Page 17

Seventeen

Harriet threw me a not-so-subtle fretful glance, as if to say, Is this part of the plan too?

No, it wasn’t. Ignoring her, I instead curtsied for our guests. “Dalton Sass, what a wonderful surprise.” My voice always

became lighter and somewhat airy when I was using politeness to cover up my fury. “I see you’ve made quick friends with Captain

Davies and the prince—such an unlikely pairing, I might add.”

“Not so unlikely.” Captain Davies was a head taller than Bertie and Dalton but seemed to keep a respectable distance from

them at all times. “The prince has been showing me around London. And Dalton here’s been stuck to the prince’s side.”

“I wouldn’t say stuck,” Bertie mumbled as Dalton helped the last bits of tea cake run smoothly down his throat. “I mean, he

hates Mendelssohn as much as I do so he’s clearly a good bloke.”

Felix Mendelssohn, the Queen’s favorite musician. Bertie and his mother had been listening to his composition in the Audience

Chamber the last time I visited Windsor Castle. An event at which Dalton was desperate to be a guest... desperate enough

to terrorize Lord Ponsonby.

All to get to Bertie.

“Oh, how nice, you’ve made a friend, Mr. Sass. A prince at that.” The slight patronizing drip to my tone was on purpose. Bertie blushed, but Dalton was unmoved. “And how, may I ask, did you find out about Miss Welsh’s tea party?”

“Well, Bertie invited me to another lunch the other day and I heard Harriet and Mrs. Phipps discussing it: that the party

for the inspector was your idea.”

As Dalton ran his long, spindly fingers through his brown curls, I gave a suddenly tense Harriet a sidelong look. Harriet

needed to learn to keep her small talk small .

“Harriet Phipps and Sarah Forbes Bonetta. It seems you two are close. Closer than I expected.” Dalton strode forward, startling

Harriet, who dropped her cup of tea on the table and stumbled back so quickly if I hadn’t caught her she would have fallen

over. “That’s interesting. And good to know.”

As Dalton’s gaze slid to the arsenic in my hand, Bertie bulldozed his way between us. “Where’s the party? Outside? That old

crone in the sitting room wouldn’t tell us anything. I don’t think she hears very well.” But he must have heard the chitchat

outside the back. With a bright, cocky smile, he turned to Davies. “Well, what about it, Captain? Shall we continue our sparring

in the garden, then? Unless you’re scared to lose to me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sparring?”

“It seems our prince has taken to competing with Captain Davies on more than one occasion,” said Dalton, much to Bertie’s

chagrin. “I watched a particularly riveting game of pool just the other day.”

“I wouldn’t call it competing....” Bertie’s grumble trailed off.

Davies rubbed the bald part of his head, where his hairline receded. “And what shall we play this time, Your Majesty? I’ve

already beaten you in chess.”

Bertie’s jaw stiffened. Casting a quick glance to me, he grumbled, “They must have something out there we could do.” He strode outside. I could hear the gasps from in the kitchen. The Prince of Wales at a garden party

in Brighton. Miss Welsh was probably beside herself.

“Sally—I’m sorry, Miss Bonetta. If I could have a word alone with you?” Davies stretched out a hand. “It would only take a

moment.”

I looked between Dalton and Harriet. The pair looked like a wolf about to swallow a bunny whole.

“Please?” Davies said when he saw me hesitate.

After a few more moments, I sighed and pushed the bottle of arsenic into Harriet’s hands. “It’s for the rats, but just hold

on to it for me, okay?” I told her. “Hurry back to your mother without a moment’s waste. Quickly now. I’ll bring the tea cakes

when I’m ready.”

Get away from him. And don’t say a word . I hoped she understood as I followed Davies out of the other end of the kitchen.

Miss Welsh’s mother looked utterly disgusted to see the two of us together as we entered the living room. She jiggled around

in her seat as if to get away from us. I wasn’t sure if her rickety old bones could take even that much movement.

