by Lois Greiman
The old woman’s eyes shone, as if smiling was too tiring, but she couldn’t hold back the expression entirely. “I do not work at cross-purposes, girl.”
Tatiana took the bowl, scowling her question.
“There would be little reason to remove the bullet if I meant to poison you the very next day, lass.”
“Poison me!”
“Is there some reason one might wish to poison you?” The old woman watched her closely for a moment, then nodded. “You can trust me, my lady. Drink—”
“My lady!” Tatiana remained frozen on the bed, her heart thumping in her chest. “I am not nobly bred.”
Ned watched her solemnly, then smiled a little. “Very well then, lass, what would you have me call you?”
“My name is…” she began, but the old woman’s eyes bored into her, making her pause. “Gem calls me Megs.”
“Very well. Megs it is, but I warn you, lass, once you begin down this path ’tis difficult to make your way back.”
Tatiana opened her mouth to argue, but Ned interrupted.
“Drink your broth now. You will need your strength.”
She did as commanded, using her left hand to hold it and barely managing to prop it up with her right. The soup was all but tasteless. She lowered the bowl, but the old woman was watching.
“All of it,” she ordered.
Tatiana did as told. “Who are you?” she asked.
“You must rest now.”
“Why did you take me in?”
She looked mildly surprised and a little amused. “I didn’t take you in, lass. You came in on your own.”
“You could have thrown me out.”
“I must look terribly strong.”
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean. Sleep now,” said the old woman, and, turning her back, left Tatiana alone with her questions.
“Eat it.” Gem’s voice woke Tatiana, though it was quiet enough.
The old woman’s voice was no louder. “Your friend will need sustenance in order to regain her strength.” The room was dark, with only a shadow of light seeping through the one unbroken window.
“Megs?” The girl laughed, and even in the dimming light, Tatiana could see her offer the loaf once more. “You needn’t worry about ’er.”
“You did.”
“Me?” Gem shoved the bread into the old woman’s hands and rose jerkily to her feet. “Not ’ardly.”
“Then why did you bring her here?”
“She’s Megs,” Gem said, turning back abruptly. “Magical Megs. Think o’ what she can teach me.”
The room was silent for a moment, then, “To steal.”
“Aye, just that.”
“As you stole this bread.”
“Listen, old gammer,” Gem said, her voice hard, “I don’t ’ave t’ come round ’ere, y’ know.”
“No you don’t.”
“So you want me to leave you t’ starve t’ death?”
“I won’t starve to death. I have work yet to do.”
“Slavin’ for the rich folk?”
“That,” Ned said, “and making sure you are safe. Making sure you are happy.”
“’Appy! You think I’d be ’appy bound to that balding crock o’ shit what wants to bed me?”
“I’ll have no cursing in this house, Gem, and marriage is not bondage. At least it is not if you are with the right man.”
“Well ’e ain’t the right man, and I’ll do as I please,” insisted the girl, and pivoted away, but she stopped at the door. Her knuckles looked pale and sharp against the wood. “I didn’t steal the bread,” she said, and hurried outside.
The old woman held her back straight for a moment longer, then dropped carefully into a tattered chair. Old age descended with her, graying her features and dulling her eyes. But perhaps it was not just years that dimmed her.
Tatiana stirred. “Are you ill?”
“Ahh.” The old woman smiled, but the expression was weak. “So you’re awake. Good. ’Tis time to eat,” she said, and rose unsteadily to her feet.
Taking an oaken board from beside the hearth, she set the loaf atop it. It was small and dark and sprinkled with rolled oats.
Swinging a metal arm from the smoldering embers of the fire, she wrapped her hand in a rag and retrieved a hanging kettle. In a moment she had poured tea into an earthenware mug and was bearing the board to her patient’s bedside.
“You’re feeling better?” It was more a statement than a question.
Tatiana nodded, and Ned settled herself carefully upon the mattress before placing the tray beside her.
“I’ll have a look at that wound,” she said.
