“I have a press I can use,” he said. “It’ll take me a few days, maybe a week. Maybe more.”
She nodded her understanding.
“You’d be taking too great a risk coming here again. Not only might you be recognized, there’s a chance someone would see you and find us. It wouldn’t be safe for these children to be moved any sooner than is necessary.”
“What did the children do to earn the Mastiff’s wrath?”
“It wasn’t anything they did. It’s that they are associated with someone who did not bow to his threats.”
“And they’d either be bait or indiscriminate casualties.”
Mr. Sorokin nodded again. “He threatens poor people into doing his bidding and blackmails influential people into hurting each other and punishes anyone who stands up to him. He’s gained power quickly and is using more tactics than we can keep track of.”
The little boy approached with near-silent steps, though Gemma heard him. She looked in his direction, as did Mr. Sorokin.
“Miss Gemma,” he said, his dust-sprinkled brow tugging low. “Are you really one of them Kincaids?”
There was no use denying it. “A right shame, i’n’it?”
“People are afraid of the Kincaids. More than they used to be.”
The girl approached their table as well, watching Gemma with a knowing look and an expression too tired for someone so young. Poverty and pain did that to children on the streets of this city. It had done it to Gemma by that age.
“I was out fetching us food the other day”—the girl looked quickly to Mr. Sorokin—“real carefully, like you said.” Her gaze returned to Gemma. “The Kincaids is looking for someone. No one knows who, but that family—your family—don’t stop when there’s something they want.”
The little boy nodded his agreement. Mr. Sorokin asked him something in slowly spoken Russian. The boy answered in the same language. The children were shooed away, and when Mr. Sorokin looked back at her, his gaze was even heavier.
“They’re looking for me, ain’t they?” she asked.
“As soon as you have these papers, Gemma, get out of London. Your family has more power than they used to. You won’t be safe from them for long.”
He’d never been one for exaggerating, and he knew from experience what it meant to be in danger. “Have you heard any whispers that they’ve twigged where I am? My father knew where I went when I left Southwark, but I cain’t say if he told anyone else before he went six feet under.”
“If they knew, they’d have found you already.”
Baz, then, was safe. At least for a time. Some of her panic eased. Cutting the ties between them and getting herself deemed dead would free him from more than just a marriage he didn’t want. It’d keep the Kincaids off his doorstep.
“Tell me where I can find you,” Mr. Sorokin said, “and I’ll see to it you get the papers.”
Gemma allowed a lopsided smile. “Have I got a wheeze to crack on that matter. I’m at Dr. Milligan’s house. I’d wager you know him, as he’s been looking after Vera.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. “Have you seen her lately?”
“I have. She seems very happy. That husband of hers is a good ’un, i’n’t he? And Móirín’s fearsome in the best sort of way.”
“They’re fierce protectors,” Mr. Sorokin said. “I hate being away from her while she’s hurting. But she stood up to the Mastiff, which is why he burned down our business, why he attempted to kill her, and why he would kill me and these children in a heartbeat if given a chance.”
“So you have to keep tucked into the shadows.”
He nodded. “I can keep the children safe here. Should danger find Vera, she will be quite thoroughly protected.”
As much as Gemma would welcome a bit of that “thorough protection,” she’d not make things more dangerous by hanging about Town too long.
“Why is it you’re at the doctor’s house?” Mr. Sorokin asked.
He needed to know her name if he was to forge her a document. “It’s him I’m married to.”
The tiniest surprise showed on Mr. Sorokin’s face. She didn’t mean to let him interrogate her on the matter.