A Night Without Stars

by Jillian Eaton

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ten Months Later

  West End of London

  “Is there anything else you need while I’m out?” Lilly asked Bea cheerfully. Adjusting the wicker basket she carried so it sat in the crook of her elbow, she brushed a hand through her newly sheared locks, still unable to believe she’d allowed the dressmaker to talk her into cutting her long hair into loose waves that barely touched her shoulders.

  She did have to admit the style was certainly lighter and less demanding, although she was having a devil of a time keeping it contained. More pins, she thought, silently adding them to the other items on her list.

  Every Tuesday, like clockwork, she ventured into Haversham Square to purchase all of the supplies Bea needed for the week. Sometimes it was something as small as a pair of new shears, other times she lugged back entire bolts of cloth wrapped around heavy wooden rods. Today the list was as along as her arm and included everything from sewing thread to silk flower embellishments.

  “No.” Her round cheeks flushed from the heat of an uncommonly warm spring day, Bea sprang out from beneath the skirt of one of her patrons and gestured for the woman to step down off the measuring pedestal with an impatient sweep of her arm. “Come back in three days for your final fitting,” she instructed. “And if you eat any more crumpets there’s no corset tight enough that’ll help cinch in that waist. Understand?”

  Lilly bit back a grin as the woman gave a meek nod and scurried from the room. “Wasn’t that the Marchioness of Hatfield?”

  “She’s a duchess now, I think.” Bea tapped her chin, then shrugged. “Either way, if she keeps stuffing her face with sweets there’s no amount of altering that will save that dress. It’s already near to bursting at the seams.”

  “I’m certain you’ll make it work,” Lilly said confidently. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you need at the market?”

  Bea rolled her neck from side to side and released a weary sigh. The marchioness had been her fourth fitting of the day and she still had five left to go. With the last ball of the Season right around the corner every duchess, countess, and lady was scrambling to ensure their gowns were perfectly tailored.

  Nine months ago Bea couldn’t have dressed a baroness if she’d paid her. Then, on one fateful autumn day, a diminutive blonde had wandered into Bea’s shop completely by accident and fallen in love with one of the seamstress’s original designs. She’d ordered an entirely new wardrobe on the spot and it wasn’t until after the ton’s elite began knocking down Bea’s door that she realized the blonde had been none other than Lady Ware, an esteemed Almack’s patroness.

  Exactly two days later fate intervened yet again when Lilly appeared on Bea’s doorstop desperate for a job. Overwhelmed by the influx of new clients Bea had hired her on the spot, and the two women had been working side by side ever since. Lilly may not have had Bea’s eye for design or skill with a needle, but her gentle demeanor and soft spoken nature kept their customers coming back when Bea’s abrasiveness would have otherwise driven them away.

  “Not that I can think of. Bloody hell,” Bea muttered when the bell on the front door rang out, indicating her next client had just arrived. “Like rats fleeing a sinking ship.”

  “I believe that is my cue to leave.” Tugging on the brim of her bonnet so it shaded her eyes, Lilly stepped into the waiting room to greet the young debutante who had just entered the shop accompanied by her harried looking mother.

  “Lady Norfolk,” she said warmly. “Lady Abigail. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Miss Bea is ready for you.”

  “Oh dear.” Lady Norfolk’s gaze darted to the heavy velvet curtain separating the waiting room from the dressing room. “Does this, er, mean you will not be staying?”

  “I’m afraid I have a few errands to run. Don’t worry,” Lilly said in a whisper when Lady Norfolk’s face drained of all color. “You’re only her fifth fitting of the day. She won’t start throwing things until at least the sixth.”

  “You’re looking lovely today Miss James,” Abigail piped up. “Are you meeting a suitor?”

  Lilly’s smile faltered. “I – no, no, nothing like that. I’m just picking up supplies.”

  “Well maybe you’ll meet a handsome man at the market.” Abigail’s eyes lit up. “Wouldn’t that be romantic? You could fall in love over the butcher’s block.”

