“Edmond is the worst of all the men I’ve met,” Emmaline protested. “I could no sooner cast myself into the sea!”
“It’s not just about how you feel about him,” her mother insisted.
Emmaline stepped back, aware of how intent her mother had become. She was beginning to see pieces laid out before her. The events of her life—of these past few years—all led to this moment. She was meant to save the family from the consequences of their choices. Is this really what she was? A political stratagem they could deploy at their whim?
Emmaline’s stomach turned, and she felt a weakness come over her again. Her head was swimming as she tried to take a few steps toward the door. She was trapped in a nightmare. The weight of it all was too much for her to bear.
“I don’t—”
But that was all Emmaline managed to get out before she was overtaken by her dizziness and collapsed to the floor.
You are hereby discharged from military service for conduct unbecoming of a soldier representing the meritocracy, effective immediately.
—Excerpt from Vanzeal’s Letter of Discharge
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Vanzeal's Message
CHARLOTTE REPOSITIONED THE BASKET ON her hip as she made her way through the streets toward the old theater. On her way to deliver some food and a few necessities to Margarete, she wrestled with thoughts of Margarete’s departure. Things had escalated quickly. In the course of a few short weeks they had been threatened, burglarized, and an attempt had been made to kidnap one of her girls.
What they might have done to her had they gotten her alone, Charlotte didn’t want to consider it.
Charlotte pursed her lips as she contemplated the danger that threatened her girls. She’d never imagined these challenges when she’d taken on the role of house matron. She’d known there were risks in letting Margarete scorn the meritocracy, long before Dempwolf had appeared and made his initial threat. But had she realized just how far he’d go to silence her?
She rested her hand on her hip as she walked, taking comfort in the outline of the knife which she’d kept on her person. A precaution given Dempwolf’s persistence. She’d advised all of her girls to arm themselves. Clearly none of them were beyond harm.
Again Charlotte questioned whether she should have held Margarete back. To interject in her girl’s decisions went against everything that she believed in, but in light of the recent threats she questioned if she’d acted in Margarete’s best interest. What if something was to happen to her? Would Charlotte ever be able to forgive herself?
As far as she was concerned, every girl had a right to choose the course of her life. If Margarete was so set on escaping the brothel then that was her prerogative. Charlotte held no ill will toward her for wanting something more. Sure, it made things a little more complicated when it came to the house’s relationship with the meritocracy, but with some careful maneuvering Charlotte was confident she could deflect the worst of the backlash.
That was, if they could remove Margarete far enough that she could be forgotten.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t Charlotte’s only concern. The meritocracy could be managed, but there was a mole in her house. For that reason she’d kept knowledge of Margarete’s whereabouts quiet, telling as few of the girls as possible.
Despite her efforts, however, she wasn’t certain how long she’d be able to keep Margarete safe. Time was not their ally.
Rounding a corner she came into view of the abandoned theater. It was an old structure, dating back to Charlotte’s childhood. While the outer appearance was derelict, it still had good bones and stood strong despite the passing of time. Apart from the occasional vagabond and vagrant, it went unnoticed. It was the perfect place for Margarete to hide, out of sight of the prying eyes of the meritocracy.
Charlotte paused a moment before she crossed the street, adjusting the weight of the basket on her hip and glancing up and down the street one last time before she went in. Ever since Margarete’s near arrest she wasn’t taking any chances.
She was just about to cross the street when she spotted a man a ways back, skirting close to the buildings. Charlotte pretended to adjusting something in her basket as she watched the figure out of her peripherals. Sure enough, he stopped before he came close, turning away and leaning casually against the building.
Charlotte eyed him suspiciously before crossing the street.
On the other side she kept up a brisk pace. She was crossing in front of the theater and she looked over her shoulder once more. For a second she saw no sign of the man, just the common shuffle of the lazy street, but then she caught sight of him again. He’d crossed the street with her and had paused behind a crate outside one of the shops. He feigned interest in the wares, but she sensed his attention directed toward her.
Shifting her basket to the other side of her hip she squared her shoulders and passed on by the theater, taking a random street. If he was following her, then he was about to join her on a very long walk.
Charlotte cut east through the city, keeping up a brisk pace and selecting streets randomly as she led the man further into the Basin District. Here the streets were narrow and unorthodox, often cluttered with makeshift hovels and neglected debris. For a while she thought she might have a good chance losing him amidst it. However, her tail was as determined as she was, always managing to reappear whenever she thought she’d lost him.
After a while she tried a different tactic. Through a series of quick turns she doubled back on her path and managed once again to lose sight of the man. She doubled her pace, hoping to put distance between them as he continued in the general direction of the bay.
After she’d turned three more streets and ducked back into a doorway, she let herself recover.
Looking back over her shoulder, Charlotte breathed in relief. The man was nowhere to be seen. Whether he’d given up his pursuit or else she’d lost him on one of the switchbacks, she didn’t know. She scolded herself for having come alone and made a mental note to have the other girls travel in pairs in the future. None of them were safe as long as Margarete was hunted.
