A Study in Ashes (72 page)

“Friends,” he said, raising his good hand into the air for silence, “we have work to do!”

The crowd roared like an ocean, and Tobias smiled. The rebellion wasn’t just a handful of spies or noblemen passing notes in the back rooms of their clubs. It went down to the very grime in the gutters.

The steam barons had no clue what was coming.

London, October 16, 1889
HILLIARD HOUSE
7:35 a.m. Wednesday

POPPY TRULY DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO NEXT. THEY’D
spent another day yesterday hunting for Jeremy. She’d put Alice to bed at Hilliard House after Lord Bancroft had administered a hefty glass of brandy and—after another bout of weeping—she’d fallen into a stupefied sleep. Poppy, on the other hand, had stared at the ceiling until murky waves of exhaustion had finally claimed her just as the first birdsong chimed in the pearl-gray sky.

She couldn’t have slept more than a few hours before Alice was shaking her awake. “Poppy, wake up!”

“Alice?” Poppy groaned, more grumpy than she meant to be but really, she’d hardly napped. She pushed a tangle of hair out of her face, realizing she hadn’t bothered to brush it out the night before. It felt like something had nested in it, and she really wished she had taken the time to clean her teeth.

Alice sat on the edge of the bed. She looked haunted, the bones of her face too prominent under pale skin. Even the glorious waves of her fiery hair were subdued in the cold morning light. “I think we’re going about finding Jeremy the wrong way,” she said in a steady voice nothing like last night’s sobs.

Poppy blinked, pushing herself up on her elbows. Alice had her attention. Gone were the hysterics of the night before,
and the Gold King’s daughter had taken charge. “All right, then. What are we doing wrong?”

“If Father is using Jeremy as a means of keeping us in line, he has to be able to prove our baby is still alive.” There was a slight hitch in Alice’s voice that said she wasn’t as calm as she was putting on. “That means keeping him close.”

“I suppose that means a place he thinks will be safe from attack.”

“Deep in Gold territory,” Alice agreed. “Preferably someplace he owns.”

Poppy struggled to sit up properly. “Isn’t that where we’ve been looking?” And holy hat ribbons, did Jasper Keating own a lot of properties. She felt like she’d tramped through half of London in the last week.

“We’ve looked at all his factories and private residences. They’re all places that he knows I know.” Alice slumped forward, her elbows on her knees. “I’ve been stupid to even suggest such places.”

“Don’t be daft, you’re doing wonderfully well,” Poppy reassured her, stifling a yawn. “But where else is your father going to put Jeremy?”

Alice turned pasty pale. “Think about it. What would happen if, say, the Blue King trampled through London and found Keating’s grandson?”

Poppy didn’t like that scenario at all. “What do you mean?”

Alice pushed on. “He’d hide him in plain sight. Just look at Prince Edmond. The newspapers said he was adopted by Sir Charles Baskerville and nobody noticed that he was at all different. He went to school with the other boys, played on their rugby teams, and did whatever normal boys do.”

“Maybe,” Poppy said softly. “But remember Mr. Keating took the wet nurse, so she would have to be inconspicuous as well.” Then she succumbed to another yawn.

“There are two possible places.” Alice waved a finger, her eyes bright. “First, my father established a foundling hospital in Soho.”

Poppy clapped her hands. “That’s perfect: deep in Gold territory, and with plenty of nurses and babies.”

“Let’s start there, then!” Alice said urgently.

Despite herself, Poppy glanced at the window. She could hear the distant boom of something exploding. The skirmishing between Gold and Blue forces was getting worse, and word had it the rebels were just outside the city. There was no point in asking if it was safe to walk the streets because it clearly wasn’t. And that was all the more reason Alice had to find her son. Fear twisted in Poppy’s stomach, but she wasn’t about to desert Alice now. She wasn’t that kind of girl.

“I need tea,” she said. “And
then
I’ll follow you into the jaws of hell.”

Alice grabbed her in a desperate hug. “You’re the best.”

“Remember this when I ask to borrow one of your Worth gowns.”

THERE HADN’T BEEN
any cabs for hire—the chance of being bombed had kept them all at home—but there had been a steam tram still running from Mayfair toward the intersection of Oxford and Regent streets. It had been a matter of minutes to get there from Hilliard House.

Soho wasn’t the nicest part of town. Poppy had been through the area plenty of times, but never on foot. At least half of it looked starved for money, the houses cramped and ragged from lack of repair. There were lots of theaters, taverns, and coffeehouses, but most ranged from shabby to mildly dangerous. And there were any number of places with purple doors, and even Poppy knew that meant they were houses of dodgy repute. She’d never seen a brothel before, but after walking past the third one, the novelty wore off. There were plenty of other things to worry about, like getting shot by enemy soldiers or what her mother would say when she discovered Poppy was missing.
Best not to think about it
.

And best not to think about the men she saw here and there, watching as two well-dressed women scurried past.
Instead, she stayed glued to Alice’s side as they hastened down Marlborough Street, not letting her out of sight. In her present mood, Alice was moving with a careless desperation that spelled trouble. A single glimpse of an infant was likely to send her bursting through brick walls to snatch it from some innocent nursemaid’s hands.

But that was far from her only concern. Although there were no signs of damage here, there weren’t as many people on the street as there should have been. It felt as if London was holding its breath, waiting for the next assault.

“There’s Poland Street,” Alice said, pointing to the sign at the corner of a soot-stained brick apartment block. “It should be right down there.”

They were about to turn when Poppy caught her arm. “Wait!”

