Of Coppers and Cracksmen

by Katherine McIntyre

  At last, he said, “Follow the rats.”

  Questions leapt to Bernard’s tongue, but he remembered Ellie’s warning to let her do the talking. Perhaps the information she’d bartered for wasn’t worth more, or perhaps that was the only information he had. The presence of a Shadow Dealer in this city was something he tucked away for future reference. He’d heard tales for years of their existence, the elusive information barterers scattered through London, but he’d never met one in person until now.

  “Our business is concluded. Thank you for your time,” Ellie responded, a formality to her tone suggesting she’d memorized the motions of this dance.

  Bernard took the first step toward the door when a rustle came from the woman at the table. Her eyes shot open, revealing filmy white orbs. Her mouth opened, and he found himself frozen in place, waiting to see what would come from this mysterious woman.

  “Stop,” she called out, the order reverberating through the air. Her arm whipped out, fingertip pointed in Ellie’s direction.

  Ellie paled even as she obeyed.

  “This one is marked for death.”

  Chapter Five

  Though they’d tarried to a few other spots throughout the city, Ellie couldn’t shake the Scarlet Crone’s pronouncement if she tried.

  She’d stopped into the Market of the Macabre a thousand times in the past to pay a visit to the Shadow Dealer, either for leads on her jobs or information to keep her alive. Never in all her time had the Scarlet Crone spoken to her. Most of the time, the woman sat there in a state of dreaming, removed from this plane of existence. A damp chill settled over Ellie, like she’d taken another dip in the canal.

  To her surprise, Bernard let her take the lead the entire night. She’d expected him to be bossy, demanding—like any other copper she’d run into or seen from a distance. However, the handsome man emanated a quiet contemplation while they walked along, a stillness she found herself impressed by. He seemed to observe everything, his intense gaze soaking in every last detail.

  “I best be getting back to my apartment,” Ellie murmured after they exited yet another black market south from where they’d started. “We’re entertaining guests in the morning.” She missed the days of morning breakfast with her sister, Theo, and their mother. Ever since Theo had found herself a tinker husband, she no longer lived in the house, and it felt emptier without her sister’s constant nagging.

  “We?” Bernard asked, offering his arm again. She slipped hers through, eager for the chance to sidle up to this attractive man. Besides, his presence offered a solidity she sorely missed, something she’d been chasing after for years now.

  “My mother and I,” Ellie clarified. “She’s in poorer health, but even if she wasn’t, I’d think she would want my sister or me living in the house with her. The woman doesn’t do well without someone to prattle to.”

  Bernard’s too-keen gaze seized on her, even though they continued to stroll down the cobbled street. “She’s the reason you steal, isn’t she?”

  “That and the sheer thrill of it,” Ellie responded, fast enough that maybe she could escape the increased thump in her chest. She didn’t divulge about her mother, but this observant man seized upon any crumb she offered like he was starving. “A detective like yourself should never underestimate the lure of crime.”

  Truth be told, if she didn’t have her mother to watch out for, she might have fallen into this life regardless. She needed excitement like she needed her next breath, and she couldn’t imagine the dull existence of a society lady, or the stiffs who worked their bones bare at the factory.

  “Crime might be a thrill, but a life like that is destined for an early end,” Bernard responded. His words rang all too close to the Scarlet Crone’s, and a shiver coursed through her veins. As of the past few years, the close calls had begun stacking higher and higher until they teetered taller than the matchstick tenements throughout the city. And now coppers and criminals alike sought her blood.

  “Well, I’d best enjoy the little time I have left then,” Ellie responded with a confidence that didn’t permeate past her skin. Death had been creeping in on her, those fingers outstretched for a long while now, and she’d be lying if she said that didn’t keep her up at night.

  “It’s never too late to turn a corner,” Bernard offered, the paragon of virtue by her side.

  Ellie resisted the urge to heave a weary sigh. “I’m not a damsel to save, darling,” she responded. “I like my life, risks and all.” At that, they both lapsed into silence.

