Nemesis Unlimited [1] Sweet Revenge (41 page)

Her smile faded away.

Then she took his hand, and together they left his room. No one in the parlor said anything as Jack and Eva came downstairs. They kept quiet, too, when he and Eva left headquarters.

Instead of taking a cab, Jack and Eva walked to Bloomsbury. He’d passed the huge building on Great Russell Street before, but hadn’t ever had an interest in going inside. Now, with Eva beside him, he climbed the stairs and walked between the big columns out front. It was an odd place, full of people but surprisingly quiet. Eva seemed to know exactly where to go.

She led him through a maze of rooms, each one stuffed full of old things, chipped statues, and big slabs of carved stone. Part of him wanted to linger. He didn’t have much experience with things that were old but also valuable. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to dig all this out of the dirt, drag it across mountains and over the water so that people like Jack could get the smallest look at what it meant to be alive thousands of years ago.

But he barely looked at the objects and stones in the different rooms. It was her that interested him, the way her gaze moved over everything, how he could see her thoughts forming.

“It’s always so peaceful here,” she said softly as they walked. “So orderly.”

“Not like it is outside.”

She smiled at that. “When I see these Assyrian friezes,” she murmured, “or Egyptian sarcophagi or Roman statues, it makes me think that, for all the transience of our lives, there’s something of us that’s eternal. Something remains, even when we are turned to dust.”

He stared up at a very tall statue of a man wearing a strange wrap on his head, with a long, pointy beard, and stone eyes that saw nothing. “The bloke who carved that,” he said quietly, “nobody made a statue of him. But a thousand years later, here we are, looking at something he made. So he ain’t really gone.”

“So long as we have this,” she said, looking at him, “we can remember.”

*   *   *

They spent several hours at the museum, going slowly from gallery to gallery. Neither spoke much. But she didn’t want words, and he didn’t, either. It was enough to be in the museum with him. He’d be with her, even when she came back alone.

When they left the museum, a cold evening drizzle blurred the streets. They took a cab back to headquarters, and found it empty. Silently, she and Jack ascended the stairs and went into his room. They helped each other out of their clothes and got into bed. With his arms warm and solid around her, his heartbeat beneath her ear, she fell asleep and dreamt of kingdoms disappearing beneath oceans of sand.

When she woke, cold sunlight filled the empty room. She was alone. She had a memory from earlier that morning of Jack getting out of bed, saying he was heading downstairs to use the privy. She must have dozed after that. But the space beside her was still empty.

His minimal possessions were likewise absent. She threw on her clothing, forgoing her corset, shoved her feet into her boots and hurried downstairs.

Simon sat at the parlor table. Newspapers and documents were spread out, and he lifted his head from studying them as she clattered into the room.

“He left,” Simon said.

She glanced at the clock. “It’s only eleven-thirty. The train leaves in an hour.”

“Think he was determined not to miss it. I offered to take him to the station, but he wanted to go on his own. Left this for you.” He dug into the pocket of his waistcoat, then held something out to her.

A tiny, sparkling bead. Picking it up between her fingers, she examined it. A moment later, she realized where it came from. Her gown. The one she’d worn to the ball she and Jack had attended. At some point in the evening, the bead must have come off her dress—most likely when she and Jack had kissed in the carriage—and he’d kept it. As if it were something precious.

But he’d given it back. The only thing he left behind.

She sank down into a crouch, her head in her hands.

Distantly, she heard Simon push back his chair and walk to her. Everything came from a great distance now, including his voice when he said, “Come with me.”

Numbness stiffened her limbs as she rose. She followed him up the stairs, down the hallway, through another door, and up a narrow set of steps. Then they were on the roof, with the neighborhood spread around them and the bustle of quotidian life. Everything resembled a child’s set of toys, as consequential as dolls.

“I never really come up to this place.” Simon turned, taking in the view from all directions. “Shame, that. Gives one perspective.” He gazed at her. “What are you doing here?”

“You brought me up here,” she answered. Pushing words out of her mouth took tremendous effort. Far easier to simply collapse into silence, never to speak again.

