A Study in Darkness (31 page)

His son’s silence reminded Bancroft that he was supposed to be dispensing fatherly advice. “Is that the problem then? Wrong woman?”

“What am I going to do?” Tobias said in a low, strained voice.

Stop whining
. But that was hardly helpful. “Keating expects you to make his daughter happy, and you will regret the day he decides you’ve failed. At least pretend to be a good husband for a month or two. You liked her well enough for a summer’s entertainment.”

Tobias winced in a way that said he’d struck close to the bone. “She deserves better than a lie.”

Ah, the drama of the forlorn yet noble heart
. “I learned long ago that the one who fights the longest and hardest for truth does the most damage to everything he loves. Nothing withstands that kind of scrutiny.”

Tobias narrowed his eyes. “I pray that I never turn into you.”

“Give it time.” Bancroft rose, suddenly weary of the conversation. “But I recommend vigorous protest instead of sulking. It has the advantage of healthful exercise.”

He walked a few steps before taking a last look at his son slumped in the chair, exasperation overcoming his instinct for a clean exit. “Bloody hell, Tobias, if you’re going to make a bonfire of your life, at least do it with gusto!”

THE TEN BELLS SAT ON THE CORNER OF COMMERCIAL STREET
, where some of Evelina’s neighbors went in their off hours. The pub was angled across the corner of the block, two pillars framing a double door. She could hear the noisy crowd as she approached, an ebb and flow of merriment and alcoholic fumes. It was the kind of place people went to to forget their lives for as long as the liquor lasted—and right then that was the best use she could think of for a few of Jasper Keating’s coins.
But if I miss another of his deadlines, I might be trying to lose myself here in earnest
. If she missed another deadline, that pinch of her uncle’s tobacco said it all. The Gold King could destroy her in so many inventive ways.

She knew she was in very deep water. As welcome as Keating’s terse reprieve had been, it had sent her scurrying to the distant post office where she had left her letter to Uncle Sherlock. When she’d first come to Whitechapel, she’d paid the proprietor with instructions to mail the letter a day after she was scheduled to return to Baker Street—if she didn’t intercept it, her missive would serve as an alert to let Holmes know where she was and that she needed help.

Of course, the extended deadline changed the date the note would need to be sent. So, she went to ask for a delay—only to discover that the letter had been lost, leaving her utterly vulnerable without even knowing it. She’d left a replacement,
praying it wouldn’t suffer the same fate as the first. As safety nets went, it seemed a flimsy thing, but what else could she do?

Try to stay away from trouble
. But sometimes one needed distraction. As Evelina opened the pub door, the din was a physical force that stopped her in her tracks. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she liked the noise and company—and tonight of all nights she needed it. It didn’t matter that there were too many bodies smelling of not enough soap and water, or that the temperature inside was intense. This was Tobias and Alice’s wedding day, and Evelina did not want to be alone.

She scanned the room, looking for a familiar face, and to her surprise saw Gareth waving her over. She hadn’t seen him since the morning after Lacey’s death. There were still traces of shock and grief in his eyes, but he hid them behind a broad smile.

“Over here, then,” he called, then bellowed in a voice more robust than the rest of him, “Hey, Maggs, another glass, will you?”

She had a sudden moment of doubt, wondering what she was doing there. She’d worked so hard to learn to be a lady. She’d spent years at Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies and been presented to the queen. She was about to sit down in a public place with … well, it hardly mattered now, did it? She’d tried to be everything her Grandmamma Holmes wanted, and where had it got her? Alone, in an East End drinking hole, mourning the marriage of the man she wanted to someone else. And nobody here cared if she liked to work with her hands just as much as she liked dancing, or that she couldn’t carry a tune in a hay wagon.

For an instant, she felt almost light-headed. The thought had taken her by surprise, dragging regret and resignation in its wake, but also a pinch of relief. There was something to be said for not having to try so hard—but it wasn’t an unalloyed pleasure, either.

Evelina shoved her way through the throng, barely able to see what the place looked like beyond all the people. She caught an impression of blue and white tiled walls and a
scatter of wooden tables, but everything else was just coats, hats, warm bodies, and bad breath she had to dive through. “Excuse me,” she said. “Excuse me.” But nobody heard her or cared.

By then Gareth had somehow found another chair and drawn it up to the table, holding the back for her like a footman. She’d barely sat down when he pressed a full glass of ale into her hand. “Here you go, then,” he said, his soft, dark hair flopping in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Evelina said, finally able to take a look at the other people at the table, all women. “Hello.”

“This is Miss Cooper,” Gareth said with as much pride as if he’d somehow invented her. That made one or two of the others raise their heads with interest. “She’s the one who brought medicine.”

“That was right kind of you, dear,” said an older woman to Evelina’s left, who reached over to pat her hand. Her accent sounded slightly foreign.

“This is Greta,” Gareth said.

“Mrs. Horst to you, young man,” Greta said reprovingly, exposing a mouthful of brown-stained teeth.

“Greta owns the tea shop down the way. And this is Miss Lucy Andrews,” Gareth went on, indicating a brunette not much older than he was. “And the lovely Miss Mary Jane Kelly.”

“A pleasure, miss,” Mary Kelly said, her words softened by a Welsh lilt. She was pretty, about twenty-five, with blond hair and blue eyes.

Evelina nodded to both, trying to engrave the names on her brain so that she wouldn’t forget them. The women were shabby and a little drunk, but she didn’t particularly care.

“And this here is Miss Hyacinth.”

She knew the woman ran the bawdy house where Gareth worked, but they had never met. Evelina did her best not to stare. Hyacinth had a luxurious head of hair tinted a pale crocus purple. Even her eyebrows were a darker version of the shade. But that wasn’t what riveted Evelina’s attention with mounting horror. She knew this young woman—who used to have locks the color of russet autumn leaves.

