Leo tried not to let his shock show on his face as his thoughts raced in circles, crashing into one another. Murder? “Does Mother know?”
“Of course she knows.”
“How long have you suspected?”
“Many years, my boy. Many, many years.” Mamie put her hand on his arm. “We were close once. Thought we had him.”
“But I’ve never even seen Elizabeth before. How could she be a spy?” Leo sputtered.
“There’s the trouble,” Mamie said. “They can change the way they look, assume a glamour, or simply cross back over to the Otherworld and we have to start all over again.”
“But what do they want?”
“They want England, Leopold.” She whispered the words. “They want to reclaim the world that once belonged only to them.”
Leo swallowed a gasp. “Do you really think the girl who had this mark could be a spy?”
“It’s possible,” Mamie replied. “But there’s a bigger problem now. With the ring unguarded many have crossed over.” She clutched at his sleeve, her grip surprisingly tight. “I’ve seen them, Leo, hiding in the shadows at the palace, lurking among the trees on the grounds. The fey are throughout London. Their numbers are growing and they’re becoming bolder.” Her eyes burned into his. “As long as the ring is missing, they’ll push the boundaries and encroach on our world. Your mother is particularly at risk. You must find the ring.”
Leo took a deep breath, trying to quell the sense of panic that tightened his chest. Was she telling him the truth, or had she gone completely mad in her old age? “Mamie…” His voice sounded ragged. “You speak about this as though it were fact. Do you truly believe faeries are real?”
Mamie reached up and caressed his cheek with her old hand, just as she used to do when she would soothe him as a child after his frequent nightmares. “Dear Leo, I don’t believe faeries are real. I know they are.”
Chapter Twenty
THE day was dark and cold, like an echo of the emotions that warred inside her. Fog had settled in early and trapped the coal smoke that constantly clouded the air above London. It was one of those dreary winter days where night never really seemed to lift and daylight never really arrived. Tiki fought back a cough as she inhaled the gritty air.
Overhead, a round black bristly broom emerged from a small brick flue, followed by a small boy, who scrambled out of a chimney covered head to toe in black soot. Tiki shuddered at the idea of climbing down into that unlit, cramped space. Before, when she’d lived with her parents, before she’d been forced to survive on her own, she’d never considered who tended the chimneys. The idea had never occurred to her that children would be forced to clean the innumerable smokestacks that stretched across London’s skyline. She’d heard that some employers even lit straw beneath a cleaner’s feet to make him move faster.
She glanced at the small boy again, a black smudge against the sky. He could be Toots. Or, God forbid, Clara. It made her heart break to think of the thousands who had no one to care for them. It strengthened her resolve to do everything she could for Toots and Clara. And Fiona, for that matter.
Tiki hurried across Whitehall Street toward the Mall, ducking between the clacking wheels of the carriages, trying not to breathe through her nose. The steaming deposits left behind by the horses seemed especially pungent today. She eyed the back of a particularly large carriage going by and wondered for a moment if she dared try to jump in her dress. But the carriage moved past and Tiki missed her opportunity.
She hugged her thin arms tight to her chest, trying to stay warm. She thought again of her argument with Rieker yesterday about retrieving the ring. She didn’t know how he planned to do that now that the royals were back in residence at Buckingham, but she didn’t really care. She had made up her mind she was going to claim the reward first.
Tiki cut toward the entrance to St. James’s Park across the street from Buckingham Palace. She stood in the shadows under the trees and surveyed the crowd.
There.
A scruffy young boy, probably only seven or eight years old, loitered on the sidewalk with his broken broom, waiting for the opportunity to sweep the street. He would be perfect for what she needed. She walked toward him.
“Hey there, boy, come over here,” she called. The boy put his thumb to his chest with a questioning look. At Tiki’s nod, he jogged over. She leaned down to look him in the eyes. “I’ve got a small job for you. Want to make a decent wage for your work today?”
“Yes, miss.” The boy bobbed his head, holding his cap in his hand. He was thin and dirty, just as she was most of the time. Just like so many other children living on the streets of London. But he had a brightness to his eyes and what looked to be quick feet.
Tiki dug into the pocket of her overcoat and pulled out a halfpenny. She held it up. Then she pulled out the folded ransom note. “I’ll give you this coin for taking this note over to the guard there. Tell him it’s for Captain Davis-Smith.” She smiled at him. “But you have to run away before he asks you any questions. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes, miss.” The boy smiled, already reaching for the coin.
Tiki pulled another coin from her pocket, this time a copper penny. “And how about if you don’t go anywhere near the guards for a really long time? So they’ll forget what you looked like?”
He nodded with even more enthusiasm.
“Okay, off you go, then.” Tiki handed him the other coin and the ransom note. She stepped back into the shadow of the tree and braced a hand against the rough bark as she watched. The boy tucked his broom under one arm and scurried away. He ran straight up to a guard and tugged at his sleeve. The guard ignored him until the boy waved the paper in front of his face. With a frown, the guard reached for the page. Good as his word, the boy turned and ran. In a blink, he had disappeared into the crowd.
