“And now they know.” Tony shook his head. “Whatever possessed me to name the Harts? My father hates Charles Hart as fiercely as magma hates rock — he wishes nothing less than his utter destruction.”
“But why does he hate him? Do you know?”
Tony held my hand in both of his, kissing it with a desperate intensity. “No, and it frightens me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Did you know he started the Bloody Year?”
Thousands died — long before either of us were born — as Family slaughtered Family. “He did?”
Tony nodded, his eyes still closed. “And he was my age.” He peered at me. “Almost exactly. I don’t understand anything about him. Yet now I’m sure he feels I oppose him. What might a man like that do when taken by such hate?”
* * *
Later, after the servants undressed us, Tony came to me.
I knew what Tony would do and say; back then, it seemed impossible for him to hide his feelings from me.
“Let’s lie down and love each other, as we used to before all this tragedy.” He reached up to touch my face, then slid his hand behind my neck and kissed me.
I didn’t love Tony, except sometimes as a brother. But his father Roy put a gun to my head before we were married and told me that if Tony learned this, he would kill me.
Tony put his arms around me, sliding them up and down my back as we kissed, his cock hard against the front of my body.
If I thought about it too much it made my skin crawl.
I must not weep. I had to stop the roiling of my stomach.
I can do this, I thought, as I did almost every night.
My mother trained me in her brothel beside the other girls, in everything but the act itself. That had been forbidden me by my mother’s patron, who I secretly called the Masked Man because of the dark brown leather mask he wore showing only his eyes.
I was never allowed to touch a man, or even to be in the room when others did, always observing in darkness behind sheer curtains. What fault did the Masked Man find in me to forbid me to take my place with the other women?
Maybe he recognized my inability to put aside my personal wishes and fuck a man I didn’t desire.
The thought startled me. Tony said, “What is it?”
Oh, gods, he knows something isn’t right. I took a deep breath. “I felt off-balance.” I forced myself to giggle. “That’s all.”
Tony laughed. “Let’s lie down then, before we fall over.”
We lay down. Tony drew the covers over me, slid his arm under my neck, caressed my face.
My husband was an ordinary-looking man, but the way he gazed at me ... it made me sad. Yes, he was in the Family, but he wasn’t evil: he deserved so much better than this pretense.
Perhaps he saw my sadness, because he said, “Your life has been very hard, I see that now. When you spoke about being put in such danger as a small girl ... it troubled me.”
I shrugged. “What does it matter? All that is past.”
He reached over to smooth my hair. “It matters because it’s part of you. We’ve been in each other’s lives ten years, married almost four, yet I never knew this. It makes me wonder what else I don’t know.” He smiled in a free, relaxed manner, and in that instant he reminded me of the man I loved, Joseph Kerr. “I want to know everything about you, Jacqui. Everything. I love you.”
Oh no. The last thing I wanted was for him to start asking questions, especially about my past. My mind raced, searching for something to divert this line of thought.
And I had an idea.
I hated it. It was so dishonest. And I feared what he might say. Would he think I was too forward? Would he rebuke me? Men here were so different than in the Pot; for a woman here even to smile might be improper, depending on the circumstances.
But I had to do something.
I can do this. “Let’s talk of that later.” I snuggled closer, sliding my trembling hand on his cock. He gasped as I stroked his skin, his body stiffening to my touch.
He closed his eyes, and a deep moan came forth I had never heard him make before. “Oh, Jacqui.”
It seemed, at least for a time, that all discussion was forgotten.
* * *
The intersection was grimy, dark, cold. I was small and frightened.
A reeking hand grabbed my arm. I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t get away! “If she goes, I go with her.”
My best friend Air stared at Peedro Sluff in horror. “No!” He ran towards us brandishing a broken bottle. “Leave her alone!”
Peedro’s gun rose, and he shot Air.
The light left Air’s eyes as they stared into mine. The color left his face, and his little body collapsed into the spray of his own blood.