Tatiana considered arguing, but the old woman was already slipping the gown from her shoulder and loosening the bandage. Her expression was somber as she eased the cloth away, but finally she tied it back up with a nod.
“You’re stronger than you look, lass.”
“Why did you take me in?”
“As I said before—”
“Do you plan to betray me to MacTavish?”
The old woman showed some surprise for the first time. “He is the lord of this isle.”
She dropped her gaze. “He accused me of crimes I did not commit.”
“So you are not a thief, Megs?”
Tatiana raised her eyes to find the other’s sharp upon her face. She pursed her lips. “I did not do what he said I did.”
Aunt Ned made no comment, but seemed to delve into Tatiana’s mind. “No, you did not,” she said. “But you may yet if you do not go back to him.”
“Go back—He would have me executed.”
“There are worse things than death, lass.”
“If there are, I’ve no wish to do those things either.”
The old woman smiled wanly. “Perhaps you have underestimated him. Perhaps your original assessment of him was correct.”
Tatiana’s mind was reeling. “Who are you?”
For a moment she thought she would receive an answer, but finally Ned sighed and rounded her frail shoulders.
“I am who I always was, though people see me differently now.”
And what did that mean? “I owe you much, madam,” Tatiana said finally. “I but wonder why you have taken it upon yourself to help me.”
“Because you need help.”
“And do you help all who need it?”
“When I can.”
“But not Cotton?”
“He has not asked.”
“Or you would?”
She didn’t answer directly, but gave her a shallow shrug. “Perhaps that is why he thinks me crazy.”
Tatiana studied her for a moment. “Evil cannot comprehend goodness.”
The old woman watched her with silver-bright eyes. “You are wise for one so young,” she said, and nodded slowly. “You will be good for him.”
“For whom?” Tatiana asked, but the old woman had turned away.
“Eat now.”
“Will you turn me in?” Tatiana asked.
Ned glanced at her from the fireplace. “How badly does he want you back, lass? Will he offer a reward?”
“What?” The idea took her by surprise.
The old woman shrugged. “Portshaven is not London, lass, but it is goodly sized. He’s not likely to find you here even if he dares come to the south side. But if he offers a reward…” Her gaze was sharp. “You would be surprised what people will do when they are hungry.”
Tatiana raised her chin. “I have been hungry.”
“Have you?”
“Of course.”
“Then perhaps you are not such an accomplished thief as Gemma believes.”
There seemed no way to avoid this woman’s eyes, no way to avoid the truth. Reaching out, Tatiana tugged the blanket aside.
“You’re not mended enough to leave.”
“As you said, I am stronger than I look.”
“But not strong enough to overcome Cotton.”
&nb
sp; Tatiana stopped where she was. Fear congealed like pig jelly in her stomach.
“Or a thousand others of his ilk,” Aunt Ned added. “Eat.”
She eyed the loaf. It was as dark as the bread they fed the carriage horses in Sedonia. But it smelled heavenly, making her mouth ache at the sight of it. She lifted it in her hand, then glanced at her hostess. The old woman’s cheeks were hollow, her complexion gray. Guilt tightened Tatiana’s stomach.
But she did as she was told.
“Megs.” The voice was neither hushed nor loud. “’Tis time to be off.”
Tatiana awoke with a start, then shielded her eyes with the back of her hand. A single taper glowed not ten inches from her bedside. Gem’s face looked taut and intense in the light of it.
“Be off?” She scowled. Suspicion soured her gut. “Where?”
“There be a cockfight over t’ the slaughter’ouse.”
“Cockfight?” The world had gone mad. She sat up with an effort.
“I knows it ain’t your usual fare and all, but my belly ain’t gettin’ no fuller. Thought you might be able to teach me a bit of sleight o’ hand.”
Tatiana’s heart sped up a notch. It didn’t seem wise to present her true identity, for this Gem might be just the person to turn her over to MacTavish if a reward was offered. “Where’s Aunt Ned?” she asked, hedging carefully.