“She’s been like that since I got here,” Davies said. “I don’t suppose it’s out of character for her?”

“Sadly, no,” I said, looking at the grandfather clock tucked away in the corner. Twenty past five. Ten minutes before my true

guest was to arrive.

“Not surprising.”

I wasn’t used to hearing such judgment and... was that disgust? From the upright Captain Davies. He glared back at the

old woman, as thoroughly sickened with her as she was with him, and I felt, suddenly, a strange kind of kinship with the man

that I hadn’t before. It was fleeting, however. His next request was outrageous.

“Let’s speak alone in one of the bedrooms.”

“Bedroom? Alone? Are you mad?”

“Just for a moment. Please, it won’t take ten minutes.”

Maybe it was the way Welsh’s mother turned from us, thoroughly uncomfortable and disapproving, that spurred me to listen.

Whatever wild images were running through the old woman’s mind would be worth it if it scandalized her into an early grave.

“Good. Because ten minutes is all I have.”

Whatever was going to happen would happen in Miss Welsh’s bedroom, which she showed me my first day of sewing here. Why? To

show off all of her dresses, of course, handsewn—the same dreary, shapeless dress in different shades of gray filling her

closet. Her room wasn’t big, but the bed was covered in respectably folded sheets almost fancy enough to pass for expensive,

though I’d seen enough in the palace to know the difference.

I sat on the edge, near the window, its dark blue curtains drawn while Davies lingered in front of the dresser next to the

wooden rocking chair. Even in the small room it felt like we were as worlds apart as the day I first met him as a child in

the Institution. We only had ten minutes. The minute of silence that passed between us was a thorough waste.

“So this is where you’re taking your lessons,” he said, awkwardly trying to break the ice.

“Yes,” I said, amused that he kept his back to me. I could see his broad shoulders and muscular form, outlined by his fitted

vest, but not his face. Not his expression—by design, perhaps. “This is where I’m taking lessons on how to be a good wife

for you. And do you know what I’ve learned so far?”

Davies squirmed a little on his feet. Since he wasn’t going to ask, I gave the answer without waiting. “Sewing, first. For

our children, as I’ll be in charge of making the clothes, you see. Cooking will be next, and—I think Welsh mentioned something

about pleasuring you.”

Captain Davies whipped around, stunned.

“Without enjoying it, of course. How could a woman enjoy sex and still be a good wife?”

He stumbled back until he bumped into the dresser. “Sally!” he exclaimed before clearing his throat. “I—I didn’t know you

could speak so roughly.”

“You don’t like it?” I tilted my head, crossing my legs so my yellow sundress fluttered delicately in the still air. “Then

how would you like me to speak to you?”

Davies scrunched up his face. I liked that I was making him uncomfortable, upset even. It gave me a devilish kind of pleasure

that would have fooled a less intelligent woman into thinking she’d gained control of the situation. But that was the very

problem. No matter how intelligent the woman, she never fully had control—not when the differential lines of power were already

drawn so thick. And that alone made me want to rush back into that fight club and stomp on someone’s face again.

Davies shut his eyes and took in a deep breath. The next time he lifted his head, he showed me a sight I haven’t seen of him

yet. The captain looked world-weary and serious. Irritated like a father with a child. And absolutely not in the mood for

games. “Sally. I’m not your enemy.”

“I never said you were.”

“You’ve been treating me as such the moment you laid eyes on me. Maybe even before.”

“If you feel that way, then that’s your problem.”

“No, it’s yours.” Captain Davies straightened out the lapels of his vest. “Because we are going to be married, Sally. The

Queen gave me her permission. Besides, marriage and children are in our culture. If it wasn’t me it would have been someone

else, but it is me. You might as well deal with it now.”

Assertiveness. Now this was interesting. I stared at Captain Davies, his stern brows, his set jaw, curious. “You’ve changed so suddenly, Captain Davies. I feel like I no longer know you.”

“You don’t know me,” he countered. “And yet you’ve judged me. Hardly seems fair.”

