A Dangerous Duet

by Karen Odden

  The lights began to dim, and my eyes sought the black curtain of the piano alcove. Had they asked Carl Dwigen to fill in for tonight? Or would they make do without a piano?

  The curtain swung open unsteadily. It wasn’t Carl’s thin, stooped figure that had drawn it back; it was a thickset man of about thirty. He took his seat at the piano, in a black coat that pulled unattractively across the back and shoulders. No doubt Mrs. Wregge had dug it up for him out of one of her wardrobe boxes. He began to play—the same music I played, of course, and it gave me the strangest feeling of both rapport and a cold pragmatism. We were both only replacements for someone else.

  Then I told myself not to be absurd. Of course I was replaceable, and while I hadn’t been personally appreciated for my contribution, I had been paid for it, after all.

  Gallius strode onstage, Maggie in his wake, and as the crowd began to settle, I sidled along the wall toward the door that led backstage. The person I wanted to talk to was Amalie. She cared enough about Jack to listen and help me, if she could.

  After Gallius and Maggie left the stage. Amalie strutted out, and sure enough, every eye was fixed on her. No one was paying the least attention to me as my fingers found the handle and tried to turn it. But it wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the other side.

  Swearing under my breath, I started toward a second door that was hidden behind a curtain on the other side of the hall. I wormed my way through a group of men still standing by the bar. Ale from one man’s glass splashed the sleeve of my coat, and my toes were stepped on several times by heavy boots, but I kept pushing through.

  As I reached the curtain, Amalie finished her song and bent low, her face tilted up so as not to obscure the view of her bosom, barely contained by her pale green dress. I felt for the handle. It didn’t turn—but when I gave it a push, the door fell open, as if the latch hadn’t closed properly. As roses flew like arrows toward the stage and Amalie began her last song, I slipped through the door and started down the ramp.

  The usual smells of sweat and rotting plaster were tinged by the acrid smell of burned tobacco, and I wondered who had the temerity to smoke a cigar on the premises. Mr. Williams went livid if he saw even an unlit cigarette backstage.

  I made my way to the wedge-shaped area just off stage right to wait for Amalie. From there in the shadows I could see both the stage and the catwalk from which two young men managed various items, including the trapezes that Marceline and Sebastian had used. The men were up there now, watching for Amalie’s last bow, the signal to drop the flower petals. She exited amid the flurry, her bright stage smile vanishing immediately, but when she saw me, her expression altered again, to disbelief and even some concern. “Williams’ll skin you alive if he sees you.”

  “I’m sure.” I gestured toward the pianist. “Who’s he?”

  She shrugged and kept walking. “Someone Stephen knew.”

  I laid a hand on her arm. “Amalie, listen to me. I think Jack is in danger. Stephen’s trying to stir up trouble between Jack and his father.”

  She looked skeptical. Hastily, I sketched what had happened at the Academy and what I’d seen at Jack’s flat. “You said yourself that Stephen’s his own and that’s all,” I concluded. “Well, you’re right. No one else matters to him. Stephen doesn’t see Jack at all; he just sees someone who’s gotten in his way.”

  Her expression had been attentive for most of my recital, but at the last words, her whole body stiffened, and in the faint light from the stage, I saw her eyes widen and her lips part.

  “Amalie, what is it?”

  Her words came out in a whisper. “I heard him send two men out.”

  “Stephen?”

  Her head bobbed like a doll’s on her slender neck. “He told them to ‘make sure he doesn’t come back.’ Those were his words.” Another quick breath. “I had no idea he meant Jack.”

  “Were they Drummond’s men?”

  She shook her head. “They weren’t anyone I’d ever seen before. But it was clear enough that Stephen knew them.”

  My heart gave a sickening lurch. “When was this?”

  “Around five o’clock.” She swallowed. “Jack and his father had a row right ’afore.”

  Of course, I thought bitterly. And Stephen had seen his chance.

  “Where’s Stephen now?” I asked. “Is he here?”

  She was biting her lower lip, hard. “I don’t know.”