I stood in the stairwell in Jack’s factory. Bodies lay everywhere. Losing balance, I fell forward onto Air’s chest. His blood, welling up through his shirt, covered my hands.
Stephen, Herbert, Marja, and Anastasia lay crumpled around me.
Air opened his eyes. “We loved you, Jacqui. Why did you kill us?”
Tony held me. “I’m here, my love. You’re safe.”
Tony’s cousin Blitz Spadros, our night footman, opened the door, candle in hand. “Another dream?
Embarrassment flooded over me. I sobbed, “I’m sorry.”
Blitz smiled. “No trouble at all, mum. Good night.”
Tony rocked me as I clung to him, and eventually he slept.
But I did not.
The Leader
The next morning, Amelia came in with my mail and — finally — the newspaper! To my surprise, the front read:
The Bridges Daily
Editor: Mr. Paul Blackberry
Good for him, I thought. I’d known Mr. Blackberry since I was a small girl, back when he was a photographer. Prior to becoming editor, he’d been one of my informants; his position at the Clubb desk gave him access to all kinds of information.
The Spadros Family murdered the former editor, Mr. Acol Durak, after he let articles supporting Anastasia’s fraud and an editorial maligning the Families pass his inspection.
Killing Mr. Durak was so unnecessary, I thought. The man was grieving his wife —
At that instant, I recalled Mr. Blackberry’s words: suicidal, if you ask me.
And I realized Mr. Durak worked with Dame Anastasia and Frank — and perhaps even allowed Mr. Pike’s editorial to pass — in hopes the Families would kill him.
I didn't understand it. Even during my worst days after being sold to the Spadros Family, I never considered taking my own life.
Under Mr. Blackberry’s guidance, the paper had changed little. The purpose of the Bridges Daily was to promote the views of the Families, rather than to provide any real news. However, it devoted a whole section to the inquest — those scheduled to appear that day and a summary of the previous day’s testimony.
The financial news was bleak. Listings for sales of production equipment, buildings, and businesses spanned an entire page. A list of bankruptcy proceedings on the back page left me shocked.
That many speculated on Dame Anastasia’s “miracle” gems?
And we had invited her into our home. In their view, we — everyone at my dinner — were suspected collaborators.
* * *
At breakfast, Tony seemed much happier. He went off to tend to the Business after the morning meeting with the staff, and I went to my study.
I wrote to Jon, informing him we arrived safely. Then I opened Gardena’s note, which was from her Country House:
My dear Mrs. Spadros —
I’m so glad to hear you’re feeling improved. Jon and I will visit as soon as we can. We both are eager to see you again, and —
Oh, dear, I thought. Tony will not be happy to find her here.
I wrote in return:
Dearest Gardena —
Thank you so kindly for your letter. I hope you and your family are well.
I’m afraid Mr. Spadros is in poor humor at present. It might be best if Jon visi
ted alone.
I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. I remain hopeful that in time my husband’s disposition will improve.
I’m feeling quite well. I miss seeing you and look forward to visiting together in the future.
The clock struck eleven. I put the pen down, gazing out of the window. Tony blamed Gardena for my being at the station because I told him she brought me there.
But what else could I have said? That I went into Clubb quadrant on my own, uninvited, in direct defiance of orders from Roy Spadros?
Roy hadn’t contacted us about any of it. I couldn’t imagine Tony’s father reacting in any other way than fury.
Since I had little control over this, I lit a cigarette, taking a drag, then poured a glass of bourbon from the bottle I kept on my sideboard. It was well past time to plan my investigations.
It seemed unlikely that the perpetrators of this year’s events — robberies, kidnappings, murders, and bombings — plotted and executed these on their own. In my estimation, Frank Pagliacci — while evidently charismatic — was neither skilled nor intelligent enough. Jack Diamond, Jonathan’s mad twin brother — though rich and powerful — wasn’t sane (by all accounts) for long enough. Thus, this team had a leader yet unseen who directed Frank Pagliacci and Jack Diamond to carry out these crimes.
