The Magician's Diary (Glass and Steele Book 4) Page 12

  He finished dealing while Duke poured drinks at the sideboard. He rejoined us at the card table, but he wasn't concentrating and lost badly. I lost as well. It was difficult to focus on each round with Matt quietly simmering opposite me. He lost too, so perhaps there was some justice. Cyclops thrashed us all and collected his matchsticks with a gleeful smile before retuning the matches to the box for the next time we played.

  When the clock chimed nine, Matt told us to prepare our disguises.

  "Shouldn't you rest again?" I said as Cyclops and Duke filed out.

  "I'll have a few minutes of shuteye in here while you change," he said.

  "Not with all the distractions." I plucked the glass from his hand. It was his second brandy for the evening.

  His jaw slackened but his eyes hardened. "You think I can't control my drinking?"

  "I wasn't referring to the drinking." I nodded at the clock. "Its chiming will wake you on the hour."

  He took back the glass. "In that case…" He downed the remaining contents. "I'll have another."

  I picked up my skirts and rushed past him. I got to the sideboard first and put my arms out, protecting the decanter behind me. "You will not."

  "India," he purred in a silky voice that brushed my skin. "I've picked you up and moved you out of the way before, and I can do it again."

  I lifted my chin. "Go ahead." He wouldn't do it. I knew he wouldn't. Not this time. Not when being so close affected us both in ways we had to deny.

  After a moment, he laughed softly. "You win. I didn't want another anyway, I simply wanted to see what lengths you'd go to."

  "You think I'm going to a great length now?" I shot back. "Hardly. I can withstand the force of your ire, Matt. It doesn't frighten me."

  I thought he was going to walk away but he hesitated. Then a strange smile crept across his lips. "Is that so?" He leaned closer until his chest was mere inches from my face. He reached his arms around me, trapping me.

  I dared a glance up, only to see him looking down at me, his smile gone. His inky black gaze warmed me from head to toe.

  "What about now?" he murmured. Behind me, crystal tinkled as he removed the stopper from the decanter. "Can you withstand the force of what's between us, India? Because I don't know if I can for much longer, despite…" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

  I pushed him in the chest and he stepped back without resisting, his gaze lowered. "You've had too much to drink, Matt. You don't know what you're saying."

  "I've had two brandies. I'm in complete control of my faculties." He rubbed his forehead, as if trying to scrub away an ache. "But I am sorry." Finally, he lifted his gaze to mine. His eyes were clear with not a hint of desire in their depths. I hoped mine were clear too. "I'm sorry for being too familiar with you," he added.

  I forced my shoulders back and my spine to straighten. "This is when you're frightening, Matt. When you allow your emotions to override your common sense. You are correct. You should not be familiar. It's not right."

  "No. But it feels good." He smiled tentatively, boyishly, and my heart lurched.

  "Stop it." I managed to put a believable measure of irritation into my voice then gathered my wits and my skirts and rushed out of the room. I didn't look back to see if he stared after me. I didn't want to see the confused expression I knew I'd see there. The best thing I could do was dissuade him from any tender feelings he'd developed for me. After another dismissal or two he would take the hint and stop seeing me in that way altogether.

  The damp evening air in Bethnal Green didn't come from rain but from the miasma that clung to the slum's decaying buildings and settled into the dark corners of its wretched lanes. It brought with it the reek of the sewers and misery that seemed to be present wherever London's poorest lay their heads.

  It wasn't a cold night, so the Society for Affording Shelter to the Homeless had beds available for a man and woman newly arrived in the city looking for work. With no employment to be had anywhere, and their last coin spent on bread the day before, they'd decided to seek accommodation at a charitable institution rather than risk another night sleeping rough. The slum streets were no place for a woman, even one with a husband to protect her. So Matt explained to the thickset man at the door when we arrived.

