The Jacq of Spades Read online

  * * *

  The maids and I were in the middle of the work when Pearson appeared: Mr. Roy Spadros was here to see me.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, mum,” Pearson said. “He was most insistent.”

  The old monster sounded in a foul mood already. I took off my apron, washed my hands, and hurried upstairs.

  When Pearson opened the door to my study, Roy stood by my writing desk rifling through my mail.

  My mind went to the letters I received from my sources, which weren’t often so well coded as mine. Did I destroy them all?

  “May I help you, Mr. Spadros?”

  Roy stalked over and glared at Pearson. “Get out.”

  The door closed with a click that startled me.

  In his thick hand Roy held a pamphlet, and he shook it at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I grasped my hands together to stop their trembling. “Mr. Spadros, if you would tell me what has upset you, I would know how to answer.”

  “This.” He flung the pamphlet at me, which hit my arm and fell to the floor. He began pacing the room, leaving me to pick the offending paper from the floor.

  Slaves To Debauchery And Fear No Longer!

  Written by Thrace Pike

  I felt stunned. “Pike?”

  Inside the vaunted Family Manors, those opulent dens of thieves, lie bags of rottenness that need lancing and soon.

  Men who feed off the suffering of others with their lust for gold while their people starve in the streets, placating their cries for bread with shows of charity to gain the approval of their peers - which the corrupted editors of this foul city’s newspaper are eager to encourage for a fee, and the assurance that they will not be targeted for assassination - these men should be supported no longer.

  Women who flaunt their bodies to inflame righteous men, to distract them from their duties as the keepers of morality in this city, simply for their own perverse amusement …

  I put the pamphlet down, shocked and embarrassed. “This man is mad.”

  Roy stalked over to me. “The whole thing stinks of your whorish ineptitude.”

  I moved around the chair towards him, appalled. “Surely you don’t think I did anything improper! Our meeting lasted no more than ten minutes. My maid sat in the room the entire time.”

  Roy backhanded me across the face with such force that I fell against the chair. My dress ripped at the waist when I hit the chair’s wing. “Shut up, bitch. Your maid told me everything. You’re lucky I don’t kill the both of you.” Roy turned and began pacing as I rose, clutching my face. “That man is a Bridger. This is going to get them marching again for sure.”

  I leaned against the chair, shocked.

  The Grand Order of Rational Respectability In Bridges: fanatical religious folk. So fanatical that the Grand Order ejected the Bridgers from their organization eighty years ago. Bridgers believed Party Time was the gateway to hell, and used violence to prevent its production or distribution.

  Bridgers weren’t afraid of the Families: killing a Bridger just made the rest angrier. They didn’t take bribes, and wouldn’t respond to blackmail. Once they began, they didn’t stop. We could kill them all, but that gave the Feds just the excuse they needed to come after us.

  “They haven’t realized how much we profit from Party Time,” Roy said, “that’s the only thing keeping them from tearing this town apart.”

  I had set one of them against the Spadros Family.

  Roy came from across the room and faced me. “All the things I taught you, and you go to the Pot whores for your ideas?”

  My mother was a Pot whore. Who else would I look to but my mother? As a child, I watched my mother use the same technique many a time.

  But I failed; my eyes stung with the shame of it. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “Fix your face, get your maid settled. I’ll think of something.”

  Amelia. I made a quick exit before he changed his mind, taking the pamphlet with me to cover the tear in my dress.

  What had he done?

  I searched the entire upstairs and main floor, except Tony’s study, where the men still met, to no avail. I found Amelia downstairs in her rooms, her hair in disarray, crying in her husband Peter’s arms.

  Chairs and tables were overturned; broken pottery and blood lay on the stone floor. Blood stained the lap of her apron; her brown eyes were red from weeping.

  When she saw me, she began to shake. “He made me tell, mum, I wasn’t going to, I swear, but then,” she sobbed, “he cut me …” She began to wail, putting her face in Peter’s chest, and he smoothed her hair.

