Page 105 of An Artful Dodge
Mary said to Sarah, “She left you a letter, too. It’s in there.” She pointed to the room Adam had occupied. Sarah went to fetch it, and I took Mary by the arm, pulling her over to the window where the street noise would hide our words.
“Did Amelia leaveyoua letter?” I asked.
Mary shook her head.
“Because she didn’t need to,” I said slowly. “You were in this with her, weren’t you? How did she do it?”
Mary’s gaze flicked to the room where Sarah had gone and back to me. “Two quick stabs under the ribs, same as Maggie did to my mum. Then she flipped her cloak and got on the train.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t tell me where she was go—”
“No, I mean, where did she do it?”
“In the railway station.”
“In a crowd,” I said. “And people didn’t notice?”
Mary’s blue eyes were steady. “There might have been a disturbance farther down the platform at roughly the same time.”
“Kit, look what Amelia’s done for us,” Sarah said, coming toward us with an opened letter. She handed it to me, and I read aloud:
There is a shopfront on Dean Street off Fetter Lane, only a few streets from my rooms, that I think would be an excellent location for a sundry and stationer shop and tearoom, especially as a tearoom just closed nearby and people will be looking for a new one. Mary’s bakery items will be just the thing. Contact Mr. Brownlee at Dean Street, number sixteen. He is expecting you.Ádh mór ort.A.
I wondered how long Amelia had known she wouldn’t be here. But she’d made sure Mary was. My heart tripped an uneven beat of grief and gratitude.
Mary reached her hand for mine. “Don’t go,” she said softly. “Don’t leave London. The Yard will catch Billy—if he’s even still here. He’d be a fool if he was, with the newspapers all carrying his picture and Tommy’s.”
Sarah’s eyes were bright with hope and pleading.
I felt myself weaken. I couldn’t say no to them both. “We’ll stay for now,” I said.
Two days later, I woke in James’s bed with Sarah beside me. Mary remained at Amelia’s, for the rent had been paid through the end of the month. James was still in hospital but improved enough that he was allowed to come home, and Sarah and I planned to fetch him in a cab. I slipped out from between the sheets.
“Kit! Where are you going?” Sarah sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes wide with alarm and accusation. As composed as she had been at the Yard, she was jittery in the aftermath. I imagined she would wake like that for a while.
“I want to get the papers,” I said. “And I’ll bring back something for breakfast. Don’t worry. You’re safe here. Lock the door behind me.”
She shifted her legs around the edge of the bed. “No, I’ll come with you.”
I was about to refuse until I saw her face. “All right. Go on and dress. I want some fresh rolls while they’re still hot—and some jam.” We were less frugal these days, treating ourselves to delicacies.
Sarah donned a dress, I buttoned her up the back, and we walked out toward the bakery with Sarah’s hand looped through my elbow. The streets were comfortingly busy, and I kept my eye out for anyone from Southwark but saw no one. It was a blessing to be unknown, and not for the first time, I longed to truly make a fresh start here.
“Scandal! Scandal!” bellowed a boy on the corner, waving the paper.
It seemed to be the catch-all word for any sort of news.
“You get the rolls,” I said to Sarah. “I want to buy a paper.”
She nodded obligingly and stepped inside the bakery. I approached the boy, gave him a coin, and took theMirror, unfolding it to read the headline and scan the story—which occupied two-thirds of the front page—right there in the street.
shocking successes for the yard! fairleigh murders solved! criminals apprehended!
A quick glance through the article confirmed that both Billy and Tommy had been caught, the trial was set for three weeks hence, and Sarah’s name was nowhere to be found.
With a sigh of relief, I tucked the paper under my arm, and when Sarah reappeared with a brown-paper parcel, we returned to James’s rooms, where we dove into the rolls, slathering them with butter and jam. When we’d eaten our fill and finished the pot of tea, I extracted the rooms-to-let listings from the paper and handed them to her, folded neatly. “I’d like you to take these and begin looking for a place nearby for us—you, Mary, and me. Can you do that?”
