Jane awoke with a gasp.
The cure.
A panic spread throughout her body. Her breath was ragged, her eyes wide open.
Carefully pulling back her quilt, she tip-toed to her door. The floor creaked beneath her, which made her wince.
When she had changed earlier that day, she had left the cure in her pocket. She didn't know what they had done with the clothes, but she hoped that they were still there.
Carefully opening the door, she poked her head out.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" There was a guard right next to her door. "Get back in there."
"Shit," she mumbled, and she sulked back to her bed. She could hear a lock being put on the door.
Could she talk to Mr. Bronte and get it back? He seemed sensible enough.
The cold room made her feel as if she were in a prison. She basically was, though. How she longed to grab Jack and run back to the gang. That guaranteed a shot in her head, though.
And Arthur. She wanted so bad to go back to how they were when they were first were sweet on each other. Everything seemed perfect then.
If only he told her where he was going all the time. If only he hadn't sprung this proposal on her. If only he hadn't gotten TB.
Eventually, she worries exhausted her, and she fell back asleep.
~~~~
"Auntie Jane, how long are we going to be here?" Jack asked, picking at his oatmeal.
"I don't know, Jack. Hopefully not long."
"I want my mamma," He said sadly.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know, I know. We'll see everyone soon, okay?"
Then, Mr. Bronte walked in. "Ah, good morning, you two. Sleep well?"
"I suppose so."
Jack put his spoon down. "Why was there a man with a gun outside my room?"
He just chuckled. "Just to keep you safe. Now," he said, reading a note. "I've got a meeting today with one of my business partners, which I should be in right now. I trust you two will behave yourselves?"
The pair nodded, not quite sure what else to say.
"Good. Don't worry, you'll be monitored during your whole stay here."
He left as quick as he came, leaving Jack and Jane to eat their oatmeal. The room was quiet, with just the sounds of their spoon scraping the bowl. Jane had never been a big fan of oatmeal, but it was better than nothing.
"I want to go home," Jack said, a sad look in his eyes.
It felt as if her heart was being crushed by Mr. Bronte's fist. "Me too. But we'll be home soon, okay? Your mamma and pa will throw a big party for you, and everything will be alright."
"Okay, Auntie Jane."
Then Jane remember something.
"Oh, shit!" She said to herself. The cure.
She bounded out of the room. "Jack, stay there!"
"Hey, stop!" The guard yelled, but she paid him no mind. What was he going to do, shoot her with a guest in the house?
She hurried up the steps and began to run down the hall, but the guard caught her, holding a gun to her neck. "I'd stop if I were you."
She wasn't sure if this was lucky or not, but they were standing right in front of Mr. Bronte's open office.
"Goodness, Matteo," He said, sipping from a glass. "Let her be. Excuse me for a moment, Signorina."
The guard, Matteo, released her.
"Now, whatever is the matter, dear?" Mr. Bronte asked, moving closer to them.
"I... I left something in my pocket yesterday, when we changed. I was just going back to get it."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "What was it?"
But before she could answer, a familiar voice called her name. "Jane?"
There, stood her aunt. She looked just as regal as she did when she visited when Jane was younger. Big, poofy dress with her hair pulled back into a slick bun.
"Aunt Beatrice?" Jane asked breathlessly. No, this can't be happening.
Mr. Bronte looked between the two, obviously confused. Her aunt looked just as shocked.
"Whatever are you doing here, girl?" She asked, her face holding some expression that Jane could not decipher.
"I...I-"
"She's my guest," Mr. Bronte answered for her. "How do you know her?"
"She's my brother's son. She was supposed to visit me months ago but hopped of the train with a gang of outlaws," she said, disgust riddled in her voice. "Where have you been?"
"Um... around," she answered meekly.
Jane knew that her aunt was a force to be reckoned with. After owning a girl's finishing school for 20 years, you learn to be stern.
But Jane couldn't believe that she was standing right here in front of her. Worst yet, though, she knew that she wasn't going be able to slip through her fingers again.
"I see," Mr. Bronte said, gesturing for Jane to come in the room. "So, you're the one that was supposed to marry my son."
Jane nearly hurled. His son was the one she was arranged to marry?
The three sat down with the tension in the room thick.
"Yes, she was. Is," She corrected herself.
Is? I can't get married! What about Arthur? What about the gang?
Mr. Bronte sipped on his glass again. "Well, I'm not sure if I want such a... troubled girl as my daughter-in-law. I though you told me I was getting the best of the best?"
"And that's what you'll get. She'll go through my finishing school, and be the perfect wife when she is through."