  The man opened the door to the dormitory and the scent of carbolic soap hit me like a wave. I wrinkled my nose and tried not to breathe too deeply. Only half of the rectangular wooden boxes were filled with men, some sleeping, some watching us with curious eyes. Whispered voices came from somewhere but I couldn't determine if it was the men or the staff taking jugs of water to and from the curtained area. A woman wearing a crisp white apron over a plain brown dress sat at a small desk near the door. It wasn't the same woman from earlier in the day, thank goodness. Although our disguises had changed our appearances, I didn't want to put them to the test. Matt should be safe in his bushy whiskers and false beard, but I merely wore a black wig. I'd left it unarranged to hide as much of my face as possible. If I kept my head lowered, I ought to get by if we met with Mr. Woolley or the kind volunteer from this morning.

  "You've missed mealtime," the woman said when we approached. She did not stand but pulled a clipboard toward her and picked up a pencil. She didn't have a friendly face like the volunteer we'd met earlier. Rather, her mouth was pinched and her heavy brow looked like it had never been raised above the level of a scowl. "We dine at six at this time of year. The men sleep in here, the women through there." She did not lower her voice in deference to the men already asleep in their wooden boxes, but none shushed her. Perhaps none dared.

  "And the married couples?" Matt asked in a faultless working class drawl. He'd lost his American accent completely.

  "Married or unmarried, it makes no difference," the woman said. "Men in here, women through there. We can't have fraternizing. It wouldn't be proper and this is a respectable institution." She sniffed and peered down her flat nose at me. "If you don't like our rules, you can leave."

  Matt held up his hands in surrender. I kept my hands tucked inside the coat I carried close to my chest. Bound up with the coat was the smallest lamp we could find and a box of safety matches.

  "That is our first rule," the woman said. "No fraternizing. Our second is you must be clean. There are soap and water behind those curtains. Our third rule is that you must respect your fellow unfortunates and in no way harm anyone. Our fourth rule is a requirement that you give us your details. Are these rules acceptable to you both?"

  Matt and I nodded.

  "Good. You may call me Matron." She held a pencil to a clipboard with crooked columns drawn on the page. Each column was half filled. "Your names?"

  "Mrs. Anne McTavish," Matt said for me. I didn't trust my accent and we'd decided he would do all the talking. "I'm William McTavish."

  "Last known place of residence?"

  "Wraysbury."

  "Can you be more specific?"

  "Baker Street," he said. I didn't know if there was a Baker Street in Wraysbury and I doubted Matt had been there, but it was a good guess and it was unlikely Matron had ever been to the village.

  "Did you apply for work today?"

  "Why?"

  "We only provide shelter to those trying to find employment, not lazy ne'er do wells. If you return again and again, we'll check to see if you have indeed looked for work where you say you have."

  "Right you are, Matron. Let's see. I asked at the docks and a timber yard on Glower Street."

  Matron wrote that down and signaled to the staff. A man and woman approached, neither of whom I recognized.

  "May I kiss my wife goodnight?" Matt asked.

  "No," Matron said. "You may shake hands."

  Matt's beard twitched. Was he trying not to laugh? I didn't see how any of this was amusing. My nerves jangled so much it was a miracle no one heard them.

  Matt clasped my elbows rather awkwardly. "Goodnight, my love."

  "Goodnight, William," I said.

  "D
on't let the bed bugs bite."

  "Our beds are clean," Matron said snippily. "Any lice in our linen have come from the dirty bodies of those seeking shelter here. That's why we urge you to wash thoroughly. Unfortunately some don't wash as thoroughly as others."

  The man led Matt to the curtained area and I was led separately to the other end of the bank of curtains.

  "I'll give you two minutes," the woman said, passing me a towel. It was already damp and the water in the basin a muddy color. How many had washed in it before me?

  "Thank you," I said, keeping my voice and head low. Hopefully she would think me shy, not deceitful.

  She deposited a lamp on the floor and left. I set down my coat and hidden lamp then washed my hands with the soap. If I didn't smell like carbolic, she would grow suspicious and make me wash again. The towel was somewhat useless so I finished drying my hands on my skirt. It felt like an age since I'd worn the dress I used to wear almost every day when I worked in the shop. It was a simple style with a high collar and by unpicking the hem after dinner, I'd managed to make it look worn.