Where had the always affable, endlessly polite, endlessly smiling gentleman gone? In front of me, here was the stern captain

who’d commanded men in battle—a man who would bow to no one. But no, that wasn’t entirely true. He did bow to some. But he

wouldn’t to me.

“I don’t know you,” I agreed. “And yet I’m forced to marry you because you wish it. Now which of these two situations seems

less fair?”

Davies sat in the rocking chair with a weary groan and I wondered if our nights together would be like this. A weary groan

and a rocking chair.

“How many marriages do you know have come about through love and courtship, I wonder?” He leaned over, his elbows on his knees,

his sparkling coal eyes trained on me. “Did the Prince of Wales court Alexandra of Denmark after falling in love? Did Pastor

Schoen know Elizabeth since childhood? Was it a passionate whirlwind of a marriage that brought them together? Love matches.

I know of none, except those in fairy tales.”

My eyes dropped to the floor. “I never liked fairy tales.”

“Neither have I.” He clasped his hands together. “The white man’s fairy tales tell morals they themselves refuse to live up

to. They flounder and make fools of themselves in real life while crafting themselves as heroes in the stories they tell.

No, I’ve never liked fairy tales at all.”

I stared at this Captain Davies, fourteen years my senior, and saw a sight I’d never seen before. This man had taken off his own mask, and underneath was weariness—just pure weariness. He’d been wearing his at least fourteen years longer than I, working his way up in the world to the point where he could begin to make requests for women from the Queen. I wondered what that would do to a person. I turned to face the window.

“But there is one benefit of fairy tales. A lesson I’ve always taken to heart even in all my travels.” Davies stood, placing

his hands behind his back.

“And that is?” I waited.

“When a beautiful damsel is in distress, it is up to a handsome, capable man to save her. And that’s exactly what I’ll do,

Sarah Forbes Bonetta.”

I whipped around, baffled. “Save me?”

He was dead serious. The mask was fully off. He was a man who saw himself as a gallant knight. And while he had the build,

looks, and no doubt skills for it, he was missing just one thing—a woman who actually wanted saving.

“And what exactly are you trying to save me from?” I asked it even though I knew the answer. It was written all over his face.

Captain Davies closed the gap between us. Bending down, he touched my chin gently with his finger. “You are an African princess.

Witty and intelligent. Beautiful. You’re wasted on them. And if you stay here any longer they will destroy you.”

They had already destroyed me. They destroyed me from the moment they took me here, stole my dignity, and killed my friend.

Davies seemed to understand that. I looked at the fire in his eyes and remembered Ade, rebellious in front of the Forbes brothers,

spitting in their faces with ferocious will despite his weak body.

Their “love” for you is conditional, Ina.

“I know that,” I whispered, answering Davies and Ade both. “But I can save myself.” I looked up at him, Ade’s fire burning

in my own eyes. “I will save myself on my own terms.”

“You can’t.”

“I can! This is my life! You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I was their slave, Sally. I know what they’re capable of.” He looked suddenly aged there as he spoke, as shadows passed over his face. Captain Davies straightened up.

“You’re too good to end up being ruined by them. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on you. I’ll marry you and take you

back to Lagos with me. With me, you’ll thrive. With your own kind, you’ll thrive, Sally. Just listen to me. You’ll see.”

I bit my lip, my fingers curled over my knees. “I don’t remember giving you permission to call me Sally.”

“I’m to be your husband. And you my wife. Shouldn’t I be able to call you what your friends do?” He said it with a pleading

gentleness that told me he truly meant what he said. And that fact was proof enough that I couldn’t marry him. He sounded

too much like Forbes as he spoke about “saving” me.

I looked Captain Davies square in his eyes. I needed to know. “Do you love me?”

He cleared his throat. “Of course I fancy you, Sally. You’ve become a beautiful young woman since last I saw you.”

“I asked—do you love me?”

He looked away. It was some time before he answered me. “I loved a woman once. And married her. Matilda Bonifacio Serrano.”

