A Dangerous Duet

by Karen Odden

  “Not until weeks after I’d started playing. And by then—well—”

  “I understand. You didn’t want to give up the money,” Emma said sympathetically.

  “And I’d met Jack.”

  My reply made Peggy groan and put her knuckles up to her forehead.

  I took another sip of tea. “I went to the Octavian tonight to find him. While I was there, I saw something I wasn’t supposed to.” Briefly, I told them about Drummond and Tierney, and what I’d overheard.

  “Guns,” Peggy echoed. “For mercy’s sake.”

  Emma said thoughtfully, “I wonder if the guns are going to Herzegovina. The papers say there’s to be an uprising.”

  “Did the men say anything else?” Peggy interjected.

  “No. They might have, except I was caught listening. Drummond locked me in his office, but Rob came in and cut me free.”

  Peggy put her cup down on her saucer with a clink. “Let’s be plain about this. Drummond and Tierney know you heard about the guns.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then they had no intention of letting you go.”

  “Probably not,” I admitted.

  “Meaning they’ll kill you now if they find you.”

  “Mum!” Emma exclaimed.

  “She’s right,” I said to Emma. “But, they won’t know to come here. What scares me more is that Amalie—she’s a singer at the Octavian—told me that Stephen, one of the other performers who hates Jack, sent two men out after him.”

  Emma drew in her breath. “To hurt him?”

  The alarm in her voice caused fear to surge through me afresh. “To kill him, I think,” I said, my voice cracking. “Jack left the Octavian at around four, and no one has seen him since. I’ve been everywhere looking.”

  Peggy got up and poured more tea into my cup. “You still haven’t told us who Sarah is.”

  “She’s a friend of Jack’s, who works at a public house called the Bear and Bull. She promised if he showed up that she’d get word to me. I gave her this address.”

  “Not your home address,” Peggy said, her mouth pursing.

  My heart sank. “I’m so sorry, Peggy. I had no intention of bringing any sort of danger to your doorstep—and I hope I haven’t. But I knew I couldn’t go home.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Stephen knows my address. One night we had dinner together, and he put me in a hansom cab.”

  She sat back in her chair. “And you think he remembers it.”

  “If that boy who came to the house was sent by Stephen, then he certainly does.”

  “And it’s best to be safe,” Emma interposed gently. “No one will think of coming here for you. I mean,” she said, with a glance at her mother, “no one who wasn’t sent by this girl you trust.”

  “Speaking of which”—Peggy looked up at the clock—“where is the boy?”

  “I hope nothing’s happened to him,” I said.

  “I want to make sure nothing happens to you.” She looked me over. “Have you had any supper?”

  I shook my head.

  She rose, cut a slab of bread, and spread it with butter. I’d choked down half of it when we heard a knock at the door.

  “You two stay here,” Peggy said firmly.

  She returned in a moment with Rob ahead of her. “This is him.”

  His eyes widened with relief when he saw me. “You’re here, finally! Well, come on then.”

  “Is Jack all right?” I demanded. “Is he alive?”

  His eyes darted to the bread with butter that I’d dropped on the plate and then back to me. “Yah, he’s alive.”

  I let out a gasp of relief, and beside me I heard Emma murmur, “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “But ’e’s hurt, and we’re wastin’ time, and ’e sent me to fetch ye hours ago! If you ain’t going to come—”

  “I’m coming,” I interrupted and stood up. “Of course I am. How bad is it?”

  “Got a knife cut ’ere to ’ere.” His hand went from the middle of his thigh down to his knee. “He’s goin’ t’ need a doctor.”

  “Nothing else?” I asked. “Just the knife wound?”

  He shrugged. “Some cuts and scrapes, but nothin’ to speak of.”

  I took a deep breath. The uncertainty of the past hours had been wretched. Knowing that Jack was alive, with a type of wound that I knew could be healed, allowed me to set fear aside and be practical. I put my arms into the sleeves of my coat. “I know where we can take him.”

