The Heartless City (9 page)

ris plowed through the ankle-deep snow as she crossed the Waterloo Bridge. A bleak, grey sun was rising over the Thames, but even though the sky had cleared, a frigid wind was blowing. Her foot slipped, but she righted herself and hurried even faster. She should have been home six hours ago, and her mother would be frantic.

Of course, she knew that would be the case as soon as the sons of Harlan Branch and his doctor fell into her lap. She’d planned to follow Cambrian back to the palace when he left, hoping to either sneak in or find out how to get past the guards, but instead of heading north, his carriage had set off toward the docks. When Elliot stumbled out, she thought she’d gotten her second chance, but then he lost his way and got attacked.

And everything changed.

Although, if she was honest, things had already changed before that. The two princes were nothing at all like she’d imagined they’d be. She’d always assumed they were spoiled brats like the aptly named Charlie Hands, who believed that being the son of a judge entitled him to deflower any “flower” he wanted at
La Maison Des Fleurs
. Iris was used to fending off advances from boys like Charlie, but Cambrian Branch, the most important and―as she had heard―most handsome young man in all of London, had not only been respectful but had nearly burst with excitement when she talked of the outside world. And as for Elliot Morrissey…

She stopped at the edge of the bridge, clenching her fists and taking a breath. It was better not to think too much about Elliot Morrissey.

As she hurried down Waterloo Road and into the lower marsh, however, she realized there were some things even she could not control. His messy hair and boyish grin were emblazoned on her mind, as were his eyes, which were not only lush and green as the aviary, but also wide and clear, as if incapable of pretense. His voice was the same way―raw, emotional, and exposed―and perhaps that was why she’d shared the things she’d shared with him last night, why she’d felt entranced when he talked about his mother and his painting, and why she’d believed him when he told her he thought her dreams were “brilliant.”

Her skin warmed as the wind picked up, but not of her own volition. If only she could control her feelings as well as she could hide them.

The lower marsh market was already filling with merchants, wagons, and carts, and Iris picked up her pace, returning her focus to her mother. The Empire’s monthly supplies must have come in the day before, as Mr. McKenna’s fruit stand on Roberts was actually stocked with fruit. She paused as she passed it, eyeing a box of decent-looking pears. Her mother loved pears, and a gift might help to soften a bit of her anger, but their rent was due tomorrow, and they simply couldn’t afford it.

She let out a breath and turned the corner, cursing herself for refusing Cambrian’s money the night before. Only a fool would pass up the offer of coins for a conversation, but after getting to know and even like him, it had seemed wrong. Clearly, neither he nor Elliot knew what their fathers were doing, but they were still a part the system she’d sworn to herself to bring down. If she couldn’t change the way she felt, she’d find a way to ignore it. Nothing and no one could stand in the way of her only chance at freedom. Even a boy who had looked at her as if he could see her soul.

And smiled as if he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

She shook the thought away as she approached her tenement building, which stood in the shadow of the old Southwestern Railway Station. As she climbed the steps to their flat on the second floor, she slowed her breathing, hoping to calm her mother with a cool, serene appearance. But even before she’d closed the door behind her, she heard her voice.

“Iris Faye!” she hissed. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

She shot up out of her makeshift desk and barreled across the room. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her face was pale as death. She clearly hadn’t slept all night.

And it was all Iris’s fault.

“Mama, I’m so sorry―”

“Iris, you answer my question now.”

She looked up into her mother’s eyes, eyes that had been frightened ever since she could remember. Even before Lady Cullum was killed and the two of them went into hiding―in fact, even before they left the farm and came to London―her mother had been afraid, insecure, and somehow broken. Iris had never understood how a woman so strong and brave could believe she was neither, but mystery was another part of living with her mother, who stored as many secrets in her heart as she did fears.

Still, until that moment, she had thought she would tell her the truth, but now that she was staring into her eyes, the idea seemed crazy.
Well, mother, I tried to follow the son of one of your greatest enemies into Buckingham Palace, even though you expressly forbid me to ever go near the place. Then I attacked a Hyde that was about to kill the boy, even though I wasn’t sure he would have a gun I could use. Then I went to the zoo, where―once again―you told me never to go, and spent the night beside him, holding his hand to keep him warm.

“One of the other girls lost the key to her flat,” she said instead. “She was scared to walk to her cousin’s place in Limehouse, so I went with her.”

A groan of relief escaped her mother’s lips, and Iris felt sick. Her ability to conceal any physical “tells” made her an excellent liar, but it didn’t stop a wave of guilt from rising in her throat.

Choke it down
, she told herself.
You did it for her own good. Besides, with all the secrets she keeps, it’s only fair for you to have your own every once in a while.

“But why are you only getting home now?” her mother asked, rubbing her brow. “Limehouse is only an hour away.”

“I stayed with her at her cousin’s place until the storm had passed.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. They both knew Iris was hardly at risk of freezing to death in a storm.

“To avoid suspicions,” she added quickly. “I couldn’t very well walk into a blizzard in front of her.”

“I suppose you’re right,” her mother said, exhaling. “And what you did was kind, but it was also dangerous, Iris. You mustn’t do it again.”

