by Edie Cay
Bess wouldn’t ever have to fight again, and Violet would never sell matches or anything else on a street corner, like the other girl urchins he saw, the worst of them barefooted and dirty.
Jean wasn’t able to pay as much attention to the work as he’d hoped, what with Violet running in from the chicken yard every few minutes to show him a feather she’d found, or a smooth rock. The girl craved attention, and why she latched onto Jean, Os had no idea.
A few customers had come in during the morning, little jobs that helped pay the bills, but nothing interesting. Os tried to focus on the task at hand, but he found himself looking up, hoping to see Bess returning. She had dropped off Violet that morning, saying she had to go to a meeting at a place not right for the girl. Os shrugged, knowing that Bess left her at the foundry because they could protect her in case her father came snooping about.
That was another point that puffed up his pride. Bess found him to be a worthy protector. She didn’t think that about just anyone, as Tony had proven to be inadequate. Os finished up the bottommost swirl of the hinge and set it to cool. He would return to it in a few hours to see if he still liked the design.
Onto the next task, another carriage spring. “Working on the Neville order,” Os called to Jean, who was trying to get Violet occupied with chasing the cats.
“Coming,” Jean said. The girl didn’t seem like much of a handful, but she was certainly a distraction. “I must work.”
Violet nodded and kicked at a rock. “I know.”
“I will play with you later, after I finish,” Jean said.
The girl remained sullen but nodded. Jean returned to the foundry, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I will work into the evening,” Jean said, his accent stronger as he apologized.
“We’re fine,” Os said. “We worked hard yesterday.”
Jean nodded, but he was as unappeased as Violet in the yard.
Os prepped the anvil while Jean retrieved the tools necessary for the carriage spring. The benefit of having such a regular job as a carriage spring was that they didn’t need to talk about it. They’d done so many it was rote, mindless for the both of them.
The chickens squawked in the yard, and even Brutus let out one low, alerting bark. Os’s head snapped up, a cold wash of apprehension coming over him. Brutus only barked at strangers.
“Hello,” he heard Violet say.
Os left the anvil, wiping his sweaty palms on the sides of his leather apron. Walking into the yard, it was worse than he feared. It wasn’t Violet’s father, or even an angry mob. The stranger in the yard was a woman he’d hoped would never grace the steps of London. For how to explain her to Bess?
Sophia was dressed in green with a matching green headscarf, and it made her caramel skin glow like well-polished amber. The scar on her cheek was barely noticeable against the brilliant emerald of her clothing. All it did was highlight her elegant cheekbones and tapered eyes.
“Hello,” Sophia said to Violet, who stared at this astonishing woman as if she were royalty. “I’m looking for—” Sophia stopped talking when she saw Os standing there. “I’m looking for you.”
Jean wandered out beside Os. He could practically feel the boy’s interest radiating out. It wasn’t his fault. Every man did it. Most every person did it.
“Sophia,” Os said.
“Os,” she said. “You have quite the place.”
“Hello,” Jean choked out.
Sophia looked away from Os, her teak-colored eyes pinning Jean to his spot. “Hello. I’m afraid we’ve not met.”
“We have,” Jean assured her. “It was a long time ago. In Manchester.”
Os couldn’t remember such an event. She must have come by the foundry at some point while he still worked there. Jean would have been barely into his teens then.
“Then you must have looked very different. Forgive me for not remembering,” Sophia said, implying that the boy looked better now. Even her tone was like honey. She turned to Violet. “And you? Have we met before and I just don’t remember?”
“No,” Os said, taking a step forward. Bess would not like any interference with Violet, even if it were just a friendly handshake.
“Oi,” came a shout. Bess came stomping down the road. She was fuming, Os could see it in how she swung her arms. “The nerve of some people.”
Without meaning to, Os stopped moving, becoming perfectly still. Then he noticed Violet and Jean did the same, as if they were all prey and Bess was the predator coming into their den. Only Sophia moved, a subtle shift of her hips, a sashay that caught Jean’s lusting eye. He made a gurgled sound and Os elbowed him hard.
