Page 98 of Guardian
“No.” She swallowed. “I’m fine, truly. I had a bed and they fed me.” Her expression was full of dread. “But what did you have to do, Kit?”
“Nothing that can’t be changed back,” I said.
Relief filled her face, and she slumped against me. “I was so afraid they would make you kill someone.”
“No.” I kissed her forehead. “But I do need something from you.” With my arm around her, I guided her toward St. Jude’s church. There was a gap in a stone wall where a metal gate had rusted away, and I led her through it into the graveyard where our mother was buried. We sat on a stone bench, partially concealed behind a boxwood hedge, and Sarah’s head dropped onto my shoulder. The leaves of the plane trees overhead rustled, the standing stones were tipped and the etching faded, the damp earth at our feet gave off a nutty, musty smell. The place held something like peace. Sarah gripped my left hand fiercely in both of hers, crushing my knuckles against each other, but I’d have let her break my hand if it helped her.
From here, Ma’s grave wasn’t visible. It was marked with a small stone, set flush with the ground, with only her name and the years of her birth and death. As we sat in the silence, feelings warred in my heart. There was my anger, longstanding, at how Ma had abandoned us for drink and for men. But there was a new feeling now, a sense of sorrow for her, a sense of kinship. Ma had been desperately unhappy, and perhaps afraid, too, not knowing how she would support herself and two girls after her husband left. I thought of what I’d always considered my mother’s last, selfish lie, how she’d said on her deathbed that we would be fine. We hadn’t been fine, not by a bloody mile, because she’d spent nearly every farthing we had. But perhaps it hadn’t been merely a lie to free herself from blame; perhaps it had also been meant to encourage me. Perhaps she knew how hard I’d work to keep Sarah and me safe. And perhaps she’d seen enough of me to know what I was capable of.
Sarah lifted her head from my shoulder. “You said you need something from me. What is it?”
There wasn’t a soul close enough to hear us; still, I kept my voice low. “Sarah, I made a deal with a newspaperman, who helped me set you free ... in exchange for you doing something for him.”
Her forehead wrinkled worriedly. “What could I do for a newspaperman?”
“I need you to tell him what you saw in Mayfair.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Kit! I can’t be a copper’s nark!”
“This is different.” Slowly, I explained everything that had happened—from the moment Maggie approached me, suggesting a theft in Hatton Garden, to the newspaper story appearing that morning.
She had sagged against the bench’s back by the time I finished. “Is James all right?”
“He’s in hospital,” I said. “But he says he will be.”
The clock chimed again.
“I know how brave you are, Sarah,” I said. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
She nodded her acceptance, subdued. “Must we go now?”
“In a few minutes.” I put my arm around her, drawing her close. Her head returned to my shoulder. “We can sit,” I said, stroking her hair. “Catch your breath.”
Naturally, the peace didn’t last long.
Billy appeared beyond the church’s stone wall, on the far side of St. George’s Road. The thick bulk of him was still, only his head moving as he scanned the street.
Damn everything.
Of course, Maggie would send him after us the moment Sarah was free. She’d double-cross me, just as I’d double-crossed her.
I slid my hand into my pocket, feeling the reassuring weight of the pistol. Still, Billy would have a bigger firearm and more certain aim. And if by chance I shot and killed him? I couldn’t. I’d rot in prison for the rest of my life.
We needed to be somewhere with more people.
Even as I thought it, Billy caught sight of us. He took one step into the road and drew back just as quickly to let a cab roll by.
I snatched at the precious few seconds of a head start.
“Sarah, we must go. Billy’s just there, looking for us.” I rose, and after one small terrified cry, Sarah leapt up, and we hurried behind the small church and around the side, my left hand pressed to the rough stone of the old wall. I peered around the corner.
The street was empty. But I heard footfalls on the church’s flagstone path behind us.
Picking up our skirts, Sarah and I pelted down the street. I turned to cast a quick look behind us.
Knowing we’d seen him, Billy made no pretense about keeping secret. He hurried after us with long, purposeful strides. We’d never outrun him—there were no shops on this stretch—nowhere for us to take refuge.
Sarah turned and gasped. “Kit, he’s coming! What should we do?”