Hiking up her skirt, Charlotte hurried on in the direction of the theater.
Her relief was short-lived, however. As she crossed another street, her heart fell in her chest as the same man emerged from one of the adjacent alleyways not two dozen steps ahead of her. Their eyes locked, and Charlotte saw the recognition and intent bloom in his eyes.
There was no doubting his purpose now.
Charlotte turned into the street and raced down the opposite alley, running with little regard for where she was going. She only wanted to put distance between her and her pursuer. Oddly he’d made no effort to call out after her, and she couldn’t hear him behind her now. She glanced backwards only to see an empty street.
It was a game of cat and mouse, she realized, and she felt the walls of the city closing in around her. He was playing her as much as she was him.
She did her best to make her path erratic, trusting fortune to guide her and praying he was unfamiliar with this part of the city. The basket made her flight awkward, but she clung to it tightly. Emerging from another alley she cried out again as she came face to face with the man.
“Excuse me,” he said with a humored grin. “You wouldn’t happen to know where a man could find himself a drink at this hour?” His breaths came heavy with the exertion of the chase as he eyed her with predatory satisfaction.
Charlotte stepped back to give herself a bit of distance. How had he moved so quickly? He must have known the Basin better than she did to get ahead of her, she concluded.
“I’m afraid you’re on the wrong side of town,” she said, keeping up the game. “There’s a pub back in Ashton Park. That way.” She pointed in the opposite direction.
“Oh, well that’s inconvenient,” he said, though the smile didn’t leave his face. “I’ve come all this way already, I was hoping to find something on hand. What about you? You look like a tal
l drink of water.”
“I’m not interested,” Charlotte said, stepping to the side to try to get around him, but he blocked her path with his body.
“Perhaps you can help me find someone specific then?” he asked. “I’m looking for a woman, by the name of Margarete.”
Charlotte’s jaw stiffened. “I don’t know who that is,” she said dismissively.
“Don’t you?” he asked. “I would have thought the matron of any whorehouse would know the names at least of the girls in her charge. And where to find them.”
Charlotte stared at the man, her temper rising at his brash display of confidence. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And what do you want?”
“My name is Vanzeal,” he said. “And what I want is the girl you’re trying to hide from me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to skirt past him again.
Vanzeal seized her arm. “I’m afraid we both know that’s a lie.”
“Let go of me,” Charlotte protested, trying to wrench her arm away, but Vanzeal’s grip remained unbroken. Her eyes darted up and down the alley in search of someone who might be able to assist, but no one was near enough to witness the confrontation.
She’d run herself into a corner, and he’d chosen the moment to spring his trap expertly.
“I’ve watched your place long enough to know how you run your little operation,” Vanzeal said, pulling her close. “I’m certain there isn’t a single thing that happens under your roof that you aren’t aware of. Now, Margarete wouldn’t be so foolish to return to the brothel—not now that she knows I’m coming for her. So the question remains, where is she hiding?”
“She doesn’t pose a threat to anyone,” Charlotte insisted. “She only wishes to leave the city, just as soon as she’s able. I’ll see to it personally. You have my word.”
“I’m sorry,” Vanzeal sneered, “but that’s not how things are going to work. That’s not how I work. My employer was very specific as to the services he required of me. You understand, don’t you? It’s just business.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t tell you where she is.”
“I know,” Vanzeal said. “Pity. This could go much easier for both of us if you would cooperate.”
“I would never betray one of my girls, not to a scoundrel like you.”
Charlotte spat in his face and Vanzeal flinched, his grip tightening. Muttering a curse, Vanzeal wiped his cheek with his free hand and stared at his open palm.
“Then what other use could you have to me?” he said looking back to her.
It was the way he said it, how his eyes seemed to swell with joy even as she refused him. Charlotte felt her whole body go cold. She’d seen that look before in eyes like his, only once.
This was no typical man.
Charlotte tried harder to wrench her arm away, but Vanzeal lashed out at her with his other. The back of his hand struck her face and the basket she carried fell from her arms, its contents scattering across the ground.
Vanzeal surveyed its contents. “You were on your way there now, weren’t you?” he asked. His head craned as he glanced around the street. “She’s nearby, isn’t she?”
“You’ll never find her,” Charlotte growled, the mark of his hand surfacing in her cheek. As she spoke her hand crept toward her hip, grasping her knife. “No matter how long you seek she’ll we’ll keep her three steps ahead of you. You have my word.”
“Perhaps,” Vanzeal shrugged. “But I don’t have to look for her. One way or another she’ll have to surface again. It would be in her best interest. Do you know what you are to me, right now? You’re just a means to an end. An obstacle that happens to have fallen into my path. And while I’m sure I could find some pleasure in you if circumstances were different I’m in no playful mood tonight. So I’ll ask one last time. Take me to her!”
“Never!” Charlotte cried out, drawing out her knife. Raising it high, she swung it downward at Vanzeal’s chest. He reacted as though he’d read her move, catching her wrist in his hand and pulling her tight against him.
