Camille (14 page)

I wished I had not heard them at all.
Everything was easier believing that this whole thing didn’t
frighten him. He was always courage and calmness, while inside, I
was coming apart cell by cell. But my own fear dealt only with how
this all affected me. How selfish I’d become. I didn’t have to live
with the prospect of transforming into something horrible and
murderous. I didn’t have to live with the prospect of my own demise
at the end of a silver bullet.

Sprinkles of rain went virtually unnoticed in
the moisture laden air along the river. With no sun to outline
their architectural greatness, the mansions of the Adelphi seemed
less imposing. The weather had not slowed the daily activity on the
water. Boats crisscrossed the choppy surface, dropping off
pedestrians and plucking others up.

“Who are you looking for?” I peered up at the
blackening sky. Thin drops pelted my cheeks.

“My friend, Goose. The lad you saw in the
cemetery.” He looked pointedly at me. “The night you were following
me.”

“If your vanity requires it, you may keep
telling yourself that. Does Goose live nearby?”

“Of course.” Strider pointed a long finger at
an elegant house that had its own carved gateway with steps leading
up from the river. “He lives right there, and at night he steals
jewelry from corpses to pay for it.”

“Vanity and sarcasm, what a charming
combination.” The drizzle swelled to a mild rain. I wrapped my hand
around his arm and leaned closer hoping his height would act as a
barrier.

He tugged me against him, and suddenly, I
didn’t care if the river rose up and flooded the banks around us, I
wanted to stay pressed against his side.

“Goose has been chumming with some unsavory
blokes on this side of town. I need to set ‘im straight before
someone beats me to it.”

Puddles dotted our path and the soaked hem of
my dress began to drag. “You need to set straight a boy who you
dragged through a cemetery to steal from dead people?”

“And I’m the one suffering from sarcasm.”

I smiled. “I consider that to be irony not
sarcasm.”

Strider released my arm. “Wait here.” He
walked to the shore where an anchored, run-down barge bobbed in the
water. A man emerged from below deck. The arms of his sweater were
too short, and his black trousers were baggy enough for two his
size.

Strider waved at the man and called to him.
“Have you seen Goose out ‘ere? Jane told me he’d been hanging
around.”

He’d seen Jane when he went out yesterday. My
heart sank in my chest. I had no idea the impact jealousy could
have. My arms and legs felt heavy. What a fool I’d been thinking
someone like Nathaniel Strider would be interested someone like me.
Especially when he had every buxom girl on the East Side waiting
for him.

Strider headed back to me. His face was
turned down to avoid the sharp spray of water that was now falling,
but I could see worry in his expression.

“Did you find out anything?” I asked as he
reached me. He took hold of my arm, and we continued further down
the river. “Aye, it’s as Jane said. Goose is out here picking the
pockets of passengers as they step off the boats.”

“So you’re afraid he’ll be caught?”

He nodded. “But not taken up by the police.
There are far more troublesome people out ‘ere. People who have
staked this part of the Strand as their own.”

Sheets of cold water fell from the sky. We
hurried our pace and ran for cover beneath an awning over the door
of an empty shop. Like fingers, the drops drummed loudly on the
canvas overhead. Strider reached up with his thumb and wiped the
water from my forehead. It was a gesture that nearly made me melt
into the puddle collecting around my feet.

He smiled. “My sopping, little kitten, I’m
sorry I brought you out into this weather.”

“I’m not sorry. I’m not made of sugar.”

He took hold of my hand. Our skin was icy yet
warmth seeped between us. He lifted my fingers and pressed them
against his lips. “No? You taste rather sweet to me.”

My mind triggered its own warning. He is a
practiced cad who says things like this to every girl he meets. I
pulled my fingers away and dismissed the hurt look in his eyes as
part of his act. “So you saw Jane, the girl from the public
house?”

“Aye.” He stared at the veil of water flowing
off the edge of the awning then smiled back at me. “’Tis like
standing under a waterfall, is it not?”

I shrugged, perturbed by his obvious attempt
to change the subject. “I’ve never stood under a waterfall to
know.”

