Thirty-Three

Leo fell asleep after, but Vivian stayed awake, watching the dawn light creep through her window and across the floor and listening to the world outside her walls slowly coming to life. It was warm under the quilt, and she could hear the quiet huff of his breath. But Leo had pulled away in his sleep.

It didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. There were times for holding on tightly to whatever you could, but they both knew this wasn't one of them. Vivian slipped out of the bed without waking him and dressed silently. She had perfected the skill back when she and Florence still lived together and she would sneak out, spangles on and shoes in hand, to meet Bea for a night of dancing. Her clothing was more practical this time, skirt and sweater and sensible shoes. But she still carried them, moving across the floor on silent, stockinged feet. She wanted Leo to sleep for as long as he could. It was easier that way.

She hesitated, then tucked enough money into his jacket pocket to pay him back for the cab ride last night. She didn't want things to end with her owing him anything. She left her key on the table next to his hat. He'd know to take it to Danny and Florence.

She paused just by the door, looking around the room one last time. That was when she noticed the quiet change in Leo's breathing, the tense stillness of his shoulders. He was awake and pretending not to be, listening to her go.

Neither of them said anything. It was easier that way, too.

There was nothing left to do except take a deep breath and start walking.

"Wait here."

The station was busy, even in the morning. Vivian could hear the rowdy clamoring of the drunks who had been arrested the night before, the grumpy bustle of the officers going about their work. The sergeant held a door open, gesturing impatiently for her to go in.

The room was a little box, with a table and chairs and nothing else. Just looking at it made her skin crawl, made her want to run in the opposite direction. She had fast feet. Maybe she could make it out the front door before they caught her.

Vivian hauled in a breath and walked through the door. Very carefully, she took a seat. The door clicked shut behind her. She didn't think of anything, not Florence or Leo or the memory of Honor with her forehead pressed against her mother's. She couldn't let herself.

She didn't know how long she waited before the door opened.

"Miss Kelly."

She jumped to her feet, wincing as she landed on her bad ankle and knocking over her chair as she did. The commissioner gave her an impatient look, and Vivian pressed her lips into a tight line to keep them from trembling.

"I'm glad to hear that you were more than punctual this morning," he said, pushing the door farther open. "Follow me."

Vivian wanted to ask where she was going. They hadn't taken her name or her information at the front desk, nothing that struck her as a normal arrest. What did that mean? She kept her mouth shut, afraid of what would come out if she opened it, but she was shaking as she followed him down the hall.

It ended in a closed door, where the cop Levinsky waited like a guard. "Anything from her?" the commissioner asked, sounding bored.

"No, sir," Levinsky replied, his eyes darting to Vivian as he opened the door. "Just as you left her."

The commissioner gestured impatiently, and she followed him into the room, still unsure what was going on. The room was another ugly box, though it had a table set with a steaming coffeepot in one corner and a line of chairs facing the wall opposite the door. That wall was made entirely of glass, a window into a room like the first one Vivian had been in.

On the other side of the window sat Maggie Chambers.

Vivian stumbled back a step, her breath catching. Levinsky, who had followed them in, caught her arm before she tripped.

"Please control yourself," the commissioner said impatiently. "It's a transparent mirror. We can see through from this side, but she can't see us."

"Who…" Vivian swallowed. "What…" She didn't know how to finish, or even what she wanted to ask.

"I believe you know Honor Huxley, Huxley Buchanan's daughter?" the commissioner said dryly. It wasn't really a question, but Vivian nodded anyway. "It seems the woman in there is her mother, which of course means she was once Mr. Buchanan's mistress. Miss Huxley has provided us with papers—somewhat damaged, but still informative—proving that her mother took a job as a maid in Mr. Buchanan's home, with the intention of causing him harm."

Honor had…

Vivian couldn't tell if she was still breathing or not. She pulled away from Levinsky, feeling lightheaded, and took a step toward the glass. Honor had turned her mother in.

"It seems she was the one who killed him," the commissioner continued, still sounding bored. "Do you recognize her from your visit to the Buchanan household that day?"

Vivian stared through the glass. She could see glimpses of the beauty Maggie Chambers must have been when she was young, but poverty and anger and illness had done their work. Sullen lines cut deep channels across her face, and her papery skin hung loosely around her neck and chin. But she still sat with the ramrod-straight poise of a dancer, and she glared at the mirror, as if she knew someone was behind there, watching her, before a familiar hacking cough made her double over, wheezing.

"Miss Kelly?" the commissioner asked impatiently. "You said a maid came to get Mr. Buchanan for a meeting with an individual who, apparently, did not exist. Was she that maid?"

And underneath it all, Vivian could see the shape of Honor's own face. There were the high cheekbones, the smoothly arched brows, the lips that always smiled like they had a secret. She didn't speak. How could she take the last part of Honor's family away from her?