“Mama, you know I’m not in danger. The Hydes can’t hurt―”

“Yes, they can. You have a strong defense mechanism, but you are not immune. Besides…” Her grey eyes darkened like the sky before a storm. “Hydes are not the only danger out there. You understand?”

Iris sighed. “I understand. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Good.” She let out another breath and ran a hand through Iris’s hair, which was just as dark and thick as her own. “So you haven’t slept at all?”

“No,” she replied, and this time she was actually telling the truth. She’d planned to sleep while holding Elliot’s hand to keep him warm, but once their bodies were close again, she found she didn’t want to. His heartbeat was hypnotic, and his breathing was like a spell, and she only barely stopped herself from curling up in his arms, which had felt so firm and strong when he caught her…

Iris, stop it now.

“We should probably get some sleep before our shifts,” her mother said. “At least a couple of hours.”

Iris nodded, removing her coat as her guilt rose once again. Both of them worked the same hours―from noon to ten each night―but her mother didn’t have her strength, and her job was much more demanding. Iris had to deal with loud-mouth drunks and wandering hands, but her mother, who was a piece of paper away from being a doctor, spent ten hours a day in the cellar of a pub, washing mugs and dishes in the dim, foul-smelling air.

She’d wanted Iris to do the same, as she felt the safest jobs were those where they would never be seen, but Iris knew her youth and beauty could make her twice as much as a waitress in a restaurant. The prospect had worried her mother, of course, but the money was just too tempting. Neither of them wanted to relive that terrible year after Lady Cullum’s death, when it was still too dangerous for her mother to show her face, and Iris had to catch rats in order to keep them both alive.

“Here, let me help you undress,” her mother said, unlacing her dress, and Iris groaned, hating the fact that her mother had to undress her. Dishwashers could wear practical dresses and corsets that fastened in front, allowing them the ability to change without assistance. The waitresses at
La Maison Des Fleurs
, however, had to wear back-lacing corsets, as customers enjoyed the smaller waists that they created.

When Iris was finally free of all her clothing but her chemise and drawers, her mother walked to the desk and returned with three copper pennies. “Make sure you eat before work,” she said, placing the coins in her palm. “The pie shop on James Street should have fresh meat since the shipments came in yesterday. Don’t worry, we’ll still have enough for Mrs. Granby’s rent.”

“You can have it. I’m not hungry.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need to eat. I’ll buy some oysters on my break tonight. Now go to sleep.”

There was no arguing with her, so Iris placed the coins in the pocket of her coat and crawled onto the mattress the two of them called a bed. Her mother, however, did not undress, but returned to her seat at the desk.

“What are you doing?” Iris asked. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

“I just need to go over a few more figures.” She smoothed down a piece of paper covered in scribbles and dipped a quill in ink. “It wouldn’t be so difficult if I had some actual lab equipment. Or at least a book or study written in this century.”

Iris’s muscles stiffened. Her mother’s life consisted of working and looking for a cure, which no one in London but Dr. Morrissey was allowed to do. The breach of the rules didn’t worry her―if her mother were found, she’d be dead no matter what laws she’d disobeyed. What she couldn’t stand was watching her sacrifice sleep and sanity for something that was not the real solution to their problems.

“Mama,” she began, smoothing and softening her voice. “I overheard a few of the other waitress at work last night, and they said the palace is looking to hire more parlor maids for the season.”

The scratching of her mother’s pen came to a halt. Then, without looking up, she took a breath and resumed her writing. “Iris, we’ve discussed this. The palace is out of the question.”

“I’m pretty enough to be a parlor maid, and Mr. Dorset likes me. I’m sure he would give me a good reference―”

“Iris, the subject is closed.”

“But Mama, it would change everything if I could get inside. I could prove what the Lord Mayor is doing―”

“Iris, it
isn’t safe.
”

“Not for you, but none of them even know that I exist! The only person who knew you had a daughter was Lady Cullum and she―”

“Is
dead
!” her mother exclaimed, bolting up out of her chair. “And if they find out who you really are, we will be, too.”

Silence filled the room, swelling and thinning the air between them. Iris’s fingers curled around the patchwork quilt beneath her. The grandmother she’d barely known had sewn it back in Kansas, but Lady Cullum had draped it over Iris’s body in bed at night, singing her to sleep when her mother was working late at the lab. Tears stung her eyes, and she quickly fought them back. Crying wouldn’t help her cause or avenge Lady Cullum’s death.

“Iris, please understand,” her mother said, rubbing her temples. “I’m trying to protect you. You don’t know what the Lord Mayor is like, the things he is capable of.”

Iris clenched her jaw and looked away. Of course she knew.

“I’ll make things right. I promise,” she continued, sitting beside her. “Look at me, Iris. I mean it. I am going to find a cure.”

Iris raised her head and stared directly into her eyes. “A cure won’t do any good as long as the Lord Mayor is in power.”

Her mother swallowed, rose to her feet, and returned to her place at the desk. “That isn’t our concern. We’re hardly equipped to bring down a government, Iris. A cure is the answer.”

She sat back down and picked up her pen, ending the conversation, and Iris glared at her back, burning with questions she couldn’t ask.

Why can’t you see how strong I am―how strong we both could be? Why do you refuse to face the truth of what must be done? Why do you tell me everything about the world’s evils but nothing about what’s on your mind?