“Nor I, but I would imagine it to be
something like this.”

I turned my face away from his and pretended
to find interest with something in the street. But really I stared
at nothing. A purple cow could have ambled by and I wouldn’t have
noticed.

“Camille,” his deep voice broke the rhythmic
sound of the rain overhead, “I have been living in the streets for
eight years. I have many acquaintances, people in the same
insufferable circumstances as me. Without them survival is even
harder.”

“If life on the streets is so contemptible,
then why stay?” My tone was harsh, and the words flew out before I
could stop them. The jealous ache in my head and stomach were to
blame.

Strider’s face dropped. “It’s not that
simple, Camille.” He combed his wet hair back with his fingers and
lifted his eyes. “I tried to earn an honest wage, but it was far
too easy to take advantage of a homeless lad with no skills.” Three
young boys rushed past with their caps pulled low and their collars
hunched about their ears. Strider squinted through the water at
them for a moment and looked back at me. “Once I spent two weeks
clearing a farmer’s field with a scythe that nearly outweighed me.
He promised to pay me handsomely, but sent me on my way with a
moldy loaf of bread and sour milk. When I returned to ask him for
more, he threatened me off his land with the very scythe I’d used
to clear it. The few pence I did earn were never enough to feed me
and shelter me. I had to go without one or the other. It wasn’t
long before I learned that thieving paid better wages. I’ve served
several short terms in prison, and now that I’m old enough, my
tainted record and lack of connections keeps me unemployed.”

A flicker of weariness in his gaze made me
grab hold of the lapel of his coat. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean
anything by it.”

He looked down at my fingers wrapped around
his coat then lifted his eyes to mine. “My tiny huntress, do you
know what you’ve done to me?”

My fingers tightened around the worn fabric
as I looked up at his face. A crack of thunder startled me from my
trance. Reluctantly, I released my hold.

We stared out at the murky water that flowed
beneath the Waterloo Bridge, and at the moment, I wanted badly to
jump from it. Surely, my heavy sense of dread would sink me to the
bottom. In the distance, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky,
illuminating the city beneath for a moment before the shadows
returned.

“Goose!” Strider shot out from our dry refuge
and grabbed the arm of a boy passing by. He dragged the agitated
lad back to where I stood and gave him rough shake. “Goose, you
fool. It’s me, Strider.”

Goose looked to be about ten years old. His
face was clean and pink from the rain, a smattering of freckles
crossed his turned up nose. Grime filled rivulets of water ran down
from his cap to the shoulders of his coat.

He stared up at Strider with surprise that
quickly turned to a frown. His small fist plowed into Strider’s
chest. “Where the ‘ell have you been? Everyone thought you were
dead.” He glanced at me. “And all this time you’ve been holed up
with this wench.”

My mouth opened to protest but Strider held
up a hand to stop me. “Never mind where I’ve been. What the hell
are you doin’ here in Smithy’s territory?

“I’ve got a nice lit’l business going. Never
seen so many fine handkerchiefs in my life.”

“Well, I hope your new business will afford
you a nice coffin. No wait. You won’t need one since most of
Smithy’s victims end up at the bottom of the Thames.”

The color in Goose’s face drained. “I’m
keeping my nose clear of Smithy and his gang.” He wrenched away the
arm Strider held. “Besides what do you care? You ‘aven’t been
round.”

“I’m taking care of some things. I’ll be back
soon, and you better keep your arse out of this neighborhood.”

Of course, Strider had every intention of
returning to his life on the streets. How could I have thought
differently? Why should I have hoped differently? My own
selfishness shamed me. I should be happy if he gets the chance to
return to his life after this. So many possible endings for him and
all I cared about was that I may never see him again.

Goose plucked at the white shirt Strider wore
beneath his coat. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a fancy lady this
time. Buyin’ you all sorts of nice things.”

“Where’s Charlie at?”

Goose sneered at me once then shrugged.
“Don’t know. Think he’s scraping dirty plates at the boarding
house. They pay him with leftover food scraps. I’m not returning to
that, Strider. I’m making enough out here to buy me a proper meal
once a day.”