  I touched my watch beneath my bodice, ignoring the strong urge to pull it out and check the time. I didn't need to. I knew when two minutes was up as well as I knew my name.

  The woman returned a minute late and led me to the female dormitory. Unlike the men's quarters, it was almost full, with each wooden rectangular box occupied by a woman or child. The smaller children slept in the same bed as their mothers. It was noisier in here. Babies cried, mothers whispered soothing words or scolded their children. Someone near the back snored.

  I followed my guide to an empty bed. I did not look at the faces of the women we passed but at the exits. I spotted two doors at the back of the room. Beyond would be the kitchen, scullery and other service rooms, as well as the stairs down to the cellar.

  My guide stopped in front of an empty bed. A thin mattress didn't even cover the entire rectangle of floor within the confines of the box. A blanket had been folded neatly at the foot.

  "This is yours for the night," she said. "We strongly discourage moving about, but if you need to relieve yourself there are pans back there." She pointed to a shelf running between the doors where several porcelain bedpans were set out. "Are you hungry? I might be able to find some bread left over from dinner."

  "No, thank you." I offered her a smile. "You've been very kind."

  She gave me a curt nod then walked off, taking her lamp with her. Lamps on each wall still illuminated the edges of the room for another hour, then all but two were extinguished. One remained lit near the bedpans, and another glowed by the door leading to the men's dormitory where my guide sat on a chair, her head rolling forward in sleep. Around me, the children had settled and several soft snores provided the only barrier holding back the silence. It was no barrier against my thoughts, however, and I couldn't stop them running in all directions. Mostly, I thought about the myriad things that could go wrong tonight.

  I waited a little longer until I thought it was time. Then I slowly pulled out my watch but could not see the face. With my blanket and lamp clutched against my chest, I picked my way between the rows of beds to the shelf of bedpans and checked the time in the light. I was early by fifteen minutes. That's what anxious waiting does to a person—it throws out her usually very accurate sense of time.

  I took down one of the pans and went through the motions of relieving myself into it without doing so. Without letting go of my coat and its cargo it was awkward, but at least that helped pass the time. If anyone watched me from their dark bed, they would hopefully grow bored and close their eyes.

  When I guessed the fifteen minutes to be almost up, I returned the bedpan to the shelf and drew in a fortifying breath. With a shaking hand, I opened the nearest door and slipped through. The corridor was unlit. I kept the door open to allow the wan light from the dormitory to filter through long enough for me to see that I was alone and that four doors led off the corridor.

  I closed the door and was engulfed in the dark and a silence so profound I could hear my own heartbeat. When I remembered to breathe, it sounded loud. Hopefully Matt would join me soon, but I couldn't hear any approaching footsteps and I couldn't see how he would know where to find me if he didn't know his way around or have a light.

  I set my bundle on the floor and fumbled for the lamp wrapped in my coat. I fished out the box of matches from the pocket and struck one to light the lamp. I returned the matches to the pocket and picked up both the coat and lamp.

  The small circle of light illuminated a figure a few feet away. I stifled a gasp.

  "How did you find me in the dark?" I asked Matt.

  He put his finger to his lips and winked. I passed him the lamp and allowed him to lead the way. He opened doors quietly and peered inside, moving methodically from door to door down the corridor. He closed each of them before I could see what room lay beyond. The last one he left open and entered. A staircase led down into the depths of the building.

  He held out his hand for me and, after a hesitation, I took it. The staircase was just wide enough to fit us side by side. I worried that the echo of our footsteps on the stones would alert someone but no one came. The corridor above had been quiet, with most of the staff leaving after lights out. We ought to be safe.

  The stairs opened up to a cold room filled with filing cabinets, crates and logs of wood. The low vaulted ceiling didn't fit with the more modern building above us and I wondered about its original use. Matt and his lamp moved off. I followed quickly, wanting to be as near as possible to the light and him. I'd never thought of myself as fearful, but there was something nightmarish about a dark cellar full of shadows.

