When We Touch

by Heather Graham

  “Hey, there! You . . . where are you off to, at this time of the night?”

  “Visiting friends,” Mireau said. “My auntie’s cousin.”

  “At this time of night? Are you daft? Could you not have heard of the double event last night?”

  “We’re traveling together, and tight. And this is my wife, this our auntie. My good fellow, we are not soliciting on the streets!”

  The officer nodded then, and shook his head, as if with disgust that folk just seemed to have no common sense. “Fine, then. Go on where you’re going!”

  Maggie quickened her pace, very afraid that they might be waylaid again. She was so desperate to reach Arianna.

  “You should have brought Jamie in on this,” Mireau breathed.

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Because he was so angry?” Mireau asked. “How amazing . . . he stayed a very long time after asking me out of the library! And in your room, at that.”

  “How delightful!” Cecilia said.

  Maggie glared at Mireau.

  “Surely, you weren’t arguing all that time?” Mireau said.

  “Don’t you understand? He would have tried to stop us. He would have been convinced that there was another way.”

  “Well, there is another way. We could just have police surround the house,” Cecilia said.

  “I’m just really afraid that they do have orders to kill Arianna the second that anything looks out of the ordinary,” Maggie said. “Once we have her out of that house . . .”

  “What do we do if Jeremiah is late again?” Mireau asked.

  “Tonight, it just doesn’t matter. We just get them drinking, and get Arianna out. And we’ll hope that the police are able to find him, once we have Arianna out of the house.”

  “They haven’t been able to find a maniacal killer,” Cecilia pointed out.

  “What matters most is Arianna. If Jeremiah is not there, we still bring out the brandy. We are here for Arianna. Agreed?” Maggie said.

  “Obviously, it’s most important that we get the girl out,” Cecilia said.

  “We’d best pray that your notes reached their intended destinations!” Mireau said.

  “Darby will see that they do.”

  “Eustace will not fail us,” Cecilia said. “He does know where the house is, and he’ll be ready to assist us.”

  “One problem,” Mireau noted.

  “And that is?” Maggie asked.

  “All the fellows are never inside the house. They stand guard outside.”

  Maggie nodded. “Yes. You’re the strongest, you must take Arianna. She will be dead weight. Cecilia and I will have our weapons ready.”

  “His thugs carried guns before,” Mireau reminded her. “And you’ve made sure that Jamie will not be here to come to our rescue tonight.”

  “We know that they are armed, and we will be ready to shoot first,” Maggie told him.

  “Oh, God!” Mireau moaned. “I cannot believe that we are doing this.”

  “Eustace will be outside as well, and he is a crack shot!” Cecilia reminded them proudly.

  “Shush!” Maggie warned. They were on the walk and might well be overheard.

  They reached the house. Maggie felt a crawling sensation of fear streak up her spine. She was suddenly entirely uncertain about dragging Mireau and Cecilia into the fray.

  “I should go alone,” she said.

  “Never!” Mireau told her. “And ridiculous. How are you going to carry Arianna out, and keep the two of you from being shot?”

  “Maggie, you did not force either of us into this. We’re on the walk. Let’s go—before we do look suspicious!” Cecilia said.

  They were right. Squaring her shoulders, Maggie headed toward the house.

  John was at the door. “Ah, ev’ning! Come in, come in. The Hennesys await ye!”

  They all greeted John cordially and entered the house. Ellen Hennesy was there, dusting her hands on her apron once again, greeting them warmly. This night, George was home already as well, and just as she had been the night before, Arianna was already at the table. She allowed no spark to come to her eyes. She spoke as one dead. “Perhaps Jeremiah will reach Frank for you tonight, mum, perhaps he will.”

  “Not to be indelicate,” George Hennesy said, “but . . . were you able to get to the bank?”

  “Indeed!” Cecilia said.

  “I didn’t think my good friend, Mr. Thayer, our banker, would keep me from an advance on the pension,” Maggie said. “Please give Mr. Hennesy the money, Sissy,” she told Cecilia.

  “Of course!”