Mr. Bronte didn't seem convinced. He scanned Jane up and down, which made her squirm more than she already was.
"Angelo," she persisted, "We've been friends for how long now? You can trust me."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if thinking. "Fine. But you, my dear," he said, placing his thumb under Jane's chin, "must shape up."
Her aunt clapped her hands together. "Ah, very well. I knew you'd come around. I'll send for my brother and his wife, and we'll get everything arranged?"
"Sounds perfect to me," He said.
They stood up, leaving a shell-shocked Jane on the couch.
"Aunt Beatrice, I don't want this," she said, standing up. That in itself was a feat, as her legs were shaking.
She looked back at Jane with such a fire in her eyes Jane though she would combust. "You've already disappointed us once. Don't do it again."
Mr. Bronte, who was talking to his guard, turned back to her. He was holding something in his hand. "Now, this is a joyous occasion, yes? Let's not ruin it. And I believe this is what you're looking for?" He held up the cure.
Jane's blood ran cold. "Yes," she replied shakily.
He handed it to her aunt. "See getting it back as an... incentive to behave throughout this."
The urge to release a long string of curse words at him was all to strong, but she shoved it down.
Her aunt looked at her with a sense of victory. "Now, let's get going, shall we? We've got work to do!" She left the room, with a guard ushering Jane behind her.
Before she left the room, Mr. Bronte stopped her. He, again, placed his thumb under her chin. "Welcome to the family, doll," he said in a low voice.
She clenched her jaw tight and didn't say anything.
"It will be a nice family, depending on your behavior." He pulled away, but didn't release his gaze from her. "Now go catch up with your aunt. Don't want to keep her waiting."
Her fists were balled as she was lead down the hall and through the house.
Little Jack ran up to her. "Auntie Jane? What's going on? Who's that?"
Oh shit. What was she going to do about Jack? She couldn't leave him here.
She tried to run to him, at which the guard grabbed her.
"Jack, be good okay?"
"Where are you going?"
"Be brave, alright? I'll see your soon."
She couldn't bare to look his face. How would she tell Abigail that she couldn't protect Jack?
Everything was falling apart and there was nothing she could do about it.
~~~~
Arthur grumbled to himself he dumped the last body into the water. Shady Belle had been a bloody fight, but it was over nonetheless.
After Micah, Bill and him had shot half of Rhodes, they decided that it wasn't good to stay nearby. And, they could be closer to Saint Denis to see about this Angelo Bronte business.
He watched as the old man's body floated away. Arthur hadn't seen anyone kill themselves before, so it was a bit startling. But, he tried to shake it off as the gang started rolling in.
Dutch hopped off his wagon and approached him. "Well, this seems about perfect! Any issues?"
"Just a couple squatters that we took care of. Nothing insane."
Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, son. Now, I want you to come with me to Saint Denis. Get a sniff of what the city's like."
Arthur sighed. "You know I don't like cities."
"I know, son. I know. But if Jack and Jane are there, we need to go."
"I know, Dutch. Let's get a move on then," he said, mounting up.
The pair rode off through the sticky air. They were even closer to the swamp than they were in Clemens Point. Arthur wouldn't dare admit it to anyone, but he had had a fear of gators since he was little. Now, living amongst them was going to drive him insane.
The city came into view. To Arthur it was disgusting. To Dutch, it was full of opportunities.
But, Arthur knew she was in there. Hopefully, she and Jack were safe. So, they trudged into the city and civilization.
"Now, you go ask around about Angelo Bronte. I'm going to go to the other side of the city."
Arthur nodded, and they separated. The city was full with so many different people and smells. Most of them bad.
Much to his dismay, he had to slow his horse down to a trot. People around him were yelling for him to slow down, though he wasn't going that fast in his opinion.
He came across a large saloon. Seems like a good spot to start.
Pushing the doors open, he entered. Everyone look at him, and he couldn't blame them. They were all dressed up and fancy, while he was wearing boots and a worn hat.
Making his way to the bar, they all eventually went back to their business.
"You look like a whisky man," the bartender said as he pour a shot. "That'll be a dollar."
"A dollar?" Arthur said, making a face.
"Finest whisky, straight from Scotland."
Arthur drank it. "Alright, here have one for yourself." He put two dollars on the bar.
"Well, thank you," He said, pocketing them greedily.
"Now, I'm looking for a feller. Goes by the name 'Bronte.' You heard of him?"
He stopped wiping the bar and looked at Arthur. "Who's asking?"
