“Do you want me to tell Vera I’ve seen you?” she asked him.
With a heavy sadness, Mr. Sorokin shook his head. “If she knows that you know where I am, she’ll press you. Should anyone overhear who ought not ... There are people who would stop at nothing to get such information.”
Stop at nothing. “You must know more than you’re spilling if the Mastiff and his associates would take such pains to find you.”
“It is not merely what I know but who I’ve helped. I know secret identities, schemes, hiding places. Information that unravels important people. And I know the identities of thosewho are, in all reality, the only people capable of bringing down the Mastiff and those he works with.”
“Like my family.”
“They stand to gain both wealth and power through their connection with the Mastiff.” He paused. “Whatever you do, Gemma Kincaid Milligan, don’t let them find you.”
Chapter 11
One advantage of Gemma being back for a time was that Barnabus wasn’t spending his evenings alone, or even always at home. That evening, they were to have supper with the Donnellys. Fletcher and Elizabeth had come for supper already. Kumar and his wife had suggested doing the same. Perhaps after Gemma left again, he would have forged enough of a friendship with some of the Dreadfuls that they’d still spend time together. That would help stave off the loneliness.
He’d still miss her. He’d missed her every moment of the last three years. But he might not be so alone.
He knocked at the Donnellys’ flat.
Móirín answered. “Brogan owes me a shilling.”
An odd greeting. “A pleasure to see you as well, Móirín.”
“We had a wager between us,” Móirín said, “on which of the Milligans would arrive first.”
“Gemma’s not here yet?” He’d left home later than he’d expected to. She should have arrived far ahead of him.
“Not yet.” Móirín twitched her head toward the inside of the house. “While we’re waiting, Vera could use looking at.”
“Has she taken a turn for the worse?” he asked, stepping over the threshold.
“She’s having a difficult day.”
Barnabus followed her into the humble sitting room. Brogan and Vera rose to greet him. Vera moved with obvious pain.
“You’re hurting more,” he said.
“In my back, a little south of center,” she said. “The ache lingers there most days. It’s just deuced bad at the moment.”
There had been some debris lodged deep in her back after the explosion at her family print shop. He’d removed everything he safely could, but one last bit had sat so near her spine that he’d not dared attempt to dislodge it. He’d known she would be in pain with it left inside, but she wouldn’t have been paralyzed. While he knew, intellectually, it was the safest and most sensible choice, he still wondered if he perhaps should have tried to remove it, if maybe he’d given up too quickly.
“I can give you a recipe for a tisane that’ll offer a bit of relief. Pain powders do the most good, but you’ve told me they make you sleepy.”
She nodded. “Some days the sleepiness is welcome. But there are days I’d rather not sleep through but still don’t want to be in agony.”
He wished he could do more to make that possible. “I’ll jot down the recipe.”
“Thank you, Doc.”
As he made his way to the table near the window, someone knocked at the door.
“That’ll likely be Gemma.” Brogan rose and left the sitting room.
“Wonder what kept her so late,” Vera said. “She didn’t have as far to come as you did.”
“Yes, but I took a hackney. She likely walked.” That had been a worry about their decision to meet here, knowing she’d need to walk. But Gemma could be as stubborn as she was sunny.
Gemma stepped inside the room, and Barnabus was struck again by the gauntness that still hung about her. She must have struggled to eat regularly for weeks before returning to Finsbury.Would that happen again if she decided to leave?