  Ten pounds sterling were handed over to Hennesy, who then passed it on to John. “Jeremiah will be grateful,” he said.

  “He is late again?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” answered the fellow standing behind Arianna. Maggie counted.

  Four of them inside. Jeremiah to come.

  Two of them were outside, somewhere, keeping an eye out.

  “Well!” she said. She smiled warmly at the Hennesys. “Since you were so kind in your offerings last night, I thought that I should return the favor.” She pulled out her bottle of brandy. “An excellent year! A gift to my husband from one of his clients, a landed gent, who got it from the royal family, so we were told. I’ve saved it for a very special occasion. It should have a truly wonderful taste.”

  “Lovely!” George Hennesy said, beaming. “My dear . . .?”

  “Everyone must have some,” Maggie said. “I’m so very grateful to you all.”

  “Of course, of course, I’ll get glasses,” Ellen Hennesy said.

  Soon, they were brought. The brandy was poured. “Cheers!” Maggie said, lifting her own glass. She pretended to drink.

  Thankfully, Jeremiah’s “boys” all liked their liquor. They drained their glasses quickly. “Oh, do finish the bottle!” she said. “If I can reach Frank tonight, it will have been the most special occasion ever. I’ll have felt that I enjoyed it with some new but very good friends, and my dear Frank himself!”

  She gritted her teeth and forced a smile as George Hennesy was the first to reach for more. But the “boys” were ready for a second round, and she, Cecilia, and Mireau were able to offer up empty glasses for a refill, all having managed to toss their first rounds beneath the table.

  Only Arianna had ignored her glass.

  “You’re not enjoying this wonderful warmth!” Maggie said to her.

  Arianna shook her head, eyes filled with warning as she looked at Maggie. “I’m not much of a drinker, mum.”

  “Don’t insult the woman,” John said, and Maggie felt her jaw harden as she watched the way the young thug bit his fingers into the girl’s shoulder.

  Arianna picked up her glass, and drank. She swallowed down the brandy in a gulp, set the glass back down.

  Mireau saw that it was quickly refilled.

  “Definitely a special taste,” John commented. He’d probably never had good brandy before in his life, but he pretended to study the color. Maggie smiled, then frowned, looking Arianna’s way again. Her serious concern brought John’s fingers to Arianna’s shoulders once again. Before he could touch her, the girl swallowed down the second glassful.

  It was not, however, Arianna who went first.

  Ellen Hennesy was simply sitting one minute, enjoying the taste as they awaited Jeremiah, then, without word or whimper, she crashed forward, head downward, onto the table.

  * * *

  Jamie chose to keep out of the City of London, and walked the surrounding streets. He had split up three couples, earned two beatings about his head by way of the prostitutes’ poor reticules, and angrily offered up doss money for the women himself thus far. One woman ran straight into a pub, and he felt his aggravation rising. This was not an easy task.

  It was near one-thirty when he saw the suspicious fellow in the deerstalker hat and sweeping black cape walking along the side of the road. He was keeping deep to the shadows, and his every movement seemed furtive.
Jamie watched him, following at a distance, then saw an opportunity to duck into one of the alleys, leap a gate, and come at the fellow from the opposing direction.

  He slipped into the alley, ran the length of it. A cat let out a horrid screech. In the mist-shrouded night, it sounded like a glaring alarm.

  He leapt the fence at the end of the alley, and came around.

  His quarry had apparently heard him, and stopped.

  For a moment, he remained still against the fencing, waiting, listening. No sound of footsteps. Indeed, he’d been betrayed by an alley cat.

  Still, he forced himself to wait. At last, he heard a furtive movement. But he was certain his quarry knew that he was on the other side of the fence.

  Indeed, the man knew. He burst out into the night suddenly, a walking stick with a wicked blade at the end of it poised for the fight. Jamie burst into motion, knotting his muscles, racing forward, catching the man in his midriff with a violent tackle.

  They both went down into the mud of the street. Jamie had the edge, and was able to sink a knee into his opponent’s middle. The man caught his jaw with a solid punch, and he nearly staggered from his position. He gained his balance and prepared to strike.

