Chapter 9

When Harriet woke, she went about her usual morning routine. Once dressed, she was about to set the table for breakfast when a low groan brought her attention to Lucy. She glanced at her sister just in time to watch her roll to her stomach and vomit onto the floor.

Harriet grabbed a bucket and rushed to her bedside. With gentle movements, she held her sister’s hair back while the poor girl continued to empty her stomach. When Lucy finally sighed and slumped against her bed, Harriet placed one hand on her brow. It was burning hot.

“Did you feel sick last night before bed or at any time during the night?” Harriet asked.

“No. Only now. My head hurts, and my stomach. I…” A distressed look filled her eyes and she suddenly leaned back over the side of the bed and vomited once more.

Not knowing why Lucy was sick since they’d had the same dinner, Harriet worried it might be something more serious than an upset stomach. She collected a glass of water and helped Lucy drink a little. She then cleaned up the mess on the floor while deciding what to do next. Ordinarily, she had to provide Mr. Hudson with advance notice if she required a day off work.

Lucy retched again and whimpered softly afterward in a clear show of pain.

Harriet checked her forehead once more, just to be sure. There was no mistaking the fever or the fact that Lucy was ill. These things happened. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, however inconvenient it was for a number of reasons. One being the cost of the doctor.

She opened the wardrobe and kneeled so she could retrieve the box she kept tucked away on the floor all the way at the back. It contained her savings – the money she had been putting toward the finishing school she hoped Lucy might one day attend. This was the plan – to provide Lucy the life that should have been hers, had their parents lived. It would now be delayed once more, but that couldn’t be helped. Ensuring Lucy’s health had to come first.

“I’m going to fetch the doctor. Would you like a piece of bread or a cup of tea before I go?”

Lucy shook her head. “Please hurry back.”

“I will. I promise.” She put on her cap and left, clattering down the stairs and bursting out onto the street in her haste to get help.

With two pounds tucked in her pocket, she hurried toward the end of the street and turned right. The doctor she’d used when Lucy had measles last year wasn’t far. And he’d been fairly decent, Harriet thought. The advice he’d offered seemed to have helped at the time.

She turned a corner and crossed the street. The alleyway up ahead provided a shortcut. She darted along it, not noticing right away that a couple of scruffy men loitered at the far end, until one of them laughed.

Harriet came to a halt and considered her options. The men did not look the least bit good-natured, and now they were staring in her direction with a bit too much interest for her liking.

“Oi!” one of them called as he pushed away from the building he’d been leaning against. “Can we help you with something?”

Harriet shook her head, only slightly appeased by the fact that they’d think her a young man. “No thanks. I…um…think I took a wrong turn.”

She started backing away, only to find her path blocked by what felt like an unyielding wall. Turning, she glanced at the obstacle. A shiver spread over her shoulders.

“Well,” said the man directly behind her. He smirked while his cold gaze slid over her body. “Aren’t you a pretty lad.”

Harriet swallowed and retreated a step. Her heart trembled. “I mean no trouble, but I do need to get on my way so I can fetch a doctor for my sister.”

She wasn’t sure why she said this. This man did not look the least bit sympathetic.

He chuckled. “You’ll have to pay the toll first.”

“The toll?”

“Aye,” said one of the men who’d been standing near the end of the alley. He and the others had approached while she’d been distracted. “This is our alley. A fee’s required for you to use it.”

This hadn’t been the case the last time she’d come this way, but a lot could change in the space of a year. St. Giles’s crews could find new spots in which to fleece people by instilling fear. This was clearly such a case, which meant she’d get nowhere until she complied.

“How much?” she asked.

“Ten shillings should do it.”

Harriet shook her head. “I can’t afford that.”

“You said you were on your way to fetch a doctor,” one of the men remarked. “If you can afford to pay him then you can afford to pay us as well.”

“I…”

Harriet pondered her options while glancing about, gauging her chance of escape. The men were bigger than she, so their movements might not be as agile. But was it worth the risk?

She wasn’t sure, but she knew she could not afford to lose her carefully earned money to them. Not when she needed it for the doctor. Which meant she had to try and escape without losing the ten shillings they demanded.

“Fine,” she said, hoping to placate them for a moment so they would let down their guards. “Ten shillings it is.”

They grinned and watched as she shoved one hand in her pocket. Two of the men standing before her turned to each other, their attention briefly averted long enough for Harriet to make her move. She darted past them and raced along the length of the alleyway.

“Stop ’im!”

Harriet quickened her speed. The soles of her shoes thudded against the ground. Behind her, she could hear the men in pursuit, cursing as they ran to catch her. The exit from the alleyway wasn’t far now. Just a few yards and—

A hand latched onto her shoulder, jolting her backward with such impressive force her legs tangled together. She fell, barely managing to reach her arms out in order to break the fall before she hit the ground. A jarring pain shot through her palms and knees. There was no time for her to adjust to the feeling before she was hauled to her feet and shoved up against a wall.

A large hand circled her throat and the man who’d initially blocked her path leaned in, so close she could see every piece of stubble along the edge of his jaw. “Thought ye’d cheat us, aye?”

“No,” Harriet sputtered while gasping for breath.

“Such actions have repercussions,” her captor snarled. He tightened his hold until tears welled in her eyes. “We’re about to show ye what they are, ain’t we lads?”