This man had significant personal power to persuade two such men to do his bidding. He had tremendous means to afford to hire so many men to assist them. He needed remarkable mental skill to plan and implement a conspiracy of this magnitude. And we still didn’t know how far the conspiracy went, or even the man’s true motivations.
Whoever their leader was, he frightened me.
Three women assisted these men: the rogue Federal Agent Zia Cashout, Dame Anastasia Louis (now dead), and a black-haired woman named Birdie.
What they’d accomplished so far was to take the name and markings of the Red Dogs children’s street gang, and frame this gang for the crimes. They then accessed the Hart and Spadros Family funds through forged invoices, in order to do ... what?
If bombing the zeppelin was their goal, there would have been ultimatums, declarations of their intentions, or proclamations of who they were and what they accomplished. Yet no one had said anything of the sort, which suggested the bombing was merely a means to an end.
But what did the murder of hundreds gain them?
I lit another cigarette from the stump of the first, then poured another glass of bourbon.
None of the Families had a motive to bomb the zeppelin, especially on the day of the Celebration. In fact, it was an affront, to the Clubbs in particular.
Could this madness be led by a disgruntled aristocrat? An heir of one of the old families who escaped the Pot before the overthrow of the Kerr Dynasty? That seemed an avenue worth investigating, although I wasn’t sure how.
With Anastasia gone, my door to them had closed. Certainly, they were cordial, at least in public. But in the past, whenever I’d called, they’d suddenly be “not at home.”
I suppose inviting a Pot rag into your home — especially a “Family pet,” as one called me — was too much for these women.
I swirled the bourbon in my glass. Not all of the Red Dogs’ purchases using our money had been accounted for. For example, why were they buying black cloth? And what did they buy using the Hart Family’s money?
I wrote letters to my contacts, asking who raised accusation against the Harts that they failed to pay. The sort of merchant targeted would reveal much.
But did they just target the Spadros and Hart Families? No, they tried to blackmail Gardena Diamond as well.
Could this be a Clubb plot?
The Clubbs were known as the spy-masters of Bridges. The Spadros Family had dealt in violence these many years; the Clubbs preferred information. Rumor had it you might secure a better price on your zeppelin ticket — or even fly free — should you share a secret they didn’t already know.
But would Lance Clubb blackmail the woman he’d just asked to court? If so, why?
The Pain
The clock struck half past eleven. Pearson stood facing away outside the door, hands behind his back. “May I help you, mum?”
I handed him the letters. “Is Master Rainbow here?”
“No, mum, he and Mr. Anthony left together. They aren’t expected back until after dinner.”
I returned to my study. I’d hoped to get Morton’s impressions on the matter, but it would have to wait.
Someone had tried to kill Morton once already by bombing his yacht as he slept. Although Morton disagreed, I felt certain this was the work of Frank Pagliacci and his false Red Dog Gang. Then Birdie shot at Morton outside Vig’s saloon. My guess was that Birdie was one of Frank Pagliacci’s lovers, who he was using as he used Dame Anastasia, Zia, and who knows how many others.
Morton’s encounter with Birdie the night Marja died might have been by chance. Meeting Morton probably surprised her — especially if she believed him dead — her shot being a way to garner favor with Frank by killing Morton for certain.
A female secretary was strange enough, but carrying a gun?
If I could learn this woman’s true identity, it might help. Birdie was present moments before Marja died; perhaps she saw the man who killed her.
I had no real information on Birdie other that she was young and pretty (or at least Morton thought so), with black hair. I needed to speak with Morton further about her — if we ever got a chance to speak without others present.
I’d been accompanied by a maid, waiter, footman, or nurse almost every second of every day of the past month up to now, which infuriated me. Perhaps I didn’t choose to speak, or have anything to say, but I was no invalid. At times I suspected they knew it, that this intense scrutiny was my punishment for causing them trouble.