As Tiki watched, the guard unfolded the page and read the words written there. For just a moment he stood frozen, then he disappeared into the guardhouse.
A glimmer of excitement ignited inside her. It was started. Satisfied that her task had been accomplished, Tiki stepped from behind the tree and walked back the way she’d come, her steps quickening as she headed toward the Great Ormond Street Hospital.
Close to two hours later, Tiki hesitated as she entered the hospital. The harsh woman who had admitted Clara sat behind the desk.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” She bobbed her head. “I’m from St. Timothy’s Chapel, here to see the children.” She rushed her words as she pointed down the hallway. “I’ve been here before. Should I just go down?”
The woman looked up from the page on which she was writing notes. She gave Tiki a quick glance, nodded, then turned back to her paperwork without a word.
Tiki hurried down the hallway. She was anxious to see Clara. They had moved her out of quarantine almost a week ago and in with the rest of the children. Fiona had been up to see her the day before yesterday and said she’d made even more improvement. To celebrate, Tiki had brought her a small bite of chocolate. Tiki’s eyes darted around the room, looking for the little girl’s curly blond head.
The metal frame beds in the ward were crammed together, using every available inch of space. Every bed was occupied. A thin aisle threaded its way down the middle of the room between the footboards with just the smallest space for a person to stand between the beds. Small windows lined two of the walls, though the gray light of the day did little to dispel the aura of sickness in the room. Tiki tried to ignore the muffled cries and moans of the sick children. At the far end of the room, a single nurse bent over a bed.
Tiki’s heart beat a little faster as she searched the beds, unable to find Clara. Where was she? She bit her lower lip in fear as her head swiveled from one bed to the next. Had they moved her? Tiki’s worst fear bubbled up and threatened to choke her. Had she gotten worse again?
Tiki rushed over to the door of the quarantine room and peered inside. Had Clara had a relapse? But only thr
ee beds were occupied, and Tiki could tell by the color of the children’s hair that Clara was not among them. Dread settled across her shoulders like a heavy cloak as she hurried from the room and headed back to the woman at the front desk.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am. There was a little blond girl in here, named Clara.” Tiki clutched her hands together under her cloak. “I told her I’d show her something special today and I can’t seem to find her. Has she been moved?”
“Clara?” the lady repeated in a tired voice. She glanced at a chart with a list of names. “Oh, right, that one. Her relatives came to pick her up yesterday.” She shook her head. “Can you believe it? The little thing’s been in here for nigh on two weeks and they just now come to see her. Then they up and take her.” She shuffled her papers some more. “One hopes they’ll take better care of her this time round.”
“Her relatives?” Tiki couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “What did they look like?”
“A man and a woman. Well-dressed, average-lookin’ folk.” The nurse peered at her. “What difference does it make?”
“What color hair did the woman have?” Tiki asked.
The woman shrugged. “Blond hair—just like the little girl. In the prettiest ringlets. Didn’t look old enough to be her mother, but you never know, these days.”
Tiki dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands and swallowed. She couldn’t seem to draw a steady breath. “Do you … know … where”—she took a shaky breath—“they took her?”
“No, we don’t ask where they’re taking them. Especially if they’re relatives. They just have to sign for them and off they go.”
Tiki swallowed hard. “Could I see their names? I’d love to stay in contact with that little girl.” She bowed her head as if overcome with sadness and whispered, “We became friends. She reminded me of my little sister that I lost to the fever.”
“Oh, I know just what you mean.” The woman sighed. “So many dead.”
She reached for a clipboard and ran her finger down a list. “Here it is. Clarence and Emma Houghton.”
The names echoed in Tiki’s head. “Did they leave an address or anything?”
“Actually, she came in as a charity case. Strangest thing. I was on duty that night and a bunch of the dirtiest children you ever laid eyes on brought her in. One of them said she was her sister. But I doubt any of them had parents. Looked like a bunch of street urchins to me.” She ran her finger along the name and stopped. “They left an address for the bill. Up in Soho. Forty-six Oxford Street.”
“Oxford, you say? Thank you.” Tiki backed away and hurried for the front door.
“Good luck,” the nurse called after her. “I know it’s hard to say good-bye to those sweet little dears when they go home, but it’s for the best.”
Tiki waved a hand in response. As soon as she was through the doors and out on the street, she ran. She ran as fast as she could, arms pumping, skirts flying around her legs. She ignored the shocked stares of the people as she flew by.
She darted into the street and bit back a scream as she narrowly avoided a collision with an oncoming hansom cab, causing the horse to rear in alarm. Tiki sprinted on, choking down the bile that rose in her throat. Fear like she’d never known boiled in her stomach, fueling her legs.
Clara was gone.
Chapter Twenty-one
“ARTHUR, you’ve returned,” Leo cried as he hurried into the library. “I’ve got to talk to you. I’ve learned something.”
His brother fixed him with a steely gaze from where he stood next to the fire burning in the hearth. “We’ve received what amounts to a ransom note.”
Arthur’s words had the same effect as being dashed with a bucket of ice water. Leo stopped and gasped for breath, staring at his brother in stunned silence.