  “Cain’t be a hospital,” he said. “They’ll want t’ know wot happened.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I know a doctor who won’t say anything. We can stop by his club—and if he’s not there, we’ll go to his house.”

  “He won’t be there,” Peggy said.

  I began to fasten the buttons. “At which? His club or home?”

  “Neither.” The shortness in her voice made me look up.

  “Why not?” I asked slowly. “Where is he?”

  Her mouth was set in a resentful line. “I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you. Why he didn’t tell you ’afore this, I’ve no idea.”

  My hands gripped the edge of the table, and I bent toward Peggy. “You do mean Dr. Everett, don’t you? For goodness’ sake, just tell me. Where can I find him?” I just hoped it wasn’t far away. I didn’t relish the thought of having to drive Jack miles across the city.

  “He has a companion.” Pink spots appeared in her cheeks, but she did not look away.

  The kitchen was silent except for a soft snapping inside the stove.

  “From his club?” I asked finally.

  “Yes.”

  Rob gave a snort and pulled a face, his upper teeth coming down well over his lower lip, in an effort not to laugh.

  I bent my head and continued fastening my coat, my fingertips fumbling with the metal buttons, while I tried to absorb this. Should I have guessed? The fact that he’d never married; the way he bent over every woman’s hand but never showed any personal interest in them—

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “A man named Charles Tindale.”

  “Charles Tindale,” I echoed. “The merchant. He was a patient, several years ago.”

  “Yes.”

  My mind assembled all the small signs of Mr. Tindale’s connection with Dr. Everett—the letter with the foreign stamps, the Oriental-looking cuff links, quite possibly the jade box in my bedroom—

  “Give us ’is address, then, and let’s git on our way,” Rob said.

  Peggy turned to me. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”

  “She ain’t goin’ alone,” he protested. “I’ll be with her.”

  “And what if you’re leading her into a trap?”

  “Love o’ Christ!” he exploded. “I’ve been tearin’ all over Lon’on, tryin’ to find ’er—’nd makin’ sure Jack is awright—’nd runnin’ my fool ’ead off. I ain’t goin’ to lead her into any bloody trap!”

  “It’s all right, Peggy. He’s already saved me once tonight.” I drew up my collar. “He’s been wonderfully brave and smart.”

  Rob looked surprised and then gratified. “Well, I owe ’im,” he muttered.

  “Tell me the address where you’re going,” Peggy said.

  He gave a sulky look. “Thirty-six Pelman Street.”

  I turned to Peggy. “Do you know it?”

  “I know where Pelman is. Can’t say I know the number, but he’s right. It’s not far.” Her lips came together in a thin line. “If you’re going, take this with you.” She reached up into a cabinet and pulled down a wicker basket. From it she retrieved a revolving pistol and handed it to me.

  This gun was smaller than my father’s, but the barrel was black and sinister looking.

  “Cor!” Rob breathed. “That’s a fine piece.”

  “My husband’s,” Peggy said shortly. She took some bullets out of the basket and held them in her cupped hand.

  Some hesitancy must have shown o
n my face. Shooting a gun with Matthew, as part of my logical education, was one thing; loading a gun with the thought of using it was quite another.

  “I’ll carry it if you want,” Rob said.

  Peggy glared at him.

  “What if she fires it off by mistake?” he demanded. “I’ll end up with a hole in the back o’ my head—”

  “Don’t worry,” I said to him. I took the gun and loaded four of the five chambers. When I’d glanced up, Rob’s expression had changed.

  “Cor,” Rob said again. “You’re a queer sort of girl, knowin’ how to handle a gun like ’at.”

  Peggy gave a sniff.

  I slipped the pistol into my coat pocket. “I’ve left the first chamber empty, for safety,” I told him. “So you needn’t worry about the back of your head.”

  Peggy’s mouth twitched. “Chances are, you just firing it will be enough to scare anybody off, whether you hit ’em or not.”

  Soberly, I replied, “I’m hoping I don’t need to fire it at all.”

  I found Emma in the parlor. She was standing beside a desk, fighting a cough, a handkerchief to her mouth. When she saw me, she tucked her handkerchief away and picked up a square of paper from the desk. “Here, Nell.” She held it toward me. “It’s Mr. Tindale’s address.”

