by Lee Bross
It was a look she knew well.
Arista set the candle down on the desk, careful to move a stack of papers well out of the flame’s reach, then crept back toward the door. She must have made a sound that woke Grae’s father, for he opened his eyes and stared blindly at her. “No matter what he offers you, he still owns you in the end. He controls us all like marionettes.”
Arista froze. “What?”
His eyes became a little bit clearer and he tried to push himself upright in the chair. “His promises mean nothing. Be careful or he will suck you down to the depths of hell alongside him.”
“Who are you talking about?” She already knew.
“The man who sent you here. The man who ruined all our lives. That bastard, Wild. I won’t do it—I won’t be party to humans being sold like cattle. Never…” Before she could ask anything more, his eyes closed, and the back of his head hit the chair. Soft snores came from his half-open mouth. His hand fell to his side, and a piece of crumpled paper fell to the floor.
Arista stooped down to pick it up. Whatever had caused Grae’s father to drink himself into darkness, she was sure it was written on that paper.
Mr. Sinclair,
I now have within my possession proof of your smuggling activities in recent years. Don’t bother to deny them—they are irrefutable. A certain mutual friend of ours has given me everything I need.
You have turned me down before, but I now hold the future of your very livelihood in my hands. I will have access to your fastest ships at any convenience it serves me to transport my cargo. There will be no questions and there will be no denying me anymore. You will agree this time.
Unless, of course, you are willing to give up your children’s legacy and lose everything you have worked for. You will have nothing if I do not hear from you.
Lord E. F. Raffer
No. This could not be. But the dual R’s imprinted in the red wax seal told her otherwise. She tried to take a step, but her legs would not support her. The knots in her stomach grew until it hurt to take a breath. The secret that Wild had given Raffer, the money exchanged—half of which was sitting in her traveling bag right that second—had been used to blackmail Grae’s father into transporting slaves.
Innocent men, women, and children, kidnapped from Africa and sold into slavery. Nothing sickened her more than the trade that made some of England’s wickedest men some of its richest. She’d played a part in this.
Tears burned her eyes and she crumpled the paper in her fist. Grae would never forgive her if he found out. No, when he did. Because he would. Her dreams shattered and fell around her feet. There would be no leaving London with Grae now.
How quickly could she arrange passage on another ship? Wild knew what she was doing. There was no more time. Her carefully thought-out plan was ruined.
Mr. Sinclair groaned in his sleep.
He was a good man, and she believed that he would deny Raffer what he wanted no matter the threat. If Raffer exposed Mr. Sinclair’s previous smuggling activities, Grae’s father would end up in Newgate with his livelihood taken away. With no ships, no trade routes, the family would have nothing. Grae would have no future.
She could not let that vile man destroy this good family. Even if she had to face the wrath of Wild, she had to save them. There were a dozen more secrets she might be able to offer to Wild in exchange for his help stopping Raffer. He was greedy. He’d see the value in that.
And she owed it to the family for treating her so well. For accepting her without question. She owed it to Grae. Because he’d showed her that she was worth something after all.
Soft snores still came from Grae’s father. Maybe he couldn’t fight Wild or Raffer, but someone could. She had no explanation for why determination burned so hotly in her chest, but there was one thing she knew for certain. “I promise I won’t let this happen,” she whispered to the unconscious man.
Arista hurried back to her room and tucked the bag into the wardrobe. She wrote a quick note for Becky, telling her where the chest of money was hidden. If she didn’t return, she had to be sure that her friend was taken care of. She took the remaining letters and started to bundle them when one caught her eye. Lord Huntington. He’d blackmailed his way into a title that granted him a seat in Parliament. She could offer him a trade—give him back his secret, if he would spearhead an investigation into Raffer’s business. It might be enough to stop Raffer.
She tucked Huntington’s letter into a separate pocket from the rest. He’d been at the ball earlier. If she hurried, she might make it back in time to catch him.
To make him an offer he could not refuse.
Finding Lord Huntington proved easier than she expected.
He was positioned at the buffet table, stuffing his face with anything he could reach. The ridiculous jester vest seemed even tighter than it had been only a few weeks ago. Arista made her way to his side, swallowing back revulsion at being so close to the man again.
“Lord Huntington,” she said near his ear. He smelled of sweat and sickly sweet cologne. He glanced at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes. She had grabbed her gypsy mask before leaving the Sinclair house, but still had on her traveling dress. It must have made an odd combination.
“Who’s asking?” he mumbled as crumbs fell from his lips.
“I believe I have something that used to belong to you.” Arista waved his letter in front of his face before tucking it back into her pocket.
Huntington narrowed his eyes. “You have some nerve, girl. There are men from the Watch all over the place, and you think you can just show up and demand—what, more money?” Hatred glittered from his eyes. Arista moved away from the table, toward a quiet alcove. Huntington followed, scowling at her the whole time.
“I’m offering you an exchange. Your help, for the return of your information.”