“You may shut your mouth now.” Arthur paced toward the glass doors that overlooked the gardens at the other end of the room. “It was delivered to your man in the Horse Guards this afternoon by a street urchin. He ran away before the guard could question him.”
“A ransom note?” Leo finally choked out. “For the ring?”
“Are we missing anything else for which we have offered a reward?” Arthur said. “Of course it’s for the ring.”
“And did it mention the inscription?”
“Very clearly. They’ve asked for the reward to be delivered in three days’ time. No bobbies. No guard.” Arthur gave Leo an appraising look. “They want you to deliver it, on Diablo, at midnight, in the woods alone.” He turned away and pulled a piece of paper from inside his vest and snapped it open in front of his face. “Allow me to read the note to you.
“‘I am in possession of the missing item. I would like to collect the reward which has been posted but I do not seek attention and would like to keep my identity a secret. For that reason, please leave the reward in a large black bag. On Tuesday night have Sir Leopold come ALONE…’” Arthur looked over at Leo. “They wrote ‘alone’ in capital letters.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin before he continued, “‘… at midnight on his black horse with the reward to the large elm near the blue bridge in St. James’ Park. There will be a message in the crook of the tree telling him where to go next.’” Arthur raised his eyebrows at Leo and cleared his throat. “Second paragraph.
“‘We will be watching. Do not try to follow Prince Leo. We will not harm him.’” Arthur looked up. “That’s certainly a relief, wouldn’t you agree? Let me continue: ‘I know others seek the ring. So please follow these directions precisely and do not try to identify us. We hope the following is true: Na síochána, aontaímid—For the sake of peace, we agree.’”
Arthur folded the letter and held it up for Leo to see. “Apparently they know of the truce.”
“Oh, my God,” Leo whispered, and sank into a chair. “It’s a bloody treasure hunt.”
Arthur barked out a bitter laugh. “Exactly, dear brother. I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
Leo stared unseeingly at the pattern of the rug as his mind raced, recalling his conversation with Elizabeth at the ball. She had questioned how to collect the reward: I’m sure if you truly want the ring back, then you must have a system of exchange planned out. He had stupidly told her exactly what to do. And now she had done it.
He pushed himself out of the chair. “I think I know who is involved in the ring’s disappearance.”
Arthur jerked his head over in surprise. “You do? Has your man learned something?”
“No.” Leo shook his head. “I’ve learned something.” He rubbed his face hard with both hands, then ran them through his short hair. He let out a long sigh. “The day after the theft of the ring, I met an urchin outside the palace. At the base of the very tree we are told to leave the ransom.” Leo slid his hands into his pockets, a thoughtful expression on his face as he remembered the scene. “There was something suspicious about him. He was tucked into a thicket below a tree, and I had the strong impression that he was hiding something. When I told him to empty his pockets, he spooked my horse and ran away before I could question him further.”
“A street urchin? What’s this got to do with the ring?”
Leo held his hand up. “I’m getting to that. The boy bore a black mark on his wrist, as if he’d been branded, like a heifer up at Smithfield’s Market. It was a most unusual mark—I thought perhaps he was a Gypsy.” Leo stepped nearer to his brother and dropped his voice. “I would have forgotten about the incident except the mysterious Elizabeth bears the exact same mark. That’s the reason I dropped my wineglass at the ball.”
Arthur cocked his head in surprise. “Are you speaking of Wills’ friend Elizabeth?”
“Yes.” Leo nodded. “It was too much of a coincidence that they would both bear the same mark, so I drew the shape on a page and took it to Mamie.”
Arthur let out a disbelieving laugh. “I’m wondering what type of guidance you’re seeking from a woman we used to consider to be a witch.”
Arthur gave a slight shrug. “You have a point. So tell me, what did she say? Did Mamie recognize the mark?”
“She did.” Leo drank deeply from the glass, hoping the wine would settle his ragged nerves. Though he suspected Elizabeth played a part in the ring’s theft, to receive a ransom note in the exact manner he had described to her was both startling and damning at the same time.
“Mamie rattled something off in Gaelic when she saw it. Said the mark meant the faerie ring. That it was ‘a mark of the fey.’” Leo reached for the decanter and refilled his glass. “I’m afraid I’ve been converted to a believer about the truce, Arthur. I fear there are fey in our midst who mean to do us harm.”
“Because of a mark on some street urchin’s wrist?” Arthur said in a disbelieving voice.
“Because the mark is evidence of a faerie connection,” Leo snapped. “Because of the questions that Elizabeth, who also bears the mark, asked me about ransoming the ring at the ball.”
“Are you sure, Leo? It seems like a bit of a leap. Can you be positive the mark is the same? Can you be positive that Mamie knows what she’s talking about?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You’ll recall she’s practically as old as time.”
Leo threw up his hands in frustration. “How could Elizabeth know of the ring?”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said she overheard someone talking about it.”
“Didn’t you say Isabelle Cavendish asked you about the ring recently, too?”
“Well, yes … but—”
“Isabelle was at the party. Perhaps Wills’ friend overheard her. And while we’re on it, how is it that Isabelle knows anything of the ring to begin with?”
The Faerie Ring Page 16