Dearly, Beloved (34 page)

Nora thought about it and nodded. Satisfied, I stepped past her and approached the host. Soon he was escorting us through a gauntlet of critical adult glances to a prime seat in a secluded area. Once we were seated I plucked the menu card away from her place setting, preventing her from even looking at it. “I’ll order.” I savored the annoyed look this offer caused.

“Make it fast,” she said after getting the dog to lie at her feet. I repressed the urge to kick the cur’s face in. “This isn’t a pleasure outing.”

“How disappointing. What would you like to talk about, then?” The waiter appeared, and before he could speak I specified, “High tea, your best white. And champagne.” He bowed and withdrew.

“Several things.” Nora glanced aside at some ferns. “Let’s start with my aunt.”

I dismissed this with a snort. “I believe my family’s been nothing but cooperative in that matter. I have nothing new to add.” I held forth my arm. “But if you happen to have a lie detector handy, by all means.”

“Don’t be cute,” she said, leaning forward. “My father will take yours to court, you know.”

“Over what? We helped Mrs. Ortega, and she disappeared.” A server arrived with a towering silver tray of finger sandwiches and cakes, and I helped myself to a scone. “My father let our driver take her back to town one day. The driver says he dropped her off. What happened after that is none of our concern. If ignorance is a crime, lock me up.”

“I wish I could.” She made no move to eat. “You might as well drop the act. I was on the ship. I saw what you did to Miss Roe, heard what you said. There can be no pleasantries between us. I’m here for information, and you owe me. We saved your life.”

Something changed at the mention of Roe’s name, at the insinuation that I was some kind of monster. At its heart was a mixture of anger and giddiness that threatened to crack my facade, and so it was very carefully that I stated, “I heard about the incident at her house. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, right.” Nora couldn’t lend breath to both words; her voice fell away somewhere in the middle. My heart ached at the sound of it. “Like you care about her.”

“I care about
you
,” I protested. She made a sound of disgust or disbelief and glanced aside. “Miss Dearly—I mean it. And we ought to talk about that.”

“Talk about
what
?” She looked at me again, expression almost insulted.

“The way you compromise yourself.” I softened my voice. “After all, I don’t think I owe you. Rather, I should say I owe that deadmeat you disgrace yourself with, as much as this idea pains me. Was he not your fearless leader that evening?”

“Don’t you
dare
talk about him that way.” Nora gripped the arms of her chair, but kept her voice low.

“Oh, if we’re to be honest today, I’ll talk about him in any way I wish. After all, you want something out of me, not the other way around. And I think that’s the word we ought to focus on today. ‘Honesty.’ ”

“What is this, kindergarten vocabulary time? Do I get to finger paint, too?”

“What it is,” I said, “is rending the veil. I think your life suffers from a lack of people willing to tell you the truth. I think you are overly indulged.”

The sommelier came by with the bottle of champagne then, and she was forced to cork her reply. Once he was gone she stood, ripping the napkin from her lap. “I’m not about to sit through this. This was a mistake.”

“Sit down,” I said firmly, “or I’ll turn over the table, and everyone will look and see us together. You chose this venue—this very
public
venue. You have to play it out to the end now.”

She rained hellfire on me with her eyes, but slowly sat. I tried to relax. I couldn’t afford to be scattered, emotional. “Now. First of all, I’ll again assure you I know nothing of your aunt. I’m very sorry for your loss. I mean that sincerely.”

She continued to regard me warily, but said nothing. Behind us someone laughed.

“Second, I shall say that you
do
compromise yourself. You think you aren’t gossiped about? But you know, I could protect you. Fight for you.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. I have a … vested interest in you. You’ve always fascinated me. But you act so rashly.”

“Shut. It,” she said, each syllable like a grenade going off in her mouth.

“Hit a sore spot, have I?” I said, unable to contain a smile. “But the offer is still extended.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“What about my perspective?”