  Their three children, two girls and a boy, peered around the corner with frightened eyes. The oldest and youngest had eyes of brown; the boy’s eyes were light blue.

  Peter said, “If we could leave, we would, but Mr. Roy would follow us, no matter where we went. We thought it would be better here, that Mr. Anthony could protect us. But …” He shook his head and turned Amelia away, then looked over his shoulder, anger in his brown eyes. “She is your maid and under your care; you’re supposed to shield her, not put her into harm.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, but it felt hollow. I turned to leave.

  Peter said, “Don’t come here uninvited again.”

  I took luncheon in my rooms. My hands shook. I tasted blood. My teeth hurt. By the time I ate and put on enough powder to hide the large darkening bruise on my cheek, Roy was gone.

  He cut Amelia.

  I felt caged; I had to go somewhere, anywhere, or else I feared I would go mad. I hid the torn dress and pamphlet in the back of my closets, changed clothes, and found a hat with a pale pink veil which matched well enough to be passable. I told Pearson I was going for a stroll and would be back by tea time.

  The overcast sky matched the gray cobblestones. The remaining bits of dirty snow and horse dung left by the sweepers were melting to gray puddles, just as my life seemed to be melting around me.

  When Roy’s father Acevedo Spadros was murdered by his own men 20 years ago, Roy began a rampage which ended with most of his father’s men and their families tortured to death, down to the smallest child.

  Roy left one alive from each family: tongues torn out, maimed beyond recognition, and dumped in the Pot. As a child, I saw one of those men; Amelia and I had indeed fared well. Rumor had it Roy built a room in his new home where he tortured those who crossed him.

  I resolved not to tell Tony of Roy’s attack. It would only upset Tony, and what could he do in any case?

  I needed Roy Spadros to deter Jack Diamond. But when he outlived his usefulness, I would kill Roy myself.

  By the time I returned, a soft rain had begun. Pearson shook my coat out in the hallway before hanging it. “I will have the girls dry it properly.”

  As if I hadn’t cut the kitchen inventory short mid-morning. As if my maid wasn’t tortured in her own quarters. What hold did Roy have on Pearson? “Thank you.”

  “I had your maids’ rooms cleared to return their effects to their families. They had a number of items from your study, including some letters. I have placed them on your desk.”

  Why would they steal letters? “I’m sorry I put you through such trouble. You were right: I should never have brought them.”

  “No trouble at all. But it’s my missus you might speak to.”

  Poor Jane. She probably never thought she’d have to train Pot rags when she became mistress of the kitchens.

  “Mr. Anthony awaits you in the parlor.”

  The room smelled of hot biscuits and honey. Tony smiled when he saw me. “There you are! You must be chilled after your stroll.” He paused. “Why do you still wear your hat?”

  “Oh. I forgot.” What else could I do? I took it off, placed it on the sofa, then turned towards him to sit.

  “By the Shuffler! What happened to your face?”

  “Does it look bad?”

  Tony sat stunned for a moment. “I can see you’ve pow
dered it, but your cheek is swollen and red.”

  I smiled. “After your father came calling -”

  “My father was here?”

  “Oh, yes, did Pearson not tell you? I told your father you were in a meeting and he left straight-away. But after I saw him to the door, and he got in his carriage and left, an insect lighted on my cheek and I was stung cruelly! It swelled, and for a while I felt ill, so I took luncheon in my room.”

  Tony took my hand. “I’m glad you feel better now.” He paused. “How odd. A stinging insect in this cold weather.”

  “It is odd, almost unbelievable. It was a horrible sharp sting.”

  “I’ll call for the doctor and have the eaves inspected for nests. I won’t let this happen again.”

  I went to the looking-glass. “The swelling has subsided somewhat; I think the cold air did it some good.”

  Tony’s reflection nodded, his face distorted by the bevel at the edge of the mirror.

  A ridiculous story, but the best I could manage. Yet Tony seemed to want to believe me. He went to the door, told Pearson to call for the doctor, and resumed his seat.

  “How was your meeting?”

  He shrugged.

