The Faerie Ring (11 page)

“I said that?”

“Then,” Tiki continued, “we’ll contact the Guards and tell them we have the ring.”

“But how…,” Shamus started. Tiki held up her hand.

“We’ll strike a bargain with the royals,” Tiki said. “If they give us the reward, we’ll tell them where the ring is.” She sat back. “It will be so simple.”

Chapter Ten

I
N
theory, the idea was simple, but with only four days to put the plan into action, it was the details that presented the challenge.

“What will you wear to a royal ball?” Fiona asked in a dreamy voice the next morning. “Oh, I wish Clara was here. She’d love to see you all dressed up.”

“I know,” Tiki said. “I’ve been thinking about her so much. Let’s go up and see her tomorrow.”

“Do we dare?”

Tiki nodded. “I’ve been thinking of a way. If we pretend to be from a church and stop by as a charity visit to see the children, I think they’ll let us in without asking questions about our parents.” She eyed Fiona’s soiled trousers and shirt. “We’ll need to go over to Petticoat Lane and find you a dress to wear, though.”

“A dress?” Fiona’s voice rose in surprise.

“We’re going to pretend to be girls.”

“But you
are
girls, aren’t you?” Toots asked from across the room.

Tiki laughed. “I’m not sure half the time anymore.”

*   *   *

P
ETTICOAT
Lane was over in Aldgate, next to Spitalfields Market in the East End. They were lucky to catch a boot there, as it was almost half a day’s walk from Charing Cross.

The streets of Petticoat Lane were jammed with shoppers when they arrived. The Lane was one of two main exchanges where secondhand clothes were sold.

“Fruiiiiiit. Get yer fruiiiiitt. Apples and oranges, fresh all day.” The cries of the costermongers were like birdcalls, sharp and piercing.

Tiki had brought the coin purse they’d picked off the woman in Charing Cross yesterday—it was stuffed into the depths of her trousers pocket, deep enough where no one could pick
her
pocket. They were going to need every one of those coins today.

She stopped at the cart of a costermonger selling an assortment of metal items. The glint of a small knife had caught her eye, and Rieker’s words came back to her:
The fey have a weakness to iron. You should get a knife with a blade made of iron and carry it with you, no matter what. And you’ve got to be prepared to use it.
She slipped her fingers around the hilt and turned the knife back and forth, letting the blade glint in the soupy light of the day. The memory of Marcus grabbing her in the alley was never far from her mind. She would not be caught unarmed again. Shamus could show her how best to defend herself with a knife.

“Ah, that’s a beauty, my fine fellow.” The man moved close to her, his squinty eyes measuring Tiki to determine her ability to pay. “Pure iron blade on that one. Slice through the thickest meat.”

“How much?” Tiki’s attention was drawn to a young man standing behind the vendor. There was something about the intensity with which he watched their transaction that disturbed her. His hair was long and dark, like the feathers of a crow, pulled back behind his head. His features were striking, almost foreign, with large black eyes that seemed bottomless. She shuddered and turned back to the vendor.

“A special price for you today, young sport,” the vendor replied. “Only one shilling, fourpence.”

“Done.” Tiki was digging the coins out of her pocket when a sickening realization of who the young man reminded her of twisted her stomach. He looked like her attacker in the alley. The one Rieker had called Marcus. She looked up, but he was gone. With a sense of desperation, Tiki stood on tiptoes and twisted her head, trying to locate him.

She dropped the coins into the vendor’s grimy hands, anxious to get away. With a shaking hand, she took the knife and slipped it into a small pocket on the back of her trousers, where it could easily be reached.

Fiona raised her eyebrows. “What’s that for?”

“Protection.”

“From who?” Fiona grinned, a dimple appearing on one cheek. “Rieker gettin’ a bit cheeky?”

Tiki forced a laugh as she fingered the cool, wooden handle. “Something like that.” She wouldn’t tell Fiona the truth. There was enough to worry about without scaring her as well.

“Friiiied fish! Oysters, three for a penny!” The cries of a nearby fishmonger cut through the air. An omnibus filled with passengers blocked the middle of road, its two horses jerking their heads, causing the reins to jingle, as they waited impatiently to move forward.