“Not on the roof,” he said. “Why aren’t you with Dalton? He asked you to go with him, and you declined.”

Of course Simon had heard every word. All of Nemesis had to have listened to the conversation between her and Jack. Yet instead of feeling the burn of shame because her colleagues knew about her private life, all she could muster was a cold emptiness.

“I couldn’t do that,” she finally answered Simon.

“Why?”

She stared at him. “My life’s work is
here
. I have a job, responsibilities. I can’t dedicate years of my life to helping right wrongs and then simply toss that aside for a man. I was the one who ensured that button factory with the appalling conditions was closed down, and the children working there were properly fed and clothed. I helped break the ring trafficking in Chinese boys. I can’t leave Nemesis.”

“You’re one of our most valuable operatives,” Simon agreed.

“Then you see how I can’t chuck everything away,” she countered, “just because … because…” She swallowed the words that wanted to come.

“Because you love him,” Simon filled in.

She forgot how to breathe. Or think. Or do anything at all except stare, aghast, at Simon. There it was. The hidden self she’d kept carefully locked away—even from herself. Now it was out in the open, in the bitter chill of a London morning, naked and shivering.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I do. I do love him.” The words newly spoken stunned her with their truth. She thought she’d reject the idea, find some way to dismiss it. Jack and she hadn’t known each other for very long. And yet … it was exactly right.

But it didn’t matter.

She said, “There are sacrifices that have to be made—”

“Oh, bollocks,” Simon answered. “Naught gets in your way when you’re doing a job for Nemesis. Dalton’s the one that you want, you should let nothing stop you.”

“So speaks the man with a different paramour every fortnight.”

Simon’s expression shuttered. “I don’t play an instrument, but I know when a melody’s out of tune.” He stepped closer to her. “It isn’t your dedication to Nemesis that’s keeping you and Dalton apart.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, it isn’t?”

“You fear the unknown.”

“I was in a pitched gun battle not two days ago. Didn’t scream, didn’t faint. Not even when Rockley had a spike digging into my jugular.” She glared at him. “I think that proves that I’m not afraid.”

“Of bullets and bullies, no.” Softly, he asked, “What of your heart?”

He may as well have stabbed her, for she felt his words pierce her. God, did he speak the truth?

Images flooded her mind. An endless succession of days—colorless, flat. Fighting battles, escaping danger, but forever anesthetized. Dining continually upon the bitter ashes of self-made heartbreak. Jack had roared into her life, an unstoppable force, and helped break her from the prison she’d constructed. And now he was gone.

She’d pushed him away. She thought it was because her work demanded that she remain in England. But Simon was right. She
had
been frightened. Protecting herself came at a devastating cost—the only man she’d ever loved.

“How can you claim to fight for anyone else,” Simon said, “when you refuse to stand up for yourself?”

The unknown beckoned. And she would willingly embrace it.

Eva rushed toward the door leading back down to the house.

Simon was right behind her. When they reached the parlor, he said, “Wait.”

“There isn’t time.” It was almost noon. Only thirty minutes until Jack’s train left.

He took her hand and pressed a coin into it. “Cab fare.”

She was on the street and waving down a hansom seconds later. The driver looked dubious as she climbed into the cab—a respectable woman on her own in broad daylight would never take a hansom—but he was more than amenable when she waved money at him.

“Euston Station,” she commanded. “Fast as you can.”

With a snap of the ribbons, the cab pulled out. The driver kept to her instructions, speeding the hansom around pedestrians and slower-moving vehicles. People cursed after them as they raced through the streets. She braced her hand on the cab’s front panel. Her heart pounded, but not from the speed. The timepiece in her pocket revealed the hour to be twenty minutes past twelve. Passengers were likely boarding the train.

The cab lurched to a stop, then crawled forward as traffic around the station thickened. Everywhere were carriages, coaches, wagons, people.

“There has to be a way around,” she called up to the driver.

“Sorry, miss,” he answered. “It gets like this round the height of the day. Nothing to do for it but wait it out.”