“Ah. A Spanish woman.”

“From Havana.”

“I thought such romantic matches don’t exist except in fairy tales.”

“She died shortly after our wedding. So they don’t.”

I squeezed my hands together. The clock was ticking. How much time had passed? I’d lost track. I never lose track.

“No, I don’t love you, Sally,” he answered without any apology in his voice. “But I don’t need to love you to see your potential.

I need a wife. You need a husband. A real community. A life away from this .” He gestured around him. The open cupboard of gray dresses. The lifeless furniture. The cold dreariness. “It’s my duty as a man and as your kin to give that to you.”

“And what is my duty as a woman?”

“To listen to your husband. It is as it has always been. In this part of the world, in every part of the world. It’s the way of the world. I didn’t make it such, but such is the way things are. Please don’t make me your enemy because of it.”

He was serious as he answered. His voice gentle. The kindness was clear. The belief in what he saw as a simple truth. And

there was no wound deeper than that.

Funny. It seemed in this world I could see no one but enemies around me.

“Sally! Sally!”

Harriet’s voice came shrieking from below. I stopped the conversation short. I couldn’t take much more of it anyway.

“Speech! Speech!”

The guests in the garden egged on the new chief inspector at his head table with their raised glasses of wine. They’d somehow

pulled Bertie to the head tea table as well. Nobody seemed to care he had an entire decanter of claret in one hand and was

already swaying on in his feet. The Scotland Yard man and his wife was only too happy to accept the congratulations of the

future king.

I joined Harriet by one of the empty tables in the back, grimacing when I saw two unexpected guests sitting next to her: Miss

Welsh’s mother and Dalton Sass. Sass waved at me like a fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing in my face.

“You forgot the tea cakes?” he said, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.

Instinctively, I checked my empty hands. Damn, I had.

“Seems you were busy. Don’t worry: Harriet and I took care of it.” Dalton gestured around the garden, where guests were helping

themselves.

“It’s good to see you and Harriet working so well together.” I took my seat next to Miss Welsh’s mother, who shivered and

snorted.

“Somehow I doubt we work together as well as you two do,” he replied, his gaze sliding between the two of us.

I gave Harriet a soft smile that made her sit up straight. The panic in her eyes made clear she wanted to explain herself

immediately, but I didn’t blame her. It didn’t take this man long to worm his way into the life of the Prince of Wales. He’d

be difficult to shake.

Sass began topping off his tea. “I’ve poured you some of this excellent tea. By all means, take some. My lovely madam has

certainly enjoyed hers.”

He reached over and touched Miss Welsh’s mother’s pale, skeletal hand, and she blushed and cooed, completely taken in by his

calculated simpering. She’d already guzzled her tea and, beaming at the insipid young man with a rare toothless smile, was

ready for more. But Sass wasn’t waiting for her. He was waiting for me.

“The chief inspector is about to make his speech.” He gestured toward my teacup. “Drink, Sally.”

Harriet was sipping hers delicately, silent but for her anxious expression, which spoke volumes. Now what was wrong with this

picture? As if seeing my life play backward, I searched my memories, starting from the time Dalton, Davies, and Bertie waltzed

unexpected into the kitchen. I was so flustered. The guest I’d actually invited hadn’t shown.

And then there was the letter he wielded like a sword to Lord Ponsonby’s throat. Its contents were dangerous. Why else would

the secretary nearly wet himself?

Dalton’s affable grin hid too many secrets. His mother had never shown me a single smile in all the years I was at the Institution. Seeing her face again, with lips perpetually split from ear to ear, unnerved me.

There was something I was missing. Bertie and Davies had been “sparring.” Sparring? Over what? Why in the world would Bertie

be so interested in my betrothed husband?

I looked over to the head table, and quite by accident, our eyes locked. For a moment, Bertie’s eyes softened before he seemed

to panic. With a boorish laugh, he took a swig from his decanter and wrapped an arm around the chief inspector’s neck, who

took his rough tug in stride because no matter how big his promotion, he could never outrank a prince.