Dr. Salmon approved me to return to the Manor as long as I took daily walks in the garden. So after luncheon, I asked Amelia to show me the flowers she put in my hair.
We ambled along the paths. Many of the plants reminded me of Ma’s garden.
“You stupid girl! You’ve ruined everything!”
Ma dragged me by one arm through her garden to the carriage, shoved me inside.
Why did she never contact me? Didn’t she care?
Shaking my head to clear it, I followed Amelia to a bush in the far corner. I brought a white blossom to my face, inhaled, the scent bringing back intense happiness and pain.
Oh, Nina.
What did they do to you?
“Mum, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head, forcing the terrible image from my mind. “Old memories, Amelia, nothing more.”
“Here, mum, let’s get you into the shade.”
I sat on the grass, closing my eyes, willing back the tears. I couldn't remember her that way. I couldn't.
I was thirteen when I first saw her.
Amelia fanned me. “Here, stretch out for a while. Do you need a drink of water?”
Nina Clubb stepped into the hallway of Spadros Manor, the afternoon sun shining golden through the open doorway on her rosy cheeks. Laughing, she turned to me, her glossy dark brown hair loose like a young girl’s, flowing like water straight and heavy past wide hips.
Our eyes met, and I could see nothing else.
“No, Amelia, I’ll be fine.” Why did I think of Nina Clubb now, after so many years? “I’m just tired.”
I lay gazing at the flowers for some time.
“It’s almost time for tea. Would you like it out here?”
“That would be lovely.”
Amelia left, returning with Pearson’s sons, who carried a tea-table and chairs. Mary appeared a bit later with our tea.
“I’ll take dinner in my rooms today,” I told Amelia. “And bring some of these flowers for my dresser.”
“Yes, mum. Whatever you need.”
After Amelia set the vase of jasmine in my room, I lay on my bed, eyes closed.
The aroma of jasmine lay thick
in the air ... we lay on our stomachs facing each other on a blanket in the shade of a brilliant summer. Thick straight hair spilled beside round freckled cheeks as her brown eyes met mine. I longed to touch her hair, her face, her lips.
“One day I’ll fly far from here,” Nina said. The polished wooden beads in her necklace rustled as she moved. “I want to travel the world.”
Some day I’d be in a position to avenge Nina, and all the spying in the world wouldn’t save Mrs. Clubb.
Tony returned from whatever he was doing well after dinner, climbing into bed. I turned away as he slid his arm under my pillow, molded his body to mine. “I hear you’ve had a long day.” He stroked my hair, kissed it. “Just rest.”
I laid my cheek on my pillow, still damp from my tears.
I wished I could rest without nightmares, as I did the night after I rescued David. Yet it was not to happen.
* * *
The next afternoon, Amelia dressed me in my peacock blue dress to visit Madame Biltcliffe’s instead of mourning garb. But only after I agreed to wear a long, elderberry-colored shawl to cover it, with a matching hat and veil. “This is most unwise, mum,” Amelia said. “It’s unseemly to wear bright colors now. And you can’t be recognized out and about, it isn’t safe.”
Somehow she knew I meant to do more than take tea with Madame Biltcliffe. Was I so transparent? “It’s our favorite dress.” Tony said he liked it because it matched my eyes. “Have you sent Madame Biltcliffe’s mourning garb back to her?”
Amelia blinked. “Why, of course, as soon as she sent yours here, just before we left for the Country House.”
I smiled. “Good. Thank you.”
Amelia stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Keep this veil with you, mum. It’s a good one.”
You mean, it’s thicker than Madame’s, should I go out. I patted her hand. “Don’t worry; I’m just going to take tea with Madame.”
That day, outriders surrounded the carriage. Outriders had never joined me when I traveled to Madame's shop before. But my old enemy Jack Diamond, a volatile man with a keen hate for my family, had already entered our quadrant more than once despite guards at the bridges and waterfronts.
The Ace of Clubs Page 3