“We all have to pay for our crimes.” She blinked rapidly. “We don’t ever escape what’s coming to us, not really. Justice will be served, either in this life or the next.” Fingering the brass chain of her pocket watch, she chewed on her lower lip. She took a deep breath and turned to the American. “But I have no objection if you wish to release him. So long as he promises not to cut my throat.”
“A full release is out of the question,” Rothchild said. “But”—he clapped a hand on Pinkerton’s shoulder, and the man winced—“if our prisoner is a very good boy, he just might get to see his urchin matriculate.”
Pinkerton licked his lips. “What do you mean?”
Max smiled, feeling that for once, they just might have an advantage over their enemy. Their very own double-agent. A low-level one, to be sure. But it was more than they’d had yesterday.
He pulled the key for the manacles from his pocket. “That means, my dear fellow, that you now work for us.”
Chapter Six
Colleen sucked in a deep breath, her stomach a bucket of writhing eels, and pushed open the door. Mr. Ridley’s cheerful face and clouded eyes greeted her, along with a thick cloud of perfumed air.
“Good morning, Mr. Ridley. It’s Colleen Bonner.”
“Good morning, my dear!” Keeping a guiding hand on the large table in front of him, he circled it to stand before her. “I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of days. You’re that anxious to send an old man into the country, are ye?”
She pressed a hand to her abdomen. The telling wouldn’t get any easier by delaying it. “About that, I have some bad news. I …” She swallowed, but the pressure in her chest didn’t ease. “I have to stay at my current employment for a little while longer. I won’t have the earnest money this week as I’d promised.”
“Well.” Mr. Ridley pursed his lips. “Well, well.”
Colleen felt lower than pond scum. “It shouldn’t be too much longer. The owner of the club promised he’d give me my premium as soon as a certain job is completed. And it might be finished soon. Days even.” She cleared her throat. “But it could take up to several months, too.”
Picking up a wrapped bundle of irises, Mr. Ridley shuffled to the front window and arranged the flowers in an old milk jug. “You see, it’s not just for me. My girl is going through some tough times. The money for my shop would help us both.”
“I know.” Colleen traced a pattern on the dusty floor with the toe of her boot. A thorough cleaning of the shop from top to bottom had been the first item on her to-do list when she became owner. If she became owner. “And I know I promised you I’d be ready. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I can’t keep that promise. But if you could only wait for a little bit longer. Maybe … maybe I can increase my monthly payments to you, if you’d only wait for me to sell.”
He separated the stems, the blue veins in his wrinkled hands looking like they might burst from his skin. “I’d like to. I truly would. I just don’t know how long I can wait. Not when my neighbor is making me a good offer, too.”
Colleen’s chest grew tight, her breaths short. She tried to swallow down her rising panic. All her dreams were slipping away. She’d been able to console herself after her husband’s death, after she’d become the temporary manager of The Black Rose, that from all her horror and shame, at least something good would take root.
Perhaps this was her punishment. She’d said that everyone must pay for their sins. She deserved much worse than losing the shop.
“I understand.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll check in every week. And I’ll hope that by the time I’m able to make the earnest payment, you won’t have sold the shop yet. But I’ll understand if you have.”
Mr. Ridley nodded, his posture stooped, his upper back beginning to curve with age. “Good luck, dear. Here.” He felt among the bouquets and found a spray of daffodils. He pressed the small clutch of blooms into her hand. “I always think daffodils are the brightest flower. Sure to cheer you up.”
Colleen looked around the small room, chock-full with color and growth, and thought nothing could ever cheer her. Not if she couldn’t have this. She wanted to be surrounded by the shop’s vibrancy, not locked away in a sterile office.
But an office was where she was needed. Pulling her pocket watch from her waistcoat, she popped the lid open and checked the time. She’d invited the staff of The Black Rose to a luncheon and she needed to head back to make sure the kitchen workers had everything they needed.
“Goodbye, Mr. Ridley.” She tucked her watch away and pressed her free hand to the old man’s gnarled one. “I’ll be in touch.”
And without a backwards glance at her lost dreams, she swept from the shop and marched down the street. She convinced herself that the burning in her eyes could be wholly attributed to the yellow fog that choked the neighborhood.
A hand snaked out of the alley she passed and grabbed her elbow. She yelped as the man hauled her close.
“Would you care to tell me what, exactly, you are doing out of The Black Rose without an escort?” Sutton glowered down at her. His hunter-green eyes darkened to smoldering coals.
“My lord.” Colleen sketched a short curtsy, hoping to placate him. She’d known he wanted her under watch until Zed was caught. But she’d thought she’d make it back to the club before he detected her absence.
“Don’t ‘my lord’ me. Pretending deference to my title, when we both know you have none, won’t work with me.” He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You, little goose, forget that your life is under threat.”
She jerked her chin from his grasp and stomped from the alley. “And you forget that I’m not a child,” she threw over her shoulder. “And I’m not anyone’s wife. Not beholden to any man and not under anyone’s control. I will move as I please.” Besides, now that Mr. Pinkerton had agreed to work for Max and his friends, how much danger could she be in?
He matched her strides. “Mrs. Bonner, I know you are a most capable woman. But the escort is for your own safety. Please take pity on my nerves and abide by my request.”
His words wrapped around her like a fur cloak. She couldn’t lie. The concern in his voice did queer things to her heart. Made it twist and twirl. It had been awhile since she’d felt cared for. Mr. Bonner, God rest his soul, had looked at their marriage in a practical light. She was a companion, a help in the shop, a body to create children with.
