When We Touch (26 page)

“I don't know. Strange . . . I've never been down here looking for a prosti—” He paused, looking at Maggie and flushing. “I'm not saying I've never . . . just never here.”

“What are you babbling about?” Maggie demanded.

“I don't know. There was a woman on the street, and her face was mostly hidden by her scarf and shawl. And yet . . . I saw her eyes. And she looked at me as if she knew me.”

Maggie shrugged. “Maybe she does know you.”

“Maggie! I told you, I would never come here to . . . to. I simply wouldn't!”

She smiled. “Mireau, she might have seen you with me when we come down here to help the poor wretches.”

“Oh. Oh! Of course,” he said, and sat back.

“This is all very scary,” Maggie said.

“Of course. There's a madman loose.”

She shook her head. “Yes, of course, but that's not what I meant. I mean, it's very scary, the way people come up with rumors and talk. Suggest that women might be killed because they knew about an illicit affair.”

“There's always talk!”

“Father Vickers is right, though. Talk can hurt.”

“Maggie, we should go away. On a holiday.”

“One doesn't go on a holiday when newly widowed,” she said.

“Ah, but one can retreat from daily life,” he reminded her. “Winter is coming. We can go to the south of Italy.”

She shook her head slowly. “I have a child to raise, remember? And I intend to do a bit of raising when I return home.”

* * *

“He saw me!” Fiona said in despair.

“Hush up!” Arianna told her. “He has no idea of who you are. You are just being silly. Now, come along. This looks like an intriguing pub.”

“You'll never get away with this,” Fiona said. “I might, but you won't!”

“I always said that if I weren't my father's daughter, I would have loved to go on stage,” Arianna said. “You watch me. I can do this.”

She slipped into the pub, Fiona sighing and following in behind her. They had certainly managed to get fitting clothing. And she had to admit, Arianna, when determined, had her means and ways. They had come to Aldgate, then started walking. They had come in servants' garb, and made themselves appear as shabby as possible.

They'd found a woman from whom to rent a room.

The room was quite terrifying. It smelled like a sty and the floor was thick with rat excrement. But it was a base. And from there, they had easily found peddlers selling the lowest grade of cloth and clothing, and it had been even better that their newly purchased skirts, petticoats, and bodices fit so poorly. A little soot on Fiona's face, and she had really appeared the part.

“You,” she'd informed Arianna, “are simply too pretty.”

“A lovely thing to say,” Arianna had acknowledged. “But not true. So . . . here we go.”

And they moved out on the streets, and now, into a pub.

“I'll never be able to drink this wretched gin!” Fiona said, as they ordered, and took their glasses to a crowded table.

“So don't drink it!” Arianna hissed in return.

“Well, 'e don't strike in daytime, do 'e, luv?” a woman next to Arianna said loudly. “We makes our money in the day, then!”

“And drinks it by night!” her companion said, causing her to roar. Then the first woman turned, studying Arianna, and scowling.

“Eh! 'Ere's a pretty one fer ye, Maeve. Will ye looky 'ere? Where'd ye come from, luv? I've not seen the likes of ye on the streets in a fair while, I can tell ye!”

The woman had frizzy red hair and a gaunt face. She was long past her prime, and further past whatever looks she might have once had herself.

To Fiona's amazement, Arianna was ready with a reply. She scowled fiercely as well. “I had a job in the city, I did. A fair enough one. Only the old buzzard wot hired me thought that I was for the likes o' him!”

“Couldn't 'a been worse than wot ye'll find on the streets 'ere, deary!” Maeve cackled.

Arianna made a face. “Didn't say I wasn't willing to take his shillings, did I? 'Twas his wife wot threw me out!”

“Ah!” Both women clucked in sympathy with her.

“Still, ye are a pretty thing,” the first woman said. “And 'tis dangerous in these parts, now, 'adn't ye 'eard?” She shivered.

“I know . . . have you heard of any other work?”

