Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

Was this happiness? No. Jack never knew that feeling. But it was as close to it as he could get.

He rose from bed, and got ready for the day. Judging by the ash-colored light, it was already late afternoon. He smiled—his life had always been lived at night. Only when he got to Dunmoor did that change, rising with the dawn, working all day, and collapsing onto his cot soon after sunset. But he was claiming himself back.

He hurried downstairs, hoping that the rest of Nemesis had gathered so they could talk about the next steps with Rockley. They’d have a plan. They always had a plan.

His steps halted when he found Eva already in the parlor, standing beside the fireplace. He barely noticed Simon and Marco sitting at the table. She didn’t blush or look away, but met his gaze boldly, with unmistakable heat.

It was like invisible hands grabbed him, pulling him toward her. He needed her mouth, the feel of her hands, the warm scent that clung to her neck.

Marco coughed. Loudly. A reminder that Jack and Eva weren’t alone. Goddamn it.

Though he didn’t care what either Marco or Simon thought, Jack couldn’t go to Eva, not even to stand beside her. He’d have to touch her, and one touch would lead to more, and more. Instead, he grabbed a chair, swung it around and straddled it, his arms braced across the back.

“The next steps need to be planned carefully,” Simon announced. “We’re close now. Too close to get sloppy.”

“He’ll have been told that the evidence was stolen,” Eva said. “The madam identified Jack, too. Rockley will know Jack isn’t dead.”

Marco asked, “Won’t he go to the police with that?”

Jack snorted. “And tell them I was spotted busting up a whorehouse where he keeps damning papers? No—he’ll keep his muzzle shut.”

“If he feels the walls caving in around him,” Simon pointed out, “he’ll lash out, try to protect himself.”

“We have to move first before he can.” Eva frowned in thought as she looked into the fire. “It’s time to—”

Everyone silenced as footsteps sounded on the staircase outside. It could have been Lazarus or Harriet, but Jack didn’t recognize the tread. He stood.

Eva opened the door, revealing Byrne. The chemist stood on the landing, his forehead all creased with worry, and held out a slip of paper to her. “This came for you. Not you specifically, miss,” he added, “but I was told to give it to the folks upstairs.”

“Told by whom?” she asked.

“The boy that delivered it. He ran off before I could ask who sent it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Byrne.” She took the note.

“What’s it about?”

She shook her head. “Policy, Mr. Byrne.”

Contrite, the chemist smiled. “Right. Less I know, the safer I am.” He gave a little bow and then trundled back down the stairs.

After Eva closed the door, she unfolded the note. Jack, Marco, and Simon all watched her as she scanned it. A troubled look crossed her face. “It’s from Miss Jones. ‘It is vitally important that you come immediately,’” she read aloud. Glancing up, she added, “The handwriting’s hers, but it’s shaky.”

“She wants us to go to her home?” Marco wondered. “She and her father have always met with us here.”

“Something must be wrong.” Simon got to his feet and put on his hat. “Eva and I will see what’s the matter.”

“I should go, too,” Jack said.

“He did help by talking with her last time,” Eva noted.

Instead of arguing against Jack’s presence, Simon just nodded.

Maybe Jack had earned the toff’s confidence after all.

But it was the look of trust in Eva’s eyes that Jack truly prized.

* * *

Pretty suburban neighborhoods like Hammersmith always made Jack’s skin crawl. It was all so bloody normal, so orderly and neat. Even now, as he, Eva, and Simon walked toward the house of Miss Jones and her family, they passed men returning from their work in the city. The sun hung low on the horizon, and all the good, respectable men of business hurried home for supper. Through the lit, lace-covered windows, Jack watched as women greeted their husbands, taking their hats and coats, offering dutiful kisses on the cheek. Children in clean, starched pinafores clung to their fathers’ legs until they were shooed away by their mothers. The men retired to front parlors, where they read newspapers and smoked pipes.

These were the people who decorated advertisements pushing health tonics, soap, cocoa. Perfect little kingdoms in perfect semidetached houses, and far from anything he’d known.

“Do you envy them?” Eva asked as they passed one house, with its brightly lit front window showing the people inside like actors on a stage.

“There ain’t no thought in it,” he said. “They’re all doing what they think they’re supposed to, but what’s the fun of it? Where are the guts?”

“Perhaps they don’t want fun or guts. Perhaps all they want is security, certitude.”

“Only one thing’s certain,” he said. “We’re all going to wind up in the ground. Way I figure it, that leaves us free to do what we want. Not shut ourselves away in tidy boxes.”

“Radical notion,” she answered. “You might be a revolutionary.”

“Don’t go picking out my crate and setting me up on Speakers’ Corner,” he warned. “I’m just trying to survive, not change the world.” The world could take care of itself. He had his own skin to look after.

But as he, Eva, and Simon walked down a tree-lined street, heading toward Miss Jones’s house, a kick of worry beat beneath his pulse. Worry for the young lady. Eva had said that the girl’s handwriting looked shaky, which meant she’d written her note in a state of distress. Rockley might have threatened her again, or done worse. Jack knew that Eva could take care of herself, but most females hadn’t been given much to defend themselves. They were at the mercy of men and the law, neither of which seemed to care much about the fate of women.

But that’s why Nemesis existed.

Miss Jones’s house was one of the smaller buildings on her block. Unlike most of the other houses, only a few lights burned in the windows. Simon knocked on the door, and after a minute, the girl herself answered the door. Pinched lines showed on either side of her mouth. She looked as if she’d aged ten years in just a few days. Her face was pale, and she twisted a handkerchief in her hands. She definitely didn’t look happy to see any of them on her front step.

“Come in, please,” she said, holding the door open. “I’ve sent our maid out, so we’re alone.”

They all stepped into the entryway as Eva asked, “Where are your parents?”

“Also out.”

“Tell us what this is about,” Jack said.

Miss Jones turned and moved down the hallway. “I’ve got some tea ready in the kitchen.”

Jack, Eva, and Simon all shared a look after she disappeared through a door.

“Don’t like it,” Jack muttered.

Eva frowned. “She’s acting oddly, that’s true.”

“Odd behavior or no,” Simon noted, “she’s our client. If Rockley’s threatening her further, we need to help.”

“Will you come?” Miss Jones asked, reappearing in the doorway.

Feeling restless and ill at ease, Jack followed the others as they filed into a medium-sized kitchen. Racks of pans lined the walls, and an iron stove took up one side of the room. A round table stood in one corner, surrounded by chairs, and beside the table was another door that looked like it led to a pantry.

Miss Jones waved toward the table. “Please sit.”

Jack glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s the tea?”

“I beg your pardon?” the girl asked, looking even more pale despite the heat of the stove.