  I released her arm. “If you see Jack tonight, if he comes back, tell him to meet me at the Bear and Bull.”

  She nodded. Then her eyes flicked behind me. “You should go.” And she gathered up her skirts and vanished.

  I turned to see one of the boys who helped with the props. His gaze skittered away from mine, and he fixed his attention on the stage.

  There was part of me that longed to get away before anyone else saw me. But if Stephen was here, I needed to find him and ask what he’d done.

  I headed toward the back corridor and crept past Drummond’s office door. Through the mottled glass, I saw the light from a lamp and glimpsed a dark figure bent over the desk. I hoped whatever Drummond was doing would occupy him for a while. In the hallway, there were signs of fresh plaster on the wall and a gray cloth on the floor that bore the impressions of boots amid the dust.

  Maybe this had been Jack’s repair.

  I climbed the circular stair and went to the instrument room. Fortunately, it was empty, but so were the hooks where Stephen might have hung his coat. Frustrated, I headed back downstairs, made my way to the door of the properties room, and pushed it open. Swiftly I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, then stood perfectly still until my eyes adjusted to the semidarkness. The light from the secret room made a golden sliver, the same as it had the first time. It was well after eight o’clock, so the boys would be gone by now. But the light faded and then returned, as if someone had stepped in front of a lamp.

  I put my hands out in front of me, quietly feeling my way past a trunk with brass fittings, a wooden crate with a splintered edge, a dented barrel made of metal, a ladder with a broken rung. How on earth had I come in here before without catching my skirts on half a dozen things?

  As I reached the back wall, I heard voices, and I nudged the panel upward, just enough to look inside the room.

  There were no boys. As I expected, they had all been sent out. And no Stephen, so far as I could see, although I recognized his coat, hanging on a hook on the far wall.

  But Drummond was there—which meant it had been someone else in his office just now—along with two other men, both of whom I could see only in profile. One of them wore the uniform of a River Police constable; the other was of medium height with a chest like a barrel. Three fingers on his right hand were mangled. A half-smoked cigar dangled between his thumb and forefinger.

  My mouth went dry. It had to be Tierney. By the light of the room’s lanterns, I saw his face. A heavy mouth and jaw, dark eyebrows, a narrow nose. He had broad shoulders not unlike Drummond’s—but whereas Drummond was in his forties and beginning to gather fat around his middle, this man was all power, with none of the softness of age about him and no gray in his hair. I guessed he was thirty, or five-and-thirty at most.

  The constable said, “Your shipments’ll leave tonight. Lighter boats’ll bring ’em down from St. Katharine’s, and there’s extra crew at Greenland to load ’em between patrols. The crates’ll go in first. My men know what they’re about.”

  “What time is it leaving Greenland Dock?”

  “Half past one. So it’ll be out of Greenwich Reach by dawn.”

  “Customs?”

  “Barrow’s seen to it.”

  “And if they get stopped?” Tierney asked.

  “They got barrels of gin, with bills of lading all in order, as the cargo,” the constable replied. “You can stop your frettin’, Mr. Tierney. I wouldn’t ’a taken your money if I didn’t think I could do it proper. My men’ve been workin’ the river for years, and they’
re no fools. They could get from the customs house all the way to Gravesend without lights if they had to.”

  “What about the rumor I heard tonight? That there’s an inspector who’s onto this?”

  The constable shook his head. “Barrow would know if there was anything certain. I mean, there’s guesses all the time, ain’t there?” He glanced at Drummond. “But guesses aren’t going anywhere without knowing when or where or who.”

  Tierney gave a low grunt.

  “There’s another storm coming tomorrow. It’ll be a rough crossing,” Drummond said. “And the guns are heavy.”

  “Aye. But Pierre knows what the boats can manage. A rough wind may make him late, but he’s got two years o’ workin’ this run to Calais.”

  “Calais?” Drummond asked, surprised.

  “Yah. It’ll be transferred to a steamer there and be in Montenegro in a matter o’ weeks.”