  “Perhaps,” Lilly said evasively. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must be going. Good luck with your fitting.”

  “Thank–” Abigail began, but Lilly was already out the door and racing down the sidewalk as fast as her legs would carry her.

  When she rounded the corner she flattened herself against the brick wall of Mrs. Violet’s Tea Shop and pressed a hand over her racing heart. A cool breeze stirred the air, brushing against the tiny dots of perspiration that dripped from her brow and the stinging tears that burned the corners of her eyes.

  Foolish woman, she scolded herself. Foolish, foolish woman.

  It had been ten months since she’d seen Bran. Ten months since she’d kissed him. Ten months since he’d broken her heart. And yet all it took was one harmless word to feel the pain all over again.

  How long, she wondered bleakly. How long until someone can mention a suitor and I don’t immediately think of him?

  In the first few weeks she’d thought of him every day, every hour, every minute. Her tears could have filled the Thames, and she had never felt so wretched in all of her life. She thought she’d experienced heartbreak when Doyle left her…but it was nothing compared to what she felt after Bran cast her aside.

  It wasn’t just that he’d ended it. It was how he’d ended it. With such cruel, baffling cruelty when he had shown her nothing but kindness. With no explanation when she at least deserved a reason why. With no warning…and no means to defend herself against the gut wrenching pain of having her heart torn asunder.

  For nights she’d laid awake, unable to sleep for the echo of his voice running through her mind.

  It’s been fun, lass.

  Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.

  If it’s money ye’re worried about…

  With the help of Bea and the gradual passage of time she’d eventually begun to think of him less and less, but he was still just a memory away. She had only to glimpse a blond head in a crowded street and she instantly remembered the way his hair curled over his brow. Had only to hear a husky chuckle to recall the sound of his laughter. Had only to see a couple together to be reminded of how it had felt when she and Bran were together and her heart was whole and every day shone brighter than the last.

  She’d told herself she would get over him eventually. That she would move on and find true love again. But what if she never did?

  Then you’ll be all the better for it, her head said. Men – nothing but trouble if you ask me.

  Her heart, as it had been for ten long months, remained silent.

  Pushing away from the brick wall – and pushing Bran from her mind – Lilly hurried on her way to Haversham Square. She knew better than to dally, and Bea would have her head if she wasn’t back within the hour.

  Mentally consulting her list, she began at one end of the square and began to make her way through the myriad of stalls, tents, and carts where vendors hawked everything from fresh cuts of meat to baskets filled with mewling kittens.

  Once she’d fawned over the kittens and completed her second purchase – after haggling the price down five pence – Lilly’s mood lightened considerably. Going to the market was one of her favorite errands. She loved the bustling pace of it. The sights and sounds. The eclectic mix of old and new.

  When someone jostled her from behind she thought nothing of it. The square was crowded, and space was at a premium. Making certain her reticule was safely hidden in the folds of her dress she simply continued walking, shading a hand across her brow as she searched for the tent with sewing supplies. But when she was shoved again – harder this time – she stopp
ed short and whirled around, eyes narrowing as she clutched her basket to her chest and scanned the crowd.

  Pickpockets were a dime a dozen at the market and if one wasn’t careful they’d find themselves leaving with nothing more than the clothes on their back. They were also quick little buggers and, being mostly children, were able to disappear into a crowd faster than a person could blink. Which was why she wasn’t surprised when she didn’t see anyone suspicious.

  “Better luck next time,” she called out, earning a few sideways glances from random passerby. Taking care to ensure her belongings were safe and secured, she started to turn back around…and slammed face first into someone’s chest.

  “Oh!” Dazed, she shook her head and tried to step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t – what are you doing?” Confusion quickly gave way to fear when she found her wrist locked in a hard, unyielding grip. “Let me go!”

  She began to struggle in earnest when her assailant’s grip tightened and he began to drag her behind one of the tents to a shadowy alley that was blocked off with wooden crates.

