The Two of Hearts

The Shooting-2

“My sister told me what you said to her at our Country House —”

Our enemies now know where you are. And they know my husband values you above all else. The longer you and my husband stay apart, the more you become a knife to his throat. Please, for his sake, for your son’s sake, take Roland and go to him.

“— and it sincerely distressed her.”

I felt somber, grieved. “I never meant to do so. Your people are so different, it seems like I’m in another city.”

Jon tensed up, just a bit. “My people?”

I’d grown up in the Pot, and though it seemed they no longer wanted me there, I felt I’d never truly left them. “You know ... quadrant-folk.”

Jonathan smiled to himself, relaxing. But underneath his smile lay sadness. “Your husband told me you thought he sent you off to die.”

I did say so — I won’t deny it.

“Jacqui, there’s something you need to understand. Tony did fear for Gardena’s life. But when he stops his agitation and thinks calmly, he knows we would do anything to protect her. His main and very reasonable fear was for his son. How can you fault him, when he had to choose between his wife’s safety and that of his child?”

I snorted, feeling bitter. “And of course I was expendable —”

“No! It’s killing him to know you think so. What choice did he have? Besides, if anyone could ensure Roland’s safety it would be you. The boy knew you, trusted you. And Tony believed you cared for the boy. Yet if he misjudged you, he knew you’d die before letting harm come to any child, even your husband’s bastard.” Jon bowed his head. “Tony’s done nothing but try to help you, Jacqui. In spite of all you’ve done, I believe he still loves you.”

My eyes stung; I didn’t know what to say. Tony trusted me with his son’s life? “I misjudged him.”

Jon clasped his hands together and swallowed, eyes still upon the table. “All he wants is for you to return home.”

But it wasn’t my home. It never had been. I felt shaky. “I don’t know, Jon.”

He rested his hand on mine. “I need you to be settled.” He sounded weary. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep on like this.”

I whispered, “That’s so unfair.”

“Perhaps it is. But I must speak the truth.” He withdrew his hand and shook his head, eyes still on the table. “All I’ve ever wanted for you was to be safe, and loved, and happy. You can find that there.”

I bit my lip, blinking back tears. I felt loved here, and I’d been happy just an hour before, so much more so than there. And even at Spadros Manor, had I ever been safe? I pictured Tony’s father Roy hitting me. “Let me think on it.”

Jon nodded, eyes on the table.

I rested my hand on his. “I will think on it, Jon. I promise.”

He gave me a fake smile. “I suppose that’s all I can ask for.”

The door to the back hall opened. Mary Spadros came into the kitchen wearing a robe, her long straight light brown hair down around her shoulders. When she saw us, she flinched, then curtsied. “I’m so sorry, mum! I didn’t realize you were in here.”

Jon said, “It’s all right.” He glanced at the clock. “I must be off.”

Blitz came in at once, carrying Jon’s boots and socks. “I have everything here for you, sir.”

Jon scooted back a bit, glancing at his feet. “I’ll need that towel again.” He grinned at me. “It seems my feet water themselves now.”

And so it was: his feet were positively moist.

Blitz knelt before him. “Let me help you.” He dried Jon’s feet and helped him into socks and boots.

Jon rose with some difficulty. “Have you seen my cane?”

Mary said, “I’ll fetch it.”

But Blitz stopped her. “You’re not dressed, and the front hall’s full of workmen.” He left the three of us, returning a few minutes later with Jon’s black and silver cane. “I had someone speak with your driver to have the carriage brought round front.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Jon said.

Blitz said, “Not at all, sir. It’s too far for anyone.”

The rain had stopped. We got Jon out to his white and silver carriage, its mark of a Diamond Heir raised in real silver upon the door. Once he climbed the few steps, he sat heavily on the black velvet bench seat, eyes closed for a moment.

After his footman shut the door, I reached up through the open window to take Jon’s hand. “I’ll consider what you said. Please don’t fret yourself on the matter any further.”

Jon nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow for luncheon, then?”

“Hopefully I’ll feel well enough to go out.”