  “Thank you, Emma.”

  “Of course.” Emma put her hand on my arm.

  It’s so thin, I thought. I gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll send Rob back with a message once I find Jack. I’ll sign it Edward, all right? So you know I’m writing it freely.”

  “You have paper and something to write with?”

  If I were dressed as a woman, I would have. “No, I don’t.”

  She opened a drawer in the desk and gave me a small bit of paper and a pencil. I tucked them into the inside pocket of my coat.

  Peggy and Rob were by the front door. She had given him a slice of bread with butter, and he was shoving it in his mouth. As I approached, she bent toward him. “And so help me, if she ends up hurt, I’ll find you.”

  His mouth full, he simply nodded and turned the door handle.

  The cold night air made me shiver. I slid my hand around the pistol’s handle, feeling the reassuring heft of it against my palm.

  And Rob and I went out into the dark.

  Chapter 28

  The top of Rob’s head barely came to my shoulder, but he started down the street at a pace that forced me to hurry. Rather breathlessly, I said, “Tell me again, how badly is he hurt, and how long ago did it happen?”

  “About six or seven o’clock, best I can figure. He was bleedin’ like a stuck pig at first, but we tied somethin’ around it.”

  “Who else besides you?”

  “My brother Gus. That’s why I had to leave Jack. That’s why I wish you’d been at Peggy’s the first time.”

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to find someone I thought could help. Where’s Gus now?”

  “Where d’you think? He’s working—but I had to take him there.” And then, under his breath, “Wouldn’t ’a left Jack otherwise, but ’e’s barely ten years old.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. No wonder he’d been so angry when Peggy hinted that he was leading me into a trap. Rob had done more than anyone should ask of a child tonight. By the light of the gas lamps I could see the weariness and the worry in his thin, set face. I remembered how he’d devoured the bread, and I promised myself that when this was over, I’d find a way to repay him myself.

  “What did you mean when you said you owed Jack?” I asked.

  He cast a suspicious look at me. “Why ye want to know?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  He sniffed. “’E’s alwus been decent, not like his da. But last week ’e got me and Gus warm clothes and shoes. ’Nd he got Gus to the doctor.”

  I heard this with a mix of gratitude and satisfaction. Jack had not only checked on them; he’d been generous. We hurried around a corner, and I asked, “Who is this friend, whose place we’re going to?”

  “It’s a brothel. M’sister works there.” He glanced sideways, his face sullen and ashamed. “I didn’t know no place else to take ’im.”

  I could tell he expected me to be appalled, but I said matter-of-factly, “Well, it was clever of you to take him somewhere safe that you know. It’s certainly better than letting him lie outside on a night like this. He’d catch pneumonia.” He didn’t say anything, but he looked relieved. “Where did you find him?”

  “Behind a dustbin.”

  So my guess of an alley wasn’t far off. “Did he say anything? Who did it, or—”

  “’E said there was two of ’em. Jack hit one of ’em, broke ’is jaw, he thinks, and he ran off. Then t’other one came at ’im with a knife, pulled it so fast Jack didn’t even see it.”

  “But Jack got away?”

  Rob sneezed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Aye. ’E grabbed the knife, stuck ’im in the arm. Then that one done run off, too.”

  “Dear God.”

  “Wot?” he demanded, his face incredulous. “Would you rather ’e got cut up?”

  “Of course not. It’s just awful, the whole thing. And two against one—it wasn’t even a fair fight.”

  “That Stephen’s no man,” he agreed scornfully. “I niver seen such a coward—sending two men out to fight ’is battles for ’im.”

  “Do you—that is, did Jack say he thought Stephen did it?”

  “Nah. ’E ain’t the type to say. But Stephen was doin’ all ’e could to get next to Drummond.”

  “I think Stephen wanted a ship for himself.”

  He snorted. “Tierney would’a seen through ’im. ’E’s a bastard, and plen’y vicious. But ’e ain’t stupid.” That had been my impression of Tierney as well, formed from those few minutes I saw him.

