Bedford Street Brigade 02 - Love Unbidden (17 page)

A smile changed Willie’s features. “Don’t know what the bloke’s name was,” Willie said, “but if he ain’t already dead, he will be afore long.”

A rock seemed to drop to the pit of Betsy’s stomach. She felt as if all the blood had drained from her face. But when she looked at Harry, his features hadn’t changed at all.

He sat back in his chair. “Why do you say that, Willie?”

“’Cause half of London is scouring The Old Nichol for him.”

“Who’s half of London, Willie?”

“Some of the blokes I don’t know,” he answered with a shrug of his
shoulders. “They’re not from these parts.”

“But you can find out?” Nick asked, handing him another coin.

“I’ll check around,” he said, stuffing the coin in his pocket.

“What about the men you know?” Harry asked. “Who are they?”

“They’re blokes you wanna stay away from, Harry. They’re Cutter’s men.”

“Who’s Cutter?” Harry asked.

Willie grinned. It wasn’t a smile, it was a grin. “You ain’t from this part of London, are you Mister?”

Harry shook his head.

“Didn’t think so. If you was, you wouldn’t have to ask that question.”

“Cutter’s that bad?” Harry asked.

Willie lifted the corners of his mouth again, only this time his expression couldn’t even be called a grin.

“All I can say is if that bloke Cutter’s men nearly killed awhile back ain’t already dead, he will be soon.”

Harry lifted the curtain and looked out onto the empty street, then dropped the curtain and paced the room. His patience was at an end. He’d been waiting for over an hour now and Willie hadn’t shown up yet.

He paced back to the window, but turned when the door opened.

“A watched pot never boils,” Betsy said, carrying a tray into the room and setting it down on the table in front of the sofa.

“Willie said he’d be here this afternoon.”

Betsy laughed. “Except to Willie, afternoon means any time from when he gets up in the morning until when the sun goes down at night.”

Harry walked to the sofa where Betsy sat and took a place beside her. “How did you ever find him?”

“We didn’t. Willie found us.” She poured two cups of tea, then handed him one. “After Father died, Nick and I decided to continue searching for Phoebe. There was no routine to our searching. We started with the area surrounding Finsbury Square and worked our way east. One day, Willie knocked on our door and volunteered to help us.”

“How did he know who you were searching for?”

Betsy smiled. “Willie knows everything. He talked to everyone we’d talked to and found out what questions we’d asked. When he came here, he volunteered to keep an eye out for anyone matching Phoebe’s description and tell us when he spotted anyone who resembled her.”

“Weren’t you afraid he’d just take your money and never show up again?”

“Nick was, but Willie’s smarter than most lads who live on the streets. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have survived this long. He might take our money once, but he knew he’d only get more if he came back. He also knew we wouldn’t pay if he sent us on a wild goose chase.”

Harry took a drink of the tea Betsy had poured for him, but he couldn’t eat any of the pastries. He felt as if a rock had settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Have you remembered anything more since yesterday?”

Harry shook his head. “Just a couple of names, and that Quinn likes peach pie, and Hugh strawberry pastries.”

“Don’t forget Cora,” Betsy reminded him.

“Yes, Cora.”

“Do you think she might be your wife?”

Harry’s breath caught. He hadn’t thought of that. He couldn’t imagine that he had a wife. He looked down at his finger.

“Not every man who is married wears a ring,” she said, reading his thoughts as if he’d said them out loud.

“I’m sure I’d know if I were married. I’m sure I’d remember having a wife.”

“And you’re sure you don’t?”

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. “How should I know? I can’t even remember my own name.”

Harry was ready to bolt from the sofa when Betsy placed her hand over his and squeezed his fingers. “I think if you had a wife, her name would be the first thing you remembered. I think her face would be a face you would never forget. I think if you had a wife you would love her so deeply it would be impossible to erase any thought of her from your mind.”