Jon shrugged. “If not, just send word. It’s not too terribly far here.” He turned to the footman. “The Courthouse, if you please.”

“Right away, sir.”

I waved as Jon’s carriage continued down the narrow street. After fishing a bit of glass from my pocket, I lit a cigarette.

Tony had trusted me with his son’s life.

His angry, stricken face in the meeting room several weeks before swam before me. How can I trust anything you say again?

A deep voice said, “I take it the Diamond wasn’t hurt, then?”

I turned to Mr. Howell. The afternoon sun shone in my face; I held up my hand to shield my eyes. “Not at all. How may I help?”

He moved a bit to my left, out of the sun. “Thought you should see this.” He presented me with a couple of plain white business cards. Upon them lay the stamp of a dog, in red. One had a dirty smudge upon it.

I handed them back. “The Red Dog Gang.”

“They didn’t put up much of a fight, so it’s safe to say they intended on being caught.”

“Or they were a couple of deuces,” I tapped my temple, “not given instructions on what to do after shooting.”

Mr. Howell frowned. “They’d send their own men to the torture?”

I took a drag from my cigarette. Everyone knew about my father-in-law Mr. Roy Spadros and his torture rooms. “It would fit with what we’ve seen from them before.”

“What’d you tell the coppers?”

I smiled to myself. “Boys with slingshots.”

He chuckled. “We should have this cleared up today, all but the screens. We’ll patch them for now and order new ones.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We take care of our own, Mrs. Spadros. Mr. Roy said to tell you that personally.”

“Did he send any other message?”

Mr. Howell hesitated, then shook his head. “I best get back to work.” He tipped his cap and moved away.

“There is something you might do, Mr. Howell.”

He faced me. “What?”

“That special edition of the news. I shouldn’t have to learn these things from Master Diamond.”

Mr. Howell nodded, his eyes wary. “It won’t happen again.”

I turned to survey my home. Men were replacing the siding below the signs upon the wall next to my front door, which read:

Kaplan Private Investigations

Discreet Service For Ladies

Below it hung another:

Studio For Hire — Inquire Within

Fortunately, the signs themselves were unharmed. But our little garden below the windows had been entirely trampled.

I finished my cigarette then went inside. The front parlor smelled of fresh paint and mortar. Mrs. Crawford worked a vacuum cleaner in the corners of the room. She glanced up, then turned off the machine and curtsied low.

“Where did this come from?”

“The men brought it, mum. Said to keep it as long as we like.”

It seemed useful. But I’d already accepted more from the Family than I liked: I’d return it in the morning. “Very good; carry on.”

Mrs. Crawford pointed. “You have a spot on your dress.”

Had Mr. Howell seen it? Cheeks burning, I went into my bedroom. Someone had cleared the glass, patched the holes in the wall, remade the bed, and replaced the windows.

The wall still needed repainting, yet I felt grateful.

My insides ached. I changed my dress (which did have a spot on it), my closed-crotch bloomers, and the sodden rags held to it by pins underneath. After all the blood-stained clothing was set in my bathtub to soak, I got into fresh clothes.

After taking some salicylate, I lay in bed curled around a heating pad, feeling ready to cry. The Red Dog Gang, again.

What was going to make them stop harassing me?

What did they really want?

***

I lay there for some time, the pain rising and falling. There wasn’t much I might do at present, and it irritated me. I had to endure this blood-soaked Queen’s rite and learn what I might from here.

Despite what I’d said to Jonathan, I didn’t think the bullets were meant for him.

But what had I done to these people to make them want to kill me?

I lay there, considering each action, the numerous times they could have murdered me and didn’t. And I came to a conclusion.

They didn’t want to kill me. The Red Dog Gang wanted something from me.

Each attempt on my life, the murders of each of my friends, felt like another message.

But what was the message? Why did they attack me here, rather than during one of the many times I’d been out on cases this month?

I wished they would just tell me what they wanted.

The sun shone golden upon my wall. A carriage pulled up in front of my windows, and a woman’s boot-heels clacked up my front steps.

The bell rang. The sound of heavy feet, and the front door squeaked a bit as it opened. “She’s lying down,” Blitz said.