  Rob slowed and pointed to a three-story house opposite. “Thar’s the back. Front’s more for show, with gewgaws, and all lit up.”

  “How do we get in?”

  He headed toward a set of stairs that led belowground. “Down here.”

  I halted. “I thought you meant he’d be in one of the rooms.”

  He turned back. In the light from the windows above, his face looked older than his years. Jaded, even. He studied me for a moment, as if evaluating how much to tell me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Finally, he shrugged. “The rooms cost money, see? The girls haf t’rent the rooms by the night, whether they got comp’ny or not.” He waved a hand. “Tonight, all the rooms are took.” He didn’t wait for me to answer, but started down the short flight of crumbling steps. My hand grasped the metal railing; it was damp and smelled of rust. This entrance, with two metal doors, looked as if it were rarely used.

  He hauled open one of the doors and called, “Jack! I brung her. But she’s worried it ain’t you. Say sumpin’.”

  Nothing. Rob swore under his breath. I called out, softly. “Jack?”

  “I’m here,” came a voice, weak but unmistakably his.

  I felt a rush of relief. Grasping the railing, I started down the stairs, and then, as Rob brushed past me to go back up, I stopped him. “Wait.” Hurriedly I pulled Emma’s paper and pencil from my pocket. “Would you take the note back to Peggy for me?”

  He hesitated, only for an instant. With a pang of regret, I realized that I’d been so overwhelmed with my own concerns that I hadn’t given any thought to his. “I’m sorry. Do you have time? Are you able to manage it?”

  He nodded, his expression flat. “I’ll take it for ye.”

  I scribbled a note: “I’m here with Jack. Edward.”

  He stuffed the missive in his pocket. I dug into my pocket and pulled out a few shillings. “Here. Take a hansom cab if it’ll help—and get yourself something to eat. Goodness knows you deserve it after everything you’ve done tonight. And Rob—thank you.”

  I put the coins into his palm and closed his cold fingers over them. He mumbled something that might have been “Yo
u’re welcome” and stowed the coins deep inside his shirt.

  At the top of the stairs he turned. “By the way—he ain’t got pants on. We ’ad to take ’em off.”

  I felt my cheeks grow warm but kept my voice practical, to match his. “All right.”

  Then he was gone.

  I slid my foot to the step’s edge, feeling my way in the dark. I took a deep breath and smelled potatoes, onions, and thyme.

  “Jack? Where are you?”

  “Over here. Close the door behind you. I’ve got a light . . . just a minute . . . trying to reach it . . .”

  I heard the scrape of a match and saw the flame between his hands, touching the wick of a candle. It stood in a metal holder, which he held with his finger through the ring. His other hand shielded the flame. I closed the metal door against its mate.

  “Careful on the steps,” he said.

  I groped my way forward, my hand on the rough stone wall. The ceiling was so low that I couldn’t stand up straight.

  “Is there a lamp somewhere?” I asked as I reached him.

  “I don’t know.”

  I took the candle from him and raised it, pivoting slowly. The flame caught the shine of a lantern hanging from one of the wooden beams overhead, back in an alcove. I took it down off its nail and was heartened by the slosh of oil. In a moment, I had it lit; by its glow, I could see sacks of potatoes and onions along the wall, herbs hung in bunches from the rafters, and several crates with what looked like a French stamp on their sides.

  I turned toward Jack, holding up the light. “Rob said you were hurt.”

  He nodded and gestured toward his leg. I moved closer, at first keeping my eyes away from his undergarments. But I didn’t have time to worry about his modesty, or my own. The wound was worse than I’d imagined. It wasn’t just the size of the gash, which was nearly as long as my forearm; there were smears of grime across it. Two dirty rags were tied tightly near the top and bottom of the gash, but the parts around them were red and oozing. Blood had made a small pool to the side of his thigh, a dark splotch against the dirt.

  I tried not to show my dismay.

  “It was . . . a knife,” he said, with some effort.

  “Do you have it still? Or a blade of your own?”