  Her tenement building waited in the distance, the pattern of dark and light windows drawing her attention. She’d grown comfortable in Bernard’s presence, the idea that he was a lawman slipping by the wayside, yet she couldn’t indulge for long. They’d always be opposing forces. Even if her impulses became the death of her, Ellie could never lead an idle life.

  Bernard lapsed into another thoughtful silence, his dark gaze burning between them like a hearth. With his bowler tipped over thick black hair, and the fine lines of his waistcoat and trousers, the man cut a distracting figure. Even when he climbed upon his high horse, he took the time to reflect when she made a point rather than continuing to argue. Bernard seemed to observe the reality around him with far more discretion than anyone she’d ever met.

  He cast a glance at her. “Though I’ll have to mull over the Shadow Dealer’s information, I can’t stave my curiosity at what you may have offered him in recompense?”

  Ellie’s lips quirked as she restrained a grin. She roamed these streets nightly, and anyone with half an eye and a brain could soak in more secrets than one person could hold on to. “James Donovan’s dead. The bloody moron died in his own explosion, which means a new member of his two-pence will be rising to fill the void. My money’s on Gerald Straits.”

  Bernard ran his fingers along the sides of his beard and shook his head. “Let no one underestimate your intellect, madam.” His gaze lingered on her a little longer than normal, and she tried to ignore the flush rising to her cheeks at the genuine compliment as they lapsed into silence.

  They approached the tenement in shared quiet, even though words bubbled to her lips, the constant prattle saving her from contemplating her life too often. If she did, she might careen into oblivion.

  “What of the woman’s prediction?” he murmured, a sharp concern reflecting in those dark eyes.

  A shiver ran down her spine, but she pasted a smile on her face. “What of it? Mouthy broad may have plenty of opinions of ruffians like myself.”

  Death might wink at her down the street on a daily basis, but as she met Bernard’s gaze, the truth hovered in the air between them. Once she got involved in the Butcher of Broad Street’s business, her normal risks seemed paltry in comparison.

  “Stay safe,” Bernard said as he pulled back to face her. At this time of night, no one lingered outside the building, though she could still hear a few thumps and crashes from inside the tenements. His fingers twitched as if he might reach out toward her, but he balled his hand into a fist, bringing it to his side. However, her breath hitched when she caught the intensity of his gaze searing into her. “If you run into trouble, though, I’m at Twenty-Four Smith Street. Just knock.”

  Ellie smirked. “Dangerous thing, giving a thief your address.”

  Bernard lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t sleep, my dear. So you’re welcome to try, but I doubt you’ll get far.”

  Ellie stepped into the shadows of the entrance to the tenements and gripped the door handle. “Good night, detective.” She paused to blow a kiss his way, unable to help how her lips curled up. She could tease this man for the next century and never tire.

  Bernard tossed a hand in a wave as he turned on his heel and strode forward. Ellie leaned against the doorframe, watching the man’s powerful strides. She tried to ignore how molten heat spread through her at the sight, pooling inside her. He quickly disappeared around the corner, leaving her with the autumn leaves and inky shadows that st
retched farther and farther.

  A sickly-sweet aroma filtered through on the breeze, and crisp leaves skittered across the cobblestones like the scrape of bones. Ellie dug her nails into the soft, rotting wood of the doorframe as she stared out into the darkness. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something stared back at her in the vacant windows or the hulls of the alleyways, probing and malevolent.

  The Scarlet Crone’s proclamation tolled in her mind like a church bell as she stared into the morass beyond. Perhaps she’d stepped into another situation out of her depth. Ellie’s jaw tensed at the memories of the dark, stale basement she’d been holed away in. Marked for death seemed a polite way of describing her entire existence, truth be told.

  Ellie swallowed hard and stepped into her tenement building, shutting the door tight behind her.

  * * * *

  “What’s that delicious scent?” Ellie asked as she strode into the kitchen. A smirk clung to her lips as she caught Theo’s eye.

