by Riley Cole
By tomorrow—the day after at most—this business would be finished. Spencer would vanish back to Brighton.
He’d made that clear enough these past few days. They’d shared a few nice tumbles, but that was all it was to him.
All it could be, for a man like that.
Meena watched Spencer sip his beer, eyes unfocused, attention on something far beyond the tavern walls. He was a rogue at heart. Like her father. Women were replaceable playthings to be enjoyed and discarded.
Lord above, he’d already done it to her once. She couldn’t think why she’d even want him to promise fidelity.
It wasn’t in him. Never would be. Best to end it now before they started hating each other again.
“He’s here.” Briar jerked her head toward a small, bespectacled man with a wispy mustache who stood blinking in the doorway.
Meena risked a glance at the closed door of White’s office. If she and Briar could hurry the man upstairs, Spencer wouldn’t even need to begin the ruse they had planned to distract White.
They jumped up from their chairs and rushed the befuddled gentleman. “Hello there, handsome.” Meena pressed a hand to the man’s chest, crowding him back against the wall by the door. “You must be Mr. Cheesemaker.”
The man drew his hands up under his chin, like a little mouse. “Chesterfield.”
“O’ course you are.” She ran a finger over his lower lip and leaned in, allowing him an eyeful of décolletage. “Mr. White asked us to take you right upstairs.”
While Meena ran roughshod over the poor man, Briar had taken care to place herself between the door and White’s office, blocking the line of sight.
The man swiped his bowler off of his head and held it to his chest. “No thank you, miss… uh, madam… uh.” He fidgeted with the brim of his hat, his gaze on anything but Meena’s low-cut gown. “I’m just here for a meeting.”
Meena traced a finger down the man’s nose. “Of course you are. Mr. White is waiting right upstairs.”
The man’s mouth opened and closed, rather like a fish. But he did allow her and Briar to take to wind their arms around his and lead him toward the stairway. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Spencer was watching them.
Between the two of them, they hustled the small man up the stairs as quickly as they could. “He’ll be meetin’ ya right in here.” Briar threw open the door to the room they had stolen earlier in the day.
It was small and spare, made even more so by the paper screen blocking off the corner across from the small bed. Meena could feel Edison’s hulking presence in the dark corner.
“This doesn’t seem right.” The man protested. “Doesn’t White have an office? I’m a married man. This is highly inappropriate.”
“Mr. White don’t like whining.” Meena shoved the man inside and kicked the door shut behind them. “He told us to keep you here and keep you quiet. He’s an odd one, White is, but we don’t question ‘im, do we?” She tipped her chin toward Briar.
Her cousin glared at mousy man. “No. We don’t question ‘im. Not ever.” Gaze never leaving the man’s face, she plunged a hand down the neckline of her dress and slowly, teasingly, pulled out a sharp little knife. “Not ever.”
Meena shoved her fists on her hips and glared at Chesterfield, eye to eye. “You’re not to move until Mr. White—”
A wave of sound washed up the stairway and crashed against the door. Screams, shrieks, and a good deal of loud cursing, filled the air.
“God’s balls, get outta my way.”
“Mind you, that’s my foot!”
A great number of bodies sounded like they were stampeding for the exits.
On the bed, Chesterfield began gagging. He whisked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it against his mouth and nose. “What is that God awful stench?”
It was, most definitely God awful. A mix of warm garbage, dead bodies, and just a touch of eye-stinging sulphur, the smoke bomb Edison had fashioned was the most foul thing Meena had ever smelled.
She grabbed Chesterfield’s hand. “Smells like a dog’s arse down there. Why don’t we just wait here, luv? Mr. White’ll be up in a tick.”
On cue, Briar took off out the door. “I’ll just let him know you’re here, won’t I?”
“Open some windows in here. Open the God damned door.” Leyland White’s booming voice reached even through the closed door. A moment later, he threw it open, and strode into the small room, a handkerchief clamped to his face.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” He glared at their mutual mark.
Chesterfield pointed at Meena. “She brought me.”
Still coughing into his handkerchief, White studied her. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Henriette.” Meena had to play this next part fast and close. “You told that big man—what’s his name—to bring in some new girls.” She gave him an odd look as if he’d lost his mind.
White waved impatiently. “Nevermind.”
He threw a look back over his shoulder at the chaos downstairs. “Christ in a cart, what a mess. Got to straighten things out down there.” From his expression, returning to the miasma below didn’t appeal. He eyed Chesterfield who sat, still as a statue on the bed.
White pushed the door shut behind him. “Might as well talk here.” He jerked a thumb at Meena. “Get out.”
Meena nodded meekly and rushed out the door.
The smell was far, far worse outside the little room. Edison was more than capable of defending himself against White and that gray little man, should the need arise. She didn’t think she could stand to breathe that foul odor any longer. She hiked her skirts up above her ankles and raced down the stairs and out the door.
It wasn’t long before Chesterfield stumbled out. His face was far paler than when he’d entered, although she couldn’t be sure if it had more to do with Edison’s device, or White’s threats. Handkerchief pressed to his face, the small man rushed off down the lane.
