The Winter Rose (33 page)

"I think I can do it," he finally said. "Thing is ...if I do, y'll be stolen

the

goods. You know that, right? Most likely smuggled in from the
Continent. Last I checked, smuggling was still illegal. You'll be
breaking the law, too. Not just me. Can you live with that, Dr. Jones?
Can your spotless con-science endure the stain?" he added, mocking her.

"Yes, I can live with that. I have to, because I can't live with what
hap-pened to Emma Milo. That's not going to happen to any patient of
mine ever again. You're a businessman, aren't you, Mr. Malone?" she
said, mocking him back. "This is business. Will you do it, or do I have
to find someone else?"

"I will. Won't be cheap, though."

"How much?"

"A hundred quid."

India's face fell. "I haven't got that much," she said. "Forgive me for wasting your time."

She looked down at her hands. She must have spotted her watch chain
dangling from her waistcoat, because she suddenly dug the watch out of
her pocket and handed it to him. "I have this, though," she said. "It's
twenty-four carat. Diamond markers. Worth a hundred pounds. That's what
Mr. Betts said. On the way from Teddy Ko's, remember? Will it do?"

Sid turned it over in his hand. Think of me, the inscription read. "From Lytton, is it?"

"Yes."

"Wonder what he would say about your trading it for a box of rubber johnnies."

"He would understand."

"Somehow I don't think he would."

"Then perhaps you will refrain from mentioning it the next time you see him."

Sid pocketed the watch. "Your secret's safe with me."

He offered her his hand. She took it.

"Honor among thieves, is it?" she asked archly.

"You tell me."

She gave him an acid look. "We have a deal?"

"Give me a few weeks," he said, holding her hand for a beat longer
than he should have. It was not like a woman's hand. Not like Gemma's,
soft and dainty. It was strong, and the fingers were stained yellow from
iodine. It was not a pretty hand at all, but holding it, he
wanted--more than any-thing, more than he'd just wanted Gemma's entire
lovely body--to simply press it to his face and feel the cool palm
against his cheek.

He felt a slight tug as she withdrew her hand. There was something in
her eyes: alarm. She was frightened of him. Bleeding frightened. Didn't
she know he wouldn't hurt her? That he would never hurt her? That all
he wanted to do was help her? Her expression made him angry. What the
hell was he doing? Sitting here gassing with this skinny four-eyed
harridan when Gemma Dean with her eager mouth and her gorgeous tits was
waiting upstairs in his bed? He stood abruptly and looked around for one
of his men.

"Oz!" he yelled.

Ozzie, standing at the bar, turned around. "Aye, guv?"

"Mr. Malone... ," India started to say.

"Yes, Dr. Jones?"

"I thought perhaps I could buy you supper. To say thank you."

"Won't be necessary."

"But I--"

"OZZIE!"

Oz was at Sid's side in a flash. "What is it, guv?"

"See the good doctor home."

"Good night then, Mr. Malone."

"Ta-ra, Dr. Jones."

He watched Ozzie and the doctor leave, then decided he would leave as
well. He threaded his way through the taproom toward the door, passing
the stairwell as he did.

Gemma was waiting there, standing in her wrapper.

"I'm sorry for rowing, Sid. Come back to bed, will you?"

"Not now, Gem."

"But why?"

He walked up the steps and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Got
business. Stay over if you like, or Ronnie'll take you home."

"When will I see you?"

"When you see me."

Sid walked out of the Bark in time to see Ozzie hand Dr. Jones into the carriage. They would be heading west. He turned east.

He was restless. He knew he wouldn't sleep. So he would walk.
East-ward along the river. For hours, maybe for days. Maybe all the way
to the sea. And he would think as he walked. Of some new plan. Some new
job. Something that would bring more money, more power. Something that
would have the villains and the rozzers both saying, It was a daring
job. Bloody dangerous and all. Bloody brilliant! And well nigh fucking
impossible. It was Malone, no one else. Had to be.

He buttoned his jacket, then pulled his collar up against the damp
night air. He was alone. And that was fine. He didn't need anyone. Not
Gemma Dean. Not his pushy sister. And certainly not India Selwyn Jones.

He was Sid Malone. The guv'nor. And he didn't need a soul.

"What do you mean he walked out, Des? We was supposed to go to
Limehouse tonight. Where the hell did he go? It's nearly midnight."

