The Reaction
I awoke panting, bathed in sweat. Tony lay sleeping peacefully, and I felt grateful I hadn’t screamed.
I lay back on the pillows, aching from my earlier encounter.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
Was I going mad? Why did I tell Tony yes? Was it Tony I told, or Joe? Who was I intimate with? What would it do to Tony if he learned my yes was a lie?
Then, with horror, I remembered the time Tony lay with me in his study. I said, “I love you,” aloud, but it was to Joe.
I had never lied to Tony: I never told Tony I loved him in all the years we had known each other. But should Tony ever learn the truth, he would believe me to have lied to him. He loved me. The truth would cut like nothing else ever could.
I rolled away from Tony, curled into a ball. Tears streamed to my pillow, yet I held my hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. What was I becoming? What had I done? What could I do?
* * *
The next morning, Tony brought flowers from our gardens as I sat drinking my “morning tea.”
I smiled, my heart heavy. “Set the vase on the dresser.”
He sat across my tea-table from me. “What tea is this?”
I forced myself to hide how uneasy I felt. He had never come in this early before, not to mention sitting at my tea-table.
He removed the lid, sniffed it. “I don’t believe I’ve smelled this kind before.”
That tea was how I kept from bearing him children. Did he suspect? “A formulation my mother made for me, long ago.” I poured the rest in my cup and set the empty pot down. “It reminds me of her.”
For a moment I felt sad. Did she ever think of me?
Tony reached across the table to take my hand. “You’ve never spoken of your mother before.”
She sent me away, and I’ll never see her again. I shook my head, unable to speak.
“I’m sorry,” Tony said. “I only wished to make you smile.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll speak no more of it. Enjoy your tea.”
When the door closed behind him, I lay my head on my arms and sobbed. At that instant, I felt like Pip. I was Ma’s only child. Why did she send me away?
I recalled the disgusted look on her face when she turned away, as the carriage took me from her for the last time. What did I do to make her hate me?
It wasn’t often I cried like I did that day. Sitting on the street bench with David Bryce. The morning after my wedding, when I realized what I’d been sold into. The day I heard of Nina’s death.
I stood, my back pressed on the wall beside the open door, listening.
“Did you hear? Miss Clubb’s dead. Yes, Miss Nina. I heard it was at her own hand.”
When they sent me home that evening, I sat in our back rooms at Ma’s cathedral and wept the whole night. I was fourteen, and I felt my life was over.
* * *
After luncheon, I went calling on Joe and Josie, grateful for the chance to be away from the Manor.
As the carriage rattled along, I remembered that lonely bereft girl and smiled. She never knew that in a few months time a certain boy would take interest.
Joseph Kerr never paid me much mind before then, but one afternoon I sat outside the Cathedral smoking and he came over to see me. I found myself telling him everything — about Nina, the Spadros Family, Jack Diamond, even Air.
From then on, we were inseparable.
Joe got me cigarettes; I got him some of Ma’s bread. He brought me into the plans he and Josie made for our street gang, the High-Low Split. I’d sneak out once Ma fell asleep, then Joe and I would kiss in the moonlight. He never tried anything — I told him about Ma’s patron, the Masked Man, and how he’d forbidden me from entertaining any man, even in the Cathedral.
We shared a bottle of moonshine one night. I might have been fifteen. “They got plans for you,” Joe said.
“I wish I knew what.”
“You ever seen the man’s face?”
“Never.” I described him: blue eyes, light skin, a brown leather mask, a dark cloak — sometimes black, sometimes brown. Dark brown leather boots. But nice: the clothes would fetch a lot. But no one dared touch him. He was that sort of guy. Scary, if you didn’t know him, but always kind to me.
“Wearing brown. With blue eyes. Could he be a Clubb spy?”
I never considered such a thing. “I dunno.”
“Damn spies.” Joe shook his head. “I hate Clubbs. All of them. If it weren’t for the Clubbs, my ancestor the King coulda left the city, him and his whole family.” He spat. “My grandfather’s parents never woulda ended up here. We coulda gotten help, come back,” he raised his fist, “taken what was ours by right.”