“Aye,” the other pair agreed as they went for Harriet’s pockets, divesting them of their contents while she kicked and did what she could to wrestle the strong hold away from her neck.

The grip loosened and the man stepped back. Harriet coughed and wheezed while gulping down air.

“Two pounds and ye’d not spare as much as a quarter of that for free passage?” The man who’d been holding her sneered. “Bloody fool.”

He spat on the ground, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sent his fist flying, straight into Harriet’s jaw. The pain that followed could only be briefly ignored with each additional punch she received. Until she buckled over and dropped to her knees, sputtering as they kicked her.

She rolled to one side with a sob and hugged her stomach while blood blurred her vision.

“Do ye think ye’ve learned yer lesson, wee one?” the largest of the men asked while crouching so close his voice was thick in her ear.

“Yes,” Harriet could barely make out the sound of her own voice it was so garbled.

The man snorted. Another kick struck her right in the back. And then she finally heard their retreating footsteps.

It took several minutes before she had the energy to push herself into a sitting position. Shaking, she stared at her hands. The knuckles were cut, her palms covered in dirt. She rubbed them on her trousers in a futile attempt to clean them, then swiped one hand across her brow to get the blood out of her eyes.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as the realization of what had transpired took hold. They’d stolen all of her hard-earned money. Four months’ worth of wages. The means by which to pay the doctor. A sob fell from her lips. Despite the soreness and the occasional sting from her wounds, she pushed herself upward.

Sitting here feeling sorry for herself would not help Lucy.

Neither would returning to her lodgings empty handed. Not when all that remained there was one measly pound. No, the only options available to her now were admitting defeat or seeking help elsewhere. And as much as she loathed the idea of calling upon her friends for financial aid, she’d do it for Lucy.

Decision made, she took a deep breath, then stumbled out of the alleyway and set her course for Westcliffe House.

* * *

Brody hated being late for anything. He considered it inconsiderate to those made to wait for his arrival. But after getting to bed a little after two, he’d overslept and didn’t make it to work until ten. The note he’d received from Ramsgate requesting Finn’s attendance at Hackney Meadows the following morning did little to quicken his pace.

“You should have been here two hours ago,” Mr. Hudson remarked when Brody entered the office. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“My apologies, sir. A family matter delayed me. It won’t happen again.”

“I’ll hold you to that and trust you won’t disappoint.”

“Thank you.” Brody crossed to his desk and dropped his satchel next to his chair. Mr. Hudson followed him over and when Brody turned to face him, he saw that he held a manuscript in his hand. The manuscript. Unable to resist, Brody jutted his chin toward it. “Have you read it?”

“I have, which is part of the reason why I was so annoyed by your late arrival. I’ve been waiting two hours to congratulate you on finding this brilliant novel. It’s exactly what I’ve been hoping for – a gem of a story that’s sure to delight not only Miss Austen’s fans, but possibly Walter Scott’s too because of the action the author has added to the plot.”

Brody could not conceal his pleasure. He grinned. “That’s wonderful news. I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to hear it.”

Mr. Hudson gave him a curious look. “I must say, I’m not accustomed to my staff being so enthusiastic about a new publishing project. It’s refreshing.”

“I’m thrilled to have found the sort of book you’ve been looking for,” Brody said in an effort to explain his reaction. “It’s exciting.”

“That it is,” Mr. Hudson smiled. “I don’t suppose you’d like to present the author with the offer I wish to provide?”

“It would be an honor.”

“Right then. Here it is.” Mr. Hudson handed Brody a piece of paper he’d folded and sealed with the press’s logo. “I’ll expect you back within two hours, preferably with a signed agreement.”

“I won’t let you down,” Brody promised. “You have my word.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Mr. Hudson remarked before Brody had managed to tuck the proposal into his jacket’s inside pocket. “When you return, I’d like you to write up a vacancy for a new compositor. As regrettable as it is, I fear Mr. Michaels has left us.”

Brody stilled. “Why do you think that?”

“Because he always sent a note on the few occasions when he was forced to miss work. He hasn’t done so this time.”

“Does that not strike you as odd?” Brody asked, wondering why Harry wasn’t here. It was possible any number of things had come up, but according to Mr. Hudson, not sending word would be uncharacteristic of him.

“It does,” Mr. Hudson admitted. “When you were also missing, I hoped for an explanation involving the both of you, but that clearly isn’t the case. So I have to consider my business. If Mr. Michaels has been incapacitated in some way, I’ll still require a new compositor. Waiting will only lead to printing delays, which is something I cannot afford for any reason.”

Brody understood, but that didn’t ease his concern. “If you can spare me a little while longer, I can stop by his home on my way back. Maybe he’s fallen ill and failed to find a messenger who could deliver a note.”

“You know where he lives?” Mr. Hudson asked in surprise.

“No. Don’t you?”

Mr. Hudson shook his head. “No one here does.”

“Not even Mr. Tomkins?”

“I already asked, but he says that although he has walked with Harry a few times on their way home, he’s never stopped by his actual lodgings.”

In other words, Mr. Michaels had vanished with little chance of being found unless he decided to show up again. The idea was shockingly bothersome and unwelcome. It filled Brody with deep disappointment as he headed for Westcliffe House.