  Theo and Silas had arrived before the sun rose for breakfast, since they’d be setting off for work at their shop soon after. She couldn’t deny the relief pulsing through her chest at the sight of her sister back in her seat at the round table as if she’d never abandoned it. While she wouldn’t begrudge her sister’s happiness, sometimes an azure sadness crept up in the quiet moments when she noticed the empty chair or didn’t hear the clatter of Theo’s early rising that had signaled her own wake-up for far too many years.

  Their mother stirred away at the gluey slop she called porridge, which somehow never tasted quite as edible as when she took over. Still, the woman clung to cooking as if trying to make up for the fact Ellie and Theo had been keeping them financially afloat for a long time. Not that they minded. Eleanor Whitfield, her namesake, was worth any length of effort.

  “My health might be failing, Ellie, dear, but my faculties aren’t,” Mother called over, casting an arch look in her direction.

  “Truly?” Ellie asked, grabbing a chipped mug from their cabinet. “Because I could almost swear you forgot to take your medication last night and probably haven’t taken the dosage you’re required to this morning.” She slipped past to grab some steaming water from the kettle and set to pouring it into a teapot filled with hearty Ceylon tea leaves. The comforting aroma hit her nose at once, the steam pouring up in fragrant billows.

  “Don’t embarrass me in front of company.” Mother sniffed, wiping her hands on her starched rose dress.

  “I don’t count as company, madame,” Silas called out. “I’m simply grateful for a front seat to the Whitfield chaos.”

  Theo covered her mouth as if she might mask her snort and strode over to the other cabinet they’d always kept their mother’s medicine in. Ellie hadn’t spent good coin for the liquid to languish, no matter how much Eleanor Whitfield loathed the putrid taste.

  Theo cast Ellie a pointed look. “Saved all the best tasks for me, I suppose?”

  Ellie poured herself a cup of tea and leaned against the wall. “What are little sisters for?”

  Mother began to slop out portions of the sludge she called porridge into individual bowls, and Ellie took a fast sip of the scorching liquid in her cup. If she were lucky, it’d burn her tastebuds so she wouldn’t have to experience Mother’s inventive flavoring.

  Theo poured out a spoonful of the molasses-thick liquid and guided it toward Mother, who wrinkled her nose.

  “I can always take it later,” Mother demurred. “No need to hold up breakfast with my business.”

  Theo crooked an eyebrow. “You forget, Mama, the stubbornness you passed down to your daughters. And there are two of us, and one of you.”

  Silas hopped up and swept over to grab the bowls from the countertop, carrying them over to the table. With her task taken away, Mother heaved a sigh and accepted the spoonful from Theo, though not without an elaborate face.

  “Come, have a seat,” Silas called over, patting the chair beside him.

  Mother sniffed and bustled over to take the proffered seat. As she settled into place, one of those rib-rattling coughs ran through her, the sort that always made Ellie and her sister wince.

  “Has she been taking the medicine otherwise?” Theo murmured while she poured herself a cup of tea as well.

  Ellie nodded. “Same amount of pick-ups as always. I’ve made sure she’s not just dumping it down the drain. Last night I got held up.”

  Theo drew her eyebrows together, and she gave her a pointed stare. “Don’t tell me it was the usual reasons.” Her sister had never approved of her proclivities, even if they meant she could bring steady contributions to the table, far more than if she slaved away in the factories. Unlike Theodosia, Ellie hadn’t been born with abilities beyond her own smarts and a dexterous set of fingers.

  Ellie took a sip from her cup, letting the steaming rich liquid coat her tongue. No need to worry Theo. She and Silas had enough on their plates in running the tinker’s shop and taking care of their own home. Even still, her loyal sister wouldn’t abandon Mother and her—Theo sent a stipend to them monthly to help with the roof over their heads and the medicine.

  “Never fear, sister,” Ellie said, offering a bold smile that wasn’t seeping into her bones today. “I’ve reduced myself to petty crimes. No large-scale heists with crooked crews any longer.” Ellie hoped and prayed they hadn’t witnessed the posters that had begun circulating of a woman with her features declared as the Butcher of Broad Street.

