The Jacq of Spades Read online

  “Yes, mum.” He stood with his hands behind his back, feet apart. “I am investigating a case of a missing child, and would like to ask some questions.”

  I realized he was the constable at the tent meeting, who I went under the canopy to avoid. Part of me felt glad someone investigated David’s disappearance, yet another part felt afraid. Why was he here to see me? Did he recognize me that night?

  “I am at a loss.” I sat, and gestured for him to sit. “Anything I can do to help, I am glad to.”

  The constable perched on the edge of the sofa. He smelled like the fresh winter breeze. “Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Eunice Ogier?”

  “Should I be?”

  The man’s face never changed; in that, he reminded me of Tony. “I have in custody a boy who says this woman Eunice Ogier asked him about the missing boy by name. He also says this woman was there at the same time … ‘a rich woman,’ he says … gave food to the poor. The only group there on the day he mentioned was yours.

  “He stated she gave him food as well. I thought she might have been one of your ladies. We would like to learn what she knows of the matter.”

  I shook my head. “I know of no living woman by that name. I’m sorry.” I paused, then said, “Could she be a relative?”

  The constable shook his head. “The boy’s mother is his only living family.” He rose. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, mum.”

  I rose as well. “I wish you the best of success.”

  “Thank you, mum.”

  After he left, I removed my hat, went to my study, and sat at my desk. Why send someone here? To see how I would react? Was it a threat? Or were they stupid, to think I would have a kidnapper’s accomplice in with my maids?

  It was their protocol, I finally decided. They knew I would tell them nothing. But they could now show that someone asked.

  No one from the Pot would talk to a policeman, but Mrs. Spadros had to at least pretend to. Hopefully this would be the end of it.

  I wrote a letter to an old friend, sure it would divert Constable Hanger for a good long while.

  When I went up to dress for dinner, Amelia said, “Mr. Roy was here today.”

  My stomach twisted in fear. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No, mum. He asked to see Mr. Anthony, and they were in his study for a short time. Mr. Roy sounded quite displeased. When the girl went in later to clean, a table was upset and one of the vases lay broken.”

  Roy must have learned of the attack. I took a deep breath: horrible scenarios of torture appeared in my mind. “Is Mr. Anthony well?”

  “He seemed well,” Amelia said, “but he left shortly after Mr. Roy did.”

  The front door opened and closed downstairs, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Tony was at dinner, and didn’t appear further injured, yet said little. After dinner, he said he felt tired and went to his room.

  Tony hadn’t done this in some time. I went to my room and after Amelia helped me undress, lay in bed.

  So much had happened to him; I wasn’t surprised that he felt disturbed. I felt glad to sleep alone for once. But I caused a good deal of his troubles, and I wanted to help.

  Ma told me once, “When a man is most in turmoil, then he needs a woman.”

  So I rose, turned out the lights, and took a deep breath. I had never gone to his room before; he had always come to mine. Gathering my courage, I went through our shared closets, carefully opening the door.

  Tony lay in bed, eyes open.

  I made a slight noise, and Tony peered in my direction. “Who’s there?”

  I knelt by the side of his bed, brushing his hair back from his face. “I missed you.”

  He shook his head, just a little. “Not now, Jacqui, I’m tired. Please … no, just go to bed.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  He wouldn’t look at me.

  Feeling humiliated, I hurried away before he saw my tears.

  * * *

  Peedro Sluff grabbed my left arm with his left hand and yanked me in front of him. I shrieked at his touch: at his smell, I came close to retching. “This is my daughter,” he said, and shoved me forward.

  I stared back at Peedro. This was my father?

  Roy Spadros let out a cold, cruel laugh, as if claiming utter victory over someone he hated more than anything in the world. “You’re sure about that, are you?”

  I felt frightened, confused. Fear flashed through Peedro’s brown eyes, which turned into determination. “If she goes, I go with her.”

  I woke in darkness, heart pounding. The room was quiet and empty; I felt relieved that I hadn’t screamed.

  I put on my robe and peeked out of my room. Our night footman, who played the piano in Vig’s bar, paced towards Tony’s door with a candle in his hand. He listened at the door, then walked back, a golden glow beside him. He smiled when he saw me. “May I help you, mum?”

  I stepped into the hallway. “I wanted to thank you for your help when Mr. Spadros was so ill.”

  “Of course, mum, it’s why I’m here.”

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Blitz Spadros, mum. Mr. Anthony and I are cousins.” While he didn’t resemble Tony in any other way, they shared the same smile. “Glad to help. I don’t need much sleep, so I might as well do something useful.” He chuckled, then gestured with his head. “I better go check on him. Have a good evening.”

  He had a holstered pistol on his right hip. I watched as he walked back to Tony’s door and listened to him breathe.

  As I drifted to sleep, I felt grateful we had such loyal men.

  * * *

  The news that morning had a column on a missing boy, with mention of a “woman of interest.” The description only said this woman had brown hair.

  That trail was cold; Stephen spoke to the police. I had no intention of contacting the young man again.

