by Riley Cole
When the inspector came out, all three constables converged on him. Like a small, blonde shadow, the girl followed.
Despite his anger, he had to smile. She was good.
Sensing he’d exhausted his place by the vegetables, Spencer moved toward the peaches and plums. The inspector talked with his landlady and the constables for a moment longer before the group broke up and he and his underlings hurried around the corner, out of sight. Mrs. Finnian trudged back up the stairs into the building.
It wasn’t a moment later that his little spy returned. Her eyes were wide and bright with interest. “It ain’t money. Those coppers, they think you stole a bloody necklace. Diamonds, they said.”
His stomach clenched. “Diamonds?”
She nodded solemnly. “A diamond necklace. They say you took it.”
“Did you see it?”
“That inspector said it wasn’t there. Said you gave it to your lady friend.”
Spencer blinked. Meena. Damnable hell.
His heart sped up. Blood pumped hard through his chest and into his legs, urging him to run.
Small white fists resting on thin hips, his little helper considered him. “I’ll have that money now.” She thrust out a hand.
Spencer pulled a shilling from his pocket and paid her. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”
They would have carriages. They’d need to stay to the main roads. With some small amount of luck, he could reach Meena first.
His helper tugged on his coat, halting him. “I believe you about the diamonds.” She shook her head sadly. “You ain’t no sea captain though.”
And then she was gone.
Spencer ran. He ran as if he’d been shocked by an electrical current. Ran as if his life depended on it.
If Ramsay got to Meena first, it most assuredly did.
Meena strolled down the tree-lined boulevard, swinging her parasol by its ebony handle. The air was sweet with the scent of summer blooms, and she was most pleasantly tired from her exertions at Master Tadeoka’s studio.
A gust of wind whirled past, bending the brim of her hat, and whipping the light skirts of her walking dress around her legs. A cloud scudded across the sun, dimming the bright light for the briefest of instants.
She had neither Briar’s innate skills—nor the same fascination with the martial arts—but even she recognized their necessity. And she did so enjoy fencing with her parasol. All in all, it had been an excellent morning. If it weren’t considered excessively vulgar, she would’ve whistled a tune.
The flower-scented breeze mingled perfectly with the bright summer sun, casting her neighborhood in a most delightful light. She was glad she’d been inspired to skip the crowded omnibus and walk home.
As she passed the new milliner’s shop several blocks from her house, a lovely ivory confection in the window caught her eye. All satin, it gleamed in the late afternoon light. Dark red roses cascaded down the center of the bodice, across the skirt, and around the hem. She leaned closer, admiring the miles of burgundy brocade edging the ruffles that cascaded down the fashionable bustle. Such a gown would make a woman feel elegant. Assured.
Unassailable.
Meena set her parasol in the crook of her arm and pressed her hands to the serviceable gray linen of her walking dress. She bought it thinking the high collar, the straight lines of the flat lapels, the complete lack of frippery, made her appear calm and dependable. Commanding of trust.
But next to such a wonderfully feminine—and wickedly sensuous—creation she felt rather drab, like a sparrow in the company of popinjays. Briar might have a point. Perhaps her wardrobe could do with a bit of spicing up.
She pulled back from glass, blurring her reflection. Spicing up led directly to heartache. Serviceable, unapproachable gray would most definitely do.
At the moment, she could ill afford a new dress anyway. It was her prudence with money that allowed them all to live so comfortably. To say nothing of financing her dream. Obtaining restitution for those who had no other options cost far more than she had imagined. Maybe, once she was assured the new train lines she’d invested in were sound, she might treat herself.
Meena continued on toward home. She was admiring the buttery yellow daffodils on display at the florist shop on the corner when a body shoved into her from behind. She stumbled forward. Strong hands grabbed her waist, and the next thing she knew, she was being pushed around the corner into a quiet alleyway.
Her parasol was in her hand before she even was aware of it. She twisted to the side and lashed out, aiming for the throat, the eyes, anywhere vulnerable to the steel tip.
“Meena!” A hand grabbed the tip of her parasol. “Stop. It’s Spencer.”
She blinked, trying to let her eyes adjust to the dim light in the alley. Her heart was pounding so hard, it was difficult to breathe. “Crane?” She yanked her parasol from his grip. “Is there some reason you can’t greet me like a normal person?”
“There’s no time.” He appeared to be breathing hard as well. “Ramsay set us up. The police have been to my lodgings. They’re on their way here.”
Meena took several long, deep breaths and waited for her pulse to return to normal. When she could breathe without gasping, she set her parasol back in the crook of her arm and pulled at the cuffs of her dress, straightening the sleeves. “I can’t imagine what this could have to do with me. You’re the one who went into business with the man.”
Crane rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze straying to the opening of the alleyway. “The police were at my home, searching for a diamond necklace. It was that inspector, the tall dark-haired fellow from Blackborough’s ball.”
Meena snorted. “Given the guest list that night, I have no doubt a great many pieces went missing. I didn’t take any. As I told you, I’m no longer in business.”
