The Torn Wing (7 page)

“Tiki—are you coming?” Fiona called from the front door. “It’s going to be noon by the time we get down to see Mr. Potts.”

“Run along wit’ ye, miss,” Mrs. Bosworth said, shooing her reddened hands at Tiki. The middle-aged woman wore an identical black dress to the one she’d worn yesterday, covered by a white apron that was already stained with evidence of her hard work in the kitchen. Her stout legs ended in sensible black flat shoes. “Go see if you can track down young Thomas. I can’t imagine where that lad’s got himself off to. But while you’re gone, I know how to care for the little one.” She smiled down at Clara who stood clutching Doggie. Clara’s long white-blond curls floated around her head making her look like an angelic cherub.

“Teek, I’m goin’ta help Mrs. B. cook somethun really good,” Clara said with a wobbly smile as she reached for the housekeeper’s hand. “It’ll be a surprise for Toots when he comes home.”

“All right, you two, that sounds lovely.” Tiki bent down to kiss Clara’s soft cheek. “I’ll tell Mr. Potts you said hello.” Tiki hurried toward the front door. Shamus had left at the break of dawn to make his deliveries for Binder’s Bakery. He’d promised to look for Toots during his drive around the City. Rieker had also left the townhome before Tiki was up.

“Tell ol’ Potts we need a new story to read, too.” Clara called over her shoulder as Mrs. Bosworth led the little girl toward the kitchen. “I know Fi wants one with a ‘andsome prince but I want one with a faerie in it!”

IT TOOK THIRTY minutes for Tiki and Fiona to walk from Grosvenor Square to Charing Cross railway station. They cut down Saville Row and over to Regent Street, the roads busy with carriages and omnibuses ferrying the masses through the heart of London. More than once Tiki looked over her shoulder to see if they were being followed, but there was nothing suspicious.

A funeral hearse rolled by, the black plumes on the cart shimmying as the matching horses stopped and started in the congested streets. Two-wheeled carts groaned along, their axles creaking under the weight of their loads, while barefoot children dodged the piles of steaming manure from the horses. Their shrieks filled the air to blend with the shouts of the drivers, the snorts and whinnies of the horses, the jangle of the rigging and the cacophony of iron-shod wheels clacking against the cobblestones.

“Where do you s’pose Rieker’s been these last few weeks?” Fiona asked as they walked past a music hall, the tinkling notes of a piano and a woman’s laughter spilling out the open door. “I thought he was to be gone for another week.”

“I don’t know,” Tiki replied. She’d been annoyed last winter when Rieker had first started following her, but she’d gotten used to his constant presence and had come to care for the young man more than she liked to admit. His absence over the last weeks had been a more difficult adjustment than she’d expected—and that scared her. She’d learned to survive on her own. She didn’t want to have to depend on someone else. There were times now, though, when he almost felt like a stranger again.

Fiona paused to stare through a glass window where a shop clerk straightened a display of ladies hats. “Does he still live on the street some of the time? He looks awfully thin.”

Tiki sighed. “I don’t really know, Fi. He told me once that he sometimes buys food and pretends he’s stolen it just to feed some of the street children who are starving. It wouldn’t surprise me if he still does that.” Tiki pulled her hair over her shoulder and gripped the windblown strands with one hand as she stood next to Fiona and stared blindly at the window display. She’d noticed he’d lost weight, too. “You know, I was thinking we could start helping to feed some of these street children. I’ve got the money the Queen gave me for returning the ring. We can afford to share some bread and cheddar.”

“That’s a nice thought, Teek,” Fiona said. “We could go over to Covent Garden and hand it out there. We know a few of the blokes workin’ the market, though they wouldn’t recognize us now that we’re ladies.” She dipped into a curtsy, grinning and Tiki couldn’t help but laugh. Six months ago it would have been impossible to imagine others might consider them to be ladies.

Fiona looped her arm through Tiki’s and pulled her down the street. “Do you think Rieker still picks pockets?” An attractive young man dressed in a black suit and a top hat set at a jaunty angle, approached. His blond hair was a bit longer than usual and one corner of his mouth turned up in a grin, as if he knew a secret.

