‘Here.’ He fished coins out of his pocket. ‘Take a cab. Any of them will know the Varga house.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, though her first instinct was to refuse. Her feet had always served her well.
But when she stepped into the night, the idea of the claustrophobia of the little box cabs set her head pounding.
She could wait out here. It wasn’t too bad – except her hands were cold. He’d forgotten to buy her the gloves he’d promised. Impatient horses pawed at the cobblestones, every breath frosted.
Through the windows she could see Mihály, who had moved to watch her, morose and betrayed as he sipped. Maybe he really did want her company, and she was the one being petty by choosing to sit alone where he could still see.
His own fault for wanting to spend the evening on dining or cards or smoking or any of the things that weren’t quite sin, but were still ill-advised. There were plenty of people approaching him; it was hardly like he would spend the evening lacking companionship.
‘Are you waiting for a ride, miss?’ a coachwoman called. ‘Do you need me to get something? It’s easy to freeze after drinking.’
She could protest that she hadn’t been drinking, at least not enough to matter. But she should be kind and at least move out of Mihály’s line of sight and let him get on with more pleasant things than sulking. She climbed up into the covered cart witha final, guilty glance over her shoulder and a wave he didn’t return.
The coachwoman opened the top hatch. ‘Where to, miss?’
‘Could we just... ride around a bit?’ The only thing waiting for her at the house would be Madame Varga’s pointed questions.
‘It’s your money.’ The woman accepted the coins with a dark-gloved hand.
The clack of the horse’s hooves created a pleasing rhythm, and she stared at the black ceiling of the cab, dozing and coming to over and over in exhaustion. The reflection out of the corner of her eye was depressing – a young woman, brown hair mussed, sprawled in the back of a cart that was both too much and not enough like a confessional booth, wasting money by the hoof beat.And that’s you.
She’d barely left the safety of the Church, and now this.
Mihály was right – they had no plan. It was easier to think without him hovering, no unexpected touches or offhandedly flirtatious remarks to derail her thoughts. They’d start by asking the kin of the victims for any details that may have been missed by the Church, and perhaps Mihály could send word to scholars more willing to help. Surely he still had some well-connected friends despite the expulsion.
She stood, jostling at the bounce of wheel on stone, and opened the top door again.
‘Can I ask you something?’
The woman pulled the horse to a stop. ‘Ready to give me a destination, miss? Your fare is running out, and I’ll have plenty of others clamouring for a ride soon enough. There’s a curfew set, you know.’
Csilla gave an apologetic shake of her head that the woman couldn’t see. ‘I just... I imagine you see a lot of the city. You know that people have been killed...’
‘Nothing anywhere close to this district, miss. You’re perfectly safe.’ The clip of the woman’s voice was clear; she wanted direction, not discussion.
She needed to go back before the coachwoman dumped her at the far corner of the district and she compounded the waste of money with a long walk. She had promised to stay off the streets at night, what felt like a long time ago, when she was a different person.
‘I’m ready now. Take me to . . .’
Before she could finish, a woman with a child too large to be carried in her arms, and another girl trailing them, caught her eye, the woman’s stumbling and upward glances showing she didn’t know where she was. Csilla opened the door and slid out as the driver exclaimed a curse of surprise.
‘Do you need help?’
‘On our way to a mercy hall,’ the woman said. ‘He’s burning up, and the one in our district is full. But we’ll manage.’
The coachwoman offered a prayer, but not her hand to help. Csilla motioned for them to join her. Unless things had changed very much in the two days since she left the Church, there wouldn’t be any more room at the next nearest mercy hall. They would be given medicine if there was some to spare, but they would be turned away and even further from their lodging.
‘Take us back. Is there enough on the fare for that?’ Mihály could be useful in this if he wasn’t too drunk. A little part of her was also pleased at the chance to alleviate the guilt of leaving him to dine alone.
‘Not a problem of money,’ the coachwoman said with narrow brows. ‘The charity is a credit to your soul, but I don’t need the air in my box tainted.’
‘Surely you won’t blacken your soul by refusing mercy.’
The woman sighed and gestured to the door. ‘I’ll be keeping the excess fare.’
The mother hesitated but passed the child over with exhausted arms. There was a high flush on his freckled cheeks, and heat radiated from him like a furnace. At least she felt like herself again as she made soothing noises to the child and felt him relax.