"Me. I'm asking."
"Leave it."
Arthur was getting tired of these games. "What do you mean, leave it?"
"Look, I don't know what business you in, but leave it, pal."
Shaking his head, he left the bar and went out the door. "Damn city folks," he grumbled to himself.
Before he could walk any farther, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Bronte?" The man said. "Angelo Bronte? Mr. Big? Mr. Italian-spaghetti-eating-long-streak-of-piss-big? Yeah he makes my skin crawl... some swarthy cocksucker. You know what I mean friend?"
"Where can I find him?"
"Oh, I reckon you can talk to those kids in the alley...they'll know how to get him."
Arthur started down the alley way, with the man calling after him, "You be careful now, friend."
He went through the back ways until he came across two older kids leaned up against a wall.
"Hey, you got a cigarette, Mister?" The younger one called.
"Maybe," He said, stopping in front of them. "I'm looking for a feller named Angelo Bronte. Italian."
A black haired kid came forward. "I know him. Everyone knows him."
"Where is he?"
At this point, there was a whole flock of kid surrounding him.
The little one spoke back up. "We'll take you to him. But it'll cost."
"I reckon I can pay."
"Five dollars." He said.
"Where's he live- New York?" Arthur snapped.
"I'm an entrepreneur," the kid said plainly. "You don't want to pay, I don't want to work."
A kid reached towards his satchel, but he swatted it away. "Oh, man..." he muttered, counting out five dollars. "Hustled by a brat. Here." He gave him the money, but wasn't happy about it. "Come on."
"This way. Let's go, mister." The kid began walking away, leaving Arthur to follow him. "You coming, Cleet?" He called to another kid behind them. "Stay close- it's easy to get lost around here." This kid would not shut up. "You new to the city?"
"Pretty much."
"Don't worry. No one know it as good as me and Cleet."
"Is that right?"
As they walked through the city, the kid gave him a tour of the city. Again, he would not shut up.
"And here we have the Church of the Holy Blessed Virgin, mister. Modeled on the famous church in Toulouse, which is in France. You ever been to Toulouse?"
"No."
"We're Catholics here, mister. Ain't Baptist or nothing."
Cleet spoke up from behind them. "My mamma said they used to burn Protestants and all, but uh..."
"Bet they don't have nothing so fine where you come from, mister. Look at them fine steeples..."
As he was rambling on, Arthur realized that the other kid, Cleet, was robbing him blind. "Hey! You little pair of shits!" He yelled, running after him.
Cleet jumped on the back of a wagon, which began moving. Arthur ran after them, anger fueling him. "You give that back!"
The kid jumped off at the end of the street and started running. He jumped up onto a trolley. "Bye, mister," he called, cackling.
Arthur jumped on onto a random horse and started chasing the trolley down.
"Come on," the kid taunted. "Run like the goats are loose."
"You better stop right now!"
The kid hopped off the trolley, as it was slowing down. He booked it down and alley way.
Arthur got off the horse and chased after him. His breathing was shallow, and his body was begging him to stop, but he wouldn't.
"Ain't you tired yet, old man?" The kid yelled.
He chased the boy across the street and down and alley way, until he jumped over a wall, which Arthur did. Before the kid could run again, he grabbed him and forced him to the ground. "You little bastard!"
"I was just playing!"
"Give me my things back."
"Get off me, mister. I'm a good boy, I swear!"
"Give me my things," Arthur repeated in a deadly voice.
He handed him a bag, which Arthur snatched back.
"Bronte?" Arthur demanded.
"At home," Cleet replied.
"Where?"
"Big house on Flavian Street, across from the park."
"Okay," Arthur said, then released him.
"Welcome to Saint Denis, mister. It's quite a town."
"Get lost," he replied, putting on his bag. "Before I change my mind about letting you walk free."
The kid ran away, and Arthur made his way to Dutch.
He sat on a bench, clearly enjoying himself. "Where have you been?"
"Getting robbed."
"Who by?"
"Buncha children."
Dutch chuckled as he stood up next to him. "I won't inquire anymore."
"Just remind me never to have any."
"Of course, son," he chuckled. "So what'd you find?"
"Mr. Bronte seems to be some Italian mister, big in this town. Everybody know him but no one want to talk about him. Apparently lives in a big house on Flavian street, opposite the park."
"Huh, good work."
"So what now?"
"We go pay him a visit. I'll get John, you meet us there. Whatever it takes- we need to get them back." Dutch hopped onto his horse, and with a nod, rode away.
Oh, Jane. I'm coming for you.