“Good day, Mrs. Wood,” he said with a flustered smile. “I’m assisting other patrons at the moment, but if you wouldn’t mind waiting?—”
“I can manage on my own this time, sir,” Xenia replied. “If you could direct me to the fabrics suitable for bed linens?”
He pointed her to the right section of the shop, and she took refuge among the bolts of white fabrics. Focusing on a mundane task was a relief after the tension-fraught day. She was stroking a fine Irish linen when she felt a presence behind her. She spun around.
“Alice?” She kept her voice low, thankful that the surrounding bolts provided shelter from curious eyes. “What are you…are you all right?”
Getting a closer look at her former colleague, she saw the bruising around Alice’s right eye, which the artful application of paint did not completely conceal.
“The Abbess sent me to find you.” Alice’s voice had an uncharacteristic quiver. “She ain’t happy and says she wants to discuss your future employ.”
“I already sent her a message and returned her money?—”
“You ain’t got a choice, Mary. None o’ us do.” Shadows flitted through Alice’s gaze. “The Abbess ’as found ’erself a new place ’ere in Chuddums. By the docks, wot used to be the Rope and Anchor. You’re to meet ’er there tonight.”
“And if I don’t?” Xenia said coldly.
“She said to give you this.” Alice took out an envelope, pressing it into Xenia’s unwilling hands. “Be smart. You’re a good girl, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Midnight—don’t be late.”
Then Alice was gone.
Xenia, casting a furtive look around, broke the seal, and her heart shot into her throat at the message scrawled in a spidery hand.
I know who your mother is…and the world will too unless you do as I say.
Dazed, Xenia stumbled out of the shop. She heard Mr. Duffield calling after her, asking if he could help, but she didn’t reply because no one could help. Panic gripped her as she stepped into the street, the hustle and bustle of everyday life a jarring juxtaposition to her inner chaos. She’d imagined exposure so many times, yet somehow she was still unprepared. She didn’t know what to do next.
You know what you must do. Run.
Yet how could she leave Ethan, the man she loved?
A commotion on the corner distracted her from her turmoil. It was Mr. Bailey, and he was surrounded by three ruffians in front of his shop. Xenia recognized the leader of the brutes immediately.
Patrick Harlow.
“I paid you back what I owe and plenty more besides!” Mr. Bailey shouted, his eyes wild and nose bleeding into his dark moustache. “Borrowing money from you was the most foolish thing I’ve ever done, but I’m finished. I ain’t giving you another farthing, so if you want to take your pound o’ flesh, you’re welcome to bloody try.”
He raised his fists, his face pale but determined.
“If it’s a public lesson you’re wanting,” Harlow sneered, “then that’s what you’ll be getting.”
He took out a cosh, metal studs gleaming on the wide head of the weapon.
Xenia’s insides clenched. Members of her mama’s gang used a similar instrument, and she knew the damage it could do. Spectators gathered, horror on their faces as they watched the unfolding violence. The cutthroats closed in on Mr. Bailey, who bravely stood his ground.
All Mr. Bailey had done was try to get by. To keep his business afloat and support his loved ones. Why did brutes and villains always win?
Why is life so blooming unfair?
A dull roar filled Xenia’s head. It drove her to the nearest weapon she could find. Grabbing it, she let it fly, and her aim hit true.
Harlow jolted as the potato struck him between the shoulder blades. Onlookers gasped as he whirled around, his eyes glittering with menace when he saw her.
“You again,” he snarled. “What do you think you’re doing, you little bitch?”
“Leave Mr. Bailey alone.” Xenia grabbed another potato from Mr. Pickleworth’s cart. “He’s paid you back, fair and square. You have no business with him any longer.”
“My business ain’t none o’ yours. Lads,” Harlow barked at his two comrades, “you take care o’ the butcher while I put this stupid wench in ’er place.”
