Shadows Fall Away (26 page)

Genie

I returned to the confines of my room, positively loathing the way the sight of Mark Stewart made me feel. Why did he have to come back, why now when I finally stepped onto a path where I could be my own person. Had he ever even left London?

While I certainly had no answer to those questions, the one thing I absolutely did know was I would take every pain necessary to avoid crossing paths with him. There would be no idle gossip or wild speculation about us. There was no “us” and would
never
be an us.

With that resolve planted firmly in my mind, I undressed and slipped into a thin wrapper then brushed out my hair, pulled the curtains across the window, and lay upon my small bed until sleep at last overtook me.

Mrs. O’Connell rapped on my door at six and asked me down to share supper with her. I was grateful for the company and would like to have suggested we share meals together more often, but didn’t have the resources to offer her more than the most basic fare. I’m sure she would have insisted I dine with her in her flat but I refused to appear helpless and needy. She was my landlady, not an aunt whose shoulder I needed to cry upon.

Oh, but she was such a wonderful cook beyond her usual baked goods and the thick, beefy broth and chunks of vegetables in the soup did much to fortify both body and spirit. Although it was most unladylike and breeched all the bounds of etiquette, I swiped up the last of the broth with two of her marvelous buttered biscuits.

I felt positively boorish to indulge in a rather large slice of berry pie afterward. But it was positively delightful with a steaming mug of coffee.

I do believe I was more satiated and calm than I’d ever been.

“Mr. Gurov was in today and he tells me young Mark is back.”

The mere mention of that name broke my placid spell and the cup wobbled in my hand. Coffee dripped down the front of my bodice and I was very glad I hadn’t yet put on my white apron. Thankfully the coffee wouldn’t show on the back of my dress but still. I’d only just had it washed. “Apparently he has returned. I asked if he wished to take back his rooms but he assured me he’d found more suitable arrangements.”

“Quite the talker, that one.”

I gave her a curious look. That was rather an off tone. “Would you prefer he take the room back—”

She cut me off with a smile and pat to the back of my hand.

“Not at all, dear. I do like having you here. I wish you’d take meals with me more often. I so miss having a table full. But with Ned gone and the boys grown and away with families of their own, I get rather lonely.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“No imposition at all.”

Thankfully she didn’t bring up the subject of Mark Stewart while we finished out dessert. Afterward I cleared the table and took them to the kitchen to begin cleaning the dishes. Mrs. O’Connell came in and started to put away the leftovers.

She opened the window to throw a few crumbs out for the chickens she kept out back and I heard the most interesting musical sound. A stringed instrument was my guess but not a violin or mandolin. I dried my hands and went to stand behind Mrs. O’Connell. “Where is it coming from?”

“Not sure. One of the buildings on the back street.” She cocked her head to the side. “Might be near Mr. Gurov’s shop.” She turned to look and me, a knowing grin upon her face when a soft male voice began to sing. “That might be our young Mr. Stewart.”

With a frown, I stepped away and plunged my hands into the sink once more. “One would think he have a bit more courtesy not to disrupt hardworking people’s dinners. A person can hardly think and relax with that caterwauling. You should close the window and spare your ears.”

“I rather fancy it.” She lifted the sash higher and leaned out. “The boy’s got a nice strong voice even singing all quiet.”

“He is a public nuisance.”

“Mr. Gurov said the lad’s looking a bit thin, said he doubts he’s getting much sleep at all. What’s he up to I wonder, prowling about at night. Not safe for a body these days.”

I set the last plate down with a chink and swiped the water form my hands. “He’s undoubtedly up to no good, like most men roaming the East End.”

Mrs. O’Connell looked to me and nodded. “The Inspector said the boy’s had a bit of a wild streak in him, but then don’t they all at that age?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.” I dried the dishes and placed then on their shelf. When I was through I set the thin towel over its rod then tossed the basin of dirty out rather wishing I could heave it far enough to fall upon Mark Stewart’s head. “Thank you so much for the delicious meal, Mrs. O’Connell. I should like to invite you up for dinner the day after tomorrow. I’ll be paid at the end of my shift and shall stop at the market on the way home.”

