I wanted to open the doors to the factory and yell at the children to run. Though if they did escape, a new threat awaited them. If caught, they’d sustain a severe punishment. The threat of execution was very real, a brutal and undeserving death. More surprising still, this building, along with two thirds of London, belonged to the Church.
The numbness within had for a moment lifted and provided such inner turmoil that I feared my ability to restrain my temper. I took a moment to compose myself.
Easily passing for wealthy aristocrats eager to adopt, we presented ourselves to the owner’s wife. The hard-faced woman, Mrs. Amesbury, who wore a permanent scowl, greeted us with a suspicious eye. A harsh task mistress, no doubt.
“We want to pass the child off as ours,” Sunaria explained.
“Do I detect Spanish in the gentleman’s accent?” Mrs. Amesbury asked.
I gave a nod, trying to suppress any visible disdain.
“Oh, dear, had you come on Wednesday, you might have beaten the other couple to it.”
I tried to remain calm.
“We did have a Spanish boy,” she spoke slowly. “Didn’t say much, though.”
“His name?” I asked.
“I can’t remember that now.” She shook her head. “We have so many boys.”
Every sinew in my body felt on edge.
“May we inquire as to the boy’s new address?” Sunaria asked.
Mrs. Amesbury smiled through pursed lips. “We never divulge such information. Discretion is so important in this business.”
“As it is in ours.” My fake demeanor of courtesy fell away.
As Sunaria closed in on her, Mrs. Amesbury’s smile faded.
* * * *
Many of the streets were named after the trades practiced there, like Threadneedle Street, the aptly named Tailor’s District, or Baker Street, where locals bought their bread. Here in Fleet Street, the wealthy resided—the aristocracy, rich merchants, architects, and men of law.
At the east end of Fleet Street, London’s walls rose high, the dark waters of the Fleet River flowed by. One building miraculously untouched by the constant surge—saved, it seemed, by sturdy white brickwork along the riverside—was the Bradbury’s residence. Their large town house towered three stories high. Long black timbers split along the front, enhancing its sturdiness.
Mr. and Mrs. Bradbury and their staff had retired to bed.
Kitchen shelves were stacked with dark colored breads, vegetables, and assorted cheeses, their scents permeating the air. Several dead rabbits hung upside-down from the back wall, their eyes frozen in fear. The more savory view was the numerous pots of honey lined along a thin shelf. Jacob enjoyed dipping his finger in the tubs of honey at home. I wondered if he’d been allowed to do that here.
The home extended well back from the street. Its size was larger than it had first appeared.
The thought of seeing Jacob overwhelmed me.
A discarded wooden toy boat lying just outside one of the bedrooms signaled that it may serve as the nursery.
In the corner, a child slept and with a gentle tap on his shoulder, the boy stirred.
My heart sank when I saw that it wasn’t my son.
“Jacob?” I whispered. “Is he here?”
The door opened and a woman’s silhouette appeared. She carried with her a bronze candleholder. A breeze extinguished the flame.
I assumed I’d just met Lady Bradbury, but ignored her and spun round to face the boy again.
He rubbed his eyes. “He ran off.”
Lady Bradbury shrieked.
Sunaria grabbed my arm and, like mere phantoms, we flew out of the window, with a terrible scream trailing behind us.
I landed just beneath the window, inconsolable. I’d lost my son to London.
Chapter 35
LONDON OFFERED EVERYTHING a man could want.
But all I wanted was Jacob. I scoured the city, searching night after night, ignoring my own needs. With no trace of him, I thought I’d lose my mind. The loss felt unbearable, the emptiness, agony. I blamed myself for not seeing Ricardo’s jealousy, should have predicted he’d be as wayward as his father. So many times, I’d showered Jacob with affection, but ignored Ricardo. By spoiling my son, I’d put him in danger. How he’d spied on me without detection, I couldn’t work out.
After another agonizing night, I climbed the spiraling steps to our room, cursing my ineptitude.
Once inside, I fell to my knees. “I just want him back,” I sobbed. “I just want him back.” Tears soaked my shirt.
I crawled into my coffin and the darkness closed in. Horror violated my dreams, transmuting them into nightmares.
* * * *
Sunaria caught up with me. I’d taken a moment to peer over London Bridge to watch my victim’s body float down the Thames.
“Oops.” I smiled.
She flashed an angry glare. “You think that’s funny.”
“I assumed he’d sink.”
“A month in the city and you’re infamous.”
“It took me that long?”
“You kill and you don’t look back.”
“I’ve been a little distracted.”
“They burned our building down.”
“What?” I turned to face her.
“Burned to the ground.”
“Who?”
“Don’t fake interest.”
“How do you know it’s because of me? Perhaps a candle fell over—”
“I’m assuming it wasn’t you who left the rose on my casket this morning?” She glanced at the bobbing corpse. “All you think of is you.”
“I was just about to ask about our blind landlord.”
“Half-blind.”
“Did he get out?”
“So now you pretend to care about someone else.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
I gazed at the city skyline. “Jacob is out there right now, alone.”
“You’ve brought attention to our kind. They don’t like that.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
“I’m done cleaning up after your nightly escapades.”
“You should be out there searching for him.” I stared at the city’s nightscape. “Not wasting your time.”
“Keeping us alive is not wasting time.”
I turned back. “I’m going to find my son and then we’re leaving this godforsaken city.”
“Are you even listening to me?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you’ll use discretion,” she sighed. “Follow the rules.”
I glided up onto the bridge wall. “It’s time we came out of the shadows.”