Tiki and Fiona cut around the carriage, always careful to avoid the steaming piles left behind by the horses. A brewer’s dray and a hay wain waited as well, along with private carriages and pedestrians. To add to the cacophony and chaos, street children darted in and out of the masses of people, shouting and laughing. Along the front of every shop hung rack upon rack of secondhand clothes for sale.

Several times Tiki thought she’d spotted faces that didn’t seem to belong in the crowd, their skin too perfect, their features almost flawless; but when she’d look again, they’d be gone. An unsettled feeling wormed its way through her chest, a fear that she was starting to imagine things that weren’t there. Damn Rieker anyway.

As they drew near to the racks of clothes on display, Tiki crinkled up her nose. “What is that smell?”

“It’s the clothes. Most have never been washed,” Fiona said. “Come on.” She grabbed Tiki by the hand and pulled her along, weaving through the crowd. Her head turned this way and that as she examined the goods hanging in front of each store. “We need fine ladies’ clothes, not these rags that any woman on the street would wear.”

Tiki looked at Fiona in surprise. “How do you know what fine ladies wear?”

Fiona tossed her head. “I’m not blind. I know how a lady dresses. Besides,” she sniffed, “you know perfectly well that my mum was a seamstress before she passed.” She lowered her voice. “Remember, she used to work for MacGregor.”

Though it had been almost two years since Tiki had escaped from the drunken attacks of her own uncle, she would never forget the abject fear she’d felt whenever he was near. Fiona had told her that MacGregor had the same mean streak, that he liked to beat women and children.

“Wait.” Fiona came to a stop, her head swiveled to the left as she spotted another rack of clothes. “Let’s go look over here.” She pulled Tiki toward a shop with an entire rack of dresses on display.

“What are you looking for?” Tiki asked.

“You need something fancy, but that won’t draw too much attention. A full skirt, but without a crinoline. How anyone can even walk in those things, I’ll never know.” Fiona was muttering to herself. “Something that gathers in back a little that might pass for a bit of a bustle.” Her eyes scanned the rows. Suddenly she stopped. Her dirty hand reached forward and pulled out the skirt of an ivory-and-gold-colored dress, twisting it this way and that in the light. “This might do.”

Tiki considered the gown Fiona had found. “The neck looks a little low,” Tiki said. “And big.”

“It’s meant to be worn off the shoulder,” Fiona replied. “Simple lines, the gold overskirt could really be quite spectacular in the right light, and we all know gold is a color the royals like.” She turned and looked Tiki up and down before turning back to the gown. “Might be a bit big, but we can take in the waist.”

Tiki pulled up one edge of the skirt to survey the expanse of material. “That’s a lot of fabric, Fi.”

“This dress has a lot smaller skirt than most of these, especially the dresses meant to go over a crinoline.”

“Will I look odd if I don’t wear one?”

“No.” Fiona snorted. “You don’t need one of those big old hoops anyway.” She hugged Tiki’s arm. “You’re going to be the most beautiful girl at the ball when I’m done with you.”

Tiki smiled but didn’t reply. It was difficult to remember what it felt like to be a girl and impossible to even imagine being beautiful.

Fiona shoved the gown back between the other gowns so it could barely be seen. “Come on. Let’s make sure we haven’t missed anything else.”

Tiki followed through the rows of stands and hanging garments, feeling slightly lost and disoriented. She’d never had much interest in clothes when she’d lived with her parents. Now, she knew how much more freedom there was in a pair of trousers.

“How much’ve we got in the coin purse?” Fiona asked.

Tiki recited the amount in a low whisper close to Fiona’s ear so no one else could hear. “But we have to use some of it for a top hat for Shamus. And some slippers to wear with my gown. And we still need a dress for you to visit Clara.”

Fiona stopped dead in her tracks. “A what for Shamus?”

Tiki giggled. “Shamus is going to be my driver, of course. He needs a hat.”

Fiona laughed out loud. “Shamus is going to be a ruddy gentleman. This I have to see.”

*   *   *

T
HEY’D
searched through most of Petticoat Lane before Fiona led her back to the first dress. As they passed a shop window, Tiki stopped.