Tiki’s gaze lingered on him—there was something so familiar about his face—then her cheeks warmed as she realized he was staring back at her with an appreciative grin. She still wasn’t used to the attention she received now that she dressed as a young woman again. During the two years she’d lived in the abandoned clock-maker’s shop next to Charing Cross, she’d dressed as a boy and had been invisible. Moments like now, when she
wanted
to be invisible, was when she missed those days.

He lifted his hat and nodded as he passed. “Ladies.” His voice was low, almost musical.

“Who’s that?” Fiona whispered, nudging Tiki as she looked over her shoulder at the young man. “He looked like he knew you.”

Tiki tugged Fiona along. “Stop staring,” she hissed. “I have no idea who he is.”

Fiona paused to primp in the reflection of another store window, pulling her curly waves behind her hair in a pretend up-do, and tilted her chin. “See—he thought we were ladies too. It’s a wonder what a splash of water and a bit of fabric will do for a girl.” She let her hair fall back around her face. “You never answered my question. Do you think Rieker still picks pockets?”

“Rieker’s got his secrets, Fi. There’s more about him that I don’t know, than what I do.” She hesitated. “But I do know why he returned to Grosvenor Square early.”

Fiona turned, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Why’s that?”

In hushed whispers Tiki told her of Larkin’s return and the faerie’s outrageous claim.

Fiona’s mouth dropped open. “Do you believe her?”

“Of course not. Nothing but a pound’s worth of poppycock.”

“But why would she make something like that up?” Fiona sounded unconvinced. They walked another block, passing a shoe-maker’s shop, the staccato pounding of hammers echoing out into the street.

“I have no idea.”

Fiona sucked her breath in. “Do you think she has something to do with Toots gone missing?”

Tiki’s expression darkened. “I can’t help but wonder.”

“But why—” Fiona growled. “That horrible creature. If she took Toots just to get to you—”

“I know.” A gust of wind teased Tiki’s hair, reminding her of when Rieker had so gently smoothed the strands from her face. She brushed her hair back with an impatient gesture. “There’s something else we need to talk about.”

“What’s that?” Fiona asked. The rich smell of glue filled their noses as they passed the offices of a bookbinder.

A twinge of sadness filled Tiki’s chest as she spoke. With Larkin’s return and the secrets Rieker seemed to be keeping again, the decision seemed inevitable. “I think it’s time to find our own flat.”

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at Charing Cross, Fiona went to use the lavatory while Tiki paused to admire a basket of hothouse roses. As she bent to smell their fragrance a shadow shifted behind her, too close for comfort. The slightest pressure brushed her back, like invisible fingers touching her. Tiki whirled, ready to pull the knife she had hidden up her sleeve. A shadowy figure dissolved into nothingness as she blinked, leaving the space before her empty. Tiki glanced around to see if anyone was watching her but there was no one. Unsettled, she turned back to the flowers as Fiona approached.

“Teek, did you see that bloke leanin’ against the wall over there?” Fiona’s cheeks were as rosy as the dress she wore. She dipped her head and looked from beneath her lashes. “He’s a handsome one, don’t you think? He keeps watchin’ us.”

Tiki glanced in the direction Fiona indicated. The young man was about their age, dressed in trousers and a jacket that had seen better days. A cap covered his brown hair but Fiona was right—his face was attractive and he looked friendly enough.

“Nobody I know,” Tiki said. “Let’s get on to Mr. Potts and find out if he’s seen Toots.”

It was only a short walk to the bookstore. Mr. Potts had been selling books in Charing Cross for over twenty years. The old man had held the key to a world of hope at a time when Tiki had none. With no money or food, half the time, she’d spent may hours in the bookstore, imagining she lived in a different world.

Tiki glanced through the store’s paned window as they passed to the front door. A bell tinkled as they pushed their way in. “Hallo, Mr. Potts,” Tiki called.

The old man’s stooped form shuffled out from between an aisle of books. At the sight of them his bent shoulders slumped even further. “Oh, g’day, ladies. Yer sounded a bit like a friend of mine.” He turned back, a wrinkled hand scratching his bald head.

“Mr. Potts, it’s me, Tiki.”

“Eh?” The old man grunted as he turned to gaze at her again with narrowed eyes. He took a cautious step closer, taking in her pale blue dress and long dark hair. His eyes shifted to Fiona with a blank look then he glanced back at Tiki. “Is that yer, Tiki?” he asked.

Tiki laughed. “Of course it’s me, Mr. Potts. Don’t tell me that you don’t recognize me just because I’m clean?” She twirled once, holding her skirt out.