And where was my betrothed? When I left the kitchen to speak with him, I was more focused on making sure Harriet wasn’t bamboozled

by Sass.

Speaking of Sass. “The tea cakes are lovely, aren’t they?” But once again, he gestured toward my tea. “They go great with

the tea.”

He tipped it toward me with a finger.

Something was indeed wrong with this picture. The fact that I couldn’t yet discern Sass’s true intentions elevated my sense

of danger. I glared at him. He grinned at me.

“Sally!” Harriet dropped her teacup onto the table’s white cloth. She looked to the house’s entrance. “It’s—” Her lips snapped

shut and, after a nervous glance toward Sass, she cleared her throat. “It’s Captain Davies! What a kind man he is.”

I looked to the entrance as well. Indeed, it was Captain Davies, and sure enough, he was as kind as he was noble. For with

his strong arms, carefully crafted in the military, he assisted a pregnant woman into the garden. Golden locks poured over

her simple blue dress in ringlets.

She’s late. “It looks like the Captain needs help.” I pushed my teacup toward Miss Welsh’s mother, who eyed it hungrily, and stood up. The true show was about to begin.

Before Sass could say another word, I went to the pair, just as Inspector Wilkes cleared his throat, wiped his drooping mustache,

and began to speak, much to the applause of the guests.

“First, I want to thank the ever good-hearted and considerate Miss Sophia Welsh, for opening up her home to my wife and me,”

he said. From her seat, Miss Welsh gushed over being gushed over. I reached Captain Davies as the speech continued.

“Sally?” Davies seemed surprised to see me curtsy, so gracious after the conversation we’d had. He should have known that

a curtsy from me was as dangerous an omen as a broken mirror. I took the pregnant woman by her other arm. She was young, perhaps

the same age as me, her cheeks rosy and her belly full of life. She had to have been seven months along now.

“Yeah, I know Inspector Wilkes. I knew him, anyway.”

That’s what Rui’s fight-club associate had said when we cornered him the other night after a particularly ferocious battle.

James Ratcliff. Bald and full of scars, shaped like a battered brick. He’d come out on top, and when men were victorious they

were particularly chatty.

Ratcliff looked me up and down. “Hey, didn’t I see you here a few days ago?”

“She’s a good friend of mine,” Rui had said, exchanging a mischievous glance with me. “And a fan of the sport. She knows all

the top players here in Devil’s Acre.”

“I’m especially curious about you, Ratcliff. Rui tells me you used to work with the Scotland Yard on cases?”

Charles Wilkes was a member of the Scotland Yard himself. He’d joined the original eight of their detective branch and rocketed

up their ranks in just a few years.

Luckily, I knew how to control powerful men.

You find their weakness.

“I was local police in Wiltshire,” Ratcliff, Rui’s old friend, had told us. “Those Scotland Yard bastards, they just come

in and take over our investigations whether we like it or not. Yeah, I worked with Wilkes once. A damn sodding pompous old man. I wonder how pompous

he’d be if his wife found out about his extracurricular activities.”

Here, in Welsh’s garden, we were about to find out.

“Miss, do you need a seat?” I asked the young pregnant lady, grateful the carriage Harriet had sent had managed to bring her

here on time. “Miss—”

“The name’s Andrea Bradley.” As if I didn’t already know. A fun girl. Her rough speech contrasted with what the people here

would have considered an “angelic appearance.” She stretched out her neck. “God, this baby’s killing my back. Hey, where’s

that Flora Hastings woman? She sent me the invitation to come to this thing—promised a bag of shillings and some good food.

So? Where’s it? Blast it, food’s all gone.”

“Flora Hastings?” Captain Davies looked over at me and I shrugged innocently. It was the name I told Harriet to give her.

As someone who studied Queen Victoria very carefully, I figured I’d have a bit of fun with this.

Wilkes prattled on about his accomplishments, none the wiser.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I told her, “but I’m sure you need to be off your feet. Here, let me seat you close to the center

of the garden. There’s still plenty of tea cakes left.”