Maeve made a noise. “Ye'd be seein' one o' us two scared enough to be doin' it off the streets were we to know about it, luv.”

“You know, I've thought about goin' straight to the police. Sometimes, I've kind of a special sight,” Arianna said.

“Special sight? Wot's that?” Maeve asked.

“She's one of those medium people, you know, wot talk to the dead!” the first woman said. Then her eyes widened and she smiled. “Suppose I find ye a job, one that pays well? I get a cut on it, right?”

“Certainly!”

The woman produced a raw, work-worn hand. “I'm known as Red Hannah. My 'air, you know. My friend 'ere is Maeve. Maeve the Slave, some of the boys calls 'er.”

“ 'Ush it, 'Annah!” Maeve growled, and Hannah grinned. “Don't know about yer friend 'ere, the silent one,” she said, indicating Fiona, “but there's word out that there's a fellow putting together a business. 'E's one of those spiritualists. 'E's been around, looking for a girl, and 'e hasn't liked a one of us, but 'e'd like you, I think. You make sure I take a cut, and I'll set you up a meetin'.”

“I swear, you'll get your cut,” Arianna told her solemnly. “I'm Annie.”

“Another Annie!” Maeve moaned.

“ 'Ere, then, this time, say . . . four days from now,” Hannah said, sizing up Arianna again. “Be 'ere, now!”

“I'll be here,” Arianna said, then she rose. “It's gettin' dark. We'd best be looking for a bed, Janie.”

Arianna had to jab Fiona, she was looking at her so strangely.

“Yes, yes! We'd best find a bed.”

They waved to the two they had just met and hurried out to the streets.

“This is daft!” Fiona protested.

“This is perfect!” Arianna countered.

“And how do we get home?”

“In a cab, same way we came.”

“Now we're filthy, in rags, and it's very late.”

“We'll sneak in through the tree.”

“I'm not climbing that tree!”

“You'll have to,” Arianna told her. “Why,
Janie
, dear, this is almost fun!”

Fiona rolled her eyes. It wasn't fun.

It was frightening. Terribly, terribly, frightening.

* * *

Maggie walked purposely to her stepdaughter's room. She was tempted to merely slam the door open. She refrained, and knocked. There was no answer.

She walked down the stairs, sliding her black mourning cap from her head. “Mrs. Whitley!” she called, and the woman came in from the direction of the kitchen.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Has Lady Arianna gone out?”

“I believe she took a sedative, and is resting.”

“Ah, fine. Well, I shall let her rest. However, in an hour, wake her.”

“For supper? Then I shall have to quickly get the cook moving. We assumed, my lady, that you were dining out, when you left no orders and didn't return. I'm afraid a decent meal will take a bit more than an hour.”

“I don't want a meal, Mrs. Whitley. I just want Arianna awakened. In an hour. Thank you so very much.”

She turned and started up the stairs. She wondered how it would look if she fired Mrs. Whitley.

In her room, she thought about calling for Fiona, but she'd always done for herself, at least, in the last many years she had, and so she discarded the clothing she had worn to Whitechapel, washed, and dressed anew. She went to her desk, pulled the newspaper clipping from her reticule, and read it again, her temper growing.

Then she smiled and settled in to wait.

She thought that she would have to go after Arianna, that Mrs. Whitley would arrive—distressed, of course—to say that the young lady simply refused to come.

But at the appointed hour, Arianna knocked at her door. Maggie bid her to enter, and she came in, looking somewhat flushed and hurried.

“Good evening,” Maggie said quietly. “Thank you for arriving so promptly.”

“I wouldn't dream of being disobedient to—my guardian,” Arianna said, making the last word sound like
ogre
.

“How thoughtful of you,” Maggie replied sweetly. “I can see that we are going to get along fabulously well.”

“Um. I need my allowance.”

Maggie nodded. “I'll see that Darby has it for you tomorrow. But really, how could you possibly need money? Didn't the newspaper pay you?”