Bess looked up from her walk to survey the scene in front of the foundry. She sucked on her teeth as she looked from one to the next. Finally, she said, “Wot?” She shook her head and gave Os a hard, withering glare. “Well.”
“Hello,” Sophia said, taking a step toward Bess.
Bess just looked at her. Then she chuckled darkly to herself, a sound that Os did not like at all. “Friend from Manchester?”
“Pardon?” Sophia asked, looking to Os.
Os didn’t dare look away from Bess. The only thing saving him from her wrath was his extreme focus.
“You.” Bess shifted her weight, opening her stance. She probably didn’t even know she was doing it, but she was already readying herself for a fight. “You’re one o’ his friends from Manchester.”
Os didn’t know how Bess would know that, but she was more clever than she let on. He shouldn’t be surprised that Bess wouldn’t allow him to have a secret if it didn’t suit her.
“I am,” Sophia said, taking yet another step toward Bess. Os wanted to warn her to keep her distance, but he knew that wouldn’t go over well either.
The comparison of the two women was not lost on Os. Bess stood almost two heads taller than Sophia. Her dress looked worn and drab in contrast to the brilliant green that Sophia wore. It was clear that the woman from Manchester was far more attractive, her skin glowing with ease and health, while Bess looked pinkish, muscled, and sinewy.
“I’m an old friend of Os’s—” Sophia said, extending a hand.
“Bet you are,” Bess said, ignoring the hand. “C’mon Violet. We got to talk to Tony.” She sauntered past the chicken yard.
“I’m only here for—” Sophia tried again.
Bess stopped the other woman’s words with a simple glare. There was silence as Bess waited for Violet to extricate herself from the gated yard. Then she turned her anger on Os. “Looks like you got a thing for scars,” she said.
The shot felt like she’d just landed a fist in his chest.
Violet glanced back at Os, her eyes wide. The girl was trying not to panic, sensing the fire in Bess, but still trying to trust that Bess wouldn’t hurt her, no matter how angry she was. Os gave her an encouraging nod. The last thing Bess could handle right now was a betrayal of loyalty from Violet.
The remaining three of them watched as Bess stomped off down the hill toward Tony’s pub, Violet trailing. Jean exhaled, as if he’d held his breath during the entire exchange.
“I—” Sophia started.
Os held up his hand. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Sophia. It was probably the first time in her life that she hadn’t been able to charm someone. Leave it to Bess to shatter the world’s equilibrium. “We’ll close up for the moment. Speak here in the yard, and Jean, you’ll stay as an official witness and chaperone.”
Sophia laughed, her voice like a tinkling of delicate glass bells. “I don’t need a chaperone.”
Os glared after Bess. “I do.”
Bess hadn’t planned on an early training session, but it seemed like a good idea. Violet scurried after her, always a few feet behind. It took her a minute to understand that the girl was keeping herself exactly out of arm’s length. The idea hurt.
Just like the beautiful woman in green hurt. Like Bridget Kelly looking down while O’Rourke spoke for her. Like everything had always hurt.
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But now was not the time for emotions. Training would sort out the mess in her head. Of course Os had an old friend from Manchester who looked like that. Excepting the scar, the woman was far too beautiful, and the exact opposite of Bess. Of course.
She threw open the door to the pub. It was just opening for the afternoon crowd, a few working men getting a midday tidbit to tide them over until the end of a shift.
“Where’s Tony?” she demanded.
Miz Penny froze behind the counter, mid-exchange of coin. “Pardon, my dear?” Her voice quivered.
Damn it, she scared small girls and old women. The day was shaping up right.
“Tony. We need words.” Bess continued on her path towards the back of the pub.
“I—I—I’m not sure,” Miz Penny managed.
