“Oi. Someone’s written something on the wall.” He touched it with his finger, then inspected the residue. “Looks to be ash.”
Her heart dropped to her feet. “Can you make out what it is?”
“Nothing that makes sense: two vertical lines and a letterK.”
Bung your eye. “In what order?” Gemma attempted to swallow her rising panic.
“TheKis in the middle.”
She rubbed her hand over her mouth, her heart pounding.
“You know this mark?” Móirín asked.
“The Kincaids sign their work. Three vertical lines for the three brothers. The one made into aKindicates which of them led the effort.”
“Which brother’s mark is in the middle?” Móirín asked.
“My uncle Silas.” She couldn’t stop the shudder that rushed over her. “Are there any lines under theK?”
“None,” Stone said.
“Then it weren’t someone in the family working on his orders. Silas, his own self, was here on a job.”
Stone looked around. “There’s no cemetery here.”
Gemma pushed out a breath. “He was doing something else, then. Something he oughtn’t be.”
“What is in this building?” Móirín asked, her voice pitched low, her gaze searching.
“I don’t know.” Gemma looked away, out at the street and the people passing. “But he was terrible far from Southwark.”
“Is it too dangerous for you to be here?” Stone asked. “We’ll sort out another job if need be.”
She shook her head. “This ain’t his usual haunt. I’ll keep my eyes peeled, but I ain’t ready to toss it yet.”
“Do you think we ought to send word to Barnabus?” Móirín asked.
“I’ll drop a word in his ear,” she said. And, in the meantime, she’d sort out how quickly after getting Mr. Sorokin’s papers she could flee London altogether.
Chapter 13
Gemma made the return journey to the Donnellys’ flat quickly but carefully that night; she and Baz were meant to have supper there again. She saw no familiar faces and no symbols written in ash. That didn’t mean they weren’t there. The people or the messages.
She needed to keep herself on this side of the ground until Mr. Sorokin’s papers gave her an escape. It was a peculiar thing, striving to stay alive just long enough to be declared dead. And it was disheartening to have no other goal than to simply not die.
What else could she do but bide her time? No one had ever defied the Kincaids and lived to tell the tale, except for her and Baz. Her tale weren’t finished being told yet, and she didn’t mean for it to end withhimpaying the price for her disloyalty to her family. The best way to manage that was to do as little as possible so no one took the least notice of her.
She hated feeling useless. She hatedbeinguseless.
Gemma stopped at a costermonger’s cart and bought herself an apple. She suspected the Donnellys weren’t so plump in the pocketbook as they’d like to be. A quick bite on her way to their home would fill her stomach a bit so she’d not be tempted to eat more than she ought of their offering.
She ate as she walked, and she walked as she formulated a plan. Might she do a spot of good in the fortnight or so before she piked off? Something at the Donnellys’ flat, maybe? Or a word of encouragement to Stone in the matter of his secret sweetheart connection? Maybe something to help Baz with his rescue efforts?
It wouldn’t change where she came from or the trade herfamily had forced her into for a time. But she might tip the balance a little and leave things better than she’d found them. That was worth something.
She’d not settled on a firm plan by the time she reached the Donnelly home, but she’d a few ideas rattling about in her knowledge box. Her spirits were light enough to offer a genuine smile and a growing bit of hope when Vera opened the door and welcomed Gemma inside.
“How did your new job treat you, then?” Vera asked.