  “Were the guards ever found?”

  “No. I fear they’re dead. They were good men, with families …. We’ll find the villains who attacked us, sooner or later.”

  Dr. Salmon arrived. Tony stepped outside of the room while the doctor examined my face. “What shall I say happened?”

  I told him of Roy’s assault, and the story I had given Tony. He chuckled at that, and said he would corroborate my tale when he next spoke with my husband.

  “Doctor, can anything be done for Mrs. Molly Spadros?”

  Dr. Salmon’s face became solemn, and he shook his head. “Only if she wishes to divorce him.”

  I shook my head, filled with melancholy. Roy wouldn’t tolerate it; he would kill her before he allowed her to live free.

  He patted my hand. “Don’t fret yourself on her account. She is a much stronger woman than she appears.”

  The Note

  I made the mistake of reading the rest of the pamphlet. It went on for many pages, Thrace Pike describing me so well he all but printed my name. I felt humiliated. I told Tony I felt unwell and spent much of two days in deep melancholy.

  I brought trouble on my Family, offended two of my friends, and three others were dead. A scoundrel followed me, my husband was hurt, Air’s brother was missing, my maid had been tortured. And I could do nothing about any of it.

  A house maid drew my bath while Amelia was “indisposed.” I was careful not to let the maid see my midsection. The corset’s boning pushed into me when I fell against the chair after Roy’s attack, leaving a purple mark.

  It would be difficult to blame that on a wasp.

  During this time, a copy of the Golden Bridges arrived, and I almost threw it in the fire. A whole day I feared those men’s biting scorn. But I realized I needed to know what people said, so one day, after Tony left, I opened it.

  As it turned out, there was very little there. The Golden Bridges had a column called, “Hog Scrapple,” and halfway down the column, it read:

  GB: Item three: The pamphlet.

  IR: Methinks our young Bridger protests too much.

  GB: My thoughts exactly. Any ideas as to who he’s talking about?

  IR: Well, Goldie, my boy, I’m always up for a bit of fun, but a night in a torture room isn’t my idea of a good time.

  Perhaps I had done better than I imagined.

  I wondered how Mr. Pike learned about our bribes to his editor. The fact that Mr. Pike’s editorial was published at all seemed surprising, when I considered it.

  The third day, Amelia stormed in and threw open the drapes.

  I squinted at the sudden light. “What’s this?”

  Amelia began beating the chair cushions with a vengeance. “I worked too hard and suffered too much to have you take some other maid.”

  I sat up. “I didn’t know you were ready to return.”

  She faced me. “I will never be ready. But life would be no better somewhere else, and Mr. Roy hurt you as well.” She began to cry. “I should have let him kill me.”

  “Oh, Amelia.” I got up, put on my robe, and went to her, taking her into my arms. “Come, sit here with me.” I brought her over and we sat on the side of the bed, although she sat gingerly. “I was wrong to do what I did. I put our whole Family in danger, and I put you at terrible risk.” I took her hands. “But I must ask: what exactly did you tell him?”

  “I told him about your instructions for the corset, and the events with Mr. Pike.” Her eyes widened. “But nothing more, I swear! Only what was asked about that day.”

  I sat for a moment, wondering if I could believe her, then nodded. “What time is it?”

  “Half past six.”

  I chuckled. She must have been brooding about this for hours already. “I must tell you about my dress …”

  I lay in bed waiting for my morning tea and listened to Amelia fuss and fume over the great rip in the waist of my dress.

  Amelia would probably never talk to Roy again. But sooner or later, she would talk to someone, given the right incentive. I had to be more discreet.

  When Amelia finished pinning my dress, she said, “Oh! I must fetch your tray!” She made a second trip for the newspaper, a package, and my mail.

  Amelia reached in her pocket. “I think this is also yours.” Amelia handed me a note addressed to her, but addressed from Madame Biltcliffe’s shop.

