Wasp (16 page)

‘Does the Abbess know?’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. She’s had her own share of admirers. Rumour has conjured up a string of lovers, but relationships are a dangerous pastime. Not so long ago a client grew too fixed on one of our girls. He was bundled out of the back of his gambling club, thrashed and dumped in a trough. When a few days later he plucked up the courage to return he found his credit withdrawn and his debts called in. He works as a menial in the church now, I believe.’

‘That’s an appalling thing to do.’

‘He was given fair warning.’

‘What about the girl? Did something bad happen to her?’

‘No. It was agreed she’d done nothing to encourage him. A lesson nonetheless.’

‘Is love so frowned upon here? Have you never dreamed of marrying?’

‘And spend the rest of my days in a draughty parlour with a dish of tea in my hand and a tiny dog panting at my feet? Marriage can bleed a woman of power the way a quack might open a vein in her arm.’

Hummingbird turns back to the window. ‘Renowned painters, fashionable poets and leaders of men have all haunted the square. A peek from behind drawn curtains is enough to drive anyone into a frenzy. Some of the younger rakes, desperate for a stolen glimpse, have been known to scale the drainpipes. Every so often Kingfisher goes out and shoos them away.’

‘You tease men to distraction yet live as nuns? How can you bear it? Surely you have desires?’

‘Good training and a strong will can turn you from the most handsome of faces. Grow too hot between the legs, however, and the Fixer will give you something to cool your passion.’

‘Surely some things are beyond even the Fixer’s bag of tricks.’

Hummingbird laughs. ‘He’s a fine caster of spells. Should he wish, he’ll have you believing you can fly, but don’t be careless.’

‘Why, what would happen?’

‘You’ll learn,’ she says, ‘in time.’

Beth slips under the coverlet and pulls it up to her chin. ‘Will you close the window and come to bed? I don’t want any more surprises creeping out of the night.’

‘I might. I might not. It’s my room, remember. I’ve noticed you’ve been tidying up after me, straightening this and that.’

‘I’ll never sleep if you don’t.’

‘Ask the Fixer for a draught.’

‘I don’t want to keep going to him. Anyway he says I’m getting better.’

‘Very well.’ She closes the window and draws back the curtains. The mattress shifts as she climbs into bed. ‘Happy now?’

‘Don’t you ever say any prayers?’ Beth whispers.

Hummingbird leans across and blows out the candle. ‘To whom? God abandoned us a long time ago. Being damned is part of the game. Those pretty gowns don’t come without a price.’

Beth listens to the tic-tic of cooling metal as the last embers die in the grate. ‘Hummingbird?’

‘What now, Kitten? I’m tired. I’ve had a hard day and may receive another Assignment tomorrow.’

‘What if I can’t do the things I was brought here for?’

‘That won’t happen. I shall not let it. Now go to sleep.’

‘But—’

‘Go to sleep, Kitten.’

Beth turns onto her back and stares into the darkness. Beside her, Hummingbird’s breathing settles, and soon a tickly snore escapes her nostrils.

What if I don’t do it? What if I decide not to be a good girl any more?

She rolls back on her side, wondering what Hummingbird dreams about, what nightmares, if any, she suffers. Then, before Beth knows it, sleep rolls a blanket over her thoughts. The rest of the night passes in a confused fug of sounds and faces. Julia, Sebastian, Lord Russell and George, always George, asking the same thing.
Where are you going with the children, Miss Harris?
Much later, just before dawn has a proper hold on the skies above the city, she’s awakened by a scream.

Blood on the Road

The Fixer pinched the bloodied shard between thumb and forefinger. It glittered red in the carriage lantern light.

‘How did she get it, Crabbe?’

‘I don’t rightly know. I gave her a brandy and she seemed to settle a bit. I thought there was no harm in it. She must’ve tucked the glass into her cloak. You could hide a barrel in there.’

‘See if she has any more. Strip her to her shift if need be.’

Crabbe shook his head. ‘She’s got a wish for death, that one. Can’t force a soul to stay alive if it has no mind to.’

‘Come on, you know her worth. Not losing your nose for the business, are you?’

‘The deal’s getting worse by the minute. The Abbess can turn shit into silk but even she has limits, John. Throw the girl out of the door and let me sell the brat to the gypsies.’

‘No. I’ve given up too much to lose her now.’ The Fixer caught the struggling girl by the shoulders. Anna, listen to me. D’you have any more glass?’

She twisted her head from side to side. The Fixer prised open her gloved hands. The shard had sliced through the fabric and into the flesh beneath.

‘The blood’s gone over her gown,’ Crabbe said. ‘Could’ve fetched a few coins, that.’

‘Still got that pig sticker tucked into your boot?’

Crabbe reached into the calfskin boot and drew out a polished spike. ‘What are you aiming to do with this?’

‘I need to get both gloves off and see what I’m dealing with before the material sticks to the wounds.’

‘No, don’t show my hands,’ the girl said. ‘Not
my hands.’

‘Damn it, Crabbe, she’s throwing a fit. Grab hold.’

‘I ain’t putting a finger on her. Get your blackie friend to help.’

‘We can lay her on the seat. Come on, Crabbe, grab her legs.’

‘She’s got a kick like a Shire horse. Have your blackie do it, I tell you.’

‘His eye’s on the baby where it should be.’

‘All right, then. But listen to her. Sounds like a cat howling at the moon.’

It took both men a deal of puffing and banging around to get her straight.‘Those gloves need to come off if I’m to treat you,’ he told her. ‘Throwing a tantrum won’t help.’

‘My hands are ugly,’ she whimpered.

‘You’re hurt and I aim to fix you. Close your eyes if you don’t want to look.’

