Page 14 of An Artful Dodge
Mary knew not to mention Josie, but Sid had no such restraint.
“Did you hear? Josie’s trial’s likely this week.” His brown eyes were wide as he chewed a roll. “Ow!” He stared at Mary, who had kicked him under the table.
Mary glowered. “Do you even think before you open your gob?”
Sarah swiveled toward me. “Josie was arrested?”
“Cor, don’t you know nothing?” Sid asked. “Happened yesterday.”
Sarah’s mouth tightened but she said nothing as Jane set a plate of cheese in front of us.
“Amelia says she’s taking care of it,” I said as Jane left.
“I heard she couldn’t,” said the irrepressible Sid. “Bribe didn’t work. Too much in her pockets.” He turned to Mary. “And don’t kick me again, neither. She’s going to hear from somebody. She ain’t a baby.”
Mary leaned across the table toward Sarah, her blue eyes sympathetic. “I’m not one to talk ill of people, but Josie wasn’t being careful. She ignored all Bea’s warnings.”
I shot her a grateful look for trying, but Sarah’s pursed mouth told me what she thought of me keeping the arrest from her. Mary took a bakery box from beside her on the bench, opening it to reveal an iced pound cake. She cut the slices and put them on plates. Delicious as it was, it didn’t sweeten anyone’s temper. Sarah remained stubbornly subdued, Sid sulked, and after a few attempts at conversation, even Mary gave up. Afterward, we all slid out from the benches, relieved. Sarah started for the front door, and I rolled my eyes at Mary. Her look wished me luck.
We weren’t five steps across the cobbles before Sarah burst out, “Why didn’t you tell me? For God’s sake, Kit!”
“To what end?” I asked. “You’ll just worry.”
“Of course I will! How did it happen?”
I told her everything Bea had said, concluding, “Josie was my jenny once, and Mary’s right. She’s careless. I’m sorry she was caught, but Bea warned her.” I shoved my hands into my pockets against the river’s evening damp. “And you know how I am. One whiff of danger and I leave off.”
“Iknow,” she said. “But still, Kit.”
We walked to the back of Willits House in silence. At the black wrought iron gate atop the steps to the servants’ entrance, she said softly, “I wish you’d juststop.”
I’d known it was coming. It wasn’t the first time.
“I think there’s part of you thatlikesthe trickery of—”
“Believe me, I don’t.”
She drew back at the harsh note in my voice.
“Are you ... afraid?” she asked, as if it had occurred to her for the first time.
My hands curled into fists inside my coat pockets. Sarah had no idea the cost of rent if the ring wasn’t paying, not to mention food, clothing, shoes, sundries, doctors and medicines—
“Of course I am,” I said quietly. Her face lit with hope. “But I can’t stop, Sarah. Not yet. I only work for Mr. Ardle once a week and at the dress shop when Emma needs me. It isn’t enough.”
She looked crestfallen. “Not even with my wages?”
I shook my head. “I’ve told you I’m not against stopping. When I’ve enough to keep us for—say—a year, we’ll talk about it.”
She looked as if she didn’t believe me.
“I promise.”
Her shoulders slumped with a despondency that wrung my heart. But there was nothing more I could say; I wouldn’t lie to her. I hugged her goodbye and watched her descend the brick steps and knock. A metal bolt scraped, and the door swung inward. She gave one final look and vanished, the door shutting with a solidthunk.
I fastened the latch on the black iron gate, then started for the Silver Plover, my spirits an unpleasant tangle of worry and regret, making it impossible to enjoy the walk down Fleet Street in the cool August air. The rain had settled the dust and smoke, and the lamps glowed like golden orbs, gilding the cobblestones. At the corner, a costermonger rattled a pan of chestnuts over the coals, the rich nutty scent briefly overcoming the bitterness of burning coal. The churches hadn’t yet struck seven when I spotted the pub’s painted sign hanging aloft, but James was there standing underneath it, his hands in his coat pockets, surveying the street with a pleased air as if the carriages and cabs, the people with their parcels, and the gasman lighting the lamps with his long stick weren’t things he’d seen hundreds of times before. With some effort, I put aside my unsettled feelings as I reached him.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