Charlotte’s eyes went wide.
“So much spirit in the desperate,” Vanzeal grinned. In a motion he twisted her hand and bent her arm around so that he held her from behind. Charlotte let out a cry as she felt him sink the steel edge of her own knife into her side.
“Now,” Vanzeal whispered, the blade still resting under her skin. “Bring her to me.”
He drew out the knife in a smooth motion and watched her stumble onto the nearby steps as she struggled to catch herself. The pain spread like fire though her side, seizing up as she staggered. It overwhelmed her and she fell against the ground, shaking as the shock began to overtake her. Her hand touched the spot where she’d been stabbed and felt the wet soaking through the fabric.
Vanzeal sneered, tossing the knife into the street as he left her to tend to her wound.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Unwell
WHEN EMMALINE AWOKE SHE WAS surprised to find herself in her own room. The sun was low, its amber rays spilling stubbornly through the curtains so that the room was dimly lit. She’d been propped up on her bed by a small mountain of pillows and someone had taken the time to dress her in one of her nightgowns.
She tried sitting up, but her head still felt light and she fell back into her pillows.
“Ah! She’s back,” a man Emmaline didn’t recognize said. He sat nearby, reading a book. When he noticed her stirring he snapped the book closed and sat up in his chair.
“Who are you?” Emmaline asked.
“My name is Doctor Bertram,” he said. “Pleased to finally meet you, Emmaline. I’ve heard your father talk about you many times. How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” she said touching her temple gently. “What happened to me?”
“You fainted,” Dr. Bertram said. He rose from the chair and came closer to the bed. “And you bumped your head on the way down too, I’m afraid. So if you’re feeling a little sore that’s probably why.”
“Is it serious?” she asked.
“Oh, I think not,” he smiled as his eyes narrowed to examine her. “It’s possible that the heat got to you, or that you just didn’t eat enough at supper today. Or perhaps you had a bit of a shock? It’s not so uncommon a thing. Do you remember what you were doing before you fell?”
Emmaline thought back on the last thing she remembered. She regretted it instantly, however, as her earlier conversation with her mother came flooding back into her mind. She sunk into her pillows and pulled the blanket up against her neck. How she wished she could go back to being unconscious.
“I know you might not feel up to it now,” Dr. Bertram said, “but it would help if you ate something. I had your handmaid bring this up for you earlier. It should still be warm.”
He pulled the cover off of a small platter which sat beside her bed. Underneath was a bit of toast and tomato, with a little meat on the side. Emmaline turned up her nose. The thought of eating seemed laborious. Talking was laborious. Practically everything was laborious. She just wanted to go back to sleep and forget everything that had happened.
Was it possible to faint twice in a day?
“I promise, it will make you feel better,” Dr. Bertram encouraged. “Those are fresh tomatoes from the gardens, I’m told.”
When Emmaline didn’t stir he placed the cover back over the food and pulled the chair up to her bed. Taking his seat again he watched her inquisitively as though he were studying her. Emmaline found it uncomfortable, so she turned her head away slightly, hoping to discourage him.
“If food isn’t what you need then what would make you feel better?”
“Nothing,” Emmaline said. “I don’t want to talk.”
“If something is troubling you, then it would make it much easier to treat if I knew the source,” he explained. “I’m more than willing to be an ear if you needed one. And, as your doctor, you have my word whatever is said will stay betwee
n you and me.”
Emmaline didn’t look up. The invitation tugged at her, but she wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to speak openly about what her family was going through just yet. The more she thought about it the more sick it made her feel.
She was certain extra ears would only compound her problems.
Quite on their own, her thoughts went to Stoddard. She would have liked to talk to him then, but he’d been the one who’d surfaced all of this unpleasantness to begin with. And while he’d been right about her father, she wasn’t sure she could bear his company either until she’d sorted it out.
She was wrestling with her thoughts when the door to the room opened and her mother and father entered. Their expressions were serious, but when they saw that Emmaline was awake they both appeared visibly relieved.
Again, Emmaline sought the sanctuary of her blanket.
“Oh, Emmaline,” her mother said. She swept around the bed and threw her arms around her. Emmaline let it happen, hardly feeling the warmth of the gesture. Her body remained stiff and immobile.
Her mother eyed her with concern when Emmaline didn’t stir.
“Well?” Worthington asked Dr. Bertram. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s had a rough day,” Bertram said, “but she should be fine after a bit of rest. I think she’s had a bit of a shock is all.”
“Then tonight’s plans are forfeit,” her father frowned. “I’ll have to inform Farley that we won’t be in attendance.”
They were going to miss a visit to Edmond’s, Emmaline realized. The first good news of the day. She silently thanked her fainting spell.
“Is that really necessary?” Mary asked. “Shouldn’t we still go? It wouldn’t be right to refuse his invitation. Not again.”
“I’m afraid I have to interject on Emmaline’s behalf,” Bertram said. “Emmaline needs her rest. She can’t be expected to go anywhere tonight.”
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