He removed each glove with a quick flick of the spike. The cuts bisected the tops of both wrists and were not as deep as he feared. Once he’d stopped the bleeding and bathed her skin using his water flask he was able to examine her hands. They were beautiful. Beautiful like dove wings. So pale and pretty, without any blemishes. Yet fear was in her eyes all the while the Fixer ministered to her. The first time he touched her bare skin she swallowed down a scream.

‘Stop biting your lip,’ he said. ‘Now, look how sweet your hands are.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘They’re
burned.
’

‘Will she live?’ Crabbe asked. ‘If you won’t ditch the wench then I still aim to collect on her.’

‘She’ll live. It’s not so bad as it looks. If someone has a mind to slit their wrists this isn’t the right way.’

‘I don’t want any more of her blood fouling the inside of my coach. And I’m not just talking about her wrists.’

‘I thought you more compassionate than that, Crabbe.’

‘You’ve gone and worn it out of me.’

‘A clean birth, like I told you. I didn’t have to cut her. But we’d better keep her head in this particular cloud or she’s going to hurt. I might have to risk a pinch of laudanum after all. Tell that lump of a driver to spur himself.’

‘Leonardo takes his own good time. Push him and we’ll fetch a broken axle. If you ain’t happy climb up there and tell him so. These lanes ain’t the London turnpike.’

The darkie sat in silence on the seat. Though his eyes were placid he seemed ready to pounce on Crabbe in a blink. The baby lay on the seat opposite her mother, sleeping in a basket Crabbe had drawn from a footlocker and packed with rags. ‘Better than Moses,’ he’d said.

Crabbe had also filled the baby’s belly with milk drawn from a jug in his back larder and warmed on the hearth. He’d brought more in an earthenware flagon which stank of some previous unholy concoction. ‘Won’t do the child harm,’ he maintained. ‘Might put a bit of spark in its blood.’

The Fixer thought the mother had more than enough spark in her blood without the baby following suit, but when Crabbe’s mind was turned to a notion it took a mighty force to turn it back.

‘I want the whole fee, John. Every penny. I’m peddling new lives for all three of you. Four if you count the little ’un, though I reckon you’d be showing it greater grace if you smothered it right here.’

‘My baby.’ The girl’s eyes settled on the Fixer. Blue, impossibly blue in the dim lantern light.
‘Please save my baby.
’

Sounds in the Night

‘Go back to bed, Kitten.’

‘I heard screaming.’

‘Go back to bed. I’ll join you soon.’

Beth tries to shake off the fug of sleep. Figures haunt the passage, flickering candles dripping hot wax onto the carpet. Hummingbird puts a hand on her arm. ‘Come away.’

Shadows dip across the walls as a maid ducks inside an open door. ‘Someone’s in trouble,’ Beth says. ‘We have to help.’ She feels the tenseness in her body, the old aches and pains flaring up. The fear. Always the fear. Hummingbird’s grasp seems to burn her skin.

‘Just a nightmare,’ the other girl whispers. ‘A bad dream. Those women will take care of it. You can’t do anything.’

Bethany allows herself to be led back to her bedchamber. Hummingbird closes the door and climbs back into bed beside her.

‘How can you stand it?’ Beth asks.

‘Go to sleep.’

‘You think I can? So easily?’

A pause. ‘See. The noise has stopped. There’ll be no further trouble tonight. Don’t think about it any more.’

‘That was Moth’s room. Where is Red Orchid?’

‘On late Assignment. She can’t always be present to nursemaid her Kitten whenever she has a bad dream.’

‘Dream? I thought she would scream the roof down.’

‘Moth sees things. Things that slither. Things that go
hisssssssss.
When she was little her brother put a viper in her bed. Now she sees them everywhere: under the bed, sliding between the sheets, coiling around her throat. The Fixer is working to drive them back into the shadows. Perhaps he will succeed, perhaps not. Then who can say what will become of her? She can’t be dosed with laudanum forever. Besides, you created a big enough fuss over those wasps, as I recall.’

‘You mustn’t speak like that. Snakes, spiders, horrors in the night. Everyone is tormented by demons at some time in their lives. You said so yourself.’

‘Yes, but it won’t do if she has us up out of our beds every other night. Don’t gripe, she’ll be given time. The Fixer usually lives up to his name.’

Moth appears at breakfast sporting haggard cheeks, dark sacks under the eyes and pale, drawn skin. She sits opposite Beth and curls her fingers around a wooden spoon. Looking up, she flinches as if noticing Beth for the first time.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ Beth says.

‘I’m sorry,’ Moth whispers. ‘I’m tired.’

Beth pins her best smile onto her face. ‘Bad dream?’

Moth makes an odd sound at the back of her throat. Not quite a gasp. Not quite a moan either. She drops the spoon and grips the edge of the table with both hands. ‘I can’t go to the Cellar. They can’t send me to that place.’

‘The Cellar?’

Blood rushes into the girl’s pallid cheeks. ‘Forgive me, you can’t know what I mean. You haven’t been here long enough. It’s just stories. Don’t pay me any heed.’

‘Moth—’ Beth has hardly opened her mouth when the doors swing wide and the Masques file into the room, followed by the Abbess and Kingfisher. The breakfast trolleys rattle in a moment later. Moth has picked up her spoon again and is staring darkly at her place setting. When the food is served she pushes it into her mouth, barely giving herself time to taste it.

‘Moth, you’ll make yourself ill.’

‘There’s no room for dead weight in the House,’ she says without looking up. ‘The Sisters told me that.’

So it goes for the next two weeks. Sometimes Moth joins Beth at the table, sometimes not. Everything seems to upset her. She eats her food quickly and with intense concentration as though afraid to leave a scrap on her plate. Yet if anything she is getting thinner.