He’d only reached the corner when White trotted out the door. The crowd dispersed around him, leaving him alone with his sad-looking barkeep and his bodyguard. The three of them milled about upwind of the open doorway, clearly trying to decide a course of action.
Before they could move, Edison scurried out of the building, a large, square case in his arms. The bodyguard took a threatening step forward, but Edison didn’t so much as flinch. He pushed his fake spectacles back up his nose and blinked at the taller man. “Seems you have one terrific sewer leak back there.”
He squinted up at the man, blinking as if his eyesight was poor. “Really ought to get that taken care of. Can’t be good for business.” He hefted the unwieldy box and walked away.
Meena and Briar sauntered off in the opposite direction, circling around to meet up at the carriage Mr. Hapgood had waiting three streets over.
Spencer was likely there already.
Meena slowed, exquisitely aware that any one of these next meetings would be the last time she’d see him. She clawed at the lace scratching the back of her neck.
It couldn’t be now.
The last time they saw each other couldn’t be in these gaudy costumes. Between her wig and his whiskers, her awful face paint and his sweat-stained shirt, they made a sad, sad pair.
Which was too fitting, really.
They were quite a sad pair.
“So that’s it then.” Meena eyed the group gathered around the conference table at the Metropolitan Police station.
“I believe so.” Inspector Burke patted the sides of the wooden case protecting the recording. “This is splendid. Just splendid. Not even Leyland White can buy his way out of this.”
Meena waited for the familiar feeling of triumph, the rush of satisfaction that signified a job well done, to warm her heart.
Instead, a cold dread clutched at her throat, weighing her down like a sodden blanket.
Spencer had been avoiding her gaze all morning. Ever since they’d met up with him at the
inspector’s office, he’d been stiff and fidgety and distant.
Which meant only one thing.
They were done with the case and he was done with her.
She’d played this scene out a million times in the dark of her bed, but now that it came to it, it seemed she wasn’t capable of the grace and indifference she’d so hoped to feel.
She needed air.
She needed out of the room, out of the building, and far away from Spencer Crane.
She shoved her chair back. The wooden legs shrieked as they scraped across the tile floor. How fitting. It sounded like the noise her heart would make, could it speak.
Before any of them could rise, she had her coat off of the hook, and her favorite bonnet, the one trimmed with purple ribbon and silk violets, in hand. It had made her feel so pretty, so alive, when she’d donned it on the way out of the house.
Now, it would remind her of her newly broken heart.
She faced the group. “I have some pressing business I forgot about. It’s not far from here. I can walk. I’ll take a hansom home later.”
Though she felt like running, Meena stifled the urge, opting to sail elegantly out of the inspector’s meeting room. At least that’s how her exit played out in her mind. In reality, she hardly recalled stumbling her way to the front of the police station, and out the door.
She was only halfway across the street when Spencer grabbed her arm, tucking it in in against a muscled side. “It’s not like you to run away.”
Meena wanted to shake free, but if Spencer truly chose to hold on, she’d be no match for his strength. She opted for ladylike disdain.
A small park, nothing more than a wedge of grass and trees, filled an angular sliver of the next block. Meena headed straight for it. Her heart was beating so loudly, she could barely hear the wagons and hansoms rumbling down the street, let alone whatever it was Spencer was yammering on about.
Meena sank down on the first bench they came to, pulling him down beside her.
Clearly he had some strange reason for dragging this out.
Meena disengaged her arm from his grasp, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. She kept her gaze on the delicate ginkgo trees lining the path, letting the fluttering of their leaves slow her heartbeat.
Spencer leaned forward, his forearms on his legs, and stared down at the grass. “We wouldn’t suit. Not in the long run.”
A sharp pain, as if someone were quite literally squeezing her heart, stole Meena’s breath. They could. They could if he weren’t so beastly inflexible. And such an unfaithful cur.
“Deep down, you know it.” He stared down at his open palm. “You want to gallivant about, playing Sir Galahad.”
Meena huffed. “Don’t try to convince me you’re content sitting at home with your slippers and pipe.”
He laughed, but it held little humor. “Good point. I can’t imagine smoking a pipe.”
“You could help us.” Meena winced at the longing in her voice. “You’ll miss it. The excitement. The challenge.”
“I will. I do. And yes, I could.” He shook his head. “But it wouldn’t change anything. Not the important things.”
Hope buoyed her, straightening her spine, lightening her heart. “Of course it would.”
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t play the gothic heroine, wouldn’t beg or whine or wheedle. But she couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious. “We work together well. Although I’m loathe to confess it, you possess a flare for improvisation that astonishes me.”
His disbelief was all too plain. “Do you think either of us has changed that much?”
He averted his gaze. “You’ll start to question me again. You’ll doubt me, and then I’ll start hating you.”
Meena bit her lip. She wanted to protest, but he was right. First, she’d wonder, then worry, then suspect.
Because he hadn’t changed.
And she refused to be played for a fool a second time.
