Page 64 of A Treacherous Trade
“Not only is cayenne helpful for nicks and scrapes, but also for the blandness of British food.” She capped the vial and slid it back into the velvet bag.
I couldn’t help but think of Jane…
Spices were often herbs, and herbs were often used as medicines.
Or poisons.
“Thank you,” I said, a sudden and intense gratitude overwhelming my suspicion. “Really. Thank you so much. I don’t know what could have happened had you not come along.”
I did know, of course, we all did, but it remained unspoken as they helped me to my feet and made certain I was steady before accompanying me toward Fleet Street.
I was about to ask one of them if they could look for my spectacles, but the crunch of glass beneath Izzy’s shoe told me that she’d found them on her own.
I winced, but said nothing when she muttered about the rubbish littering the ground. I kept spare spectacles at home and was due another trip to the optometrist.
“Did you know that man?” Izzy asked, “Is he a customer?”
“Don’t be daft,” Indira answered before I could think of a reply. “She’s not one of us, Izzy. She’s been deceiving us from the start. Have you not noticed she suddenly has an Irish accent? That she never took a client last night after what Morag and the lot did with Night Horse? Bea would have put any of us back to work. But she sent this one home to lick her wounds.”
Indira was canny indeed.
We approached Fleet Street with caution, peering this way and that in case my attacker lurked close by.
Finding no sight of him, Izzy turned to me with eyes as wide and moist as a hurt child’s. “Is this true, Viola?”
Their faces glowed shockingly pallid in the street lamps, shadows dimming the delicate skin around their eyes, and lips tinged blue against the brutal cold. They looked like a couple of ghosts in long, pale gowns and winter coats.
I was certain I matched them, racking shivers beginning to overtake my own bones—they had as much to do with the aftermath of the violence as the cold’s relentless grip.
I took the handkerchief from my lip and looked down at the stain of my blood before dabbing it against the wound again. Wonder of wonders, it barely bled at all.
“My name is Fiona Mahoney,” I confessed. “I am a postmortem sanitation specialist, but Beatrice and Amelia asked for my help in ascertaining what might have happened to Jane and Alys.”
Izzy brightened a bit. “Amelia Croft? She used to do Alys’s dresses. I bought a few costumes from her as well. Should have known from that beauty you wore last night.”
Indira ignored her, crossing her arms over her bosom. “You were investigating us,” she said, leaning against the edifice of the solicitor’s office in front of which we lingered.
“But that makes nosense,” Izzy blurted before realizing she’d been a bit loud for the hour and glancing up and down the street surreptitiously. “Bea can’t suspect one ofus. We-we’re family.”
“Of course it makes sense.” Indira rolled her eyes and lifted her velvet bag, extracting a cigarette case and a book of matches. “If someone’s been murdered, it’s most likely family what done it before a stranger.”
“Not in our line of work.” Izzy sniffed, though the moisture gathering her lashes into spikes had yet to fall.
“I was supposed to find out if anyone knew useful information they were hesitant to share with Bea or the police, that’s all.” It wasn’t a lie, but a soft truth. “She’s afraid for her girls.”
“With good reason, apparently.” Despite Indira’s measured demeanor, her hands shook as she held the match flame to the edge of the cigarette paper. The blue at her lips was more visible against the flame, and I knew we needed to get out of the cold. It had begun to drive even the heartiest of night revelers inside.
“How did the two of you get into that alley?” I asked, peering into the mouth of darkness.
“This building is connected to a shop what stores produce,” Izzy explained. “We cut through a small cellar sometimes on our way back from a job.”
I nodded, immediately regretting it as my headache intensified. “But… I thought Bea didn’t allow you to work outside of The Orchard.”
I hadn’t thought Izzy’s eyes could go any wider. “Oh, please don’t tell her,” she begged. “Bea doesn’t allow it because she can’t keep us safe out here. But we were offered an amount we couldn’t let pass us by.”
Indira exhaled a plume of smoke on a long breath. “I’ll do what I have to,” she said in a voice made of iron. “I want out of the life.”
Izzy turned those big, blue, heartbreaking eyes on Indira. “You mean you’re leaving us?”