“I’d enjoy that, dear.” She smiled. “I’ve put some soup in a carrypot for you to take to work with you along with two more biscuits and a slice of pie in the cloth sack.”

I smiled though I felt rather embarrassed. My clothing was fitting a bit looser and I wondered if I looked as ragged as I felt. “Thank you very much, Mrs. O’Connell. You are far too kind.” I stepped forward to take my things but stopped when she gave a small shake of her head.

“I’d be most obliged if you’d take these other things over to young Mark since he’s sitting outside. You can go down back and cross over to the back of Mr. Gurov’s shop through the gate in my fence.”

“Well, I…”

“If you’d rather not dear, that’s all right. I imagine my aching old bones can manage the stairs twice more today.”

“I shall do it, Mrs. O’Connell. Forgive me.”

Her smile was quite conspiratorial but I kept my silence and took hold of the cloth sack and handle of the covered pot.

Once outside I let the soft strains of the music and Mark Stewart’s gentle voice guide me. This latest tune was slower, sadder than the others and I paused to listen to the words. It told a story that might have been sad, about traveling alone, running from something or someone, but longing for one person—a woman named Melissa.

That certainly explained a lot. Taking a deep breath, I continued on until I came round to Mr. Gurov’s building. Mark sat outside the rear door of the print shop, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair damp and pushed back from his face. He had two nicks on his jaw, no doubt from shaving himself as he sang through the song a second time.

Though I was still quite angry with him I couldn’t bear to interrupt. He was so absorbed gazing down as he strummed the strings of his instrument, his voice full of more raw emotion as he sang. I waited until he was done before walking closer. “That was lovely.”

His head shot up, his cheeks coloring a touch. “No dogs howled and I didn’t get hit with any shoes so I guess it wasn’t too bad.” He stood and set instrument on the crate. “Do you need help carrying that home or something?”

Determined to remain aloof, I tilted my chin up. “If I was I wouldn’t have come a full street over to ask for assistance.”

He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “I guess so.”

“Mrs. O’Connell sent me. She prepared a large dinner and apparently decided we are both starving urchins in need of a decent meal.” I held out the cloth sack and carrypot.

He took the sack first and peeked in. A broad smile spread across his face at the sight of the pie. He took the pot and lifted the lid enough to inhale deeply. “Wow. This is great. I’ll stop around tomorrow and thank her myself, but maybe you can thank her for me when you go back.”

So I was being dismissed as casually as one would dismiss the parlor maid. “I shall.” And yet my traitorous legs would not move me. “Who is Melissa?”

He gave me a quizzical look then chuckled. “It’s my—it’s a song my dad used to sing to my mother. He’s the one who taught me how to play the guitar.”

“It was a lovely song. You have a talent perhaps you should go on the stage.”

He laughed. “I don’t think London is ready for most of what I can play, although Anarchy in the UK might be interesting.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“It’s nothing. Just a lame joke. Well, I’d better get this inside. Thank you for bringing it over. Do you need me to walk you back? I should walk you back. Just let me put this stuff inside real quick—”

“No. I am quite capable of taking myself back across the next street. Good evening, Mr. Stewart and do try to keep it down. I’d like to rest a bit before I leave for my job at the infirmary.”

Wanting to rest before leaving and actually being able to do so were two vastly different things. Oh, I tried to sit with feet propped up and do a bit of mending. I even attempted to read one of the used books I’d found at a market stall the previous morning but I could scarcely concentrate on either. Instead, I paced the scuffed floorboards of my little flat cursing Mark Stewart for what had to be the thousandth time since his arrival the previous month. A month? I snorted my contempt to the still air. It seemed as though that brash American had been a thorn in my side for an eternity.

I stopped pacing and folded my arms roughly across my middle, the anger slowly smoldering deep inside. “Why don’t you go back where you came from, Mark Stewart?” I ground out between clenched teeth. “Go back to America. Go back to your Melissa.”