As if he could read her thoughts, he sighed. “People can’t change if you refuse them room.”
That tore it.
She jumped to her feet. “So now your infidelity is my fault?”
Spencer spread his arms wide and stared up at the sky. “You set standards no man could live up to.”
“Expecting fidelity is not unreasonable.” Meena wrapped her arms around her waist.
Spencer’s gaze swept over her before fixing on a pair of robins flitting through the nearest tree. “You expected me to stray. You did, you know.” He grimaced. “I was young and hotheaded and yes, irredeemably stupid. But the instant we became engaged, you turned cold. You saw suspicion where there was none. Refused to grant me the slightest of benefits. You suffocated me with suspicion.”
He gathered his feet under him and rose slowly to his feet as if the conversation had aged him decades. “I strayed. I did. For that, I accept full responsibility, and I do apologize. For all the good it will do now.”
Meena gaped at him. He truly couldn’t take responsibility even for the smallest of things. That alone signified she was making the right choice. Painful as it was.
What a ninny-hammered fool she’d been.
Playing with fire led to burns.
Always.
Crane put a hand to his head as if it were pounding. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Miss Philomena Sweet.”
His soft breath caressed her face. It was almost her undoing. Her eyes filled with tears, until his familiar face, so close to hers, blurred. He wiped away the tear that slid down her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry.”
Meena’s lips trembled. “As am I.”
Even through the tears, she could see he was bending close to kiss her. Meena turned her head away. Her heart was bruised and battered enough. She couldn’t do this one more time.
He stiffened. “If you ever do change your mind…” His utterance drifted off.
A nice sentiment, but ultimately useless. Hope alone wouldn’t transform him into the man she wanted.
The man she needed.
“Let me see you home.” Spencer moved to take her arm.
Meena laced her fingers together and shook her head. “I think it’s best we part sooner rather than later. Good day, Mr. Crane.”
Spencer stood for a heartbeat—maybe two—before sketching her a stiff bow.
Meena slammed her fists down on the bench, startling the robins, who flew off with a great clattering of wings.
“So that’s it then,” she whispered as she watched him walk away with her heart.
18
A flash of black caught Meena’s attention an instant before the parasol smashed her straight across the face.
She crumpled forward, hands covering her nose, eyes instantly filled with tears.
“Oh no. Oh no. I’m so sorry.” Briar dropped her own umbrella and rushed to her side. She guided Meena to the bench at the edge of their small back garden.
“Not your fault.” Meena’s assertion was more of a muffled jumble than a statement as it came from between her cupped hands. “Wasn’t paying attention.”
“Let me see.” Briar gently coaxed Meena’s hands away from her face.
“Is it bleeding?”
“No. I think we’ve escaped without breaking anything.” Briar let go of Meena’s fingers and stood. “I’ll get you a cold cloth. Don’t move.”
Pain stabbed the bridge of her nose, radiating out beneath her eyes with every breath. Meena leaned back against the wrought iron bench. She wasn’t sure she could move had she wanted to. She blinked away the tears of pain.
Still, her vision refused to clear. The black image of her own parasol seemed to wobble in her watery vision.
She braced her palms flat on the bench and gave her nose and experimental wiggle. More of a dull ache than a sharp pain already. No damage done. This time.
God, but she needed to stop being so wooly headed.
She needed to stop thinking about Spencer.
It had be
en almost a week.
Meena closed her eyes. She hadn’t counted on the memories. Hadn’t anticipated the countless small moments that surfaced throughout the day. Like Briar’s parasol, they smacked her with vivid recollections of his tenderness, his surprising playfulness, his searing passion.
Meena jumped to her feet. How long did it take to get a cold cloth, anyway?
She strode toward the house, allowing her irritation to build into a good head of anger. Anger was far more invigorating than the vacant, broken emptiness she felt when she contemplated the future without him.
She’d almost reached the back door when Briar flew out. “You have a visitor.”
Meena’s heart gave a silly little stutter.
Briar winced. “Not him.”
“I was thinking the inspector,” Meena lied. “It’s past time we should hear something about White’s arrest.”
“It’s no one you would have expected.”
Meena raised an eyebrow and followed her cousin back through the door. A new case then. Exactly what she needed. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep, calming breath, and wiggled her nose one last time.
“Meena!”
A bundle of energy wrapped in dark blue surge and frothy lace enveloped her in a warm hug. She grabbed the young girl’s shoulders and set her back at arm’s length. “Alicia?”
“I hope you don’t mind.” Spencer’s sister twisted a pair of summer gloves this way and that as she shifted from foot to foot, as if unsure of her welcome. “I had to see you. My brother is an idiot.”
“Is everything all right?”
Alicia’s skirts swirled around her as she twirled away, raising her hands in an impatient gesture. “No. It’s not all right.” She pursed her pretty lips. “My brother was supposed to bring you home with him.”
Meena had no idea what to say. Alicia’s youthful enthusiasm caught at her heart. She remembered a time when life was so black and white. The worldview did hold a certain appeal. “Does Spencer know you’re here? Or your aunt, at least?”