  “Jamie!”

  He hesitated, peering against the poor light, staring down.

  “Justin!”

  “What in God’s name are you doing, man?” Justin demanded. There was suspicion in his voice.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Stalking the Ripper,” Justin said.

  Jamie rose, dusting the mud of the road from his clothing. He reached out a hand to Justin, helping the fellow leap to his feet.

  And for a moment, rumor, talk, fear made them both stare at one another. Anyone might have been the Ripper. A rich man, a poor man, uneducated, well tutored, they just didn’t know right now. The killings might be part of a conspiracy; they might be perpetuated by a fellow capable of walking the streets as an ordinary citizen by day . . .

  “It’s a strange place for you, Justin,” Jamie said.

  “And stranger for you, Lord Langdon.”

  “I’ve been asked to look into this matter,” Jamie said.

  Justin studied him, then shook his head. “And I came down because I’ve been made to realize recently that I’ve not led a very useful life. And sadly, I am familiar with these streets, because some of the company I keep is fond of the most tawdry amusements.”

  The sound of a carriage crashing along the street at a dangerous speed, caused them to leave off their focus on one another, and stare in the direction of the sound. “Out of the way, or we’re both dead men!” Jamie warned, shoving Justin.

  But Justin stood in the street, staring at the approaching vehicle.

  “It’s Darby!” he said.

  “Whoever it is, we’re about to be run down!” Jamie warned him, and, grabbing him by the collar, dragged him to the edge of the road.

  The carriage jerked to a halt just past them. They’d been seen.

  Darby jumped from the carriage. “Sweet Mary, Mother of God!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for the two of you for hours!”

  “Why?”

  “Letters for you. I tried my hardest to eavesdrop, that I did. But Lady Maggie has been very secretive since last night. I tried to stay with her, but she was going off with Lord and Lady de Burgh, and their coachman was taking them . . . wherever it was that they were going, and I’ve got my suspicions!”

  “She’s down here somewhere!” Jamie said, taking the letter offered to him. “Damn her! She promised that she wouldn’t come around here!”

  Justin had ripped open his own letter by then. “There’s a street name here. But no number! And the letter says that we need to be there by two o’clock, a matter of life or death.”

  Jamie pulled out his pocket watch. “We’ve about three minutes,” he said grimly, and started for the carriage. “Three minutes! Let’s go!”

  * * *

  “What is wrong with her!” John called out, alarmed.

  And then, Arianna went as well.

  “Oh! The poor dears!” Maggie cried, leaping up. She went straight for Arianna. Frowning, John started to come around for Arianna. He came to the table, staggered back, and then fell. Slowly. But he could not prevent himself from doing so.

  “What have you done?” the one called Matthew grated out. He drew a pistol from inside his jacket and took aim, straight at Maggie. She caught hold of Arianna’s shoulders and dragged the girl from her chair, and to the floor.

  The gun exploded. The shot went wild. Matthew lay flat out on the floor beside them.

  “Maggie!” Mireau called.

  “I’m fine!”

  He and Cecilia came around beside her. She stared at them. “They’re all down, they went in order, smack, smack, smack!” Cecilia said.

  “We must be quick! Whoever is outside will have heard the shot!” Mireau warned.

  “Get Arianna,” Maggie said, struggling to her feet. Cecilia helped Mireau struggle up with the girl’s dead weight.

  George Hennesy had collapsed over his wife. One of the thugs was lying in the archway. Cecilia leapt over him. Mireau followed.

  Maggie was about to do so when the fellow stirred. He, too, had a pistol out.

  He didn’t aim it at Maggie, but at Arianna’s lifeless form.

  “No!” Maggie screamed, and she stepped forward, giving the man’s arm a lethal kick. The gun went flying.

  His fingers wound around her ankle.

  “Maggie!” Mireau called, blinded by Arianna’s body draped over his shoudlers.

  “Go, I’m fine!” she called.

  But she wasn’t. She tried to wrench free, and sprawled down on the ground herself. The man halfway rose, eyes on fire with fury as he fought to keep his mind alert. His hands reached out for her throat.