"I don't know, Frankie. Out."

"He left Gemma here?"

Desi shrugged as if to say that he didn't understand it either. "Ronnie took her home."

"When's he coming back?"

"Jesus, what's with all the bleeding questions? I don't know! You
know how it is when he goes walkabout. We might see him tomorrow or five
days from now. Who knows?" He stuck his head into the kitchen. "Lily,
luv," he shouted, "bring out some glasses, will you?" As he returned to
his polishing, the pub door opened, squeaking on its rusty hinges.

"That's likely him now," Desi said.

"Sid! That you?" Frankie shouted. He couldn't see the door from where he was sitting.

"I'm afraid not, Frankie," came the reply. A man walked into the
tap-room. He wore a suit and a tan mackintosh. It was Alvin Donaldson.
Behind him, in the pub's large entry hall, what looked like an army of
police officers stood waiting.

"Evening, all," he said. "Sid Malone about?"

Frankie was on his feet instantly. "No, he bloody well isn't. What
the hell do you want? Here to arrest us for nothing again? Too afraid to
come on your own? Need the whole of Scotland Yard to hold your hand?"

"Had a report," Donaldson said, picking up an old porcelain stein and
examining it. He dropped it on the floor. It smashed. "Contraband goods
were spotted here."

"What kind of contraband?"

"Guns. Stolen from the Stronghold Wharf."

Frankie snorted. "Oh, aye? Who reported it?"

"I did," he said.

"What?"

Donaldson nudged a barometer up the wall with his index finger until
it came off its hook and crashed to the floor. "I was in here an hour
ago," he said. "Didn't you see me? I spotted a rifle and two pistols
sitting out on the bar," he said, smirking. "They're not there anymore,
though. You must've hidden them."

Frankie realized what was coming next. "Where's your fucking war-rant?" he shouted.

"Right here." Donaldson drew a document out of his pocket and handed
it over. "Gentlemen," he said, motioning his officers forward. Like a
great blue wave they came crashing into the taproom. Lily had just come
out of the kitchen carrying a tray of clean glasses. Frankie heard her
cry out as one of the constables knocked the tray out of her hands.

"This is harassment!" he yelled, watching a table go over, a clock come down off the mantel.

Donaldson shook his head. "No, but this is," he said as he turned and
swept everything behind the bar--the bottles of booze, the till,
glasses, and plates--to the floor.

"What are you going to do, Frankie? Call the cops?" he asked. One of his officers laughed.

"You'll be laughing out of your arse when I knock your teeth down your throat," Frankie growled, advancing on the man.

"Now, now, careful, Frankie," Donaldson cautioned. "Assaulting an
officer'll get you sent down no matter how good your lawyer is. You know
that. There are witnesses here. Twenty of them."

Why's he warning me? Frankie wondered, drawing up short. If
any-thing, he'd want me to hit him. Because he doesn't want to arrest
you, a voice inside his head said. He wants you here, in the pub, to
witness this and tell Sid about it.

"I'm to be the messenger, is that it? Is that what you want?" Frankie shouted over the din.

Donaldson nodded. "Tell him it's time to pack up, Frankie. Tell him
this is just the beginning. And while you're at it, tell him Freddie
Lytton says hello."

Outside the Varden Street surgery, India buttoned her jacket against the cool evening breeze as Ella locked the door.

"We lost two more women today," she said grimly as she watched Dr.
Gifford climb into his carriage. "He told me just now. Did you know?"

Ella dropped the key into her purse. "No, I didn't," she said. "From what?"

"Childbed fever."

Ella sighed. "Mrs. Gibbs?" she asked.

"And Mrs. Holloway. He should be reported to the British Medical
As-sociation. He doesn't wash his hands, Ella. He's a murderer."

"Steady on, matey. That's a hard thing to prove. And the bloke has
lots of friends in the BMA. Don't forget that. Report him and they'll
turn it on you somehow, see if they don't. They'll make out that you
were negligent somehow. Or that the nurses were."

"They wash. I know they do. Even when they think I'm not looking. I've drilled it into them."

"That's beside the point. If you report him, you'll be finished here.
And no one else will take you, either. They'll think you're trouble."

India sighed.

"How'd you make out with the rubber johnnies?" Ella asked.