“Fight’s back on. If you see him, tell him. I’ll be in the gym,” she said, disappearing through the curtain.
Violet tumbled through the curtain after her. Bess stripped down the sleeves of her dress. She shouldn’t sweat in this dress, as it was in better condition than her other ones, but she couldn’t think about that now. She tied the sleeves and found an extra chest bandage in her box of training gear she kept in the corner.
“You can go be with Miz Penny if you want,” Bess said, not looking up.
Violet slunk over to her usual spot. “No, thank you.”
“It’ll be more fun,” Bess warned. All she could think of was caramel skin and that honeyed tone. Bright emerald dress! Who did she think she was? But then, Bess didn’t actually know who she was.
Watching them in the chicken yard, the sway of her hips, the way she cast her body towards Os. It didn’t take much to know that they’d been lovers. And that the woman didn’t want it to be over. Bess could feel that woman’s tendrils, like those of a great sleepy kraken, hoping to wind themselves around Os.
“I can help you train,” Violet said.
“I’m just going to warm up with the rope,” Bess said, grabbing hers.
Violet inched closer and grabbed her own jump rope. “I’ll do it with you.”
Suddenly it was all gone, and she was numb again—numb like she’d been when she was a kid. But Violet pricked a hole in her hard veneer. Her loyalty, scared as she was, made Bess feel like she didn’t deserve it.
“Good, then. When you’re ready,” Bess said, and they both began to slowly skip rope, picking up speed, watching each other. Would a broken heart mend easier if someone else loved her?
They banked the forge to embers and tidied up the foundry, closing the double doors, signaling to passersby that business for the day was concluded. Sophia stood by, petting Brutus, waiting for the men to finish their task.
“Now then,” Os said, joining her back in the chickenyard. He didn’t dare invite her near the cottage, let alone a public venue where they would be seen walking together. “How long will you be in London?” Os asked.
Sophia shook her head. “However long it takes.”
“What takes?” Os growled.
The woman looked down at her hands. Os took the opportunity to glance at Jean, who was fully entranced by Sophia’s every action. Os sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her theatrics, it’s just that her every movement was bound to entrap and entrance. There was no maliciousness to her seduction, as she didn’t seem to be able to control it—but damn it if he didn’t feel a little tired of watching it.
Her arrival, just days after his own, didn’t look good. After dealing with whatever news she brought with her, Os would need to go find Bess and figure out some way to smooth things over. With Bess, though, was it even possible? She wasn’t exactly a forget-and-forgive sort of person. Surely she trusted him enough to know that this affair was long over.
“Horace is well?” Os prompted.
“Horace is fine.” Sophia looked up, her eyes catching the light from the parting of the clouds. She looked like an angel in a church window.
Jean let out a soft sigh. Oh, to be young and a fool. Os wanted to kick him. “And Miss Mary Reed?”
“She’s fine as well,” Sophia assured him.
“Then why are you here?” Os asked. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, but it didn’t seem to be working.
“Why did you set up your foundry in this section of London?” Sophia asked.
“Because this is where the foundry was. I couldn’t afford to buy and move,” Os shifted. He knew what she was asking. Why did he make a life in the Irish part of London?
“Where else would he put it?” asked Jean.
“Even in Stepney, just a few miles that way, you’d find friendlier faces,” Sophia said.
“We’ve not had any problems,” Jean protested.
Os gave him a look that said shut your mouth. Sophia meant friendly faces the color of his own. “I bought the foundry intact from the family of a previous blacksmith. I inherited the customers.”
Sophia insisted. “But in Stepney, there are—”
Os held up his hand to stop her. She wasn’t wrong to ask about the community of Black families that lived in London, nor was she wrong to suggest it would be helpful to live among his own people. But he could just as easily point out the wealthier families of color living in Marylebone, adjacent to where his foundry was located, on the edge of Paddington. Besides, Os had made his own decisions, and she didn’t need to come and interfere.