Then another, smaller squeak as my bedroom door opened.

Without turning, I said, “Hello, Amelia.” No one else would dare to enter.

Amelia Dewey was my lady’s maid. She curtsied there in the doorway, face flushed. “A thousand pardons, mum, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

I smiled at her, held out my hand. “No harm done.”

She came around to me, took my hand, and curtsied. Instead of her usual maid’s garb, Amelia wore clothes best fitted for the street.

I sat up, dangling my feet over the side of the bed. “Why are you here, and not with your family?”

“Mr. Anthony came to our rooms and commanded I leave at once.”

He went down to their rooms? Sent her here in a carriage?

She hung her coat upon a hook behind the door, surveyed the room, then went into the bath. “Very good,” she said, as if to herself, then came back out. “How long have you lain there?”

I shrugged.

“It’s almost time for tea. Let’s see to your clothes — I’d rather catch the blood early than soak bed-sheets.”

As it turned out, my personal storm seemed to be passing. Yet as I sat with Mary and Blitz for tea, I felt somewhat reassured by my body’s orderly nature. After all that had happened, everything worked, and on time. And though I had my daily liver tonics to take, compared to my poor dear Jonathan, I was very well.

***

After tea, I sat curled up on an armchair in the parlor — a towel under me just in case — reading a mystery novel Mary had found at one of the poorhouse sales.

I wasn’t particularly fast at reading, having come to it late in life, but I enjoyed it. Since no one would allow me to do a single thing more that day, it also helped pass the time.

Mary sat with me darning socks. Ariana nestled in a large, well-padded basket on the floor between us. The baby was a sweet little thing, when she wasn’t howling.

The doorbell rang; Mrs. Crawford answered it. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Spadros,” Joseph Kerr said. “Is she at home?”

What could he want now?

“That depends. Which Mrs. Spadros are you here to visit?”

An edge crept into his voice. “Jacqueline Spadros? Your Lady?”

“She’s indisposed, sir. If you’ll leave your card, I’ll send word when she’s receiving visitors again.”

Joe sounded annoyed. “Very well.” His footsteps went away.

Mary and I exchanged a glance.

I hadn’t seen Joseph Kerr since he’d shown up two weeks earlier at what was meant to be a celebration dinner for Blitz and Mary. My husband Tony had not been happy to see him there, and refused to speak to me for the rest of the night.

But then, I hadn’t spoken to him either. The way Tony dismissed Joe when he seemed to be trying to apologize angered me. Yet the more I thought of it, the more I regretted leaving matters the way they were between me and Tony.

In spite of all you’ve done, I believe he still loves you.

Even with all the hate between our Families, Jonathan Diamond and Anthony Spadros were the best of friends. Jon called Tony his brother, despite how it enraged his quadrant and family. Many a time, I’d suspected Tony of sending Jon to plead on his behalf.

Yet it was no burden: in all the days before or since, I’d never had a friend like Jon. When I was with him, I felt as if we were always meant to be together.

Clearly, Jonathan felt I’d been in the wrong. He despised Joseph Kerr, a man I’d known since birth.

A man I betrayed my husband for.

I covered my eyes with a hand, unwilling to let Mary see my tears.

I loved Joe. I’d given up my position as the Lady of Spadros, my place at Spadros Manor, my marriage to the Spadros Heir, all for freedom. All for him. And he’d abandoned me.

Yet when I saw him after two years without a word, Joseph Kerr seemed to have every excuse for why I’d been left to die.

I felt sure it was only because of Tony’s intervention that his father hadn’t killed me for what I’d done. Tony had made some threat to Roy (I never learned what it was), and no matter what the provocation, Roy hadn’t struck me for over two years.

Yet Roy Spadros still obviously felt as if he owned me. He’d said so to my face. My recent mediation on the Family’s behalf — even though I’d been played into doing it — hadn’t done anything to dissuade him from that belief.

Misery came over me. All he wants is for you to return home.

Deceit. Lies. Betrayal. Scandal. I had ruined my husband’s life, hurt him over and over again.

How could I go back? How could he possibly have forgiven me?