“Of cou—what newspaper?” Arianna said, quickly changing her tune.

“Arianna, there has been an autopsy. I did nothing to your father. And the article you wrote was inflammatory, to say the least. The paper is barely within the limits of the law. But . . . well, I have friends who wish to write as well. Still, it wouldn't do for you to have too much spending money on you. Terrible crimes are taking place in the city, but there are still simple thieves out there as well! If you're going to continue to dabble in the art of writing, I'm afraid I'll feel entirely obliged to hold back your allowance. Yes, let me think, I believe that would be among the duties the Misters Green outlined to me this morning. Does that agree with what they told you?”

Arianna stood very still for a long moment, staring at her.

Maggie smiled, then let her smile fade. “I'm sorry. I can't tell you how truly sorry I am that your father died. I'm even sorry that he left you saddled with me as your guardian, when I know how difficult it must be for you. I wish that there was something I could say that would make you believe that I was innocent of any wrongdoing.”

“You married him,” Arianna reminded her sharply.

“And are you aware that he had plans for your marriage?”

Arianna's frown showed her that she was not.

“He wanted you to be a good wife, I believe.”

“He intended to force me to marry?”

“I fully intend to leave that matter to Jamie.”

Arianna smiled. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“The way you refer to my cousin. As Jamie.”

Something in the way she spoke gave Maggie the chills. Was her feeling for the man evident in her voice when she simply spoke his name?

It wouldn't be. She vowed that it would not be.

“Jamie is his name.”

“Lord James, or Lord Langdon, or Viscount Langdon.”

“Your father called him Jamie, and thus, so do I. At any rate, I believe it was he your father intended for you. But I don't wish to press that matter—it will be between the two of you when you reach your majority. Since your father has passed, I'm not sure if it will be the proper season for you to come out, even if the time won't be until next spring. We can see on that matter. But until that time . . . well, I think there are lessons you might want to take. And your father suggested it might be an excellent thing if you were to learn that we are among the privileged few, and there are those out there who suffer terribly. I do think it's time that you quit maligning me, and that we learn to work together, no matter what our feelings for one another.”

Arianna stood tall and still and tried very hard to contain her fury. “There will be no more newspaper items, madam. I am well warned. I will ask Darby about my allowance. I need a bit more time to mourn my father's passing. How quickly you seem to have gotten over it. If there's nothing else, I most respectfully crave leave to return to my room.”

“Please, feel free, return to your room,” Maggie said.

Arianna left the room. The door slammed in her wake.

“Ah, that went very well!” Maggie murmured sardonically to herself.

But she was certain that there would be no more newspaper articles.

At length, she decided to retire, herself.

The bottle of laudanum seemed to be watching her, tempting her.

She ignored it and prepared for bed.

And lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling. She would sleep, she told herself. And she would not resort to drugs.

She tossed and turned, and found that she was more wretched than ever. Thoughts churned in her mind, Fathers Vickers's words, the fright the women had betrayed that day, and the way that they had run, so quickly, to find solace in gin.

Jamie.

Leaving.

And again, the way that he had looked at her.

She winced, wondering what on earth was the matter with her. He had never claimed any affection for her. He'd not wanted her to marry Charles. Perhaps, the night before . . . perhaps that had been his way to prove that she shouldn't marry, and not even the great longing for her that she had imagined.

Strange, in the days before, he had been in the house, and she had not thought of him so much, other than that he was there. But then, she had been taking the laudanum.

And she really needed to take it now, if she was ever going to sleep.

She rose, and walked for the bottle. With it in her hand, she hesitated, and winced, remembering the poor women of the East End. There was a monster loose. And still, they had gone running for their gin.

She set the bottle down and went back to bed. She swore at herself, for when she wasn't thinking about the horror that was occurring, her thoughts turned to those of the man. And she remembered, and burned, and was haunted by the memory. She had married, and her husband had just died, and already, it was true, her memories of Charles were receding, while the memory of one night with Jamie was vivid beyond reason....