Page 119 of When We Touch

“Well, he would have arrived here from the street—there.”

“Thanks,” Jamie said, and walked in the opposite direction.

* * *

“You poor people don’t get much sleep around here,” Mireau said, stifling a yawn.

It was very late, past 2:30 in the morning. Discomfort among the group was beginning to grow.

Then, the door burst open once again. One of the boys had opened it for a man in a long back cape and deerstalker hat.

Maggie had to stare at him very hard.

He’d grown facial hair—artistically, at that. And hair atop his head. It was short, and strange, but dark. He had a mustache. With hair, and rather astonishingly, he resembled Eddy, the Queen’s grandson.

But for Maggie, there was no mistaking the man. He might be calling himself Jeremiah Heath now, but he was Adrian Alexander. She felt a freeze settling over her, and one look at Mireau, and she knew that he recognized the man as well.

She suddenly prayed that he didn’t recognize Mireau.

But though her friend hadn’t been disguised to appear elderly, as she had been, Cecilia had also done a wonderful job with Jacques Mireau. He was a redhead tonight, and his handlebar mustache was red, as were the heavy muttonchops on his cheeks. She forced herself to find confidence in their masquerade. If they only behaved as they should, he would not know them.

And she had to pray, of course, that he would not, because she had come to understand Arianna’s terror. She tried to count the amount of young cutthroats around them, and decided that, with “Jeremiah” they equaled a group of seven. Seven men, and they were armed. She, Mireau, and Cecilia would be able to walk out tonight—leaving Jeremiah and his thugs eager to have them again, and more of their pounds sterling. But Arianna . . .

Arianna was their prisoner. And if she tried to get the girl out tonight . . .

They would all end up dead.

“Good evening,” the man said.

“Oh, Jeremiah!” Mrs. Hennesy fluttered out, obviously so pleased to see the man that it didn’t matter what the hour.

“I do apologize for my lateness. Traveling the streets tonight is mayhem. You may not be aware, the monster has struck again.”

“Oh, we know!” George said, “I just came through the streets myself. As did this gentleman,” he said, indicating Mireau.

“Horrible business, horrible,” Mireau said.

“Ah, yes!” The man calling himself Jeremiah Heath brought his hands to his heart and looked heavenward. “Perhaps, in time, the spirits of those poor unfortunates will speak to me, and I’ll be able to help the police. God knows, the fools have done little. Whether they mock my powers now, they’ll seek them soon enough.”

“Oh, Jeremiah! Just think. Perhaps you could help!” Mrs. Hennesy said.

“Alas, I have not been able to contact any of those wretched, departed sisters!” he said, and came closer to the table. “You are Mona,” he said, taking Maggie’s hand. She forced herself not to wrench it away. She nearly screamed. He was not wearing gloves, and his hands were uncomfortably . . . damp. Wet, actually, as if he had just washed them, and not dried them.

“And you are Jeremiah Heath!” she breathed.

He nodded, pleased, looked around and met the others with a nod.

He took special note of Cecilia, who blushed prettily.

He then looked around the room, and Maggie saw that his men nodded in return, and disappeared, as if they were taking up their guard positions.

“Ah, and I have kept you waiting long enough,” Jeremiah said, and now he took a position opposite Arianna. “Mr. and Mrs. Hennesy . . . next to dear Mona here. And you, my dear sir,” he said to Mireau, “down there, and you, my lovely lady”—this to Cecilia—“next to me.”

Soon they were all seated. One of the “boys” lowered the gaslight. Arianna began to speak, just as Jane had previously, and soon, Jeremiah Heath was in a trance.

For the second time that night, Maggie thought that someone had missed their calling.

This man, too, should have been on the stage. He might have made his fortune that way, and not through murder and intrigue.