  “Help me!” she cried. “Someone help!”

  But no one heard her above the din.

  Her basket went flying when she was shoved between two of the crates. She fell to her hands and knees, her delicate gloves tearing on the rough cobblestones. Breath coming in fits and starts she tried to scramble to her feet, but a hard blow sent her sprawling onto her stomach.

  “Fight all you want, whore.” The man’s dark, merciless voice sent chills racing down her spine. “You can’t escape your fate.”

  Tears born of terror and desperation flooded Lilly’s eyes and poured down her cheeks as she blindly reached for something, anything, she could use to protect herself. Hand closing over a splintered piece of wood, she rolled onto her back and slashed upward with all of her strength.

  Her assailant hissed out a curse when the makeshift weapon sank into his thigh. Blood, thick and red, pulsed from the wound when he yanked the wood out. Throwing it aside he advanced on Lilly with a menacing growl. “You’ll pay for that.”

  A screamed tore itself from Lilly’s throat when he drew out a knife, the silver blade long and curved and sharp. His mouth, the only part of his face not obscured by shadow, curled in a sinister grin of pure evil.

  “Whore,” he whispered. “Trollop. Harlot. Prepare to answer for your sins!”

  He raised his arm and Lilly squeezed her eyes shut, inwardly bracing herself for the pain that was to come. Time itself seemed to slow, seconds turning into hours. She held her breath. Waiting…waiting…

  “I say! What the devil is going on here?”

  With a startled gasp Lilly opened her eyes and nearly wept in relief when she saw her assailant was gone. In his place was a kind looking stranger who was gazing down at her in concern, wheat colored brows pulled in tight over the bridge of his nose.

  “Are you all right, miss? I heard you scream and came as quick as I could.”

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically from side to side. “I’m not all right. I mean – I mean I am, now. But I wasn’t – I wasn’t a minute ago. There was a man. He had a knife. I don’t – I don’t know where he went!” She began to tremble as her gaze darted wildly around the alley, searching the shadows for a glimpse of her assailant, but it was as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

  “Easy,” the stranger murmured when her entire body started to shake with tiny little after-shocks of fear. “Here, let me help you up.” He pulled her to her feet and placed his greatcoat over her shoulders. “Let’s go somewhere we can sit and you can tell me what happened. Would you like some water?”

  “Y-yes please, Mr…”

  “Ferguson. Ian Ferguson. What’s your name?”

  “L-Lilly James.”

  “Miss James. I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances, but I can assure you that you have nothing to fear. You’re safe now.” Gently holding onto her arm, he guided her out of the alley to a small bench underneath the shade of a dogwood tree. Fetching a glass and pitcher from a nearby vendor, he poured her a glass of water. “I’m a Runner. I was on a nearby patrol when I heard you scream.” His mouth flattened into a grim line. “I only wish I had gotten to you sooner. Are you hurt?”

  “Just – just my hands. I scraped them when I fell. When he pushed me,” Lilly corrected. She shook her head dazedly, feeling for all the world as if she’d just woken up from a terrible dream. “He pushed me into the alley. I tripped over the crates.”

  “Did he tell you his name?” Ian withdrew a small leather bound booklet from the front pocket of his waistcoat and began scribbling down notes. “Or why he was trying to hurt you?”

  “No. No, he didn’t tell me his name or what he wanted. He just…he just appeared in front of me and grabbed my wrist. I – I tried to fight him, but he was so – he was so s-strong.”

  “Take a breath,” Ian suggested when her voice broke and she pressed her fingers to her lips. “And a sip of water. There you go.”

  As the cool liquid traveled down her throat, Lilly struggled to gain control of her emotions. She’d seen violence before. Working and living in the East End for as long as she had, how could she not? But there was a difference between seeing a knife drawn on someone and having a knife drawn on oneself.

  It was the metallic taste of metal in her mouth as she bit her tongue. The aching in her chest as she struggled to fill her lungs with air. The cold-blooded certainty that she was going to die. And the awful, choking realization that there were still so many things she wanted to do.

