Zoë Archer - Sweet Revenge

“Perhaps we ought to come back a little later,” Mr. Jones suggested, red faced.

“Be done in a trice.” Jack quickly did up the buttons of his shirt, though his face tightened in pain from the effort. “There. Presentable as a sermon.”

It was still scandalous for a man to talk to anyone without a jacket, let alone tucking in his shirt, but they’d long moved past social niceties by this point.

“You’ve read the papers,” Eva said to Mr. Jones.

“So we have,” he answered, somber. “A very bad business.”

“Given the evidence of Lord Rockley’s treason,” Simon noted as he came forward, “there isn’t going to be much of an investigation into his death. Imagine you’re rather shocked by it all.”

“Glad, more like,” Miss Jones said with surprising vehemence. “But Lord Rockley’s fatality … did any of you…?” She glanced at Jack.

Before he could speak, Eva said, “Nemesis always protects its clients, even after the job is done. The less you know of the circumstances surrounding his demise, the better.”

“So, it’s all over, then?” Mrs. Jones asked. She gripped her daughter’s shoulder. “My girl is safe?”

“From future threats by Lord Rockley, yes,” Eva said. Unfortunately, a woman’s reputation was a fragile thing, easily broken and difficult to repair. Everyone in the room knew this, acknowledging it with a brief silence.

“You may find it easier to begin again in a new city,” Marco suggested gently.

“I’ve a brother in Wolverhampton,” Mr. Jones said. “He’s been after me to join his business there for years. Perhaps now is the time to take him up on the offer.”

“We’ve many contacts in Gloucestershire,” Simon added. “If you ever have need, they can assist you.”

Mrs. Jones said earnestly, “I cannot find sufficient words to thank all of you for what you’ve done for us.”

“Wasn’t no more than you deserved,” Jack said. “Than any wronged woman deserves.”

Eva handed Miss Jones the case. “And here’s something that might make the transition into your new life a bit easier.”

With a puzzled frown, the young woman set the case on a table and opened it. She gasped. Her mother took one look at the contents and tottered over to a chair, with her husband fanning her using his hat.

Miss Jones stammered, “But … that’s … it’s…”

“Enough to start over,” Jack said.

Coldness seeped through Eva. “One more thing.” She gave Miss Jones an envelope. As the girl examined the papers inside, Eva explained, “A deed to a country estate. It’s yours now, to keep or to sell, as you see fit.”

For a moment, Miss Jones could not speak. Holding the deed, her head bowed in thought, she walked the length of the room then back again. “I know precisely what to do with it.” She glanced at her parents. “I won’t be going to Wolverhampton.”

Mr. and Mrs. Jones exclaimed in surprise, but Eva, Jack, and the other Nemesis operatives kept quiet, waiting.

“I aim to take possession of this estate,” the young woman continued. “With the money you’ve given me, I’ll start a school—a refuge, for girls who’ve been abused. I can help them gain new lives, as you’ve given me mine.”

“Are you certain, my dear?” her mother asked.

“I am,” came the confident answer. “This is what I’ve always truly wanted to do.”

“An excellent idea,” Marco said, and the sentiment was echoed by everyone in the room. This, Eva felt, was Nemesis’s true purpose—that no one person or organization should be responsible for addressing wrongdoing, but that everyone labored together for justice. Eva’s own parents could not fault her for wanting this.

Miss Jones suddenly looked abashed, and glanced shyly at Jack. “Mr. Dalton, if you wouldn’t mind … I’d like to name the school after your sister. But … I’m sorry, I can’t remember her name.”

“Edith,” he said. “Edith Dalton.”

“The Edith Dalton Home for Girls,” Miss Jones said, trying out the name. “Would that be all right?”

Eva’s chest tightened at the look of pure, humble wonderment on Jack’s face.

“I’d…” He cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse when he spoke. “That’d be an honor. A right honor. Thank you.”

“Thank you .” Miss Jones gazed around the room, looking at each of the Nemesis agents in turn. The youthful fear had left her face, replaced by confidence and purpose. “All of you.”

“What of payment?” Mrs. Jones asked. “Surely you’ll want compensation.”

“We’ve taken a share from Rockley’s money,” Simon answered. “For operating expenses. But we won’t accept any from you.”

The members of the Jones family made sounds of protest, but no one would be swayed. At last, seeing that this was an argument he couldn’t win, Miss Jones’s father said to her, “Come, my dear. It’s time for us to take our first steps in our new lives.” Trepidation edged his voice, and Miss Jones looked daunted by the prospect of the unknown that lay ahead of her, but she attempted a brave smile.

Before the Joneses left, there were handshakes all around, and Mrs. Jones wept delicately into a handkerchief, murmuring over and over her gratitude. And then they were gone. But a minute hadn’t passed before Ockham himself came into the back room, bearing a little muslin-wrapped parcel.

“I was to give you this,” he said, handing it to Eva.

She opened the parcel, revealing a few one-pound notes. Judging by their crumpled appearance, they’d come from Miss Jones’s own pocketbook. A scrap of paper read, For additional operating expenses .

After a moment, Simon handed each member of Nemesis a banknote. Including one to Jack.

“The hell is this for?” Jack demanded.

“Everyone on the team is paid equally.” Simon met his gaze levelly. “That includes you.”

Briefly, Jack appeared as if he’d argue, but then, with a shrug, he tucked the money into the back pocket of his trousers. “Nobility ain’t for the likes of me. Besides, I’ll need this for when I start over, too.”

Eva smiled, but fractures spread through her heart. The clock had already begun to tick. Toward the hour when Jack would have to leave, and she would discover what it truly meant to be alone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jack stared at the envelope. It seemed like an ordinary piece of paper, but he knew that inside, it held an entire life. His new life. Sitting on a table in the Nemesis headquarters parlor.

“It’s all there,” Simon explained. “Fifty pounds. Train ticket to Liverpool, and a ticket for one berth on the steamship Catalonia, which docks in Boston. The train leaves from Euston Station tomorrow at twelve-thirty. Oh, and Marco’s provided you with a passport.”

“You’re now Mr. John Dutton,” Marco added, “born May 18, 1854.”

Jack opened the envelope and studied the passport, including the made-up birthday. “Never knew the actual day I was born.”

“Now you’ve got something to celebrate,” said Lazarus, puffing on his pipe.

Jack stared at Eva, standing on the other side of the room with her arms wrapped around herself. Her face had a far-off look, as if she was walking complicated paths in her mind. She hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the public house, not even the entire way back to headquarters, when she’d sat opposite him in the growler. As if she was already getting used to him being gone.

“Guess I do,” he said, distracted.

“Vengeance, for one thing,” Harriet noted. “Rockley’s not only dead, but disgraced. That’s got to give you satisfaction.”

At one point, Jack would’ve wanted that more than anything. Now …