***

Mark

No doubt about it, Mrs. O’Connell was an angel. Her care package was on a par with a multi-course Thanksgiving Dinner and I decided I was going to see if I could scrounge up a nice bunch of flowers to give her in the morning. It was weird she’d sent Genie over with it, though. I ran my fingers across the guitar strings then closed the coffin case lid. Genie had looked even more beat than she had the last time I saw her. I’d thought about her a lot the past week going off to the infirmary by herself.

I’d stopped by to see Ian and find out if I could get wind of any leads they might have on the Ripper (I couldn’t). But he mentioned that the constables in the area had taken to trying to time their rounds in order keep a decent eye on Genie but still she shouldn’t be working the night shift in some second-rate hospital at all. I looked at my watch. It was after seven-thirty. She’d probably be heading out. I was going to walk her there whether she liked it or not.

I noticed the guy with the long coat and low top hat as soon as I rounded the corner. Something about him set my spidey senses tingling. When he made the quick turn off around the side of the tea shop, I jogged the rest of the way, catching up to him before he made it to the door leading up to my old place.

With a smooth move, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, shifting my weight to shove him back hard against the damp brick wall.

“Unhand me!” He tried to raise his arm to hit me with his walking stick but I leaned in pressed my knee hard enough against his junk to make him forget that idea.

“Bite me.” I stared at him; that bad vibe grew stronger by the minute as I took in his hard features. My mind stuck on the classic rock channel thanks to the guitar, he reminded me of a young Freddie Mercury. “What are you doing here?”

“That is none of your business. Unhand me. At once, you scum.”

The door creaked open. “Go back upstairs, Genie.”

“Eugenia!” Freddie called. “Fetch Mrs. O’Connell, and a constable!”

The door banged open. “Dr. Palmer? Mark? What are going on here?” Genie grabbed the back of my jacket with both hands and tried to pull me away. “Let go of Dr. Palmer this moment!”

I glanced back at her my weight still holding Palmer against the wall. “You know this guy?”

She yanked me again. “Of course I do. He works at the hospital and he’s a recent graduate of the medical school.”

I glared back at Palmer, who smirked. I let him go then took hold of Genie’s arm. “What’s he doing hanging around here so late?”

She jerked away. “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest.” She turned to Palmer who dusted himself off. “Why are you here, Dr. Palmer?”

“I asked you to call me Jack, remember? At any rate I’ve come to escort you to the infirmary. I’ve been given the overnight shift for the remainder of the month.”

Genie didn’t look too pleased but she wasn’t blowing the guy off. And Jack? Seriously? She turned on me. “Why are
you
here?”

“I thought I’d walk you to work. I saw this guy lurking around like he was up to no good so I followed him.”

Genie looked at me then him then back to me. “Oh for goodness sake.” She peeked at her pin watch and sighed. “Oh, now I’m going to be late.”

Palmer pushed past me and grabbed hold of her upper arm. It took a lot of effort not to punch him dead in the face. “I’ve secured a carriage. It’s waiting near the bookstall.”

Genie smiled at Palmer and he ate it up like the big fat alley cat I’d seen smacking his lips after taking out a plump robin. Without a word, they exited the walkway. I waited a minute then followed, catching the end of their conversation.

“Is he that horrid American you’ve mentioned?”

This American might’ve been horrid but he was smart enough not to let clueless Genie be sucked in by a sleazy douche that perfectly fit my mental image of Jack the Ripper.

Genie

“I am so sorry Mr. Stewart accosted you. I daresay he was undoubtedly looking out for the welfare of Mrs. O’Connell and myself.” I mustered a small smile for Jack Palmer. He reached across the cramped seat of the hackney and gave my hand a solicitous pat. Keeping my gaze fixed upon the darkened streets ahead of us, I wished for a brief moment that Mark would have mistakenly throttled him. Not to the point of injury, mind, but just enough to knock that high and mighty air out of him for the duration of what was to be another long night.

When we arrived at the infirmary, Mother was signing out at the night attendant’s desk. After skewering me with a harsh look and a muttered, “You’re late,” she cut me dead but gave Jack one of the rare smiles she saved for her “gallant lads” and charity benefactors.

I’m not sure what galled me more, the peevish look he gave me as though I were a little girl who’d unexpectedly soiled her nappy to cause delay, or his fawning explanation to my mother.