  "Here," Matt said, reading the labels on a set of cabinet drawers. "These are from the first half of the sixties." He opened a drawer labeled SIXTY-THREE. The scrape of wood against wood sent a nearby creature scurrying. Matt didn't seem to notice. He was too busy flicking through the files.

  I helped him sift through the section marked W. Twice. There was no one by the name of Wilson listed.

  "Damn," he muttered.

  "I'll check again," I said.

  "Don't bother. The odds of finding the vagrant were long anyway." He slid the drawer closed. "We'll leave. There's no point staying all night."

  "Won't it look suspicious if we walk out now? Will they even let us?"

  "We're not prisoners, India." There was a laugh in his voice and I was glad that he wasn't too upset about not finding Mr. Wilson's name. He was right and it had been a slim chance anyway.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened and light filtered down to us. I went still, my blood ran cold. Matt pressed a finger to his lips then extinguished the lamp.

  The light from the top of the stairs brightened as it came closer. Footsteps echoed, tapping on the stone steps with an ominous rhythm. "Who's there?" boomed a deep male voice.

  "I saw her come in," said a woman.

  My body sagged. Someone had seen me. I thought I'd been so clever and quiet too.

  "And I saw him," came a second man's voice. A voice I recognized as Mr. Woolley's, the man in charge of the shelter. If he recognized us, we'd be in awful trouble.

  "Come out of there," said the first man again. Trouser-clad legs appeared on the stairs, taking each step with caution. "This is Constable Lalor. Come out of your own accord or you'll be arrested."

  Chapter 9

  "Hide," I whispered, pushing Matt toward a stack of crates.

  He wouldn't go. He caught me and trapped me against his chest. He must have put the lamp down because he held me with both hands. "I have a different plan," he whispered back. "We ain't done nothing!" he called out to the constable. "Don't arrest us, sir!"

  So he planned on talking his way out of it. Knowing Matt, he could do it.

  His fingers touched my throat, feeling their way in the dark to my collar. He undid a button on my dress, then another and another, and followed suit with my chemise.

  So tha
t was his plan. I helped him with my outer clothing until my corset was exposed. His fingers left me and I heard fabric rustle as he saw to his own attire. I decided to go a step further and tug my corset down to expose the swell of my breasts.

  The constable's lamplight fell on us. I blinked and lifted a hand to shield my eyes, knowing the movement would draw attention to my state of undress. From the woman's gasp, I knew I'd succeeded. The light was too bright to tell if the constable and Mr. Woolley were shocked.

  Matt noticed me too. He hastily buttoned up my dress, his gaze averted. Whether he meant to skim his knuckles across my bare flesh was impossible to tell. Thank goodness the light wasn't strong enough to see my reddening face.

  The policeman lowered his lamp. "It's just two lovers, not thieves."

  "Even so!" It was the pinch-lipped matron from the front door. "Fraternizing is against the shelter's policy! It's strictly forbidden."

  Mr. Woolley came into view alongside her. He stretched his neck forward, peering into the dimness at us. I lowered my face, but Matt did not.

  "We ain't frat'nizing," Matt snapped. "We're married."

  "Married or not, it is still fraternizing!" Matron's clipped words bounced off the walls.

  "It ain't illegal," Matt declared. "Ain't that right, Constable?"

  "He's right," the constable said. "This is not a public place, and if they are married…"

  "This is outrageous." Matron turned to Mr. Woolley and jerked her head at us. "Well? What say you about this…this immorality, sir?"

  Mr. Woolley stepped down and approached us. He ignored me but strode straight up to Matt. I watched them through my lowered lids, eyeing one another. Was Matt mad? He ought to look away before Woolley recognized him. My heart hammered wildly, willing Matt to back down. Finally he did. I hazarded a glance at Mr. Woolley. He looked pleased to have won the contest of wills, but there was no recognition in his eyes, thank God.

  "We're sorry, sir," Matt mumbled into his chest. "Anne frets without me, see, so I told her to meet me down here. It's quiet with just the mice for company. Cold, mind, but we got each other for warmth."