Andrea perked up. “Love me some tea cakes.”

A pregnant woman needed to rest her feet and find some food. The chivalrous Davies had no choice but to just go along with

it. As we dragged her toward one of the front-most seats, Wilkes’s speech, in its final stage, made its expected turn.

“And finally, I want to thank my beautiful wife: Alice.”

Alice, done up and soaking in the praise of her fawning friends, covered her lips with her fan. Wilkes, in a display of everlasting

love, plucked the fan from her grip and took her hand in his. It was a romantic display of affection that sent the garden

tittering.

“Without your constant support, your loyalty, and your faith in me, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I’d barely be able to

put my shoes on in the morning, I suspect.”

The joke was a hit. The garden laughed. Well, Bertie rolled his eyes. But once he saw Davies and me, with our unexpected guest,

his eyes were focused.

Wilkes continued. “And if there’s anything else I can tell you here, my dear wife, Mrs. Wilkes, it’s that—”

“Oi, Sally,” Bertie shouted, and, interrupting the mood, waved me over. “Over here. There’s a free seat.” He pointed at the

table nearest the head.

That’s when Charles Wilkes saw us. I didn’t know a face could pale so fast. Andrea gasped and cursed underneath her breath.

“I-It’s t-that...” The chief inspector’s voice had become so feeble, I could barely hear him. His wife waited for the incoming

flattery, but it died on his lips. Nobody else seemed to understand the tension that had suddenly weighed down Miss Sophia

Welsh’s tea party.

He’d just seen his favorite café waitress.

“You!” Andrea pointed at him with one hand and rubbed her belly with the other. “This party is for you ? You’re shitting me!”

“Charles?” Mrs. Wilkes narrowed her eyes, confused. “Charles, who is this woman?”

But “Charles” was too busy squirming where he stood, his cheeks red. Sweat began pouring down his big ears as he tried to signal to Andrea to be quiet. But once the woman you impregnated crashed your celebration party, it was hard to keep a tight control over things.

“Charles, what is going on?” Andrea and Mrs. Wilkes seemed to scream it at the same time and immediately I saw it—the moment

Inspector Charles Wilkes’s will broke in two, just enough to make him my malleable puppet.

As chaos erupted in the garden party, I hastily whispered something in Andrea’s ear. And, after a moment of considering, she

nodded. Charles Wilkes saw this. He saw us chatting and conspiring. The gears in his head were turning. His glassy eyes caught

mine, and when I winked at him, he deflated in a sort of confused despair. He didn’t know precisely how I’d cobbled together

this theatrical event, but as a detective he knew well enough when he’d been defeated by a criminal.

He knew well enough he was mine.

And now that he was, Bambridge and the Queen were next.

I waved to the excited crowd.

“Oh, so sorry for the interruption,” I said to the party. “Dear Andrea has told me that her husband sent her here to congratulate

Charles Wilkes in person for helping to keep their community safe. Such is the work of a member of Scotland Yard, is it not?

They protect everyone, regardless of their status in life. She was just so excited to see him in person.”

I sounded gracious enough for the garden party to believe me. Everyone calmed down. Sounds of confusion slowly turned to understanding

and fascination. Even Mrs. Wilkes calmed down, breathing a sigh of relief. Of course, her husband knew the truth.

“My husband’s even thinking of naming our baby after you: Charles.”

Andrea really knew how to drive the knife in. But the deal was done. The inspector was mine for the taking.

“Mother?”

At the back of the garden, Miss Welsh screamed. Harriet held up Miss Welsh’s elderly mother, who was holding her withered neck and coughing out blood. The teacup on the table in front of her had toppled over, spilling black fluid everywhere. The same tea I refused to drink.

And Dalton stood over them both, pretending to help the old woman in her hour of need, but clearly annoyed. That was when

I remembered.

The bottle of arsenic I gave to Harriet. Looked like she didn’t hold on to it as I asked.