The Clubbs seized the zeppelin station during the Alcatraz Coup, trapping the Kerrs in Bridges.
“But then you’d be a king or something.” I laughed. “You wouldn’t even know me.”
He put his arm round me with a grin. “No way I could ever resist knowing you.” But then he sobered. “I wouldn’t let the Cathedral be like this. The Dealers should be here casting the Cards, giving little kids their Blessings like in the old days.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “One day I’ll make this right, Jacqui, you’ll see.”
* * *
Joe and Josie came into their parlor together, Joe walking with a cane!
I jumped up. “Oh! I’m so glad you’re doing well.”
Joe shrugged, dejected. “I can walk.” He winced when putting weight on his leg. “I still have to be careful. The doctor claims the bone is sound enough, but everything hurts.”
Josie laughed. “He frets like an old woman these days. The doctor says he heals remarkably well.”
“I’m relieved.”
Josie placed a chair next to the sofa. “Sit close to the end.”
Joe sat in the chair beside me. “It’s better with a firm seat.”
Josie went to the sideboard. “I got this to celebrate.” She brought over a bottle of fine wine and three glasses.
“How wonderful!” Remembering their finances, I opened my handbag. “Let me contribute for the cost.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Jacqui.” Josie poured the wine, and we toasted Joe’s newfound ability.
“Just like old times, back in the Pot,” Joe said. “The three of us together, sharing a drink.” He stretched like a cat. “Life is good.”
Josie sat across the table from us and spoke quietly. “Joe told me of your idea. It seems reasonable.”
For a moment I felt confused.
Joe leaned over to speak in my ear. “To leave here.”
“Ah,” I said. Josie was obviously worried about being overheard. “I had a question about Marja.”
Josie nodded. “Yes, Joe told me. It sounds as if she sent the letter from her work.” She leaned forward. “Do you still have it?”
I shook my head, remembering my joy at Joe’s letter. “I’m so sorry. I burned it.” How was I to know it would be the last thing they had of her?
Josie sighed, leaning back. “Don’t fret. It’s only —”
“You wanted something to remember her by. I understand.”
She nodded, looking away. “Think nothing of it.” She gave me a happy, relieved smile, then stood. “I’ll play a bit,” she said with a sly grin, “so you can talk without me around.”
Joe laughed. “You are a dear.”
As she began to play, Joe intertwined his fingers in mine. “I don’t know what I’d do without Josie.” He kissed my hand. “She’s taken care of me through everything.”
“I’m terribly grateful for her,” I said. “It’s good to see her doing so well through it all.” Enduring this place, Joe’s fall, and now, Marja. Yet we’d survived it. Feeling a surge of fondness, I hugged our clasped hands to my face. “I love you so much, Joe.”
We held hands as Josie played. I felt so safe, so at peace, so loved. Everything was right when Joe was near.
“Jacqui, I’ve learned who started this Red
Dog Gang your husband spoke of.”
“Oh?”
“The Clubbs, Jacqui. I have it from a reliable source.”
“I thought you told my husband the Diamonds started it.”
Joe caressed my hair. “He must have been mistaken. Mixed me up with someone else. I said no such thing.”
It wasn’t like Tony to misspeak. Or was I mistaken? “Are you sure? I don’t understand. Why would the Clubbs hire children to throw rocks at their own —”
He gazed into my eyes, which flustered me. “If they wanted to blame someone else for it, this makes perfect sense,” Joe said calmly. “And they’ve used Hart colors. They could claim he began it, and everyone would believe them.”
I recalled the Golden Bridges article in February. “People are already saying it.” I read back over the article in my mind. “The Clubbs said it. The article said they planned formal protest.”
Joe shook his head. “The scoundrels! Mr. Hart may be many things, but he doesn’t deserve this.”
“Why does he dislike you so much?”
Joe gazed towards Josie, and she gave a slight nod. “You saw him at the racetrack, Jacqui. He knows how you feel for me.”