"Changing the subject, are you?"

"Trying."

"We'll have them soon."

Ella brightened. "Really? How'd you get them?"

"Sid Malone is getting them for me. I went to the Barkentine."

"Crikey, that was brave."

"I didn't have much choice. Soon we'll have supplies, and then all we'll need--"

"Is a clinic," Ella said. "But until we get it, you make sure to hide the johnnies well. We can't have Gifford finding them."

"I'll put them on top of the sink," India said. "Next to the soap. He's sure to miss them there."

Ella laughed out loud. "Why, Dr. Jones, I do believe that's the first time I ever heard you make a joke," she said.

"Did I? I didn't mean to."

"I'm sure you didn't. Come on, let's get going," Ella said, taking India's arm.

The two women were just about to step off the pavement into Varden
Street when they were badly startled by a loud and horrible noise. It
sounded like a goose being strangled. Ella jumped out of her skin. India
spun around--and saw the cause of the racket. It was her cousin Wish.
He was sitting in his car, goggles pushed up on his forehead.

"Indy! Over here! Did you forget about me?" he shouted.

Supper! She'd forgotten that they were supposed to have supper tonight after she finished work.

"I'm afraid I did," she said, leaning in through the driver's side window to kiss his cheek, happy--as always--to see him.

"What a dunderhead you are. Hungry?"

"Famished. Ella, meet my cousin Aloysius. Wish, meet Sister Ella Moskowitz."

"A pleasure! Will you join us?"

"Do, Ella," India said.

"I'd love to."

"Any suggestions? I'm not awfully familiar with this part of town."

India bit her lip. "Well, there's the Great Eastern. It's a railway ho-tel..."

"Why don't we go to the caff?" Ella said. "Give your cousin a real taste of East London."

"What a good idea! It's the Moskowitzes' caf�Wish. On Brick Lane. It belongs to Ella's mum. The food's wonderful."

"Sounds splendid. Jump in."

India climbed into the passenger seat, Ella into the back. Wish
pulled away from the curb and nearly caused an accident before they'd
even closed the car doors.

"Wish! Look out!" India screeched.

He veered to the right sharply, sending both women flying across
their seats. India struggled to an upright position in time to see the
driver of an enormous hay wagon shake his fist at them.

"Sorry. Handles beautifully, don't you think? Far better than the competition. That's a huge selling point."

"Drive, don't talk," India ordered.

She was exhausted after a full day at the surgery, but she soon
discovered that it was impossible to be tired when you were terrified.
Wish took both straight roads and corners at breakneck speed, passing
carriages and buses with no concern whatsoever for oncoming traffic. He
pulled up outside the restaurant and nearly hit an elderly gentleman
reversing to the curb. India was relieved when he finally switched off
the engine.

"It's a marvel, that car," he said. "Daimler cut his teeth on boat
engines, then progressed to automobiles. There's none more reliable. Or
faster. And the chassis is gorgeous. I'm into the company for ten
thousand. They're going to make me stinking rich." He grinned. "Or a
complete bloody pauper."

"Aloysius, your language!" India scolded.

She was quite familiar with her cousin's penchant for making risky
investments. Sometimes they paid off handsomely, and sometimes they
didn't. The car and his invitation to supper told her that things were
currently going well. In a month's time, however, he might be sleeping
on her floor or living with Maud. It had happened before.

Wish had had a steady and respectable job once. He'd been a director
at Barings Bank, but he'd quit, saying the work was endangering his
health.

"How?" India had asked, concerned.

"It's boring me to death," he'd replied.

Ella shepherded them inside. As soon as they were seated, Wish closed
his eyes and breathed deeply. "Roast chicken, parsley, garlic!" he
exclaimed. "Real food! I didn't think it existed anymore. Let's order
every-thing plus a bottle of wine. My treat."

Ella went to tell her mother what they wanted and returned with the
wine and a tray of glasses. "Watch out, Wish," she warned. "My mother
spotted you, and she's in a matchmaking mood. Said you were a handsome
young man and wants to know if you're Jewish."

"Anglican, I'm afraid," he said. His eyes lit up as bowls of ruby-red
borscht were brought to the table along with thick slices of black
bread. "My word! Did your mother make this?" Ella said that she did.
"Tell her I'll convert, but only if I can marry her!"