Page 72 of The Business of Blood
And perhaps, I was.
I glanced around the foyer, wishing I possessed a sense of divine direction, real or imagined. “Aunt Nola…does—does Da ever…does he ever talk to you?” Lord, I needed my head examined.
“No.” Releasing a sad sigh, she gave my hand another regretful squeeze. “He’s moved on. They all have.”
Of course, they had.
“But I know what he’d tell you to do with that letter.”
I blinked at her. “You do?”
“I know what killed your father, Fiona.”
At that, even my ability to blink disappeared. The death of my father, of my brothers, had never been solved. But it had always been explained in one concise sentence.
They died in the Troubles.
They’d died as soldiers on the losing side of a war, and no one investigated the deaths of soldiers as murders. But theyweremurdered. Down to young Fayne at merely thirteen.
“We Mahoneys are a fierce and scarce lot.” Nola sat up tall like a sage, making certain to maintain my attention. “Your father tried to fight an entire war by himself, and it got them all killed. Do you understand?”
I didn’t need to blink as tears moistened my eyes once again. “I don’t understand.” I never had.
“Your father would tell you not to fight this war against the Ripper alone, Fiona. If you do, the outcome will undoubtedly be the same. You are clever, butheis evil, and to beat the devil, you have to play his game. I don’t think you can. You’re too innocent. You’re too…good.”
Was I good?
Stunned, I stared at Nola for a long time. She spoke with clarity. Conviction. With the strength and wisdom of the woman I’d known her to be at my age. Her hands didn’t tremble now. Her voice didn’t shake.
“Who do I go to?” I asked, gripping onto her moment of sanity like a drowning man would a rope. “I don’t know who to trust.”
“Your father would tell you to go to the police.”
He would, but my fatherwasthe police, not a criminal.
“Not the one who brought you home,” she clarified. “The…” She made a gesture at the side of her face, imitating muttonchops.
“Aberline?”
“Him, you can trust.”
She’d been introduced to Aberline maybe twice. He’d come to fetch me on occasion to hire me for a job. He also conducted me home safely after I’d completed one. In truth, I thought Nola might be a bit sweet on him.
“This is his war, too,” she remarked with a pointed expression.
She was not wrong about that. Aberline had been a foot soldier since the very beginning, searching dark alleys and vast shadows for the Ripper when other men dared not leave their lofty offices. The search still consumed him. It was something we had in common.
I checked the watch on my broach. If I hurried to Scotland Yard, I’d be there in time for tea.
Standing, I folded the letter carefully, fitting the broken halves of the seal back together. “We can have supper together when I return, would you like that?”
Nola nodded and then held her hand out to stop me as I made to fetch my umbrella once again. “The dark squares,please!”
Of course. The dark squares.
How could I forget?
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