After cleaning up the house a bit, ashamed of having fallen so far behind in her work, Trinket donned her coat and gloves and made her way back to the city center.
Mr. Wotton's body had been taken down from the lamp post, but the image of him swaying in the wind would not leave her mind. And then the eyeballs left on their front door. These actions didn't feel like warnings; they felt like threats.
As she glanced up at the lamp post, she saw Booker hanging there, his body lifeless, the passion and brilliance gone from his eyes.
She stopped dead in her tracks and clutched her chest.
No. No, it wasn't real. It was a figment of her broken mind.
It could be real.
And you know it.
It's only a matter of time.
Finally catching her breath, she shook her and head squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, his body was gone. It had never been there to begin with; she knew that. Still, her heart was in her throat.
Continuing on her way, she mulled over the horrifying vision. Or perhaps it had been an omen. What if he was next? He claimed he was too clever to be caught by the Mice, but he was foolish to think that. Everyone had their weakness, even the great Booker Larkin. And Scales was just the sort of person who would be able to ferret those weaknesses out and use them to his benefit.
Use them to hurt Booker.
So lost in her thoughts, she passed the tea shop and had to backtrack. As she neared the storefront, she peeked through the display window to be sure it wasn't too crowded. The more people that were inside, the less likely Emma would be to talk. Luckily, there was only a single customer—a young man who looked like he had skipped shaving that morning. He and Emma were behind the counter, their backs turned to her as they busied themselves with something out of sight.
Something didn't seem right about the scene. Maybe it was the way Emma's shoulders tensed every time the customer moved. Or perhaps it was how the young man kept his hands hidden in his pockets.
She should move on. It wasn't any of her business what Emma and the young man were doing.
And yet . . .
Slowly, Trinket opened the door a crack, reaching her hand in to grab hold of the bells in order to keep them from announcing her presence. She slipped inside and gently released them without a sound. She glanced at Emma and her visitor, but they hadn't noticed her. Moving silently into the shadows, she tried to catch a snippet of their conversation.
". . . all I have now, but I can mix more," Emma said.
The young man was a bit of a mumbler, making it difficult to understand him. ". . . something to . . ."
"Yes, it will do the same as that batch, but there are . . ."
Trinket couldn't catch the last few words. The young man laughed, and the sound was like stone grating against stone. "I'll take my chances," he said as he snatched something from Emma's hand and tossed what sounded like coins onto the floor.
He turned and caught sight of Trinket. Pausing, he looked her up and down, then grunted. As he passed by, he tipped his ratty hat at her.
"Morning, miss," he said, grinning to show off his very white teeth.
Considering everything about him was grimy—particularly his nails, which were absolutely filthy, with thick bits of dirt beneath them—she hadn't been expecting his oral hygiene to be so superb.
Before she could study him further, he turned and left, the bells tinkling as he opened and closed the door. Emma, who had been collecting the coins he dropped on the floor, stood and glared at the young man's retreating back. Sighing, she went back to her work and noticed Trinket. Her already pale face paled even further, and she glanced about desperately, as if looking for something with which to defend herself. Trinket smiled and approached the counter, trying her best to put the girl at ease.
"Can I help you, miss?" Emma asked, her tone uncharacteristically formal.
"I'm sorry if we frightened you last night, Emma. It was not our intention."
"You did not frighten me. I just prefer that people do not stick their noses in my business."
The coldness in her words took Trinket by surprise. "I'm sorry. It's only that you mentioned you had a connection to the dead woman, and I—"
"Clearly I have been careless about whom I confide in," Emma said, refusing to meet her eyes. "I will not make that mistake again."
The normally warm atmosphere in the shop was gone, and it was obvious that Trinket would not be able to get anything more from Emma. Clearing her throat, she let her gaze wander towards the door. Perhaps that young man knew something. More than likely they had not been discussing tea. If he was involved in Emma's side business, maybe there was a chance he knew about the corpses, too. Those involved in one sort of sordid activity tended to dip their fingers into others.
"I apologize for having bothered you," Trinket said as she returned her attention to Emma. "Have a lovely day."
"You as well, miss."
Giving a tight smile, Trinket turned away and headed out the door. As the bells sounded behind her, she looked about and tried to catch a glimpse of the young man with the dirty nails and blindingly white teeth. However, with only those two physical characteristics to go by, it was going to be difficult to track him down. Inhaling a deep breath of cold air, she took a stab in the dark and walked towards Devonshire Road.
As she studied the hands of each man that passed by, she couldn't help but smile when she happened to notice a few who sported Booker's handiwork. Some of them tried to hide the mechanical fingers, but one or two flaunted them with pride.
Her attention was stolen away from the hands of the strangers around her when she noticed a familiar face. Her heart leapt into her throat.
Squeeze.
Her initial instinct was to flee, but she reminded herself that he had likely given up on hunting her down when he was accepted into the Dead Mice. Letting out a steady breath, she tried to skirt by him casually. He was standing outside of the alley between the ironmonger and an apartment building. There was another man inside the alley, looking about and turning over the garbage and refuse. He returned to the entrance and nodded for Squeeze to follow him. Trinket watched as they made their way to the next alley, repeating the process.
Confused by their actions, she continued on but was again distracted by two other men searching an alleyway on Baker Street. She saw four more men doing the same thing as she walked through the market. She suspected they were all part of the Dead Mice, but what exactly were they doing? Had a debtor run off? Or had one of their members betrayed them?