“If you stay out here, one of those meals is
going to be your last.”

Goose lifted up on his toes and pushed his
face closer to Strider’s. “At least I’ll die with a full stomach.”
His words squeezed out through clenched teeth. He dropped back to
his feet and tore off into the rain.

“Goose! Damn it, get back here!” Strider
pounded the wall with side of his fist. The force of it vibrated
the side of the building. He stared in the direction Goose had
run.

“Is he really in that much danger?” I
asked.

Strider nodded, dislodging the drops of water
clinging to his black curls. “Smithy is ruthless when he thinks
someone is poaching on his ground. He won’t kill him, but he’ll
hurt him bad enough that Goose’ll wish he had.” Strider surveyed
the shoreline as if he was looking for traces of the infamous
Smithy. “This is my fault. Goose and Charlie counted on me to watch
over ‘em.”

I went to touch his arm, but he turned
brusquely out of my reach. My stomach felt as if someone had
twisted it like a rope. The day had started out so well, but now I
wanted to return to last night with his head in my lap, his hair
under my palm. I swallowed hard and spoke. “You can’t be
responsible for those two. You would pose more danger to them than
any street thug, no matter how vicious.” His shoulders stiffened
again and tension filled the small space but I continued. “You must
see, Strider. It would be impossible to help them right now.”

His arms were straight down at his sides with
tight fists. If I had pushed too far, it was too late now, trapped
as I was between a locked door and his solid body. It felt like
hours had passed, but in truth, it was only minutes. He stood
silently, staring out at the rain. Then without looking back at me,
he reached for and took hold of my hand and pulled me away from our
shelter.

We headed back the way we came, my fingers
firmly clutched inside his, without a word spoken between us.

After several blocks of being nearly dragged,
my fingers had grown numb beneath his grasp and my soaked skirts
weighed me down. I stumbled but Strider grabbed hold of my waist
before my knees hit the ground. He held me against him, my back
pressed against his chest long after I’d found my footing. With
what seemed like reluctance, he released his hold on me.

His hand found mine again, and we trudged
toward home. For several blocks we said nothing then Strider
started laughing.

“We are soaked to the bone, and I can no
longer feel my face because of the cold, and you are laughing.”

“I was just thinking about all this. After my
last stint in prison, I told myself I’d never go back. So I started
stealing from dead people figuring they weren’t much as witnesses.
Now look where it has gotten me. My mum used to insist that trouble
followed me. I guess she was right. I should have taken my chances
with the gallows at Newgate.”

“So you’d rather swing from a rope than
traipse through the pouring rain holding my hand?”

He squeezed my hand and smiled down at me.
“It’s like my mum said, trouble follows me.”

I wrenched my hand free and crossed my arms.
“Well, fine then.”

Strider stopped me and grabbed hold of my arm
to turn me toward him. Water streamed over both our faces as we
stared at each other. He pressed a finger against my bottom lip
which was trembling more from the look he was giving me than the
frigid air. “Of course, there’s bad trouble and good trouble.” He
removed his finger and kissed my forehead. “And you definitely fall
into the good category.” Strider turned back and wrapped my hand
around his arm. “Let’s get home before we drown out here.”

Good trouble. I actually liked the sound of
that.

Maggie had left a bowl of clotted cream on
the counter. I pulled a loaf of bread from the larder. Strider and
I sat by the fire drying out and spooning the cream onto hunks of
bread. Now, in front of the coals, which just began to glow with
heat, we were silent. But it seemed a good silence. No anger or
tension, just two people alone with their thoughts and glad to be
in each other’s company. At least I was happy to have his. I hoped
he felt the same.

Dr. Bennett was holed up in his lab and had
been there all day. The scribbled notes he’d left on the table were
now covered with our crumbs. I swiped the bread away, and we stared
down at the handwriting.

Strider pointed to the name, Von Mohl. “Who
is this Vonmoll? Is he someone you know?”

“Hardly. He’s a German botanist. He’s written
a great deal about protoplasm.”