Jeremy opened his mouth. Whatever came out next from either of them was going to be unforgivable, she could feel it in the way their eyes flashed and their stances both turned into a mirror of aggressiveness. She cut Jeremy off and turned to Gabriel. “Why are you doing this? Just ask him what his project is.”
“I don’twant to knowwhat his project is.” She wasn’t sure which was worse, the pain in Gabriel’s eyes or the pain in Jeremy’s.
“That’s right,” Jeremy said. “It’s only your pain, Gabriel. Your way to ignore everything and maybe it will justgo away.” He swept his hand over the papers on the table, scattering them to the floor. A corner of the journal peeked from beneath the mess still on the scarred oak.
Marietta heard a trickle of water somewhere. They all stared at the journal. It just sat there staring back.
“Goddammit, Marietta!” Gabriel jerked the journal from the pile, spraying papers further. He stormed from the room and upstairs. There was a loud whack as he threw it against something.
Jeremy’s eyes met hers. “Good-bye, Marietta.”
“Jeremy, wait.”
But he had already opened the door and slammed it behind him.
Marietta sank into her chair and looked at the papers before her.
Gabriel walked back in and clanged a pot on the high table. Then a spoon into the pot, then a container on the table. He started throwing things into the pot, and she stared numbly at his back.
He stirred the pot, his elbow making a small circuit. “We are going over to the East End tonight.” His voice was completely calm, as if nothing untoward had occurred, as if the spoon wasn’t scraping the sides and battering the metal.
“What?”
“Jacob Worley was spotted there. We are going to see if we can find him.”
“What about Jeremy?”
His shoulders tensed. “What about him?”
“Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“Yes, I’m going to find Jacob Worley.”
“No! Aren’t you going to do anything about Jeremy?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“You made it my concern when you argued in front of me. When you told me tosit.”
He continued stirring.
“You hurt Jeremy.”
“Marietta…” His voice was forbidding.
She argued with Mark all the time, but Mark had always been slightly apart from Kenny and her. This was more as if she’d argued with Kenny. To see his face like Jeremy’s had been.
“But—”
The spoon hit the bottom of the pot. “No!” His shoulders bowed forward. “You don’t understand. Please leave it.”
Her mouth parted. He had never said please to her before.
“Very well,” she said softly.
She moved to his side, picked up an onion and began peeling the skin. His shoulders relaxed a fraction and she said nothing more.
The tavern was dim and filled with less savory types. The Clerkenwell area taverns, though raucous and bawdy, at least had none of this overt sense of menace. The patrons’ shifty eyes and disappearing hands. Marietta touched the pistol in her pocket. Her lessons so long ago might finally be needed.