Hyacinth cocked one purple eyebrow. “Well, well, Cooper. Isn’t this world a funny old place?”

Evelina had known her as the Honorable Violet Asterley-Henderson, the most proud, horrible girl at the Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies. Evelina had hated her all through school.

Unable to think what to say, Evelina took a swallow of beer, hoping the alcohol might spur inspiration. It was strong and bitter, clinging to the tongue. Actually, it was rather good. “Good heavens,” was all she managed. “What do I call you?”

“Everyone calls me Miss Hyacinth. At least while they’re being polite.”

For a fleeting moment, Evelina contemplated making a lunge for the door. Those awful memories of school were still strong as ever.

“So what brings you to this fashionable neighborhood, Cooper?” Hyacinth planted an elbow on the table, leaning her head on her daintily gloved fist. She was still stylish, perfectly groomed and impeccably dressed despite the outlandish hair. And she still had that
something
lurking behind her eyes that said she would throw peasants into a pit of starving tigers just to see the show.

“Same thing as you, in a way,” Evelina answered, all too aware of the others at the table. It was bad enough telling her tale to an old school nemesis, let alone perfect strangers. “An indiscretion.”

“What kind?”

Evelina took another sip of beer, liking the buzz but telling herself to go slow. She was tired and not as used to drink as her companions. “There was a young man in the picture.”

“Ah, the ruin of us all!” Mary Kelly laughed, a fat, merry sound that had them all going in an instant.

“You?” Hyacinth scoffed. “You always had your nose in a book. I never thought you knew what a boy was for.”

Evelina flushed. She was an innocent compared to these women, but it would never do to let that show. “I suppose I figured it out.” There was another volley of laughter from Mary.

“We all make mistakes,” Hyacinth said with a shrug.
“Mine are just more extravagant. Everything about me is. You remember that, don’t you, Cooper?”

Evelina winced. Her schoolmate had always been difficult, but had achieved new heights when, at the end of their last term, she’d tried her hand at black magic. As magic was illegal, the school was shut down, Violet—or Hyacinth, as she called herself now—had been expelled, and her family disgraced and imprisoned. No one had even known the Asterley-Hendersons had the Blood until Hyacinth had revealed it with all the discretion of a brass band in full blare.

“But you landed on your feet,” Evelina ventured. It had been less than a year, too—not so much landing on her feet as locating a launch pad.

“Indeed I did,” Hyacinth replied, lifting her chin. “The profession is a bit like absinthe. The first time I tried it—with my jailors, no less—I didn’t like it. But it kept me alive. It’s instructive what one will do to stay alive.”

She gave Evelina a hard look, as if daring her to say something. “Eventually I got accustomed to the experience and began to see the financial potential. Like any other business, it’s all about expansion and diversification. It just took some intelligent maneuvering. I never undertake anything unless I can rise to the top.”

“And what a top she is,” said Gareth with a grin.

There was an acquisitive flash in Hyacinth’s eyes as she regarded the boy over the rim of her wineglass. “Now, now, my sweet,” she chucked the boy under the chin, making him squirm. “I’m young and at the threshold of my career. There are plenty of peaks to climb yet.”

The girl named Lucy groaned. Evelina was fairly sure she understood the joke, but wasn’t going to open her mouth and make a mistake.

But Hyacinth was watching her. “And I think our young friend here should mind his manners, unless he wants to put his jests into action. Fine young men are always in demand.”

Gareth sat back, his face an inscrutable mask. “Maybe I’d fancy working on the docks.”

“Don’t be empty-headed,” the madam said kindly. “They’d
eat you alive. So, Evelina, what are you going to do, now that you and your fine mind are here with us?”

“I have work,” Evelina said, thanking all the gods that she had skills to sell instead of her female charms. “I’m at the puppet theater.”

“With Dr. Magnus?” Hyacinth said curiously. “He’s never done us any favors. Weren’t you dead set on college?”

Evelina shrugged, not knowing what to say. Keating had given her until October 1 to finish her business in Whitechapel, and then presumably she would go home. And there was no question that she wanted to see her uncle and Imogen and to walk in safe, clean streets. But the truth was—for the first time in longer than she could remember—she was oddly at peace. She was free to study magic, indulge in her love of clockwork, and she was not forced to be anyone she was not.

It was going to be devilishly hard to let go of that freedom. “Maybe I’ll do better than college.”

“I always liked the fact that you weren’t a coward,” Hyacinth said, almost sounding as if she meant it. “You stood up to me, after all. You have what it takes to make it—but you won’t be happy sitting in taverns forever.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice at the moment.”

“A smart girl makes her own choices.” Hyacinth sank back in her chair, picking up her glass of ruby red wine. “There isn’t much a sound investment plan can’t overcome.”

It was hard not to marvel. Society had lost a force of nature when they tossed Miss Asterley-Henderson to the wolves. They were likely to find her banging at the castle gates with the wolves as her own private army.

“I’ll take your advice under consideration.” Then Evelina couldn’t help smiling. “In the meantime, let us toast to Mr. Tobias Roth and his bride, the lovely Alice Keating. It is their wedding night.”

Hyacinth’s eyebrows rose. “Imogen’s brother? The pretty boy?”

“The same,” Evelina replied, and couldn’t keep the regret out of her voice, the echo of all the things that might have
been, but that would never happen now. They were not new thoughts—she’d already been over and over this ground as her Grandmamma dragged her through Devonshire drawing rooms—but that fatal kiss had breathed new life into her grief. She’d lost Tobias, and suspected that he’d lost himself. Truth be told, it was the thought of that future man—the one who would have been if he’d only been free—that made her eyes burn.