The commissioner sighed, motioning for Levinsky to bring him a cup of coffee. "You might as well know that Miss Chambers—she has been going by Mrs. Huxley for some years, but she was never married—has already confessed to the murder of Mr. Buchanan. It seems she blamed him for the death of her second daughter, which occurred some years ago."

Vivian turned toward him sharply, not bothering to hide her surprise. If Maggie had already confessed… But what if he was lying to her?

"As we would like to put this matter behind us, your corroboration will be appreciated. Was Miss Chambers the maid you saw that day, who lured Mr. Buchanan away with this fictitious meeting?"

The commissioner took a sip of his coffee while he waited for her answer. In the moment that his eyes were off her, Vivian flicked a glance toward Levinsky, hovering behind his shoulder. Levinsky nodded, just once, but it was enough. God knew how it had happened, but she trusted him.

The commissioner was telling the truth.

"Yes," Vivian said, barely able to find her voice. "Miss Chambers was the maid who came to get Mr. Buchanan that day."

"Excellent. Thank you, Miss Kelly." The commissioner downed the rest of the coffee in a single gulp and handed the cup back to Levinsky. "I appreciate your help in clearing up this misunderstanding," he added as he strode from the room.

"Misunderstanding?" Vivian demanded, following him. "Do you have any idea what kind of hell this week has been? Or how it felt when you showed up last night and—"

"No." The commissioner stopped in front of his office door, waiting for Levinsky to open it for him. "Nor do I care. Just be thankful and get out. I have better things to do with my day than stand around arguing with ungrateful girls."

He pulled the door firmly shut behind him. Vivian stared after him, then rounded on Levinsky, who was still watching her.

"That's it?" she demanded. "After all that, it's just done?"

"That's it." He shrugged. "You can leave."

"But…" Vivian wanted to go, more than anything else in the world. But she didn't trust any of it. She swallowed, glancing back over her shoulder to the room they had just left. "What will happen to her?"

"The maid?" Levinsky looked surprised by the question. "She'll have a trial, same as you would have. Press'll love it. Lotta dirt in this one."

"I'll bet," Vivian said faintly. "I guess…"

So many times in the last few days, she had felt like she was in the middle of a dream, hoping she would wake up and find that her only worries were paying rent and keeping the new boys at the Nightingale from getting too fresh.

But now that it had happened, she didn't know what to do with herself.

"I guess I'll go home," she said.

She thought about splurging on a cab ride home to celebrate. But she didn't really feel like celebrating yet. Not until she could see Honor, face-to-face, and find out what had changed in those dawn hours. Not until she could demand an explanation for everything she'd been through in the last seven days.

And anyway, she hadn't brought any money with her to the station, not trusting that it would make its way back to Florence after they booked her. She didn't even have a nickel for the subway.

So she walked. The sky had been bright and sunny when she was too dazed to appreciate it. Now there were clouds and a sullen drizzle beginning to fall. Soon, her hat and shoes would be soaked through. She didn't care.

Vivian dodged through the crowds that thronged the sidewalks, around piles of trash and puddles. The smell of something cooking made her stomach growl; she hadn't been able to eat anything that morning.

Coffee, she decided as she pounded on the front door of her building and waited for someone to open it, unable to get in on her own without her keys. She wasn't great at keeping food around, but she had coffee tucked in a cabinet. She'd start with that. And then—

"What's the matter with you?" Mr. Brown growled as he yanked the building's creaky front door open and scowled at her. "Ain't you got no respect for folks who might be sleeping?"

"It's coming up on noon," Vivian pointed out. But even his angry face, violet circles under his eyes and cheeks crisscrossed with a drunk's red veins, was a welcome sight. She pressed a kiss against his cheek and slipped past him. "Thanks for letting me in."

"You been drinking, girl?" he called after her.

She hadn't felt the rain when she was outside, too caught up in her own thoughts. But she was shivering by the time she made it to her front door, hoping that Leo hadn't bothered to lock it when he left. She let out a sigh of relief when it swung open.

He stood in the middle of the room, dressed and ready to leave, hat already on his head. But he wasn't moving, just staring down at the key she had left on the table.

Vivian let the door swing shut behind her, and the crash made Leo jump. He spun around, his hand going to the back of his waistband, before it fell away.

"Vivian."

"Hey, Leo."

The silence stretched between them as they stared at each other. Neither of them knew what to say.

"You're shivering," Leo said at last.

"I—yes." Vivian glanced down, then wrapped her arms around herself. "It's raining out. And I didn't have any money with me for the subway."

"What are… What happened? Why aren't you…" He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

"They let me go," Vivian said, her thoughts tumbling over themselves. How could she explain what Honor had done? "She was there already. Maggie Chambers. She'd already confessed, and your uncle told me I could go." She swallowed, then repeated in a small voice, "They let me go."