  She wanted to travel. To see the white beaches of Spain and the wild moors of Scotland.

  She wanted to see her family again. To hug them close and ask for their forgiveness.

  And she wanted to fall in love. Desperately, wildly, unapologetically in love. The type of love she thought she’d had with Bran.

  But if Ian hadn’t arrived when he did all of those things she wanted to do and all of those memories yet unlived would have been snatched from her in the blink of an eye. If that wasn’t violence, she didn’t know what was.

  “He called me names. Horrible, awful names.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t dare repeat them.”

  “You don’t have to,” Ian assured her. “But if you could describe him, that would be most helpful. Was he tall or short? Fat or thin? Dark hair or fair?”

  “I…It all happened so fast,” she said helplessly. “I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

  “You said he spoke to you. What did his voice sound like?”

  “He had a deep voice.” Her fingers tightened around the glass. “As deep and dark as a pit.”

  Ian nodded encouragingly. “That’s good. That’s very good. Can you recall anything else?”

  “His teeth were very white. I know that must sound strange, but…”

  “No, no, that’s actually quite helpful. Clean teeth indicates a man who takes pride in his appearance. One who doesn’t smoke or drink to excess, as both cause yellowing of the gums. And one whom is educated enough in personal hygiene to understand the benefits of tooth powder.”

  Lilly blinked. “You are able to discern all of that from the color of a person’s teeth?”

  Ian flashed her a grin. “I did say I was a Runner.”

  So he had. “I do know that he was taller than me. And that’s…that’s all I can remember. I’m sorry. I wish I could be of my help.”

  “You’ve been tremendously helpful, Miss James.” Ian snapped his book closed. “I’m just glad I arrived when I did. Pistols are often notoriously unreliable, but at that close of a range I’m afraid the outcome would have most likely been tragic.”

  “Oh, he didn’t have a pistol.”

  “He didn’t?” Ian frowned.

  “No. He had a knife. A long silver knife with a–”

  “Curved blade?” Ian interrupted grimly.

  “Yes.” Lilly’s brow furrowed. “How did you know that?”

  “Be
cause you’re not the first woman this bastard has attacked, Miss James.” His jaw hardened. “But you are the first one who has survived.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They called him the Slasher, Ian told her, and they’d been after him for years. He’d killed at least five women that they knew about, one of whom had been attacked in broad daylight at a market, just like Lilly.

  Not much was known about him other than the fact that he always used a curved blade on his victims and he seemed to murder without rhyme or reason. The only thing the women he killed had in common were that they were women. As far as the Runners knew, Lilly was the only one to have seen his face and lived...even though she couldn’t remember what he looked like.

  In her nightmares he had the face of a devil. Empty black eyes, fangs for teeth, and horns sprouting from his skull. He chased her round and round in an endless circle and no matter how far or how fast she ran, she always ended up back where she started.

  Anticipating that the Slasher might try to come after her again, Bow Street had seen to it that a Runner was stationed outside of her flat and another outside of the dress shop at all times. They were dressed so discreetly that if she hadn’t known to look for them she never would have seen them, which she supposed was precisely the point. Even knowing they were there, however, didn’t stop her from jumping at every little sound and looking fearfully over her shoulder more times than she could possibly count.

  Thankfully Bea was more than understanding. She gave Lilly little odd jobs to keep her busy and found someone else to run errands at the market. As the days passed, and then the weeks, Lilly gradually began to relax. Surely if the Slasher was going to come for her he would have done it already. The Runners must have thought the same for they eventually stopped following her everywhere she went, their manpower needed elsewhere as they canvassed the entire city day and night for any sign of the Slasher.

  A light rain drizzled from a dark, overcast sky as Lilly made her way home from the shop. Buried in invoices, she’d stayed later than she had intended. Bea had left two hours ago on the arm of a handsome gentleman, leaving Lilly to lock everything up when she finished.