I could hardly believe my ears. “He’s jealous? But — he’s married! And,” the idea disgusted me, “old.”
Joe laughed. “That he is. Never fear: once we’ve left Bridges, he’ll never bother you again.”
I kissed his hand, moved by his words. Then he leaned over and kissed my lips, softly, his hand cupping my face.
If only you were well. If only we might leave here. If only I didn’t have to go home, face Tony, endure my wife duties tonight.
If I could keep my mind on Joe, they weren’t so bad. But before that ....
And how could I keep lying to Tony? Keep dodging his questions? Every day, every night meant more pain to come. I had to get away from here. I gripped Joe’s hand, gazed into his eyes. “You must recover quickly!”
He smiled his glorious smile. “I have no other wish, if only to leave with you sooner.” He paused, growing somber. “But we must plan this carefully if we’re to escape without suspicion...”
Escape. The word once said made this feel more real.
“You’re better at such things. What shall we do? And when?”
I clasped his hand. “We must gain tickets for the zeppelin.”
Joe nodded. “Yes.”
I took a deep breath. “But I don’t have enough money.”
“Never fear,” Joe said. “I may have to call in some favors.” He glanced away. “I may have to do more than that.”
The way he said it made me fear he might return to the Pot of an evening to sell himself, as he did when he was a boy. People’ll pay top rate to fuck a Kerr, he once told me.
He caressed the side of my cheek. “But I will get them.” He glanced at the clock. “Our grandfather will be home soon.”
Josie said, “I’m so glad you could visit.” She came over to hug me, speaking in my ear. “I’m even happier at the thought you might be my sister soon.”
Sister.
I’d forgotten: one might marry without papers, once past the Aperture. I hugged her tightly, kissed her cheek. “I’m glad too.”
In the carriage, my mind was a-whirl. How might I gain the rest of the money for my zeppelin ticket?
Selling the apartments was out. I had other things I might sell. But to who?
They would have to be small things, sold very discreetly. If rumor arose that Mrs. Spadros was selling off her belongings, it could create the impression that the Family was in financial difficulty. A scandal was the last thing I needed.
More importantly, I had to keep this from Tony. There was a limit to what he could withstand. Granted, he’d been more generous than I imagined about my deceptions, but if he got the idea I meant to leave ...
I didn’t know what he might do. And that terrified me.
The way he almost lazily shot his man Duck, bound and blindfolded as the man was, just for making a sound when Tony told him not to ....
It was as if Tony lost the ability to care about anything once he realized the man betrayed him, even the danger to everyone in the room — including himself — should the bullet ricochet.
If he reacted like this with a man’s betrayal, how would he react to mine?
The Money
I sat at my desk going over my possessions in my mind. They were too costly to sell at any of the normal outlets, and reputable dealers would wonder why I sold them. If I tried to disguise myself, was able to sell an item, and Tony found it on someone else, they might be in danger.
I felt deflated: another avenue blocked.
I rang for Amelia. “Is the afternoon paper here yet?”
“Why yes, mum. I’ll fetch it at once.” She brought it in, her face puzzled. “You’ve never asked for it before.”
I opened the newspaper to the zeppelin schedule. The zeppelin ran all day and night, although with fewer flights after dark. Meal service, bar, sleeping rooms — these flights sounded magnificent. I imagined lifting from the ground, flying.
The paper listed the current prices. I almost had enough for one ticket if we went to the least expensive city. I tapped the paper with my pen, circled the price. I didn’t like Joe selling himself to get our tickets, but no other ideas came to mind.
Perhaps once the account was set up at the bank, I might withdraw that money. Well, most of it. If I closed the account, Tony might hear of it. How long would that be?
Pearson came to my study and knocked. “A Mrs. Gertie Pike here to see you, mum.”
After a moment, I remembered the stout woman married to Thrace Pike. Whatever might she be doing here? “Seat her in the parlor, Pearson, I’ll be there at once.”