Alice let out a cry. Yellow flags hung from a dozen windows, fluttering in a halfhearted breeze. The signal was one Keating had borrowed from maritime conventions and instituted in his territories.
Quarantine
.

Alice began pelting down the street, her skirts flying out behind her. Poppy bolted after, running hard to catch up. “What are you doing? Have you lost your wits?”

“Maybe.” Alice stopped abruptly in front of a shabby-looking door, and Poppy nearly crashed into her. She was about to make some scathing remark about running headlong into contagion when she read the sign above the door: Beatrice Keating Memorial Foundling Hospital.

“Who was Beatrice?” Poppy asked.

“My grandmother,” Alice replied absently.

It was hard to imagine the Gold King having a mother, much less one he wanted to honor. But the matter quickly faded to unimportance when Poppy saw more yellow flags hanging from the windows above. The hospital was infected.
Oh, no
.

“What if it’s a trick?” Alice said hoarsely. “What if he’s made them say there is disease so that I won’t go in and find my son?”

What kind of a father is he that she can even think that?
Poppy wondered, but she knew the answer. He was a steam baron. “You can’t go in.”

“I have to know.”

“What if you do, and then you find Jeremy later, and then you make him sick because you’re coming down with some fatal disease?”

Alice fell silent.
Good
. Poppy put a hand to her head, wishing her brain would work faster. “Let me think.”

“Let’s at least knock on the door,” Alice suggested. “Surely we can ask some questions.”

“All right.” Poppy crouched, scrabbled in the dirt for some pebbles, and stood, trying to ignore the dirt clinging to her gloves. She tossed a pebble at the window, then another. Both smacked with a satisfying clack against the glass. It didn’t take long before the sash next to Poppy’s target slid up.

The woman who leaned out was terrifying—square, stern, and looking as if she was in severe want of ears to wash. “What is the meaning of this?”

Poppy heard the distant spatter of what might have been gunshot. Her entire body went cold and she searched frantically in the direction of the noise—but she couldn’t see that far with all the buildings in the way. A wail of terror sounded deep inside her, but she bottled it up as tightly as she could manage.

“Well?” the woman demanded.

Poppy glanced at Alice, but the young woman looked about to cry. It was up to her. “Have you received any babies in the past eight days? A boy about seven months old.”

The gunshot sound repeated, and she began shifting from foot to foot, anxious to be gone. The shots had been closer this time. And somewhere inside the building a baby started to cry—a weak, frail squalling like the mew of a kitten. Poppy took Alice’s arm, and felt her tremble.

“There is cholera here,” said the woman severely. “No one enters or leaves, not for two weeks. Now leave before you come down with it yourself.”

The window slammed shut, leaving Poppy and Alice standing in the dusty street. A sound came out of Poppy’s
mouth, somewhere between a curse and a cry of frustration. It matched the feeling bubbling along her nerves. They’d achieved exactly nothing.

Not sure what else to do, Poppy grasped Alice’s hand and led her away, taking the shortest road she could find back to Regent Street. They moved quickly, all too aware of the growing sounds of fighting to the east.

“I think she’s telling the truth,” Poppy said.

“I do, too,” Alice said in a wavering voice. “Look over there.”

Between the buildings, Poppy could see men digging in a yard. There were three of them, and it was going to be a very large hole. “What are they doing?”

Alice swallowed hard, and the next words were stronger. “It’s going to be a lime pit. They shouldn’t be digging it this close to the houses. Papa’s going to be furious.”

A lime pit was for burying masses of bodies, which meant the cholera was real. Her stomach skittered with chill terror and she ran a few steps, as if a yard or two would make any kind of difference.

Alice caught up, her eyes wide. “What now?”

“Does your father own any other foundling hospitals?”

“No. Charity work isn’t a large part of his business.”

That Poppy could believe. The streets around them were growing steadily worse, without even the pretense of respectability. “So where else can he hide a baby?” Poppy saw the broader, brighter expanse of Regent Street ahead and nearly broke into a run. “You said there were two possible places.”

“There are a thousand places,” Alice said, despair creeping into her voice. “I can’t keep dragging you across London like this. Not without a better chance of success and a lot less danger.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Poppy said, almost automatically.

“But I have to.”

“I can worry about myself well enough.”

“Poppy, think. We’re only theorizing about what Father has done. We have no facts.” Alice looked guilty and miserable.
No doubt her heart was dragging her forward, but her common sense was reining her back. “You need to go home. I’ll keep looking.”

Gunfire cracked again. A flock of enormous black birds flew overhead, croaking like doom. Both women looked up, momentarily startled, but the birds passed by.

“But your theories are good,” Poppy protested, refusing to give up. There was no way she would let Alice go on without her. “We’re looking for your father’s property, or at least within his territory. He needs to hide a baby and a nurse someplace they won’t be noticed. Where is the other place you came up with? Does he have a home for unwed mothers?”

“No, but he has a rooming house in Covent Garden where a lot of actresses live.” Alice’s cheeks flushed and she looked away. “He thinks I don’t know about it, but he used to keep a mistress there.”

“Then we try that,” said Poppy. “It can’t hurt, and it has to be nicer than this place.”

“Are you sure about that?” Alice said sharply. “Be sensible. Covent Garden is due east.” But Alice’s words didn’t match the look in her eyes. She was pleading to go.

East was right into the gunfire. Poppy grimaced, wishing she could give in to the terrified wailing insider her—but she just couldn’t. “But what if we’re right, and Jeremy is there?”