Which explained the sound of March’s voice, slurred and heavy.
“Will you live?” Day said.
“For a while yet. Until he tires of me and kills me.”
“Adrian, I think I may have lost my leg.”
“You will lose more than that. And I will, too.”
“No. Nevil will come for us. He’s relentless. He’s probably already looking. He’ll find us, I know it.”
“There are miles and miles of tunnels down here. No one will ever find us.”
Day stared at the black inside of the hood and swallowed hard. He could feel icy panic in his chest. But panic didn’t help. He and March needed to stay alive long enough to find some means of escape. Otherwise, Claire would be left to raise their baby with no income, no prospects. He supposed she would go back to her family. They’d take her in. They’d be delighted to. And she was lovely. She would remarry, and some other man, somebody who wasn’t so afraid to be a father, would raise Walter Day’s child as his own. Day could see the future without him and he saw that he would be forgotten.
Unless he could escape.
He began again to grasp at his palm with his fingertips, twisting his elbow around, trying desperately to inch the cuff of his right sleeve up his arm. If he could just reach the cufflink, he might have a chance. All he had to do was find one tiny sliver of metal and slip it into a hole somewhere above him in the dark.
47
She was tall and lanky, with big hands and blunt fingernails. Her hair was stringy and pulled back from her wide forehead, emphasizing her eyes, which were set too far apart. She stood at the corner outside the Whistle and Flute, waiting for a man to come along and give her a coin she could spend on a bed for the night. Or on a pint of gin.
Jack watched her from across the street until he began to feel the old familiar call, that special burning sensation in his fingertips and across his shoulders. He waited for a cab to pass by, then made his unhurried way across the street. She watched him coming, and her face rearranged itself from a sullen scowl to something she apparently thought was sexy, lowering her eyelids and pouting her lips, a half smile fighting with her arched eyebrows. Jack thought she looked more like a jester than a seductress, but he appreciated the effort. He stepped over a mound of steaming horseshit and hopped up onto the curb next to her.
“Good evening,” he said.
She affected a disinterested attitude, looking away in the other direction as if she had no idea who he might be talking to. He was amused by her attempt at subtlety. She played the game as if there were no transaction in their future, as if she were simply a woman and he a man.
He tried again. “I have sixpence here for you if you wish it.”
“I don’t go nowhere for less than half a crown.”
He laughed out loud and was startled to hear that there was no anger in the sound of it. His laugh was genuine and robust and free of malice. He looked at the girl, this weathered, big-boned woman, and he smiled at her. And there was nothing in his smile to frighten her, nothing that gave her any indication that she was looking at a god or a monster. He was simply a man, like so many other men she had known in her unfortunate life.
“Shouldn’t you be worried?”
“Worried about what, love?”
“They never caught Saucy Jack.”
“You don’t scare me. I know a good man when I see one, and you ain’t no Saucy Jack. And you ain’t gonna bargain me down.”
“I thank you,” he said.
“For what?” she said. “I ain’t done nothin’. Not yet, at least.”
“For the marvelous birthday gift you’ve bestowed. You have shown me something I did not know until this very moment. I suspected it, but I didn’t realize it for a certainty. And I am a changed man.”
“Your birthday? Well, bless you, but the price ain’t changed none, birthday or no birthday. I got my standards.”
“And I’m sure they’re very high indeed, but I regret to inform you that I cannot afford the pleasure of your company this fine evening. Still, I believe you have earned this.”
He pressed the sixpence coin into her eager hand and walked away from her. He heard her calling to him, anxious to get more money from him, but he didn’t turn around. The thrill had left his bones. He had no business to conduct upon her well-worn body. No business of the kind she expected and no business of the kind he preferred.
Jack really was a changed man. A year or more of torture had given him new ideas about the world.
He was keen to begin testing those ideas.
The Devil marched off with a spring in his step, and the woman, her sixpence coin clutched tight in her fist, hurried into the Whistle and Flute. She remained blissfully ignorant about the thing she had met in the street that evening and never knew how lucky she was to be alive.
48
Can I push? I want to push.”
“Please wait a moment, Claire. Control your breathing and be calm.”
Kingsley had set out his instruments on the wash table next to the door, blocking them from Claire’s view with his body. He thought it probable that she had never seen a pair of forceps and he didn’t want to frighten her. He took a small stack of flannels from his bag and set them beside the forceps. He picked up a small glass vial, uncorked it, and sprinkled a few drops of clear liquid onto the cloth. He turned and held the cloth up in front of Claire.
“I’m going to place this near your nose and mouth for a moment. It’s ether. We talked about this before, remember?”
“Yes. Please do.”
He held it up to her face and she breathed in slowly. When he removed it, she appeared to be more relaxed.
“Good,” he said. “That will help with the pain.”
He set the rapidly drying flannel back on the table, separate from the clean cloths. He didn’t want to get them mixed up. He went back around the end of the bed and helped Claire position herself more comfortably.
“Is that better?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. Will there be a lot more pain?”
“Every woman is different, my dear. You’ll be fine.”
“Then I can push?”
“It’s time.”
He averted his eyes as she bore down. A moment later, she relaxed again, gasped, and began to pant quietly.
“Good,” Kingsley said. “You’re doing very well, Claire.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to stop.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t an option. But the baby’s going to be here soon enough. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t want the baby.”
“Of course you do. You may push again when you’re ready.”
“I’m going to stop.”
“Do you require more ether?”
“No.”
“Then let’s get ready to push.”
“Walter doesn’t want a baby.”
“Nonsense.”
“He doesn’t. I can see it in him. He disappears at night.”
“He loves you. And he loves your baby. Now I want you to stop talking about Walter and concentrate on this task right now. You’re in the middle of a very difficult job and you needn’t distract yourself with worry.”
“I think it’s his own father. Arthur Day wasn’t good at being a father, and Walter thinks-”
“Few of us are good at being fathers. But we try. And eventually our children grow into men and women who make their own mistakes and blame us for them. It’s the way of the world.”