"Goddamn, Viv, I thought—I can't believe—" He let his hands fall to his sides. "You left without saying good-bye."

"What would the point have been?" Vivian asked. His arms should have been around her, she should have been reaching for him. They should have been giddy with relief. But neither of them moved. "You could have said something, too."

"What would the point have been?" His voice cracked as he echoed her. "What happened? Why'd they let you go?"

"Honor." Vivian sounded bewildered even to her own ears. "Maggie had already confessed when I got there. Honor turned her in. Even though it means she'll lose…" She was crying, she realized. "She said she wouldn't help, and after last night I knew—I think I'd have done the same if it had been me, I can't blame her for—But she knew what would happen to me, Leo, she knew and she didn't say a word, and it hurts—And then God knows why, but she changed her mind and—"

Then Leo did cross the distance between them, his arms going around her, holding her so close that she could feel his heart pounding against her chest. He didn't say anything while she sobbed into his jacket.

When she pulled away at last, he offered her a handkerchief, and Vivian choked out a laugh at the boring, everyday gesture. She wiped her cheeks.

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I'm all a mess. I don't even know what to do with myself now."

"You don't have to apologize," Leo said, brushing her hair off her face with gentle fingers. "It's been a hell of a week. Sometimes, I guess, that's just how it goes."

There was an edge to his voice, something quiet and resigned, and she saw it in his eyes, too, when she looked up at him. He gave her a sad smile as he shrugged. They both knew he wasn't just talking about her tears.

"You should probably go talk to her, right?" he suggested, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. "She owes you an explanation."

"Yeah," Vivian agreed. "One hell of an explanation. Do you…" She bit her lip, then carefully asked, "Do you want to come?"

"Do you want me to?"

Vivian wanted to say yes, for his sake. But she shook her head. "That's probably a talk we should have alone."

Leo let out a slow breath and nodded. "Seems fair. Why don't you go see if there's any hot water in the washroom? And when you're done, I'll head downstairs and whistle up a cab?"

"Thanks," Vivian said quietly. "I'd appreciate that."

He shrugged. "Feels like the least I can do."

She caught his hand when he would have stepped past her, holding it tightly until he turned to look at her. "You okay, Leo?"

"Yeah," he said at last. "Like I said, it's been a hell of a week. But I'll be fine." For a moment, she thought he would kiss her. But he only squeezed her hand in return. "You will be too, Viv. I promise."

The Nightingale's front door was locked when she finally made it there. It was a long time until business hours, but Vivian knew that this was when Danny was usually taking deliveries and doing inventory. She headed down to the cellar door.

But the newest bartender was the one there unloading crates, helped—or, more likely, supervised—by Benny. "Where's Danny?" she demanded from the doorway, suddenly worried.

Benny had clearly heard her coming; he nodded but kept his focus on his work, shoulders straining against his shirt as he hefted two crates at the same time. But the bartender jumped, knocking one of the shelves and nearly sending several bottles toppling to the floor.

"Careful," Vivian said, grabbing his arm. "Everything okay?"

"Everything except you nearly giving me a heart attack," he grumbled. "Danny's at home, far as I know. Why?"

Of course. Of course Danny would be home with Florence today. Vivian swallowed. She needed to go see her sister. But first, Honor.

"Just curious, is all," she said. "I'm looking for Honor, is she around?"

"Haven't seen her," the bartender grumbled.

Benny, though, frowned as he set down his crates. He rubbed his palms together as he straightened up. "Saw her going upstairs when I arrived. She didn't…" He picked up a crowbar and began to lever the crate open so the bartender could unload bottles of gin. When he spoke again, it sounded as though he was choosing his words carefully. "She looked like she had something on her mind. Dunno if she wants to be interrupted."

"Thanks, Benny." Vivian didn't much care what Honor wanted just then, but she wasn't dumb enough to say that out loud. "I'll take my chances." About to head upstairs, she paused, glancing into the crate of gin. "There's only twelve bottles in there."

That earned her another scowl from the bartender. "So?"

"Usually they send fifteen," she said a little impatiently. "You should check it with Honor."

He shrugged. "They might've just changed their shipment size. Happens all the time."

"Sure. But if they did it without telling her, and she still paid for fifteen, she'll want to have words with the fella."

"I thought I was the one doing inventory here," he grumbled, but Vivian was already gone. She didn't have time to stick around and soothe his ego.

She paused at the top of the steps, closing the door behind her and taking in the quiet dance hall. Most of the lights were off, and the rooms were silent and empty, as though they were holding their breath.

The stairs were dark, and Honor's office was locked. But the second door on the landing was open. Vivian closed it behind her and climbed slowly to the third floor, taking in the transformation from the Nightingale to Honor's home. There were new prints on the wall since the last time she'd been there. A pair of shoes, still wet from the rain, left by the closed door.