Harry reached out to Betsy and pulled her into his arms. “I know if you were my wife I would never forget your name, or your voice. Or your face. I remember the first time I saw you. It was when I opened my eyes after you brought me here. I thought you were an angel. And you are. You are my angel.”

Harry lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. She was his angel. She’d rescued him from near death and nursed him to health. She stayed with him even though she didn’t know what kind of man he was. Even though she didn’t know if he was dangerous, or honest, or kind. If he was a saint, or a sinner.

He deepened his kiss to tell her how much he cared for her. To tell her without words that he loved her. How could he not love her? She’d saved him.

He wrapped his arms around her and nestled her against him. He let his hands rub lazy circles over her back, then spread his fingers along the nape of her neck. This woman he thought was an angel when he’d first opened his eyes was more than an angel. She was the woman he loved.

His tongue skimmed her lips, begging for entrance. Her lips parted and he delved inside her honeyed cavern, seeking his mate. When his tongue touched hers, a thousand fireworks exploded inside his head. He was overwhelmed with need. His desire for her raged inside him. His passion stormed as violently as a powerful tempest. He’d never felt this way about another woman. He knew he hadn’t. He’d remember if he had. Emotions this intense would be impossible to forget.

He kissed her again and again, then pulled away from her when the sound of voices in the hallway interrupted them.

She gasped as harshly as he did. She struggled to find the air to breathe as desperately as he did.

When Mrs. Beasley rapped on the door to announce that Willie had arrived, he forced himself to take the necessary steps to the window to give the impression of propriety.

“The young lad is here,” Mrs. Beasley announced. “Do you require more pastries?”

“Yes, Mrs. Beasley,” Betsy answered. “Please.”

Mrs. Beasley showed Willie in, then left. When she was gone, Harry wondered if Betsy’s voice sounded as husky to Mrs. Beasley’s ears as it did to his, but decided not to dwell on that question.

“Willie,” he said. “Come in. Sit down.”

Willie entered the room. The expression on his face contained as much awe of his surroundings as it had the first time he’d encountered it.

“Is that lady going to bring some more of those cakes I had t’other day?”

Betsy smiled. “Yes, Willie. I believe she is.”

A smile broke out on Willie’s face. “Them were good.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

“Do you ’spose I could take some back with me? The blokes didn’t believe me when I told them ’bout how good they was.”

Betsy laughed. “I ’spose that could be arranged.”

Just then, Mrs. Beasley entered with a plate piled high with a variety of cakes. Willie had one in his mouth almost before Mrs. Beasley had them set on the table.

“Now, Willie,” Harry said. “Perhaps you could tell us what you found out.”

Harry wasn’t sure he could wait much longer. Since yesterday, more and more names and faces popped into his mind. The more he remembered, the more he was certain that Cora wasn’t his wife. That he didn’t have a wife. Cora was someone he liked. Not someone he loved.

And two more names had come into his head. Mack and Briggs. They belonged with the other names he remembered: Mack, Briggs, Hugh, Quinn, and Roarke. They were important to him. And so was Cora. They made up his past. His life.

“Have you discovered any more about Cutter, and why his men tried to kill that man?”

Willie looked around the room as if checking to make sure no one was there who might overhear what he said. When he spoke, he lowered his voice, just in case. “The man Cutter wanted killed was snooping into his business.”

“What business would that be?”

“I can’t say.”

Harry knew Willie was being careful. He hadn’t lived on the streets Cutter controlled this long by talking when he should keep quiet. But Harry was desperate for information. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the coins he’d borrowed from Nick. He placed it on the table in front of Willie.

Willie stared at the coin for several long seconds. Finally he picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Cutter sells protection.”

A frown covered Betsy’s forehead. “I don’t understand.”

Harry sat back in his chair. Something about this information was familiar, as if he already knew this but needed to be reminded. “You and I wouldn’t call it protection, Miss Thomas. In our world it’s called extortion.”