  Theo shook her head, but Ellie caught the hint of a smile. They both glanced over at the table. Silas sat there, forcing down the gluey porridge alongside Mama, who tucked into it heartily, probably in an attempt to rid herself of the taste of the medication.

  “Look at him struggle to devour our dear Mother’s cooking,” Ellie murmured, loud enough for the room to hear. “Is he attempting sainthood, Theo?”

  “Trying to earn enough esteem for us to forget all the years he trotted around town with airs,” Theo responded, her grin wide enough to reveal teeth.

  Mama turned around to give them both a glare. “Who are these callous women and where are my daughters?”

  “Those angels you’ve painted in your mind wouldn’t last for a moment on the streets of London, Mother,” Ellie called out to her. “We’re the devils who stepped in to replace them.”

  Mother passed her a sharp, too-knowing glance. One thing she loved and loathed about her sister and mother was the way they’d always been able to see through her bravado from an early age. Even still, Ellie kept her secrets close to the cuff. Mother and Theo had always been the worrying sort, and she made the perfect recipient of their attentions.

  “Well, my devils, why don’t you come take a seat and eat your breakfasts?” Mother said, lifting the two bowls they’d scooped out. Silas had begun to turn the shade of absinthe, but he continued to shovel the sludge into his mouth regardless.

  Ellie lifted her cup of tea which bordered on empty. “I would if I hadn’t already filled myself on this brew.” She tipped back the last sip and placed the porcelain down with a clink onto the counter.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  She furrowed her brow. The only visitors they’d been expecting were in this room with them, and she hoped Bernard didn’t have the audacity to interrupt their breakfast. They might have begun working with one another, but her work and her home were two spheres that never mixed.

  “I’ve got it,” Ellie said, her legs carrying her toward the door. If Bernard had decided to pay an early visit, she’d send him packing without too much fuss. Her hand settled on the knob, and a fear trickled through her—enemies might follow her throughout the city, but she’d never brought them home.

  Ellie turned the handle and swung the door open.

  Empty.

  She peered to either side of the hall, searching for a vanishing figure, the clatter of boots to the peeling carpet, anything. Not a soul stirred on either side of the hall. The blokes who worked at the factories had long sinc
e marched out, and the rest of the lowlifes dwelling in this tenement came to life at night.

  She took a step forward, and the toe of her boot bumped against a brown paper package wrapped with twine and addressed to her. Ellie’s brow wrinkled with her frown as she stared at it. She lowered herself to kneel in front of the package and took a sniff—none of the strong scents of solvent or the metallic underlay of an alchemical bomb. Her fingertips brushed along the edges to tear into the brown wrapping.

  A box. Ellie licked her lips, which had suddenly dried. A wave of foreboding swept over her as strong as a curse, and she resisted the urge to retreat into her home, shut the door and leave this gift for the next unlucky bloke to walk by. In this tenement, it’d be nicked in a heartbeat.

  Except curiosity had always, always been her downfall.

  Ellie popped the lid open, but at once, she wished she hadn’t.

  A dead rat lay in the box, red blood painting the inside and guts and spleen spilling out from the opened cavity. She’d seen plenty of living and dead rats in her day, but none like this. Because she recognized those precise cuts, the placement and the style of the kill, ones she’d last seen on the victim that had gotten her labeled the Butcher of Broad Street.

  It looked like he’d found his next target.

  Chapter Six

  Ever since their exploration through the morbid and curious sights of the underbelly of Islington and the surrounding areas, Bernard had been able to think of little else. Apart from Eleanor Whitfield, of course. The woman had captured his attention in a way nothing else did. She was a shock of crimson on a black and white canvas, and he wanted to grasp for the first bit of color he’d seen in far too long.

  Bernard squinted as the midday sun glared down on him with spiteful beams. After he’d spent so much time lurking through London at night like the thief he worked alongside, taking a daytime stroll with her felt illicit. The Shadow Dealer had said to ‘Follow the rats,’ and since it was the closest he’d come to a lead, he made his way to the bustling London docks.