Vivian took a deep breath and knocked. "It's me," she called softly.

The Honor that opened the door wasn't one she had ever seen before. She was used to Honor in control, white shirts starched and trousers pressed. She had seen Honor hinting at seduction, barefoot and taunting, wrapped in a silk robe and likely nothing else. Makeup and hair always perfect, lips curving in a scarlet smile that was her defense against the world.

The Honor that opened the door had no defenses. She looked as if she hadn't changed or slept in over a day. Her suspenders hung down around her hips, the collar of her shirt sagging open at her throat, her feet bare. Her hair was only half up, like she'd begun removing pins but forgotten what she was doing, most of her curls spilling down her back. Her eyes were red and her cheeks pale. It was the most human Vivian had ever seen her.

"They let you go," Honor said, staring at her.

"They did." Vivian had to remember to breathe. "Are you going to let me in?"

Honor stepped back and opened the door further, letting Vivian walk past her into the little sitting room. There was a glass of liquor sitting on the table, but it looked like it had been poured and forgotten. There was a plate of breakfast, but that hadn't been touched either.

Honor closed the door behind them. The only thing Vivian could read in her expression was wariness. She walked toward the table. "Do you want to—"

"I followed you last night," Vivian interrupted. Better to say it all at once, so they both knew where they stood.

Slowly, Honor turned back toward Vivian, lips pressed together as though she were in pain. "Then you know."

"I know," Vivian agreed. The air between them was so tense an electric current might have been running through it. "What will happen to her?"

Honor shrugged. "A trial maybe? I don't know. They told me she confessed, so maybe not. Maybe just…" She swallowed and looked away. "I'm trying not to think about it."

"You might…" Vivian cleared her throat, remembering what Levinsky had said. "You might try talking to your father's wife. It'll be all over the papers if it becomes public. Some journalist will spin it as a tragic love story, revenge tale, something like that. She'd probably hate that. Mrs. Buchanan, I mean. She'll want to keep it quiet. You might be able to cut some kind of deal with her."

Honor shook her head. "You always were a smart girl."

"Why did you do it?" Vivian whispered, taking a step forward, then another. She could see Honor's chest rising and falling with her breath, the beat of her pulse in the hollow of her collarbone. "You kept quiet all week. You tried to convince her to leave town. And then, all of a sudden, you changed your mind. Why?"

"Because." Honor's voice cracked on the word. She was always so cool, careful and controlled and impossible to read. Now she was none of that. She cupped Vivian's face in her hands, and they were close enough to each other that Vivian could see tears in her eyes. "For most of my life, it was her and me and Stella against the world. And then Stella died, and she was all I had left. I thought it would hurt too much to lose her. But it would hurt far, far worse if I lost you."

Vivian took a step back, away from the gentle, hopeful touch, and smacked Honor across the face. Honor reeled backward, grabbing the back of the chair to catch her balance. When she looked up, her eyes were snapping with anger.

Vivian didn't care. "You knew," she ground out. "You saw what I was going through, and you knew the whole time she had done it. And you said nothing."

"I didn't know for certain."

"You knew." Vivian stared at Honor, not giving her the chance to look away.

At last, Honor nodded. Her shoulders slumped, the fury and fight gone out of her. "I knew. And I kept my mouth shut."

"You should have told me," Vivian said, knowing Honor could hear the hurt in her voice.

"Told you what? That my mother was a killer? That I was choosing her anyway?" Honor's cheek was red where Vivian had struck it. "I knew she didn't deserve it. But I still did."

"Why did you, then?"

Honor shrugged helplessly. "She's my mother. Why did you just tell me how to help her, after everything we put you through?"

The sound that escaped Vivian might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so bitter. "I guess mothers are tricky things for me, too," she said. "I don't know if they break your heart worse when they're around or when they're gone. But God knows I don't want to be the reason you lose yours."

"And would it be another betrayal if I took your advice?" Honor asked, touching her cheek gently with her fingertips, as though checking how badly she was hurt. She didn't look away, though.

Slowly, Vivian shook her head. "I don't think it would be, no."

"And…" Honor hesitated, taking half a step forward. But she stopped herself, her hands tightening on the chairback once more. "Are we—"

"Don't," Vivian warned her. "You don't have the right to ask me that yet."

"That's fair," Honor said softly. "Do you know when I'll see you again?"

"I'll be around."

"Vivian."

She'd been turning for the door, but she stopped.

"I'd do it again, pet," Honor whispered. "Even if you decide you hate me from here on out. Even if I have to live every day of my life without you in it. I'd choose you all over again. Every time."

"Well." Vivian took a deep breath. "That's a start, I guess." She met Honor's eyes. "It doesn't fix it. But it's a start."