  Someone followed me from the train station. That meant they had a better description than what they published. I wore a veil, true. But they had the policeman’s description. Plus a whole room of people saw the proprietor greet me. Which meant the police questioned — or tried to question — Vig and the girls.

  I laughed. Vig probably threw them out with his own hands.

  Amelia gave me a curious glance but said nothing.

  At breakfast, Tony said nothing about his encounter with his father or his words to me the night before. He left for a short time after morning meeting.

  So I wrote the dinner party invitations. After I gave the invitations to Pearson, I sat at my desk, thinking.

  Air’s little brother dead, his youngest brother missing.

  Grief threatened to crush me every time I let myself think of this. But if I were to have any chance of helping David, I knew I must force myself to.

  A false note on Madame Biltcliffe’s stationery. A Red Dog card in my pocket at the Ball. The card on my doorstep.

  The card on my doorstep was the true mystery. Who could step onto our street in front of the Kerr coachmen, without being challenged? Not a slum boy or a hired waiter.

  But then I remembered: the constables found Herbert Bryce in the Diamond quadrant.

  I clasped my hands to my face in horror.

  Jack Diamond.

  If that madman had harmed those boys, he would regret the day I proved it.

  But then I felt afraid for my safety. A low-class scoundrel would be unlikely to touch me, even on a case. But if Jack Diamond thought I was doing my own investigation and gained the presence of mind to take advantage of it, I was in terrible danger. One word to Tony, or worse yet, Roy, and …

  I wasn’t sure I would survive. Jack could wreak his vengeance on me without ever being a suspect.

  That was the card’s meaning: not a taunt, but a threat. Jack showed he could reach me anywhere, even Spadros Manor.

  How dare he threaten me?

  I pounded my fist on the desk. To the Shredder with you, Jack Diamond! Burn in the Fire!

  Jo
nathan’s pressed flowers fell, wafting to the floor.

  This had gone on long enough. I would find David Bryce and free him, or die trying.

  But how?

  My only real clues were the Red Dogs and the Diamond quadrant. I didn’t know how to contact one, and going to the other left me open to Jack’s men, who would have orders to apprehend me should I appear.

  There seemed little choice in the matter. I would have to go to the person I least wanted to see and ask for help.

  The Conflict

  A run-down liquor shop in the Spadros slums: the door, warped; the floor tiles, cracked. The room smelled of mold; the lamps were dusty and streaked with soot. No one stood behind the counter, so I wandered among aisles of bottom shelf swill for several minutes before someone appeared.

  “Who’s there? What do you want?” From his speech, he had taken quite a bit of Party Time already.

  I emerged into view. “Your door-bell is broken.”

  “Oh,” my father said, “it’s you.”

  Peedro Sluff was still a dissolute wretch, who would sell his soul — assuming he had one — to supply his lusts, especially if the transaction involved Party Time.

  “So this is what you traded me for? So you can snort Party Time all day?”

  “Aww, Jacqui, you’re not happy wearing silks and eating pheasant? Give me the cash you’re throwing around, then.”

  “Mr. Roy Spadros gives you money every month. Should I tell him you want more?”

  My father gave me a sullen glare, a sour smell wafting through the room. “What do you want?”

  “A man named Clover, with an eye-patch.”

  “What do you want him for?” He gave me a leering grin. “A little fun?”

  “He has information I need.”

  “Why should I do anything for you?”

  “Because you don’t want me as an enemy.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re a bitch, you know that? I try to help you all the time and you don’t appreciate any of it.”

  Peedro hadn’t done a thing to help me in his entire life, assuming he was even present at my conception.

  He squirmed at my silence. “Okay, yeah, I know him.”

  I kept staring at him.

  “He comes here every day after work, buys a six-pack of beer. Half past six, every night, except Sundays. Now get out of here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where’s my money? I should get something for helping you upper sluts.”

  “When I talk to Clover, you’ll get some.”

  My father growled. “Get outta here, you filthy whore, before someone sees you.”

  I love you too, I thought bitterly, and left.

  * * *

  I got home for tea, and sat with Tony in silence. Every time I had anything to do with my father, it left me feeling melancholy.

  Did my mother love Peedro? She never spoke of him except with scorn, never showed warmth towards him, avoided my questions about him. The night Air died, she warned me away from him. She must have loved Peedro once; she could have had a child with anyone.

  Peedro must have been a very different man twenty-two, twenty-three years ago. I wondered what happened to make her hate him, to make him sink so low.

  “Jacqui?”

  Something in Tony’s voice made me feel uneasy. I forced myself to smile. “Yes?”

  “Would you tell me again what happened to your face?”

  Did Tony not believe me? What could I tell him?

  He couldn’t learn that Roy attacked me. If he knew what happened, he would confront Roy about it. That terrified me almost as much as Roy did. I regarded him warily. “What would you like to know?”

  He sat staring at me for a moment, not moving, not breathing, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’ve told me everything.”

  Not showing the relief I felt in that moment was the most difficult thing I had done in my life. But his life depended on it.

  Tony leaned across the table. With great precision, he placed his hand on mine, yet his voice was stern. “I have asked my father not to come here again uninvited. He is not pleased with me, but he will do as I ask.”