Gem’s expression softened the slightest amount, but in a moment it was hard again. “She ain’t got ’ome from work yet.”
“Work?”
“Mendin’. Stitchery. That sort o’ thing.”
“She’s a seamstress?”
“Some say she’s a duchess.”
“What?”
Gem shrugged. “It don’t matter. She’s a stubborn old bat won’t take what I brings ’er.” The momentary expression of tenderness brightened her face again, then blankness. “But that ain’t for the likes of us, aye? Not when there be pockets what need pickin’.”
Tatiana scowled, trying to look dismayed. It wasn’t difficult. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be up to my customary standards.”
“Up to your customary standards.” Gem chuckled. “You could always talk pretty when you wanted to, aye? But no, you’ll ’ave t’ take some time to loosen up. Tonight you can give me pointers and act as decoy.”
Decoy! Her throat felt dry. She tried to think of an excuse, a lie, a protest, but in that moment her stomach rumbled.
Gem chuckled. “Come on,” she said, and, retrieving a much-mended gown from a nearby peg, tossed it onto the bed. “Get dressed. We don’t want to miss the wagerin’.”
Chapter 12
T he smell of blood permeated the air, blown in on a chill, wet wind. They’d walked forever to reach the slaughterhouse. It loomed in the night like an evil dream. The darkness, dank and smothering, was held back by nothing more than a few faltering torches and a wood fire that barely illuminated the gray stonework of the building. The flames smoked into the night air as if hell itself were steaming, and milling about the fire was a raucous crowd. All men, mostly drunk.
Tatiana’s legs felt stiff. Her breath came hard. Sweat moistened the back of her neck, yet she felt cold despite the servicable woolen gown she wore to replace the one Auntie Ned was mending.
“What do you make of the crowd?” Gem asked. “Is it best t’ be a ’ore or a beggar?”
Tatiana turned with a start, trying to think. “What?”
“The old fella near the cage…” Gem nodded almost imperceptibly toward the right. Near the flickering fire, an enclosure made of willow branches gleamed in the uncertain light. But the bird inside was clear enough as he was lifted from his prison. His comb was as red as autumn apples and upon his legs, metal spurs had been affixed. “’E looks t’ be the grandfatherly sort.”
Tatiana dragged her attention from the cock.
“Don’t y’ think?”
“What?” She was trying to cope, to survive, to function. But her mind was roiling as wildly as her stomach, and her shoulder ached.
“The fella with the cane. You could tell ’im bout your ailin’granny. Tell ’im you needs a bit o’coin to buy ’er elixir.”
She found the old man Gem was referring to. He was tall and somewhat stooped, but his expression was hard and his eyes narrow.
She choked a laugh. Panic was threatening to swallow her whole. “He’s not going to give me money.”
Gem shrugged. “Maybe not, but ’e’ll look y’ over long enough for me to nip ’is pockets, aye?”
“No.” The word escaped on its own.
Gem scowled.
Tatiana shook her head and straightened her back with an ungodly effort. She would do what she must. “He may be a short step from the grave, but he’ll take the cane with him and maybe one of us if he cracks us on the head.”
“Ahh.” Gem nodded. “Aye. Right y’ are then. There be plenty o’ other blokes ’ere what don’t ’ave no weapon close t’ hand.” She glanced about, then straightened her skirts as she looked pointedly away. “The fella in the top ’at. ’E’s a ripe plum for sure. ’E’s got a bulge in ’is trousers pocket.” She grinned. “And ’e ain’t even seen us yet.”
Tatiana found him immediately and shook her head shortly after. “Look at his shoes.”
Gem did and even by the glow of the firelight, she was sure to see they were scuffed and worn. Mother had said more than once that if a gentleman didn’t care for his footwear, he wasn’t a gentleman at all, but just a man in scuffed shoes.
“But what of the bulge?” Gem asked.
Tatiana glanced at his face. There was anger there and bitterness. “A gun,” she guessed.
Gem narrowed her eyes, assessing Tatiana in the darkness. “Could be yer as good as they say, Megs. Could be.”