She banged her fist against the side of the cab in frustration. There wasn’t much time.

“I’ll walk the rest of the way.” She threw Simon’s coin at the driver, then jumped down from the cab. Weaving her way quickly through the traffic, she saw the soaring Doric columns that marked the entrance of Euston Station up ahead. The moment she could, she broke from the snarl of people and vehicles and ran full-out toward the station.

She dashed beneath the massive portico and into the station’s Great Hall, heedless of the curious looks she received from travelers. For a moment, she stood beneath the hall’s soaring ceiling, trying to get her bearings.

A uniformed porter passed by, and stared at her with surprise when she grabbed his arm. “The twelve-thirty to Liverpool,” she demanded. “What platform?”

“Platform five, miss. But—”

She shoved a coin into his hand and sprinted off. The crowds were thick, passengers and luggage thronging the platforms, and she ducked and twisted through the mob as she made her way toward platform 5.

Please please please don’t let me be too late.

There. Just ahead. Tearing free from the crowd, she ran to the platform.

Just in time to see the train pulling out.

She sprinted after it, calling Jack’s name—though she knew he’d never hear her above the shrill whistle or sound of the engine. The train left the station in a cloud of steam. She trotted to a stop, watching the last carriage grow smaller, then disappear as the track curved. It felt like the disappearance of hope itself.

No—this wasn’t failure. As Simon had revealed to her, she’d fought for others, now she would fight for herself and for Jack. There were other trains to Liverpool. And if his ship sailed before she could reach it, there were other ships that voyaged to Boston. Whatever it took, for however long, she’d find him.

Intending to head straight to the ticket office, she turned.

Jack stood right behind her.

Neither of them seemed capable of movement or speech for several moments. They simply stared at each other. He looked as stunned as she felt.

Hand shaking, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the bead from her gown. “Forgot this.”

“I’ve got another.” He plucked the tiny piece of glass from his coat’s breast pocket. It looked like the smallest bit of punctuation between his thick fingers. Then he tucked it away, right beside his heart.

They spoke at the same time. “You came.” “You stayed.”

She shook her head. “Let me…” Stepping closer, her heart pounding in her throat, she said, “My work is important—but there are people who need justice all over the world. There’s only one you. I…” Her mouth went dry, but she pressed on. “I love you, Jack.”

He closed his eyes, and a tremor ran through him. It stunned her, to see such a large, strong man so shaken. Doubt crept poisonously into her mind. Had he changed his mind? Did he no longer want her? She couldn’t truly blame him if he turned away, but if he did, she’d do whatever she must to get him back.

“I was afraid,” she continued.

“Afraid?” He opened his eyes, looking angry that she might even suggest such a thing. “I’ve seen you storm a brothel crawling with bullies. You marched through the roughest neighborhood in London. Frightened women don’t do things like that.”

“Being with you,” she said, “seeing who I could become—it all taught me something about courage. It’s more than staring down the barrel of a gun. It means running through Euston Station like a madwoman, hoping that it’s not too late to share my life with you.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Please tell me it isn’t too late.”

To the shock and scandal of everyone on platform 5, he pulled Eva tight against him and kissed her. She ignored the gasps of outrage, aware only of him, his mouth, his unguarded need. For her.

It was as though all the meaningless nonsense in the world arranged itself into a poem of aching beauty and clarity.

He pulled back just enough to growl, “Goddamn, I love you. From the first time I saw you, pointing a gun at me, I knew you’d be either my death or my salvation.”

“Not death,” she said. “Not salvation. We are each other’s future.”

EPILOGUE

Manchester, England, 1887

“It’s a jab, a straight right, then a left hook.” Jack demonstrated the combination for the crowd of boys gathered around him. “Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys chorused.

“Not
sir,
” he corrected. “Either call me Jack or Mr. Dutton, but I’m nobody’s
sir.
”

Shyly, the boys nodded.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands, “I want to see everyone practice the combination. And if you’ve got any questions, be sure to ask me.”