“Have you at least tried to contact anyone over there?” she challenged.
“No, I haven’t,” Os said. “I’ve been too busy with a thriving business.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to have even more customers,” she said.
“When I need business, I’ll consider it,” Os said through clenched teeth. “Why are you here?”
She sighed. “Chitley sent me.”
Dread washed over Os. “But I was just there.”
Sophia shrugged a slim shoulder. “Mrs. Jones and Miss Jones were coming to London anyway. When they called on Lady Chitley, Lord Chitley expressly begged a favor that I might have time to visit you while I was here.”
Jean looked back and forth between them, his brow furrowed. Explanations could wait.
Os’s hands fisted. “And?”
“And your mother never existed in any ledger. She was never at the Chitley plantation.”
His voice was lost. He couldn’t even prompt the woman to speak again.
“Chitley believes that your mother must have been in Freetown.” Sophia looked down at her hands, regretting, no doubt, the lack of information. Which is why Willrich sent a person and not a letter. Because Willrich knew that while Os would be glad his mother had never been enslaved, this was another line of inquiry that added up to nothing.
“Is there a record of who she was?” Os felt a gap in his chest like none he’d ever imagined.
Sophia shook her head. “Chitley said he was searching his memory, whatever he means by that.”
His mother could be anywhere. Jack About Town needed to show himself. Os had much that needed finding. Where had he come from? How did he end up on that boat?
“Oh, Os,” Sophia said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry. I know this meant so much to you.”
He nodded, doing his best to accept her compassion, but not wanting it to cloud his own mind. Perhaps if he could find the abolitionist societies, they might be able to help him. They kept records and pooled resources.
Jean clapped his hand on Os’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, I can help.”
“She was free,” Os said, giving his apprentice a small smile of encouragement. “Thank you, Sophia, for coming all this way.” He fished around in his pocket, looking for coin.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Sophia said.
He met her rich amber eyes for the first time since she arrived. “You don’t owe me, either.”
She took two steps towards him and grasped his wrist. “I know. I’m glad to do this for you.” She let go and looked brightly at Jean. The change i
n her demeanor was marked. “I’ll be in town for a few more weeks, until the family returns to Manchester. I get half days on Sundays if you have any suggestions on things I might see.”
Jean melted like butter. “Wherever you would like to go, I would be happy to escort you.”
Os snorted.
“I could take you to Vauxhall,” Jean said.
“Are those the pleasure gardens?” Sophia asked.
Jean swallowed hard enough that Os could hear it. For all his crowing and lecherous comments, the boy was still a boy, and Sophia could run him like a dog all day long.
“Yes,” Jean said. “Or somewhere else, if you’d like to go somewhere else.”
“Well,” Sophia said, stretching lightly, showing off slim shoulders and elegant neck. “I’m tired just now. But perhaps tomorrow I can come by the foundry. I’ll be lodging nearby in Mayfair, but I don’t think it would be proper to have you come calling quite yet.”
The boy reminded him of a chicken, ducking his head in repeated agreement. Had Os ever been young enough to behave so foolishly? Probably. It was still daylight, the afternoon cooling into evening. Os squinted as the sun hit the rooflines.
“I should get back and help my lady dress for dinner.”
“Would you like an escort?” Os asked.
“Yes, let me walk you,” Jean said.
Sophia laughed, a high, bright tinkle of a sound. That was genuine—he recognized that sound at least. No, he needed to give her more credit. She was only flirting with Jean because he was so besotted and it was easy. She hadn’t come to disrupt his life, she’d come because it was a favor to him. The tension in his chest eased. This was good news. It had shaken him to the core, but it was good news.
“No, thank you. I braved the streets of Manchester, I think I can manage the streets of London.”
“London is far more dangerous,” Jean protested.
“It isn’t as if we’re in St. Giles,” Os said, frowning.
Sophia seemed to weigh her options. “All right,” she said. “Monsieur, I will take you up on your kind offer.”