of the limited space. Becky would not be pleased at her handling of them after her careful ironing, but, with a pang, Arista realized the girl would never know.

  Next, Arista pulled stockings and undergarments from the drawer and slid them into the bag next to the dresses. She would wear the sturdy gypsy boots under her dress; they were new enough that she could get a lot of wear out of them.

  Satisfied that she had what she needed, Arista set the bag on the floor and crept to the door. She pressed her ear to the wood and listened. No one moved outside the room. Becky slept in the room with Sara, so she could not chance waking Sophia’s maid.

  Tomorrow first thing, she would ask Grae to send for Becky, before Wild might find her.

  She opened the door and walked into something that had been placed on the threshold. It was a medium-sized box, with a note on top. It didn’t weigh much at all, and Arista carried it back into her room and set it on her bed. On the front of the note, someone had written Ana in flowing script. Whatever it was, it was meant for her. She tugged the note free and unfolded it.

  My dear Ana,

  I saw you admiring this when we were shopping and thought it would suit you beautifully. You may find it useful in the coming weeks.

  Your friend always, Sophia

  Arista set the note aside and undid the ribbon. Inside the box, wrapped in several layers of tissue paper, sat a bonnet. It was the same one she’d seen earlier, dark blue with a lighter blue ribbon woven along the edge. How had Sophia known that was the one she’d found most appealing? How had she even remembered one overlong glance? It had been nothing more than a pause as she’d waited for Sophia to finish talking to Tomas.

  She took it from the box and went to the mirror. Somehow it fit in a way that made the edges of her short hair curl up around it, framing her face. The color brought out the blue in her eyes, and when she tied the ribbon under her chin, it accentuated her cheekbones. She might even pass for middle-class, a merchant’s daughter like Sophia.

  Could Arista’s father have been a shipmaster, or maybe a watchmaker? Did he used to have a shop on Cheapside or Lombard, or any other number of streets filled with merchants? The past weeks had shown her what life might have been like had she grown up with a real family—because in truth, she did feel like she was part of the Sinclair family now.

  Arista set the box aside and tucked the note into her pocket. She would wear the bonnet on her trip. A reminder of everything Sophia had done for her. And when they got to India, she would find the perfect gift to send back to her new friend.

  With her bag tucked tightly against her chest, Arista opened the inside door and crept toward Mr. Sinclair’s office. The note and bag of coins were heavy in her hand, but she had to be sure that if Becky chose to leave, she would be taken care of. She trusted that Grae’s father would see that Becky got the money Arista left for her. A shadow moved at the end of the hallway; she couldn’t see who it was. Probably just Wilson or Jane.

  “Hello?” she whispered.

  “Who the hell is that?” She heard the slight slur in the man’s words, but she recognized Grae’s father. He stumbled, then swore.

  “It’s Ari—Ana. It’s Ana.”

  “Ah yes, my guest. Do you drink, Ana? I could damned well use another, and since you’re awake, we can toast the man that made this all possible.” She didn’t miss the contempt in his voice. Or the anger.

  There was a scratching sound, then a flare of light. The scent of sulfur made its way down the hall. In the circle of light, Arista could see him now. His hair stood up everywhere, as if he’d run his fingers through it over and over again. He’d taken off his jacket, and his shirt was half untucked.

  In the light, Arista clearly saw his pained features. He looked defeated. “No thank you,” she said.

  He grunted as if he didn’t really believe her. “Blast it, I’ll drink enough for the both of us. Well, anyway…” He stumbled, and the candle tilted precariously to the side.

  Arista hurried down the hall and took it from him. “What would your wife say if you burned the house down around her?” She only meant to lighten the mood, but he covered his face with his hands.

  “She would probably wish I would perish with it.”

  Arista awkwardly patted his arm. She had no idea how to comfort someone. Usually she ran away from drunken men. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  He jerked his head up and glared at her. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

  Arista took a step back from the anger simmering in his eyes. Liquor and anger were never a good combination. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That only seemed to agitate him more.

  He stumbled again and tried to focus on her face. Under the anger, she saw the raw agony. His eyes were full of it. “He is smuggling humans and he wants my ships to do it,” he choked out. “The wickedest, most heinous—”

  That made no sense. Wild wanted what? As repulsive as the man was, she didn’t figure him a slave trader. “I don’t understand.”

  “I made a deal with a man,” he moaned. “Years ag
o, I agreed to use my ship to smuggle tea for him, in exchange for a choice India trading route. That’s what allowed my fleet to grow so fast. I wanted to build something to leave for my son. The man had someone forge the bills of lading. For my risk in it, I was given better access routes. But now, that bastard wants me to transport slaves for some godless nobleman. I won’t do it.”

  With a strangled groan, he pushed past her and staggered to his office door. Once inside the room, Arista heard something crash to the floor. She held the candle tightly as she hurried inside. He sat sprawled in the chair, holding a glass full of amber liquid. The sharp smell of brandy filled her lungs. On the floor at his feet lay the decanter, its fragments reflecting the candlelight. A puddle spread closer to the thick Oriental rug.

  “Should I get Wilson?” she asked.

  He looked at her from over the rim of the glass. “No one can help me now. I made a deal with the devil, and he’s finally come to collect.” With that, he tipped the glass back and downed the entire contents in one loud swallow. “I don’t know what to do.”

  His eyes drifted closed and Arista waited. After several moments, she decided to leave him alone. Someone would find him in the morning and clean up the mess. There was very little time for her to get to the docks and get on a ship.

  Arista picked up the candlestick, afraid he might knock it over and start a fire, and took it to the massive desk. Her boots were silent on the thick rug. Papers were scattered all over his desk. How did he find anything in that mess?

  She held up the candle and leaned in closer when she noticed several maps laid out, with dotted lines extending from land mass to land mass. Each had a piece of parchment on top, and in tidy writing, lists of goods beneath what must be the ship’s name.

  Her pulse leapt when she saw Grae’s name at the top of one list, under the name The Marguerite Heart. She traced the letters of his name with her finger. Her gaze drifted over the room, settling on the wall to the right. There were paintings hanging there, and when she moved the candle closer, she saw that they were portraits. Grae and Sophia as young children, posing with a spotted dog at their feet. Mrs. Sinclair and Grae’s father, his hand on her shoulder as she sat in a red chair. Grae, older now, standing in front of a three-masted ship. She stopped at that one. It was the same ship that she’d been on. The artist had managed to capture the seriousness of his expression, but also the sparkle of happiness in his eyes. Pride.