  Tierney threw his cigar on the floor. “I don’t give a bloody quid where it goes, so long as we’re paid in Calais, and it ain’t traced back to me—”

  A strong hand covered my mouth, and Stephen’s voice drawled in my ear. “Well, well. Nosy Nell. You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.”

  He opened the trapdoor, pushed my head down, and shoved me through.

  Chapter 25

  The three men turned toward us. Only the constable showed any alarm. Drummond’s eyes darkened, and his mouth took on an ugly curl, but he said nothing. Tierney looked me up and down, but he clearly didn’t much care who I was or what I’d seen. And I understood in an instant that to Tierney, I was someone who could simply be done away with if I proved inconvenient.

  Fear rolled over me like fire.

  Stephen pulled at my hat. Maybe he imagined that all my hair would come tumbling down dramatically to reveal that I was in disguise, but I had it pinned up tight, the way I always did, and when he pulled, the brim caught on the pins, and he merely yanked my head sideways. I shoved his hand away and removed the hat myself.

  “This is Nell Hallam—otherwise known as Ed Nell,” Stephen said scornfully. “And my guess is she’s the one who saw the boys the other day—when she was dressed properly, of course, in a woman’s skirts. She knows all about what happens here.”

  With an instinct born of my fear, I knew I had to pretend to know very little—not nothing, that wouldn’t be believable; but I had to seem utterly in the dark about the Fleet in order to have any chance of getting away. I needed to seem fearless, even belligerent, as if I didn’t think I had any reason to be afraid of them. And, in a matter of seconds, it was almost as if doors shut inside the maze of my brain. So this is all I knew: I was looking for Jack, and Stephen was a cheat and a liar. And if I told Drummond and Tierney something about Stephen that caused them to trust him less? Well, so be it.

  I shot Stephen a withering look. “You wish you had a chance to see me in women’s skirts. You pretend to be some fine violinist, but you’re a disgusting pig is what you are.”

  Mr. Tierney gave a small snort. “Who the devil is this?”

  “She’s my piano player a few nights a week,” Drummond said. “Or used to be.”

  “She’s not just that,” Stephen said, and there was a raw edge to his voice that he couldn’t quite mask. “She’s Jack’s slut.”

  “And what’s she to you?” Tierney asked. His voice was cool, but there was something in his expression that told me he was the sort of man who discerned other people’s deepest feelings and used them to his own ends.

  Stephen shrugged. “Nothing at all.”

  Tierney’s eyes flickered to Drummond’s. I saw that between them existed an understanding as clear as a private telegraph, and my heart gave a small lurch. Stephen also meant nothing to either of them, that much seemed clear. But Stephen thought he was too smart or too valuable to be taken lightly or to be disposed of. I held on to that thought, keeping it in the back of my mind to use at the right moment.

  “Where’s Jack?” I asked rudely, as if I cared nothing for what they were doing—or was too besotted with Jack to care.

  “I’ve no idea.” Drummond’s black eyes betrayed nothing. “Why were you back here?”

  “Why do you think?” I said impatiently. “I asked one of the boys where Jack was, and he said he saw him plastering. So I was walking down the hallway, and the next thing I knew, Stephen grabbed me from behind and was shoving me through the properties room.”

  “She was standing at the trapdoor listening,” Stephen interjected.

  I whirled. “I was not! What’s wrong with you? First you have me fired so you can bring that friend of yours in here, and now you’re trying to make me out to be some sort of nosy nelly! Well, all I care about is finding Jack. And that’s what you hate, isn’t it? That I like him better than I like you.”

  An incredulous look came into his eyes. “You stupid girl. I don’t give a damn whom you prefer.” He turned to Drummond. “I tell you, she knows about the boys and about the Fleet. I heard her talking to Jack last night. She tried to convince him to betray you to the police.”

  I stared at him like he’d gone mad. “You’re crazy!” I turned to Drummond. “He’s playing you, Mr. Drummond.”

  “Shut up,” Stephen said.

  “Let her speak,” Tierney said. “There’s something here, and I want to know what it is.”