“Fi,” she called. Fiona retraced her steps to stand next to Tiki in front of the bay window. Inside was a display of masks. Sequins sparkled from around the cutouts for the eyes, and feathers arched from the brow. Tiki motioned to the contents of the window. “I need a mask.”

“Oh, good Lord, you’re right,” Fiona said.

“Something simple,” Tiki warned. “I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”

“Look at that gold one in the back.” Fiona pointed. “That will go with your dress.”

Tiki gazed doubtfully at the frilly feathers attached to the center of the mask. “I can’t imagine wearing half a bird on my face.”

“You’ll be glad for it when you’re there and everybody else is wearing one,” Fiona replied. “Especially if you’re sneaking around.” She nudged Tiki with her elbow and smiled.

They returned to the shop where Fiona had spotted the gold-and-ivory dress.

The shopkeeper eyed them with a frown. “What do you two lads want with a dress?”

“It’s a gift,” Fiona snapped. “I’ll give you three shillings for it.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “The price is six shillings.”

“I’ll give you three shillings, sixpence, but you’ll throw in some slippers,” Fiona replied.

Tiki glanced over her shoulder as Fiona negotiated, trying to ignore the uneasy sense that she was being watched. They were paying for the dress. She had nothing to feel uncomfortable about. Still, there was something that pricked at her senses.

Fiona haggled back and forth with the shopkeeper until they finally agreed on a price and she managed to have him throw in a plain brown dress as well.

They left with Fiona gaily swinging their bag of purchases. “If only that old codger could see you when you’re all fixed up,” she said. “He’d probably lose his teeth. When I get done with you, he wouldn’t recognize his own dress.” She grinned over at Tiki. “I bet he’d think you were bloody royalty yourself, he would.”

Tiki giggled. It was hard to imagine looking much different from the way she did every day, masquerading as a boy in her dark trousers and oversize jacket. “He’d probably only wish that he’d struck a harder bargain for the dress.”

Fiona barked out a laugh. “That’s true, too.”

*   *   *

T
HE
next afternoon, Tiki entered the hospital wearing her one blue dress. She’d scrubbed her face and hands with the water from the fountain in Trafalgar Square, and her hair hung down her back in soft, dark waves.

Beside her, Fiona was wearing the simple brown dress they’d bartered for in Petticoat Lane. Being dressed like a girl brought back bittersweet memories of Tiki’s life before. Having tea with her mother, dressing for dinner. It was when an image of her uncle surfaced that she pushed the memories away. His dark, brooding stare and the memory of his volatile temper still gave her shivers, even now.

They entered the hospital and approached the woman at the front desk.

“Excuse me, miss.” Tiki was pleased that the attendant was not the nurse they had met the night they’d brought Clara in. “We’re here from St. Timothy’s Chapel to visit the ailing children today.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you girls,” the young nurse replied, looking Tiki and Fiona up and down with a smile. “What nice, upstanding young women.” She got up from her chair. “Let me show you the way.”

Tiki and Fiona followed her down a long hallway and paused outside a door.

The nurse lowered her voice. “Some of the children have no family visiting, so they’ll be extra glad to see you. Bless you, girls.” She smiled again and disappeared back down the hall.

Tiki drew a deep breath as she entered the hall, trying to suppress the anxiety that filled her. Clara was going to be better, she repeated to herself. Most of the sick children were sleeping, but those who weren’t just stared at them with hopeless eyes. By the time they reached the sixth bed and still hadn’t found Clara, Tiki could feel a fluttering in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

They circled the room again.

Clara wasn’t there.

Tiki looked in Fiona’s eyes, now brimming with tears, and saw the question there. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe it. Not Clara, too. She turned and looked over the beds in the room again, making sure that she hadn’t somehow missed the little girl.

A deep hacking cough came from a nearby room, and Tiki jerked around with a start. She hadn’t noticed the closed door before. She hurried over to peek in through the glass window embedded in the door. There was another, smaller ward behind the door. Only four beds there, each of them filled.

Tiki read the word on the door,
QUARANTINE
, before she yanked it open. She could see a small tousled blond head lying on one of the pillows and rushed over, Fiona on her heels.

Clara was lying on her side with her thumb in her mouth, eyes closed. She was pale and drawn.