“What kind of help?” Clearly he did not trust her at her word.
“If you can start an investigation into Lord Raffer’s activities concerning slave trading, I will give you your secret back and we will be done. You won’t have to worry that I’ll ask for anything else again.”
Huntington licked his lips and eyed the pocket where she’d put the letter. “Never again?”
“You will never see me again—I can assure you.”
A calculating look came over his face and he leaned closer. “I think I can help you get what you want. Stay here while I find a colleague of mine who might be interested in what you have to say. If I can get his cooperation, we have a deal.”
“Twenty minutes. No more than that,” she said.
Lord Huntington hurried away and Arista fought back the feeling of unease. Wild might be here, but he would not know her in this disguise. She had to remain vigilant. Alert. Being careful not to draw attention to herself, she started making her way around the room, keeping to the darkened edges.
When thirty minutes had passed, Arista sighed in frustration. She would have to negotiate with Wild after all. It had been a long shot at best, to hope that Huntington would be agreeable to a trade. The man hated her and made no secret of that fact. Now she would have to go to Covent Garden and confront Wild.
Just before she stepped outside to leave, a young servant tapped her shoulder. “This is for you, miss.” He handed her a folded note, then faded into the crowd.
At the fountain. Have what you need.
H
Arista smiled in relief. She’d been wrong about Huntington. Now she could return to the Sinclairs’ with assurance that the blackmail would not take place. She could finally tell Grae the truth about her part in all of it.
There were no guests outside. It was only just past midnight, and everyone was still too busy dancing. In the main circle of the garden, a huge stone fountain stood sentry. Water gurgled softly in the still night. Light spilled out from the open doors and illuminated the front of the stone basin, while deep shadows stretched out behind it.
She was close enough to the f
ountain to see that no one was waiting there. Huntington had lied. Then something caught her attention—a movement just past the enormous fountain, in the shadows there—and she moved toward it.
She reached for her knife, in case Huntington thought to trick her, but it wasn’t there. Had she left it back at the Sinclairs’ house when she’d changed? Had she become so accustomed to being normal that she’d really forgotten to wear her knife? Maybe the threat of it would be enough to keep Lord Huntington in line, if need be. The fountain was only a few steps away now.
Just as she reached the edge of the large bottom basin, she tripped and fell to the ground in a tangle of skirts and limbs. Tiny bits of gravel dug into her palms as she pushed herself onto her knees. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The thing she had tripped over lay across the pathway, partially hidden in the shadows. She used her hands to feel her way to it. After the first brief touch, she froze.
A body was lying there.
Panic took hold of her. Her feet were unsteady as she stood and stumbled toward an ornate glass lantern that sat next to the patio steps. The hot glass burned her fingers, but she didn’t feel it. Her entire focus was on the dark shape behind the fountain.
As soon as she set the light down, she saw the knife, her knife, protruding from the man’s large, jewel-colored chest. Arista stared at the still form in horror.
It was Lord Huntington.
He had on the same ridiculous bright green jester costume as before, and the vest still strained the buttons in front. A bright red stain was spreading rapidly across the green material.
She had seen a figure moving by the fountain only minutes ago. Whoever attacked Huntington had been right there.
Arista leaned over the body and listened for a breath, tried to see if his chest rose or fell, but it was too hard to see in the dim light. She leaned in closer and finally realized that there was no sign of life left in the body, though it was still warm.
Her fingers came away from his chest sticky and warm. Blood. She hastily wiped her hands on her black dress. They shook uncontrollably. What should she do? Call for help? Slip away before anyone saw her? Her knife was in Huntington’s body, but she didn’t know why.
A twig cracked behind her.
Arista whirled around to meet the wide-eyed stare of Lady Amanda Luckette. Her piercing scream filled the night. People poured out of the house. Four Watchmen ran to where Arista knelt. Two dragged her to her feet. Lanterns were held up, illuminating Arista and the grisly scene at her feet. Another man of the Watch knelt beside the body. “He’s dead,” the man said.
“It’s Lord Huntington. She’s killed Lord Huntington.” The whispers flew through the crowd.
“It’s Lady A.” The voice came from the outskirts of the crowd, deep and familiar. Wild. Dread pooled in her stomach. Nic had warned her, but she’d thought she had time. “That’s her. She once threatened me with a knife. That same knife in Huntington’s chest!”
Mob mentality took over like wildfire.
“Lady A killed Lord Huntington.”
“I knew this day would come.”
“She’s a bad one, deserves everything she gets.”
The voices swirled around her as the men’s grip tightened on her arms. The one who had knelt by the dead man came to stand in front of her. She shut her eyes against the lights and noise as he ripped the mask from her face. Gasps and more excited whispering followed.
“Who is it?”
“Who is she?”
“She’s just a young girl?”
“A girl’s been blackmailing le bon ton all along?”
Several more of the Watch pushed through the crowd. There were now half a dozen standing around her.
“Send for the coroner and get this crowd back inside,” barked the one who’d unmasked her.
