The Poisoner's Game

Chapter 16

M.

"What's the time?" I asked Alexander.

He pulled out a pearl-encrusted gold pocket-watch. "It's three o'clock now."

"You'll keep your watch hidden?" I closed my hand over it. We'd spent the day wandering the streets of London, Alexander speaking to informants and then relaying the information to me. We asked questions of costermongers, who sold wares near my grandfather's townhouse, to no avail.

Alexander snapped the watch closed. "Yes, of course. This isn't my first excursion out of my ivory tower."

"I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that," I apologized, but I realized that maybe I did mean it like that.

Silence reigned as London homes passed by in a grey whirl, as we went from district to district in our hired Hackney. On the streets, old rag women bought used clothing, and small children clung to their mamas' skirts. Workmen dressed in loose shirts carried tins filled with their lunches, and starched police officers strolled through the alleys. We halted as other carriages and riders crowded around us, blocking the narrowed section of the street until it became a bottleneck.

Out of the window, a scrappy boy, of maybe twelve years, ran through the stands of a marketplace down an alley to the side where the Hackney waited in traffic. He was disproportioned with the long arms, short legs, and a thin torso, standard in most children. Dark soot smudged his face in dark contrast to the fairness of his skin. Equally sooty and ripped clothing, two inches too short on his wrists and ankles, covered his lanky form.

He snuck behind a hat seller's stall. When the Hackney lurched forward, I lost sight of the child. I righted myself, but the boy was gone.

A memory snuck up the back of my neck and crawled into my ear. I grasped my hands together as the memory broke through the alcoves of my mind. I wish I had forgotten.

#

London

Fall of 1871

Grey, only grey, as my vision adjusted to my Aunt's parlor. Shuttered windows filtered in a hazy light and the room smelt of ash. The couch, no longer salmon pink silk, but a deep blue velvet, rose above me. I could barely peek over it, even standing on my tiptoes. I pulled against the puff sleeves of my white dress. Mama always bought me dresses that fit, not ones that left red marks on my upper arms, no matter how I pulled at the tight sleeves. Aunt Emily must have forgotten that I grew this year. I scrunched my nose, remembering the boxes of dresses that arrived for Rose yesterday.

A loud, gruff voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I jumped down behind the couch. My ears took in the brusque sounds, but I could not make out the words. I peeked over the couch. There before me was the biggest man I had ever seen. He looked like an African, and he must have been one, for I had never seen someone with skin so dark. I cowered behind the couch, once more. Uncle Matthew said, "They were savages." Whatever, "savages," meant, he called me that too sometimes. I peeked my head up again and noticed his bucket full of strange tools. Maybe, they're for tribal cannibalism, I thought. I looked at them carefully, expecting to find them dripping with blood. The African yelled at the fireplace, his face marked with rage. Peeking over again, I realized that his skin wasn't black, but layered with soot.

Watching a giant yelling at a chimney caused giggles to climb up my chest, the only bit of entertainment I'd had since Rose got her fingers stuck in the toy she stole from me two weeks ago. My Dada called the toy, "Chinese handcuffs," and brought them all the way back from a place called China. The toy trapped both of Rose's pointer fingers in its woven grasp, mere minutes after she had commandeered it. In the end, the toy was cut in half and I was punished for my "cruel prank."