“Oh. Please. However have I lived this long without it?”

This was almost
fun
. I was fully enjoying her—her adorably exasperated expressions, her fire. “Well, for instance, you want
so badly
to ascribe cruel reasoning to my actions, when all along I
have been a gentleman—when all along I’ve acted in your best interests. I did truly attempt to protect Miss Roe’s reputation in order to defend your honor. I risked my life, leaving behind my parents, to physically defend the Roe family. And look what I’ve received in return. Insults. Threats. Never thanks.”

Her eyes widened. “You tried to
kill
Isambard. You told Miss Roe that the reason you paid attention to her was because she was shaping up to be something shameful from my past that you wanted to clean up. That once you
had
me, she’d never see me again, you disgusting cad. She left her own family to save you!”

“
After
he became the living dead.” I ignored her second round of statements, but let them add fuel to the fire. This was what I had to help her with. She didn’t see things
properly
. “I acted nobly that night. And yet Griswold assaulted me, knocked me out. Do you think it’s cute that he shut me up so dramatically? Because he left me helpless in the face of a growing crisis. He’s not the hero you make him out to be.”

Nora continued to stare at me as if I were some sort of drooling beast. “Let me ask you something.”

“Please do.”

“Why didn’t you ever
tell
me that you liked me?”

The question was unexpected, but the answer came to me swiftly. Capturing her gaze, I said, “Because my father hates your father, and I would not insult him by going as far as I wished with you. At least, not until I was older. The entirety of his reasoning escapes me, but let’s be honest, he’s right on one score … both your personalities could use some improvement. I mean to help you with that.”

If she’d looked homicidal before, my last few words caused her features to twist into something approximating the love child of Jack the Ripper and Satan himself. She hopped to her feet, and I gained mine as well—but before either of us could say anything, I felt a cold hand on my shoulder.

“Leave,” I heard Griswold say. “Now.”

Turning around, shrugging him off, I growled, “How dare you come here? Lay your hands on me?” Good God, had he been there all along?

“I go where I’m needed.” Griswold leaned closer to me, and I tried to hold my ground. “Like when I had to save your hide. Looks like I might have to do it again.”

The hatred and embarrassment that filled me at the sight of him was nearly frightening. I could barely form a coherent thought, but I still managed to say, “Afraid that once she was alone with me, she’d see the truth?”

Nora smiled, the motion strained. “No. I figured after you paid and left, we’d have a nice little date.”

“We’re done here.” I had to leave, before I gave in fully to my growing rage. This was
not
how it was supposed to go. This had been my moment to admire her before I started breaking her will. I could feel my face, my entire body, growing hot.

“Nuh-uh,” Nora said. “If you have any honor whatsoever, we’re still talking. The man you yourself said you owe is here.” She had the upper hand now, and her features blossomed into a mockery of pretty pleasantness. “Let’s all sit. Shall we?”

“What?” I almost spat. Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I did my best to calm myself. I didn’t actually wish to appear cruel to Nora. Not now.

“Are you sure?” Griswold asked Nora, cutting his eyes at me.

“Yes,” she told him, returning her eyes to me. “We have to finish this.
Sit
.”

And so I sat. I sat down at the maddest tea party ever held. I sat next to the bloody zombie, a chunk of dead flesh in a frilly chair, who looked like he wanted to consume me from the inside out. The feeling was mutual.

“Let’s get off the topic of
us
,” Nora said.

“For the love of all that is holy, yes,” Griswold muttered, leaning his chin on his fingers.

“What do you know about Lord Edmund Lopez?”

This question threw me off my guard, and I was grateful for the arrival of the tea. Once the server had poured and disappeared, I asked, “Why?” It seemed completely random.

“Just tell me.”

“Colonel Lopez?” I said. “That disgraced old drunk? What could you want with him?”

“Disgraced? Drunk?” Nora spun her hand in the air, indicating that I should go on.