“That attitude will get us killed.”
With my arms out, I shouted, “Hello, London!”
“Get down.”
“Check out the view.”
“Get down now!”
I sat on the wall. “It’s time the world knew that we’re not myth.”
“Have you lost your mind?” She joined me up on the ledge and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Please shake out of this.”
“I miss Spain.”
“I’ve lost you.”
“No.”
“Come back to me.”
“I’m sorry I put you in harm’s way.” I kissed her forehead.
“Have you considered that he may have left London?”
“Shit,” I said. “Look.”
The body caught on the left side of the riverbank.
“Did you hear me?” she continued, impatiently.
Within seconds, it bobbed off again.
“What do you want me to do,” I said. “Run between Spain and here?”
“It’s just that I wonder if he’s trying to find his way home.”
“I feel him,” I whispered. “He’s out there somewhere. Why can’t I hear his thoughts?”
“I believe it’s because he’s so young.”
“So unfair.”
“What if the Creda left the rose as a warning?” she whispered.
“You’re just paranoid.”
“I think they’re following me.”
“Yep, that defines paranoid. It’s your imagination.”
She hugged me tighter. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine, just distracted, that’s all.”
“I’ve planned something for you tonight.” She leaned against me. “It’ll do you good.”
I pulled away. “Not interested.”
“We’ll have dinner together. I’ve arranged a little something that’ll take your mind off London.”
The body sank.
“Thank fuck for that.” I pulled my knees up and hugged them.
“You need a break.” Her words sounded rehearsed. “Lately, you’ve been backtracking over old ground.”
“Whatever it is, I’m not going.”
* * * *
Sunaria’s persuasion had been impossible to oppose.
Within the Globe Theatre, sitting comfortably in our private box up to the right of the auditorium, we had a good view of both the apron-style stage, and the audience. I finally agreed to attend, half out of guilt for neglecting Sunaria, and half hoping that she might be right, that this evening’s diversion might actually be good for me. Maybe it would even silence the internal chatter, if only for an hour or two.
The dialogue-heavy play was ordinary enough, the company of actors portraying a day in the life of a Tudor family. The theme emphasized the moral attitude of supporting a stable government.
Weekly shows were a popular social gathering for the aristocracy. Even the fashions contrasted Spaniards. The women wore such high hats that I wondered how the audience members behind them could see. Many of the men wore what was considered the latest fashion, heavy tunics over their woolen shirts, and breeches. Textures had advanced and enriched color pallets reflected a fresher style, conveying privilege.
Sunaria’s clasp tightened. I assumed my fidgeting annoyed her, until I followed her gaze over to one of the other burgundy draped boxes, high up to the left of the stage, and caught sight of Lady Bradbury. Her pale blue glazed stare revealed her boredom. She seemed to sense someone staring at her and our gazes met. Although she’d seen us only for a moment, our dramatic exit from her bedroom window had left an impression.
Her face flushed brightly as she offered her apologies to the three other women who shared her booth. Almost tripping on the hem of her dress, she withdrew.
Through sheer determination, and the reminder from Sunaria’s grip, I maneuvered at a laborious pace, not wanting to arouse suspicion. We ran out through the theatre front doors. Lady Bradbury climbed into her horse drawn carriage.
We followed.
The carriage rumbled over cobblestones, past her home, and continued on. Within half an hour, we were flying through a forest, heading for the outskirts of London.
Converging dense woods surrounded a lone house. Lady Bradbury climbed out of the carriage with the horseman’s assistance, and headed for the front door. She slammed the brass doorknob and checked behind her.
We sneaked around the back and sidled along the rear wall of the building. I peered into the study. Lady Bradbury conversed with a young man who tried to calm her. I considered that she must have sought out this place soon after our shocking appearance and mysterious disappearance. We had, after all, been two floors up. In order to unravel the truth behind such a marvel, her search had obviously brought her here. And by the way she argued with the man, this was not her first visit.
A tug at my trouser leg made me look down. I flinched in horror at the large dog gnawing through my flesh, sending searing pain into my ankle. Four more hounds turned the corner. I shook off the dog and flew after Sunaria, up and onto the roof. The dogs barked and growled at us, their teeth bared.
Even now, under these circumstances, it was easy to become distracted by the way my torn skin healed, the edges shrinking rapidly. The only evidence from my scrap with the animal was my blood soaked trouser leg.
Sunaria reached for my hand and grasped it. “We have to get out of here.”
“Who are they?”
She caught her breath. “Stone Masters.”
Chapter 36
MY FIRST RUN-IN with our one true enemy, the Stone Masters, left me unimpressed.
They were no more than a handful of men with little sign of leadership, evidenced by their lack of security. An amateur’s collection of do-gooders that women like Lady Bradbury sought out for help, only to leave without resolution, failed by men unable to grasp the true extent of London’s underworld. These were aristocrats who were awarded responsibility, but lacked the power to effectively alleviate what they saw as a threat. Though I had to admit, the same could not be said for their dogs.
We checked into The Fountain Hotel—one of London’s larger hotels—just off the Strand. Guests could come and go with some assurance of privacy, and business and pleasure agreeably mixed. A temporary residence until we found something more suitable.
Sunaria and I had gone our separate ways at my insistence. I reasoned that we’d cover more ground if we split up. Despite her protests, I’d given her no choice.
Bad weather, sleet, and hail, cleared London’s streets like nothing else. No one would brave such elements, other than me of course. When eventually the rain did let up, it left a welcome freshness and the air became tolerable, at least for an hour.