Crane looked as if he wanted to shake her. “The diamonds weren’t in my rooms. The inspector said they were on their way to a woman’s house to get them. They’re coming for you, Meena.”
“A woman’s house?” She laughed. “Familiar as I am with your tendencies, I’d imagine there are any number of women this inspector might be referring to.”
Crane looked to the heavens. “There are no other women. Even if there were, you’re the only one who was with me at the ball.”
Meena studied the rough bricks behind him. She would have liked to believe him, but she’d be better off believing the Earth was flat. Being a person of a scientific persuasion, however, she couldn’t ignore the body of evidence that very much suggested Spencer Crane had a woman stashed in every neighborhood of Greater London.
“I’m sure you mean well. Thank you very much for the warning.” Meena turned her back to him and started out of the alley.
Crane grabbed her arm.
“Let go.” She shook off his grip and continued walking.
“I can’t do that.”
She sped up, refusing to argue. He matched her step for step. They walked in silence for an entire block, close enough to her house now that the boulevard had narrowed to a quieter residential lane.
Meena could just make out the front of her house another block farther along when Crane stepped in front of her. He gripped her shoulders, a pleading look in his eyes. “I know why he’s after you.” His gaze dropped away from her face, as if embarrassed. “Ramsay imagines I care for you.”
She stiffened beneath his hands. “Well then, the man is all kinds of a fool, isn’t he?”
Crane dropped his hands to his sides.
Why Spencer Crane was able to turn her emotions into a muddled mess, she’d never know. The only way to regain her footing was to escape. Meena stepped around him and continued toward home.
Spencer stalked after her. “You truly are the most stubborn woman I have ever—”
Meena stopped short. Crane trod on her heel, a soft curse slipping past his lips.
She raised a hand to silence him.
Mrs. Hapgood’s red broom leaned agai
nst the doorframe, as if she’d left it to hurry back inside.
“You were right.” Meena kept her voice low. “Something is badly wrong.”
Crane looked puzzled.
“The broom. It’s our signal.”
Crane pulled her back into the shadows of the great willow in Mrs. Saplotski’s front yard. He cocked his chin, calling her attention to the two blue-uniformed constables loitering two doors past hers.
She nodded. “I assume you have a plan?”
His mouth tightened. “Not as such.”
Meena put her hands on her hips. “Finding me constituted your entire plan?”
Crane’s attention was on the street, his gaze darting to every bush, every shadow.
The tight set of his jaw worried her. “What are you expecting?”
“Ramsay. He wouldn’t miss this.”
Meena pushed away from the tree. “I’ll go in through the cellar. Mrs. Hapgood always—”
“No.” Crane gripped her arm. “They’ll be around back. That detective is exceedingly thorough. Had my entire street covered. And there’s Ramsay. He’s here, waiting for us to do something stupid. I can feel it.”
Meena ground her teeth. “Stupid? You, the man without a plan, think I’m stupid? If that isn’t the outside of enough.”
Confusion muddled his features. “No! I didn’t mean...You… I…” He stopped, sensing a trap, but clearly befuddled.
Meena squinted at the house, wishing she knew what was going on inside. “They might need my help.” She picked at the twisted bark of the willow, her thoughts racing. “Let’s agree, for the moment, that you’re correct. It couldn’t take long to search for this necklace. They’ll be on their way soon.” She glanced up at the sky, filtered through the willow leaves. “It’ll be dark in an hour, easier to slip in then.”
“Retreat seems the more prudent option. We’ll find somewhere safe. Think this through. We can send someone to get word to your family.”
“Do what you wish.” She waved off his suggestion as if it were nothing but an irritating insect. “I’m going to wait until dark and break in.”
“I’m not leaving you here. I’ll find us somewhere to hide until—”
Meena raised a hand to silence him off.
Mrs. Saplotzki was watching them through the parlor window, a puzzled frown on her lined face.
“Good day, Mrs. Saplotzki.” Meena forced a bright smile and waved. “Just admiring your Salix Babylonia. It’s a fine specimen.”
If anything, the old woman’s expression darkened.
“Ever the crabby old biscuit,” Meena murmured. “I believe it’s best we move on.”
Crane took her arm, and they strolled away in the opposite direction.
She pretended great interest in a row of pink petunias three doors down, but inside she was boiling. “Don’t think you can tell me what to do.” She made no effort to keep the anger out of her voice.
“Tell you what to do?” He stiffened, his eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. “I came here to help. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be explaining yourself to the crushers right now.”
Meena stabbed the sidewalk with the tip of her parasol. “I don’t need you to save me. I’ve never needed you to save me. Now please, do take yourself off. You’ve caused enough trouble.”
Crane looked as if he wanted to smash something. “If I can’t persuade you, then at least let me look over the house before you go crashing in.”
Meena barely heard him. She was staring at her front door. The dark-haired inspector from Blackborough’s ball was just stepping out. Mr. and Mrs. Hapgood shuffled out onto the stoop after him. Even a block away, the worry etched in their faces stood out.
A necklace swung from the detective’s fingers.
The group on the step started, surprised by a figure bursting out of the bushes beneath her parlor window.