  She couldn’t reach the little pistol in her reticule. She struggled for balance and knotted her hand into a fist, slugging him as hard in the jaw as she could manage. She heard the sound of the crack of her blow against his face. But still, he kept reaching for her . . .

  Then fell back.

  She shoved his weight off her and made it to her feet. She raced then for the door, bursting from it.

  Eustace was there, as he had said he would be, his carriage in the street. She could see that Mireau was stumbling forward, bearing Arianna’s weight. Cecilia was following him, her back toward the carriage as she fired shots randomly at anyone who might follow them.

  She heard police whistles; bless Darby! He had gotten her letter safely to one of the station houses.

  And there was the sound of a runaway carriage racing toward their location. Jamie, her brother . . . they’d both yell at her, of course. But it wouldn’t matter. Arianna was safe, and Jeremiah’s thugs were out, and if they didn’t have the murdering fake himself, they would surely find him this time.

  She started to open her mouth, to cry out to Cecilia to quit firing so that she could reach the carriage herself.

  But even as she opened her mouth, she felt the sharp pain against her nape. A blow struck hard, one that caused her to stagger instantly, one that seemed to add to the mist of the gaslight and the fog that filled the streets.

  “Bitch! I thought it was you. But you are a clever thing. And a pretty one. We’ll have some fun . . . before you die.”

  The carriage that had been racing down the street was coming to a halt. The Langdon carriage, Darby driving. She thought she saw Jamie leaping from it. It all seemed to be spinning before her eyes, and yet it all seemed to be playing out in slow motion.

  “Maggie!” She could swear that she did hear her name shouted. Cried out in anguish.

  Jamie. Jamie’s voice . . .

  Then the mist and the gas-lit fog turned to black, and she crashed down into a state of ebony oblivion.

  Chapter 18

  There was bedlam on the street.

  The police had arrived, and their whistles were blowing. They we
re running around like chickens because they knew that they were looking for something amiss, but they didn’t know what they were looking for. The gunfire had ceased. Mireau had gotten into the de Burgh carriage with Arianna, and Cecilia was standing with her husband by the carriage door, and there was no sign of Maggie.

  “What the hell is going on?” Justin demanded. “Where’s my sister?”

  “Right behind us!” Mireau said. “But careful . . . the guards left at the outside are armed . . . Cecilia and Eustace were firing back and they might have taken them down, but . . .”

  One of the police inspectors was there as well.

  “Guards? For who? What is going on here?” he raged. “There will be pandemonium any second now, people spilling out on the streets, thinking we’ve got Jack the Ripper!”

  Jamie caught hold of Cecilia’s shoulders. “Cecilia, who was in there, what is going on?”

  “A fake spiritualist,” she gasped out. “Arianna . . . ran away, wound up kidnapped, really, and we brought laudanum to knock them all out and . . .”

  He didn’t wait for any more but went streaking toward the house. A shot blazed, so close that for a moment, the buzzing sound cost him his hearing in his right ear. He heard the bullet embed in the fence post behind him.

  There was a man half fallen against the front wall of the house. His smoking pistol was still raised, aimed at Jamie. His hand was shaking; he had a bullet wound in his shoulder.

  Jamie instantly calculated the risks, and flew at the man, bringing him down. The gun fell with the man’s hand to his right side. Jamie rose, kicking the gun away, reaching for the injured man and dragging him up.

  “Where’s the woman?” he demanded.

  The fellow grinned eerily. Then slumped into a dead faint. Jamie realized that he was covered in blood.

  He dropped the man and burst into the house. People were splayed about everywhere, so it seemed.

  Justin came running in behind him. “Where is she? My sister?” He saw one of the fellows, prone of the floor, and tried to drag him up. “Where’s my sister?” he raged.

  But the man couldn’t answer. He lolled in Justin’s hold. Disgusted, Justin dropped him.

  By then, Jamie had made a cursory inspection around the small house. Everyone in it was out cold. There was no help to be had here.