  I ignored Tierney and kept my eyes fixed on Drummond. “Stephen is using you, like he uses everyone. He was thrown out of the Royal Academy for cheating his friend out of a priceless violin. He stole hundreds of pounds from his father’s business by pretending to make bookkeeping errors. He’ll turn on anybody if he sees something to be gained.”

  I was riding a rough edge, I knew, but the only chance I had was to bluff hard. I willed my voice not to shake, even as sweat slid down my back. “He was bragging the other night that somebody named Tierney’s been begging to set him up in some sort of business. He said that you’re a drunkard and on your way down”—I looked at Drummond, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Tierney’s shoulders twitch—“but Stephen’s planning to take what he can get out of Tierney and then make straight for Paris. His father’s so desperate to get rid of him, he’s offered him money to go, too, so he’ll have money from all of you.”

  “Shut up, you bitch,” Stephen spat, his eyes blazing. He turned toward Drummond. “I said nothing of the sort about either of you.”

  “Wait,” said Tierney. He stepped toward Stephen, his head tilted slightly. “You told this chit my name?”

  “Of course not. She’s making it up because she’s guessed who you are.” Stephen’s mouth grew ugly, pressed into a sneer. “I’m telling you, she knows plenty—certainly more than you want her to.” He looked over at Drummond. “That’s Jack’s doing.”

  “Not yours?” Drummond asked.

  “No!”

  “That’s not true. Stephen told me all sorts of things.” I turned to Drummond. “He told me about the two boys who fell off the roof the other night. He said they were robbing a house for you—and it was you who sent them out in the rain.”

  Stephen turned toward me, struck speechless for once.

  I lifted my chin. “You talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

  Tierney gave a short, contemptuous laugh that brought color to Stephen’s cheeks. He turned and gave me a look of pure hate. “You’ll be sorry you did this,” he said hoarsely.

  “Shut up, both of you,” Tierney said. He nodded to Drummond, who motioned toward a hulking young man who’d been standing silently beside a crate.

  “Put her in my office,” Drummond said. “Tie her up, make sure the door’s locked. And Lewis? Don’t talk to her—not one word, do you hear? Then come back here.”

  My heart began to beat all out of rhythm. Drummond drew a key out of his pocket and handed it to Lewis. “Bring it back.”

  I tried one last time, as Lewis pulled me toward the trapdoor: “Mr. Drummond, Stephen sent two men out to kill Jack tonight—”


  But Drummond and Tierney had both turned away.

  Lewis pulled me back through the properties room, dragged me down the hallway to Drummond’s office, and shoved the key into the lock, all the while holding me effortlessly but not brutally. He let me go inside Drummond’s office. When I tried to make for the door, he wrapped his arm around me again, and his hand came up over my mouth. I wrenched and wriggled, clawed with my free hand, kicked his shins with the toe of my boot, fought with everything I had—

  “Stay quiet,” he hissed, and by the light of the lamp I could see his expression was earnest. “I doan want to hurt you. Jack’s my friend.”

  I stopped struggling, and when I nodded, he loosened his grip on my mouth, just enough so that I could say, “I wasn’t lying when I said Stephen sent two men out to kill him.” He looked at me uncertainly, and I added softly, “If you let me go, I have friends who can help.”

  “I cain’t do that. You know I cain’t.” Still holding me by an arm, he reached inside a cupboard and pulled out two lengths of rope. The long piece looked new; the shorter one had stains, as if it had already been used. He examined them for frays and then used the knife to slice through the long piece. He pushed me into the desk chair and deftly fastened the rope around my right wrist.

  “You shouldn’t ’a come back here,” he muttered.

  “Jack could die. If you’re his friend, let me find him.”

  His jaw clenched, but he continued tying my two hands behind my back, then my two ankles to the legs of the chair. Then he brushed off his hands, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, rolled it into a gag, and pulled it firmly around the back of my head.

  A pleading noise crawled up from the back of my throat. Under his breath, he apologized, and then he was gone.

  My breathing grew rough, and my arms were already tingling. I tugged at the ropes holding my hands, but they were snug, and all I achieved was the sting of a rope running a burn along the inside of my wrist.