They strolled around the perimeter of the crowd then, talking softly and seeming to have business of their own. Gem suggested several others, but Tatiana read them easily, seeing through their facade to the men beneath. Thievery, it seemed, was not so different than politics. Lies were written upon many faces. It was her job to find them.
But finally their travels brought them round to the far side of the wagering. Within the circle of ruddy-faced men, two roosters faced off, Maddened by teasing and their own foolishness, they flung themselves toward each other, soaring for a moment above the heads of the spectators and gleaming like winged seraphim in the firelight before falling back into the roar of the mob. Tatiana could feel her heart thrumming in her throat, echoed by every step of her shoes against the uneven turf.
“That one,” Gem said with final decisiveness.
Tatiana glanced in the direction indicated. The noise of the first fight was already dwindling. The winners were collecting their bets while the losers cursed and lamented.
Gem’s mark was young, brash, loud, and inebriated. He had also just won a fat roll of cash. The perfect victim. But just then another fellow slapped him on the back, granting Tatiana an easy excuse.
“Too many friends,” she said, but fate was against her, for in that moment he waved to his comrades and wandered sloppily into the crowd.
“A fool and ’is money,” crooned Gem. “’E’s all but beggin’ t’ be robbed. ’Twould be rude t’ disappoint ’im. Go on, Megs, work yer magic.”
“I—” Tatiana grappled for a viable excuse, but the girl was already slipping into the dark folds of the crowd. Tatiana’s stomach squeezed tight in her belly, and she followed, breathing hard and trying to think.
But in moments she had lost her mark. She turned about, grateful and scared. Her stomach rumbled.
“Looking for someone?” She jumped, and a man nearby laughed. “Goodness, you’re skittish. Though I can’t say I blame you. This is hardly the place for such a young beauty.”
Her heart rang like a smithy’s hammer in her chest, and she failed to speak. Like a country bumpkin who had just stumbled off the dogcart and into the city.
“What’s your name, sweeting?” He was dre
ssed well but conservatively in a dark waistcoat and tails. In his right hand, he carried a wooden walking stick with a round brass knob at the top.
“I am…” She held her breath, her mind reeling. “Lady Linnet.”
“Ahh,” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “With a name as lovely as her face. And tell me, my lady, what brings you to this den of iniquity?” He held her gaze with his own. “Please tell me it’s not your husband.”
“No.” She found her voice with an effort and straightened slightly. Her hands were shaking as was her voice. What a wondrous actress. “I’m not married.”
He had a winning smile. “Your father then?”
“No,” she said, and glanced through the crowd again. She longed to flee, to scramble away as fast as she could, but where would she scramble to? She had no friends here. No family. And no way to return to where she would.
“Not a beau I hope,” he said.
She focused on him. There was no one else to save her. No one else to feed her. Not a servant or a guard, and she was starving. “My brother.” The words slipped out on a breath, although she couldn’t guess where they came from.
“Of course.” He laughed. “Only a brother would leave a pretty lass like you stranded.” He slurred his words slightly. He was intoxicated but not incapacitated. “Want some help finding him?”
She almost said no, but she desperately needed help, and she was in no position to judge harshly.
“Yes. I…” The words came hard. “I need help.”
He smiled and placed a proprietary arm around her shoulder, leaning close. His breath smelled of sweet wine. “You’re shaking,” he said. “You poor thing. Come on, lass, I’ve a redingote in my carriage. We’ll get you warmed up, then we’ll find your brother. You needn’t worry. I promise.”
They weaved through the crowd. She shivered again, and he pulled out a flask from some hidden pocket and handed it to her.
“Here you go, sweeting, drink up.”
She did, fortifying her spirits and glancing about once. She dared not turn back now. Up ahead a dark bank of carriages stood in a row. The mob thinned, leaving only a few scragglers to stumble off in the direction of the fights.
She handed back his flask. “Thank you, sir,” she said, and he flashed her another smile.