I didn’t know what do with my anger when faced with this. Now it was useless, without direction. So, making no effort to mellow my voice, I informed her, “Yes, that
disgraced old drunk
. He’s never been part of the good set, frankly because he’s refused to be. His brother tried, I know that much, and did manage to rebuild the family fortune and suppress certain truths, but the way he looked—he could never walk about in society. He was a cripple. A deformed freak.” Nora stared at me with troubled eyes, now vulnerable in her wonder. “Not that anything either man could do would
ever
be enough to redeem the sins of their parents.”

“What happened?”

Looking at Griswold, I said, “His parents were Punk sympathizers. After the Reed Massacre, Lord and Lady Lopez had everything stripped from them and were routed south with the lot—as they deserved.”

Nora looked shocked. Griswold glared at me. “Don’t talk about my people.”

“It’s historical fact. I’ll talk about them all I bloody want.” I made a mental note to talk about them a
lot
while I tore him apart.

“Fine, then I’ll talk about yours. Have you heard of any attacks in the city?” he asked, lowering his hand. “By people wearing bird masks?”

For a second the wall seemed to ripple behind him. “No. Why?”

“They’re the ones who bombed the Roes.” He bent his head. “I’m not proud that my people’ve hunted down the dead, but at least they didn’t cover their faces like cowards.”

“How do you know that?” I heard my voice, though I couldn’t have said my lips moved.

“She saw them,” Nora said. “And they attacked us, too. Hijacked my aunt’s carriage. Had us at gunpoint. And yet, I still count it as a better outing than this.”

Oh
God
, that had been her carriage. That had been her bloody carriage in the middle of a New London chop shop. Some Brothers must have been assigned to
get
those carriages …

And they’d threatened Nora. Targeted her, not knowing who she was.

The idea nearly made me sick. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said in a rush, doing my best to hide my emotions within a whirl of words. “I’m glad you’re all right. But this is over now.” I rose, bowed, and walked away before they could say anything more.

Nora’d been at the end of a gun. Suddenly all I could think of as I shoved my way through the crowd was the white-haired girl’s bleeding face.

This was madness. I couldn’t have something like that happen to Nora. Nothing physical.

I’d wanted to kill Griswold. I’d compromised myself, put myself in physical danger, terrorized the city, to
kill Griswold
. To imagine, that dead thing sitting there, witness to that spectacle … no. I couldn’t allow that to go unpunished.

But I also couldn’t let the Murder anywhere near her again. The Ratcatcher.
No
.

Change of plans. I had to fix this. I had to separate the act of torturing him from the act of teaching her.

She’d need me once he was gone, after all.

That night I told myself Mártira’s ghost would speak to me. Tell me how to save people. That maybe I’d created a zombie, but Hagens had created a phantom—one that would undo her. I believed in ghosts, for the dead walked now, and ghosts seemed as possible as anything else.

But when faced with the light of day, I knew that wouldn’t happen. Mártira and Claudia were gone. The time for stories was over. All that was left was reality.

As I lay abed thinking, almost everyone else still asleep, Dog entered the tent and approached me. He knelt beside my pallet and pointed to his ear, then back to the tent flap, before aiming two fingers downward and walking them about.

He’d heard someone outside, I figured. But who …

Quickly rousing myself, I whispered, “Go back to your blankets.” Dog obeyed, and I found my shawl and made my way outside as quietly as I could. I didn’t know who might be watching me, spying, reporting—only the fact that someone would be. Allende had made that abundantly clear.

It was early morning and mist still swathed the ground. Yet I immediately saw what had gotten Dog’s attention—and my
throat constricted at the sight. Coalhouse was standing at the edge of the field where the partygoers used to park their carriages, his back to the camp. Beside him was an old, beat-up carriage I didn’t recognize. At first I wasn’t sure whether I ought to approach him or not. He’d returned, yes, but … even together, what could we hope to accomplish?