Gertie Pike was twenty, somewhat thinner than I remembered, but she wore the same ugly gray dress she had the last two times I saw her. Her hair, straight, blonde and lank, her skin sallow, her teeth uneven, her eyes too close together. But she loved Thrace Pike and their child dearly, although I saw little in the man to warrant such interest.
Mrs. Pike stood in the middle of the room, her coat still on, slowly turning to face me when I came in. “It’s all as he said.”
Evidently she’d read her husband’s pamphlet, which detailed — without naming me, fortunately for him — an afternoon in January when I tried to seduce him.
This was going to be awkward.
I forced myself to smile. “What a pleasure to see you. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, mum, thank you.”
I rang for a maid; Mary Pearson came in. Mary, like Gertie, was twenty, although just turned, with straight blonde hair. Unlike Mrs. Pike, Mary was pretty, with rosy cheeks and a bright smile. She curtsied. “Yes, mum?”
If my guess was right, Mrs. Pike didn’t eat well. “It’s almost tea-time; set it up here.” It was actually twenty minutes before tea-time; I hoped Monsieur wasn’t too put out by it.
After Mary left, Mrs. Pike said, “I don’t wish to impose.”
“Nonsense. Mr. Spadros is out today; otherwise, I’d have to take tea alone. You do me great service.”
“Thank you, mum.”
“How’s your daughter?”
“She’s well, mum, thank you.”
The hem of her skirt had dragged in mud recently; the stain still lingered. “How may I help you, Mrs. Pike?”
“You contracted my husband to perform tasks for you.”
I chuckled. “On the contrary — he volunteered.”
She stared at me, mouth open. “Aren’t you going to pay him?”
That was a fair question, especially in light of their poverty. “As I said, he volunteered to do this for me. So I hadn’t considered the matter.”
“And now that you’ve considered the matter?”
I sighed, feeling melancholy. “I’m not pleased with what he found, but it was helpful.”
“Then I ask that you pay him, not his grandfather.”
>
“Why do you ask this?”
Mary came in with tea, slices of cake, and a small crock of butter. “There wasn’t time for icing, mum. I hope butter will do.”
“It’s lovely, Mary; please thank the kitchen staff for it.”
She curtsied. “I will, mum.”
Mrs. Pike took cake, spreading it with butter, then sat regarding me. “You’re an odd woman.”
I smiled, selecting my cake and tea. “How so?”
“You’re ready to take any advantage, even over someone far your inferior, yet you’re kind to servants. It’s unusual.”
My inferior? Did she not know I was a Pot rag? “I suppose I’m in an unusual situation.” The saltiness of the butter was lovely with the warm sweet cake. “I enjoy it when people speak truth. You find it so seldom.”
She ate her cake, sipped her tea. My answer seemed to embolden her. “Then I’ll speak truth.” When she spoke next, her voice shook. “What are your intentions toward my husband?”
I blinked. “What?” A laugh burst from me. “I have no intentions towards him whatsoever.”
Mrs. Pike glanced away, cheeks reddening. “It’s just that —”
“You read his pamphlet.”
“Yes, mum.” The way she spoke made me think she had more to say but decided not to share it.
“Then it was unwise for you to visit. It’s likely my staff has read it as well.”
She turned crimson.
“Why don’t you want me to pay his grandfather? Is he not your husband’s master?”
She shook her head, agitated. “My husband did the work without any instruction or aid, yet his grandfather will take the great share, leaving us with a pittance. It’s unjust.”
So it was. “Is that why your husband became a reporter?”
Her head drooped. “His grandfather would have nothing to do with him so long as we were Bridgers.” She paused, rubbing her ring finger. “My husband believed he could do good work at the Bridges Daily ...”
“But ...”
Mrs. Pike didn’t meet my eye. “It’s corrupt; real news never sees daylight. It’s what the Families want printed, nothing more.”
She was such a foolish girl — much too trusting. I hoped she survived long enough to see her baby grown. “Mr. Pike was right to leave if he felt unable to do good work there.”
The Ace of Clubs Page 16