  Inside were two notes:

  The first was in Madame Biltcliffe’s hand:

  My dear lady, I found this in my post box and thought it might be for you. If not, I apologize. -MB

  The second was scrawled on a wrinkled paper:

  To Amelia: I must speak with your mistress on a matter of much urgency.

  I turned the paper over, but there was no indication as to who it might be from. “Perhaps it would be a good day for me to visit the shop. Kindly send a message to Madame Biltcliffe as to which time would be best for me to arrive.”

  I opened the Bridges Daily with dread, but there was still no news article about the pamphlet. I wondered if Roy had something to do with that.

  In with my package, which contained a new copy of the Golden Bridges, there was a flyer:

  To-Night!

  Learn The Truth About Party Time!

  Tent Meeting, 9:30 pm

  Market Center Plaza

  All Welcome

  I sighed. So it had begun, just like in the stories. First the tent meetings, then the protests, then the marching, then the storming of buildings thought to house places where Party Time was made or sold, armed with axes.

  Could the attacks on Tony’s men be Bridger work?

  Tony had never considered the Bridgers as suspects, but sent a message to his men when I raised the subject at breakfast. “It’s nice to be back in the Business. I was beginning to feel caged.”

  I chuckled. “I can picture you pacing like one of those fabled East Indian tigers, growling.” I raised my fingers curled like claws.

  Tony smiled.

  Pearson, standing by the sideboard, raised an eyebrow.

  “I heard an interesting tale yesterday,” Tony said. He had been most attentive to me during my melancholy, often telling me amusing tales. I think he felt unhappy with himself for his part in our argument the other day.

  “Oh?”

  “Mr. Julius Diamond was displeased with the performance of Master Jack Diamond at the Grand Ball, and threatened to cut off his funds if he causes further trouble.”

  I laughed.

  “The truly amusing part: when my father heard about Master Jack’s outburst, he told Mr. Julius Diamond at the Grand Ball that a further insult to any member of our family - or yours - from a member of the Diamond Family would be taken as a personal attack on him.”

  Roy threatened Julius? “Oh, to be present at
that meeting …!”

  Tony chuckled, wincing at the end, and the maid giggled. Even Pearson had trouble keeping himself from a small smile, which felt most gratifying.

  After breakfast and the morning meeting (which Tony did attend), I finished my kitchen inventory with the maids and sat with Amelia in the parlor as she mended my torn dress. I pretended to do needlework, but in truth, I pondered the situation at hand.

  The letter was likely from Mrs. Eleanora Bryce. I wondered what calamity had struck for Eleanora to contact me in such a disjointed manner.

  Could this man who followed me and Stephen have frightened her? I should have warned Eleanora when the man in brown began following me. I didn’t think she was in much danger with her son there; Herbert was only sixteen, but tall as a grown man. Surely his presence would deter an attack. Wouldn’t it?

  * * *

  Clouds covered the sky, and the wind blew chill. When I arrived at Madame Biltcliffe’s dress shop, Mrs. Bryce stood outside wearing mourning garb.

  Mrs. Bryce didn’t acknowledge me until I changed into Tenni’s uniform and met her in the back alley. Then she clutched my hand and began to weep. “I’m so grateful you came. I didn’t know who else to call.” She moved away and I hurried to keep up. Tenni wore a half size shoe smaller than I did; my feet soon began to hurt at the rapid pace.

  We went through an unfamiliar maze of half-lit alleyways, stopping in front of the Spadros quadrant morgue. The building, a sad shade of gray, stood apart, a few mourners holding each other in the street outside.

  Since I played Mrs. Bryce’s maid, I opened the door for her and curtsied as she went in. The room was the same gray, and the attendants wore bone white. The smell of death lay in the air.

  Mrs. Bryce would have told me if David were dead, so I felt puzzled. Not knowing what happened or who died, I waited as she gave her name and information. In a few moments we stood in another room, cold and gray, at the side of a body.

  The attendant lifted the sheet: Herbert Bryce lay on the slab.

  I felt astonished. Not three weeks ago, the young man sat in his mother’s shop, very much alive.

  Mrs. Bryce burst into tears.