“I did nothing,” Arista said in a strained whisper. “I found him like that.”
The man sneered at her. “You were found with the body. No one else saw you. There is blood all over your hands. Your knife’s been identified as the one sticking in the man’s chest. That is more than enough evidence to see you hang.” He leaned in closer, so close his rancid breath made her gag. “Do you know how many will be glad to see the infamous Lady A hang? And you will hang for this. I’ll just take what’s inside your pockets, too. He said he’d pay extra for ’em.”
He pulled out the letters that she’d meant to return to their owners. The blood inside her veins turned to ice.
This man was on Wild’s payroll.
Her heartbeat thumped dully in her ears. She stood exposed in front of all these people. It was over. It was all over. Frantically she scanned the crowd for help. Nic had warned her to leave, or something bad would happen. She’d never dreamed she’d be exposed for all of society to see. To be framed for murder. Her knees buckled and, if not for the guards, she would have sunk to the ground.
Nic.
No.
Again she searched the departing faces, but there were no allies to be found. Several of the men Lady A had had dealings with looked nervous, like she would spill their secrets right there in the garden, but most of the faces she saw were cold.
No one would help Lady A. Not when they had been waiting for this very moment.
“Bring round the carriage,” the man in charge snapped.
Pain shot through her arms as the guards twisted them behind her back and pushed her forward. Her toe caught a rock and she stumbled, sending a fresh sharp stab of agony through her arms. She fought back a wave of nausea at the pain radiating through her limbs.
One of the men pulled a length of rope from the carriage, and for one panicked second she thought they meant to hang her right there in the street. She fought against the hands holding her, but there were too many, and they were much stronger than her. They lashed her hands together behind her back, so tightly that the rough rope instantly chafed the skin on her wrists, creating a new kind of torture.
“I didn’t do anything,” she said to the men around her. They only laughed.
With her hands tied, only one of the Watch was needed to control her now, and he shoved her roughly through the open carriage door. Without the use of her hands, Arista stumbled and fell, landing hard on her shoulder.
More laughter sounded from outside the carriage before it dipped as another man from the Watch stepped inside. A single lantern hung from a hook in one corner, throwing sinister shadows onto his face as he watched her.
Arista pulled her knees as close to her body as she could and lay in a ball on the cold floor. The carriage took off with a lurch, and her head slammed into the hard wood of the seat. Stars danced in her vision. Each time the wheels hit a rut, the carriage rocked and spikes of pain drove into her body.
The guard watched her closely, as if he enjoyed the agony that was inflicted. He most likely did, as the Watch’s reputation was not any better than that of the men Bones employed. It made her even more desperate not to show how much she was hurting.
By the time the carriage rolled to a stop, Arista could taste blood from biting her lip so hard. Tears were burning in her eyes, and her nose was running. She couldn’t stop crying; her body seemed out of her control. The Watch man dragged her upright by her arm, and it was finally too much. Fire exploded in her shoulder.
A frantic sob escaped her lips. He held her there on her knees and grinned. Tiny lights danced in her vision, and she fought the darkness creeping in. Through her life, she had experienced pain, but nothing compared to the raw agony ripping her apart now.
The door opened and the man shoved her out. There was no way to brace herself. The cobblestones raced toward her head—
She refused to scream—
Arms caught her before she hit and dragged her to her feet. A huge stone building loomed up out of the darkness, and even from the street she could hear the shouts and screams coming from inside. Her blood ran cold. Looming above was the massive stone structure every thief in London feared
. Most who went in never came out. It was a dark and desperate place.
When she refused to walk, they simply dragged her through the huge iron door at the front of Newgate Prison. A hulking figure stood just inside to meet them. He was easily six feet tall, and had arms as thick as tree trunks. He watched her without a trace of emotion.
“What do we do with this one?” the jailer asked.
“There is to be no trial. Hundred witnesses. She’s to be hanged for murder at dawn.”
The Watch man yanked at the ropes. When they fell away, the blood returned to her fingers, causing prickles of pain each time she moved them. Angry red welts covered her skin where the rope had scraped.
“I’m not a murderer!” she said, but no one listened.
Instead, the jailer looked her up and down and grinned.
“I got just the room for her.”
He pulled a pair of manacles off the wall and snapped them shut around her aching wrists. Thankfully he let her keep her hands in front of her body, with a small length of chain that allowed her to move, albeit in a limited manner.
“Fill out the paper there, listing her crime, and I’ll be back.” His keys jingled as he turned and led her through a maze of dimly-lit hallways.
The groans and screams were so much louder inside, and the stench—God, it was bad. Arista had to fight back the bile that rose to the back of her throat. Fingers reached through the holes in the iron doors they passed. The people inside hissed and growled like animals.
The jailer finally stopped and jammed his key into the lock of a door that looked like all the rest. “Here.” When the door opened, he shoved her inside the dark room and she heard the door slam shut before she could even catch her balance. Arista stood in frozen terror.