Though tempted to investigate on her own, she knew the danger of doing so. It would be safer to have Gin or Booker accompany her. With this in mind, she turned towards home in hopes of fetching one of them. But as she passed a set of abandoned buildings, someone grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her into an alley. They pushed her roughly against a brick wall and squeezed her tightly. Looking up, she was met by a wicked smile.
"If it isn't Larkin's little strumpet," Scales said. "What are you doing all by your lonesome?"
She swallowed her terror. "I am in fact a maid, Mr. Scales. I have errands to run."
He glanced down at her hands and raised an eyebrow. "You're rather empty-handed for running errands. And you were rushing through here awful fast. Almost as if you were in a hurry to tell someone about something you'd seen."
Her pulse pounded in her ears. "I don't know what you're talking about."
His grip on her tightened, though his expression remained easy. "Did you catch the excitement last night?"
The sudden change in subject unnerved her, but she would not let it show. "Pardon?"
His mouth lifted in a charming smile. It turned her blood to ice. "Oh, Larkin trained you well, didn't he? The excitement involving Wotton's dead body. I'm assuming your employer received our little gift?"
She didn't respond, but his smile grew nonetheless.
"I know how much he likes to collect such things. Thought it would be a shame to let them go to waste."
His eyes turned hard as he pinned her to the wall with his cold stare. She refused to look away. "My wrists are getting sore. Are we quite done here?"
His lip lifted to reveal his teeth in a sort of twisted grin. She couldn't help but notice that they weren't nearly as white as those of the young man with the dirty fingernails. "What did you find?" he asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb with me, girl. Where is it?"
"Where is what?"
He squeezed her wrists tighter, and a wince escaped her lips. A grin flickered across his face, as if he took pleasure in the sound of her pain. He leaned in so close that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. "Larkin might think he's going to be the one to find the twisted mind behind these latest abominations, but he's underestimated me."
The corpses. He was after the corpses. No, not just them. The creator of them. Booker's friend.
But why?
"Don't get me wrong," Scales said, that charming smile returning. "I gain an advantage when fools think me incapable. But in this instance, Larkin is getting in my way. He stole that blasted wolf from me. I won't let him steal this away, too. Now I'll ask you again. Where. Is it?"
He thought she had found a body. He thought she was off to tell Booker about it. And he wasn't going to believe her if she denied it. What could she do? How was she going to escape?
Scales' hold on her wrists was cutting off circulation. Her fingers tingled with numbness. Desperate to be released, she was ready to feed him lies about a nonexistent corpse.
"Oy, what are you two loitering about for?"
They both turned to the raspy voice, and for once, Trinket was relieved to see a police officer. Jewkes stood at the entrance of the alley, and when he recognized her, his eyes widened. Taking several steps forward, he gestured between them with his billy club.
"Some sort of trouble here?" he asked.
Afraid to speak, she tried to convey her fear to the constable through her eyes. He seemed to understand, as he tightened his grip on the club and took another step towards them. But before he could come within reach of them, Scales released her and dusted off his coat.
"No trouble here, Constable," he said with a smile. "Just a nice little chat. Isn't that right, Miss Trinket?"
The sound of his oily voice speaking her name shocked her. He had never addressed her so familiarly before. Somehow she seemed to think that he didn't know who she was. However, after the specific information he had spouted about the whereabouts of Mr. Wotton's children, she realized that had been an incredibly foolish assumption.
Still unable to form words, she nodded her agreement. Scales gave a soft chuckle. "That's a good girl," he said under his breath. He turned to Jewkes and bowed. "A pleasure as always, Constable. Until next time."
He scooted around the officer and made his way onto the street. Both Trinket and Jewkes watched him until he disappeared. Jewkes then turned to Trinket and looked her up and down, a crease forming between his eyes.
"Are you all right, Miss Trinket?" he asked.
Rubbing her wrists to try to get some feeling back in her fingers, she nodded slowly. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Constable."
He gently took her arm and steered her out of the alley. Keeping hold of her as he accompanied her down the street, he scanned the faces around them. "Larkin get you involved in something?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Trinket shook her head, although it was technically a lie. "No, Scales just assumed I knew something that I didn't."
He let out a sigh. "The occupational hazards that come with working for a man like Larkin." His eyes wandered back to her, and he looked her up and down once again. It wasn't in a lustful way like the Tinker did, though. There was concern behind his gaze. "I still stand by what I said before, Miss Trinket. I'll do what I can to keep you safe."
She gave a soft laugh. "So long as I feed you information about my employer."
His grip on her tightened, but it was far gentler than Scales' touch. "While I would appreciate your cooperation, it is my job to keep the citizens of this city safe." He eyed her. "That includes you."
His warmth surprised her, and she offered a strained smile. "I thank you, Constable. I will do my part to keep the city safe as well."
With a smile, he patted her arm and continued on.
He walked her all the way back to the house, only releasing her once she was safely on the front steps. "Thank you again, Constable. I appreciate your interference today," she said.
"Stay safe, Miss Trinket," he said as he tipped his hat. "And remember, I'm available if you need to talk."
The meaning behind those words was not lost on her. Nodding politely, she turned back to the door and unlocked it. Stepping into the warmth inside, she stripped off her coat and gloves, hanging them on the coat rack by the door. The tips of her fingers were still tingling. She tried to massage the feeling away as she entered the parlour. Sitting on the settee, her attention was snagged by the small sack on the table. Apparently Booker had been too caught up in the excitement of the corpse to dispose of Mr. Wotton's eyes.
Scales' words played in her head, and the chill she had felt while in his presence returned. He really was after the same thing as Booker. And no matter what Booker said, she was certain that Scales was more than capable of giving him a run for his money.
Or his life.