“Is that what you folks call it?” Willie asked. “That sure is a fancy name for what everybody knows is forcin’ people to pay ta leave you alone.”

“Yes, it is, Willie,” Harry said.

Harry waited until Willie finished the next bite of cake he’d popped into his mouth before he asked his next question. “What can you tell me about the man Cutter wants dead?”

Willie took a swallow of the fruit punch Betsy had for him. “I can tell you he wasn’t from here, and he was snoopin’ where he didn’t belong. I can tell you that Cutter’s not going to rest until he’s dead.”

“Do you have any idea who the man is?”

Willie slowly placed the piece of cake he was reaching for back on the plate. “I can’t say, sir.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“Nobody talks about Cutter’s business and lives long. It’s best not to know too much of what Cutter’s doing.”

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out another coin. He placed it on the table in front of Willie.

Willie stared at this coin even longer than he’d stared at the first coin. For a few moments, Harry didn’t think Willie was going to take it. Then, very slowly, he reached out.

“I can’t give you a name. All I can tell you is that maybe he was sent here by someone else.”

“Do you know why?”

“Could be ’cause Cutter’s moved his business beyond this part a Lundun. Could be ’cause it’s rumored he’s offering his protection services to businesses past Shoreditch and Bishopsgate Street.”

Snippets of conversations crashed through Harry’s memory. Names and places flashed before him. Harry clutched his hands to the side of his face and pressed hard. He was afraid if he didn’t, his head might explode and he’d lose everything he was remembering.

Harry rose from where he sat and stumbled to the window.

“Harry, are you all right?”

Betsy was beside him, holding onto him the same as she’d held him when he first tried to stand on his own. When he’d first regained enough strength to try to get out of bed.

“Number 33 Bedford Street,” he said, pressing harder against the sides of his head. He turned to face Willie. “Can you find Bedford Street, Willie?”

“I can find my way anywhere in Lundun,” he said with a proud lift of his chin.

Harry walked over to the desk and reached for a paper and pen. “I need you to deliver a message to Number 33 Bedford Street.”

“That’s a long ways from here.”

“You’ll be paid well.”

“How well?”

“Would it be worth five pounds to you?”

Willie rose from the sofa and walked to the desk.

Harry looked at the few words he’d written.

Need help!

Jack

Give the boy five pounds.

When he finished, he folded the paper and handed it to Willie. “Give this to a man named Mack, then bring him back here. Do you understand?”

Willie nodded, then his eyes opened wider. “You’re him, ain’t you? You’re the one Cutter’s looking for. One of them Bedford guys.”

Harry nodded. Except he wasn’t Harry. His name was Jack. Jack Conway.

“Blarmy! Wait ’til I tell ’em I met one of them Bedford guys.”

Jack stood behind the desk and rose to his full height. “You can’t tell anyone, Willie. We’ll both be dead if you do.”

Willie’s expression sobered. “I won’t. I won’t say nuffin ’til you take care of Cutter.”

“Be sure you don’t. Now hurry. This is important.”

Without waiting for anyone to show him to the door, Willie ran out of the house. When he was gone, Jack turned to face Betsy.

She hadn’t moved from her place on the sofa. She looked the same as she had when they’d first come into the room. But she looked different.

Her back was stiff and straight. Her hands clenched in her lap as if they were locked in an iron-clasped grip. Her face was as white as the puffy clouds floating past the window. And one tear after another trickled down her cheeks.

“You know who you are?”

He nodded. “My name’s Jack. Jack Conway.”

“Jack,” she whispered. “Yes, Jack.” She locked her gaze with his. “Do you remember anything else?”

“Mostly names. Not faces yet.

“The faces will come.”

He walked to the sofa and sat beside her. “Then why are you crying?”

She swiped at the tears as if she hadn’t realized they were there. “I’m just being silly,” she said, trying to laugh, and failing. “And selfish.”

“Selfish?”

She nodded. “A part of me didn’t want this day to come.”

“Why?”

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.”