Ramsay.
A hot flush of anger burned her cheeks. She wanted to grab him, grab him and throttle him until his head rattled.
“There they are!” Ramsay pointed straight at them.
Meena locked eyes with Crane. What a dreadfully awful time for him to be right.
“New plan.” He grabbed her hand. “Run.”
6
The shrill screech of a police whistle made Meena’s heart jump. She struggled to keep pace with Crane as he pulled her back down the street, away from her house.
“I see them. Heading north.” An authoritative voice cut straight through the thick wave of street traffic, sounding far closer than she would have liked.
She sucked in a huge lungful of air, hoping it would make her legs move faster.
Crane pulled her around the first corner they came to, all but yanking her off her feet. The lane was narrow to begin with, made more so by the many stalls set out on each side.
Shopping day. She’d forgotten.
Fingers wrapped around her hand, Crane towed her along behind him through the crowds wandering willy-nilly from stall to stall. She tripped on the hem of her skirts and stumbled forward. Crane turned back and ran full force into a man in front of the greengrocer’s stall.
“Hey!” A pair of onions flew from the man’s hands and tumbled into the gutter. “What’s this then?”
Crane touched the brim of his bowler. “Apologies.”
He sounded out of breath. At least she wasn’t the only one.
The street was narrow and crowded, making forward progress difficult. Happily, it made spotting them difficult as well.
“Bloody hell.” Crane stopped dead in front of her. Ahead of them a police wagon waited, two officers commanding a team of fresh-looking bays.
Crane nudged her back into the crowd. Meena’s heart raced. Her lungs were screaming. She wanted to gasp for breath, but there would be no better way to single herself out amongst the shoppers milling from stall to stall.
Crane took care to lead them to the other side of the street from the greengrocer. They had almost reached the entrance to her street when Spencer shot out an arm, halting her.
The inspector was hurrying down the street in front of them, heading for the wider part of the boulevard.
Meena turned to the milliner’s stall at her right and feigned an inordinate amount of interest in a silly confection covered with bright purple ostrich feathers and—
“Are those grapes?” She touched the small green globes piled high at the crown. It was the most ridiculous, eye-catching, thing she’d seen in some time.
And it was perfect.
“How much?” she asked the woman behind the counter.
“Six bob.”
Meena sighed, but opened her reticule and paid the woman. Escape was worth any amount of coin although the hideous thing seemed painfully over-priced.
“The peelers moved off. We can move on now.” Crane turned toward her. His eyes widened. “That is…” He squinted as if the hat were blinding him. “What is that?”
“A perfect disguise.” She studied his plain black suit, then eyed the selection of men’s hats. “We need to do something about your—”
“No time.” He grabbed her hand again and moved to follow the inspector’s path.
Meena resisted. As she pulled back, her new hat slid forward until a thick purple feather tickled her chin. She batted it away. “What are you doing?”
“We’ll keep them in front of us.” He flashed her a grin. “Follow them following us. It’s brilliant.”
“It’s asinine.” She rolled her eyes at his blank look. “What if Ramsay’s doing the same thing? He’s likely had the same thought.”
Crane looked impatient. “We’ll keep an eye out.”
“We won’t be doing anything. They’re looking for two. I think it’s best we go our own ways.”
“Not likely.” Crane tightened his grip. “I will get you out of this, then you can run off.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Crane sighed. “So you keep telling me.”
“Let’s get clear of this mess, then you can go wherever you like.”
“Move aside, if you please. Police business. Move aside.” Behind them, the police wagon was inching its way down the lane toward the boulevard.
Meena studied the crowded market. “Not that way.” She jutted her chin toward the intersection. “If we stay on this street, we’ll end up near Lister hospital. It’s a busy neighborhood. Easy to keep out of sight.”
“Fine.” Crane stepped out into the intersection.
Meena followed, one hand on the wide brim of her hat to keep it from flapping in her eyes. A gust of wind swirled around them, sending a cluster of paper mache grapes off into the breeze.
Crane was just stepping off of the curb in front of her when he stopped. “Damnation.” He ducked his head.
Meena stared hard in the direction the police had taken. And locked gazes with the inspector. She jerked back as if she’d been burned. He was only five or six buildings away.
The man blinked in surprise, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Back this way, men,” he yelled, and barreled toward them.
“Hurry.” Crane pulled her out into the street.
“Oi!” A wagon-driver cursed them as they flew in front of his horses.
“I told you you needed a disguise,” Meena chided as they flew across the cobbles.
“What I need is a carriage, but that’s not bloody well going to appear.”
“I see them!” A deep voice yelled. “Straight ahead.”
Meena guessed the police wagon was now in full chase as well. She concentrated on matching Crane’s pace, but her lungs were burning. She wouldn’t be able to keep up for much longer.
They needed crowds. They needed congestion and traffic.
They needed a bloody mess of a road.
“This way,” she gasped, and pulled Crane down the small lane to their right.
He slowed, clearly hesitant.
“Stanton lane.” She tugged harder. “They’ve torn up the whole street. Horse trolley is going in.”