The old man’s face brightened and he straightened up. His eyes glinted suspiciously. “An’ you’ve got a new friend.”

“Actually, she’s an old friend who just looks new.” She dodged to the side as Fiona elbowed her in the ribs. “Fiona took a bath too.”

Mr. Potts chuckled. “An’ she’s got hair now.”

“Thanks, Mr. Potts,” Fiona said, glaring at Tiki.

Tiki changed the subject. “Have you seen Toots about lately?”

The elderly man turned away to straighten the edges of the stacks of newspapers laid out on a shelf. “That red-headed boy you look after? The one wot looks like somebody flicked an orange paintbrush at ‘im?”

“Yes, the one with all the freckles,” Fiona said. “Have you seen him?”

Mr. Potts shrugged. “Not for a few weeks.” He cleared his throat with a loud
harumph
. “He used to come in and run around with a coupl’a other boys. Probably up to no good.”

“Well, he’s supposed to be in school,” Tiki frowned. “I’ll have to ask him about that.”

The old man stepped toward them, a smile of appreciation on his face. “Tiki, yer look so different when you’re dressed like a girl.” He caught both of her hands in his old wrinkled ones. “Yer remind me of Bridgit.”

The name sounded familiar to Tiki. “Who’s Bridgit?”

“She’s my daughter. You look a bit like her.”

Tiki smiled. “You’ve mentioned that before. Toots always said that’s why you let me read your books for free.”

Mr. Potts released Tiki’s hands and shuffled back toward his little desk. “I’ve got a drawing of her over here.” He pulled a drawer open and reached in to search the back of the space with his hand. His wrinkled fingers emerged holding a sepia-toned portrait of a young girl, the edges frayed and torn.

Tiki held her hand out. “May I?” He’d never shown her a picture of his daughter before.

“She’s sixteen there.” He pointed his crooked finger at the page. “Had it drawn just before the Christmas holidays as a present for ‘er mum. Yer cain’t tell, but she’s wearing a blue dress too.”

Tiki took the page and studied the face staring back at her. Fiona leaned over her shoulder to peer at the portrait.

“You’re right, Mr. Potts,” Fiona said. “She does bear a resemblance to Tiki—with her long dark hair and that pretty face. Where is she now?”

The old man’s shoulders sagged as if the air had been let out of him. “She’s gone. Disappeared in Hyde Park in ‘42.”

Tiki frowned. “Disappeared? What happened?”

“Got caught by a nasty storm one evening, just ‘bout this time of year. We were in the area known as the Ring. Lightning right on top of us, thunder loud enough to rattle yer bones. Blew in out of nowhere.” He shook his head. “Bridgit stopped to talk to some young bloke. When we turned back, she was gone—” he motioned with his hands— “like smoke on the wind.”

Tiki froze. “The Ring in Hyde Park?” That area was a favorite gathering spot of faeries. Tiki had met Larkin there once. By the expression on Fiona’s face, Tiki could tell the other girl had made the same connection.

The old man’s hands shook as he took the picture from Tiki. “Sometimes when the weather’s really nasty I walk through the park, hoping the storm that took ‘er will bring ‘er back to me.” He smoothed his bent fingers over the drawing, pausing to look one more time before he tucked it safely into the back of the drawer. “My wife went to an early grave because of ‘er broken heart, she did.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Me? I’m still waitin’ for Bridgit to come home.”

Tiki patted the man’s gnarled hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Potts.”

He shrugged his bony shoulders. “I should be used to it by now—she’s been gone a long time, but I still miss her.” He gave Tiki a wobbly smile. “An’ I miss havin’ yer come pester me for books.”

“That’s one of the reasons we’re here. We’re going to make a point of coming by and bothering you more often.” Tiki smiled at him.

“A friend of yours was asking after you yest’day,” the old man said as he sank onto the wooden stool before his desk.

“A friend of mine?” Tiki didn’t have many friends and certainly none who knew she’d lived in Charing Cross. “Did they leave a name?”

“Didn’t catch ‘er name. Pretty girl, blond ringlets. She asked if I’d seen yer about lately.” Potts ran his gnarled hands along the edge of the wooden desk, worn shiny over time. “I tol’ her I hadn’t seen yer for a bit but she said not to worry, she’d track you down.”

Chapter Ten