  I felt stunned, my heart pounding. The table turned, the vase broken … he seemed fine last night, yet I surveyed him for signs of injury with a sense of dread. “Did he hurt you?”

  A small sad smile crossed Tony’s face. “My body is no more hurt than it has been.”

  “Thank the Dealer.” I let the wave of relief which washed over me show, and tears came to me unbidden. “What happened?”

  “That is between he and I,“ Tony said, but his voice was gentle. I felt he learned something terribly painful in the encounter with his father, something he wished he hadn’t. So I didn’t ask anything more.

  But he came to my bed that night, just to hold me and take rest together. For the first time, I felt glad he wished to be there.

  * * *

  Two days later, a horse truck drove past Peedro Sluff’s liquor store and parked down the street. When a young man wearing a patch on his left eye came past, he found himself deposited in the back of said truck by a rather large man. The doors slammed.

  I sat on a crate near the driver’s compartment. My face, hooded, lay mostly in shadow. An oil lamp stood on the floor, turned low.

  Clover scrambled to crouch in the low-ceilinged truck. “What the hell?” He was gangling, disheveled, and smelled of smoke, with light brown hair and the beginnings of a beard. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Tell me about the Red Dogs.”

  Clover laughed. “Who says I know about them?”

  “I do. Who do you get orders from?”

  “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because if you don’t, the man who plucked you from the street could set you down somewhere worse. For example, the morgue. He watches you now.”

  Clover glanced around and gulped. “O … okay, miss, no offense. Yeah, I know the Dogs … they give orders through their man. Don’t know his real name; he said call him Morton. I only seen him once; he sends a message when he wants something done. He gets his orders from the Big Man Himself, he says, but he never said what the Big Man’s name was.”

  Morton. An odd name. “What does Morton look like?”

  Clover shrugged. “Like us, I guess, only older. Brown hair.”

  I wondered how this man survived to adulthood with such poor observational skills. “Who else is in the Dogs?”

  “Don’t know, and that’s the truth,” Clover said. “They said there’s other treys, but we don’t never hear nothing about them, so if one of us gets caught we can’t tell nothing.”

  Smart. “Treys?”

  “Yeah, an ace and two chips. I guess Morton must give them all orders.” He paused. “Unless there are other ones like Morton who give orders. That I don’t know.”

  Since this depended on secrecy, but had to be expandable, there were at least a few Mortons in Spadros. In each quadrant. Although I didn’t recall seeing reports from the Hart quadrant.

  “Do you know about boys being taken? They found a Red Dog stamp at a kidnapping, and found a boy dead with a Red Dog card on him.”

  At this, Clover’s eye widened in fear. “I swear, I don’t know nothing about that. Garn, they start blaming things like that on us and we’re done for.”

  “So you think someone is trying to discredit you?” At his blank stare, I added, “Blame you for things you never did?”

  “Yes, miss, I do. The worst I ever told my chips to do was put a rock through a window. Morton said it would get rid of the Families, so honest folk could walk without being scared of them.”

  The words sounded an echo of Thrace Pike’s words, that night after the tent meeting. But Mr. Pike’s style seemed completely different.

  “I’m done here.” I banged twice on the truck wall and raised my voice. “Give the man something for his trouble.”

  Vig leaned in, grabbed Clover by his jacket, hauled him
out, gave him a coin, and sent him on his way. We drove a few blocks, then the truck stopped. A moment later Vig opened the back door. “We gotta talk.”

  I climbed out of the back and stood at the end of the truck. “What’s wrong?”

  Vig put his fist on his hip and stared away. “I like you. I help you when you have trouble. I ride you anywhere. But I’ll not be no Spadros enforcer.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You used me to scare the boy. You don’t even ask. You say, ride me there, get the boy. Nothing else.”

  “Vig …” How else would I get the man to talk?

  “No. I live in Spadros, but I’ll not work for them.”

  I had no idea he felt this way. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Vig looked outraged. “What do you think I am? A brute?”

  “Vig, that’s not how I see you. We’re buddy friends, right?”

  “Are we?” He shook his head. “I’ll not be no enforcer … not even for you.”

  “I’m sorry, Vig … I didn’t know. I was wrong to scare him. I’ll never do it again.” I looked in his eyes. Had I lost his friendship? “Can you forgive me?”

  His face softened. “Get in the truck.” So I did.

  A few moments later, the truck lurched forward again and soon I was around the corner from my own back door. Vig did not tarry; once I was out of the truck, he left without saying good-bye.

  * * *

  “Did you have a pleasant walk?”

  Tony and I sat in the parlor, across a small table from each other, sipping port and eating cherries covered in dark chocolate.

  It was a lonely walk from Vig’s truck. His reaction shook my confidence. Was I someone who used people? “Yes, it was lovely.”

  “Two of our guards have been found.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “Well, perhaps. They were dumped outside the warehouse, bound, gagged, and hooded. They didn’t know where they were held. They were not treated well.” Tony looked disturbed, and I dared not ask what he witnessed.

  “Did they say anything else?”

  “One other person was held. A young boy.” Tony shuddered. “The child was being treated worst of all.”