Jem squatted, but didn’t follow her. “What if they find us here? We’ll be cornered like a fox in a hole. If we stay out here at least we can run.”
“They’ll catch us if we run-they’re bigger and there are more of them.”
In the end the sound of the men crashing across the field decided Jem. He scuttled into the small, dark space left to him and pressed up next to Maggie. The hole smelled of clay and smoke, and of the faint vinegar of Maggie’s skin.
They huddled together in the cold, trying to calm their breathing. After a minute they grew quieter, their breathing naturally synchronized into an even rhythm.
“I hope Maisie be all right,” Jem said softly.
“Mr. Blake won’t let anything happen to her.”
“What do you think they’ll do to us if they catch us?”
“They won’t.”
They listened. In fact, the men sounded farther off, as if they had veered away and were heading toward Lambeth Palace.
Maggie giggled. “The cabbage.”
“Yes.” Jem smiled. “That were a good aim.”
“Thanks, Dorset boy.” Maggie pulled her shawl closer about her, pressing against Jem as she did so. He could feel her shivering.
“Here, get close so I can warm you.” He put his arm around her; as he pulled her to him she reached up and grasped his other shoulder so that they were encircling each other, and buried her face in his neck. Jem yelped. “Your nose be frozen!”
Maggie pulled her face back and laughed. As she looked up at him Jem caught the gleam of her teeth. Then their lips came together, and with that warm, soft touch all of the cold terror of the evening receded.
7
The kiss did not last as long as either wanted or expected, for suddenly a flaming torch was thrust toward them and a face loomed in from the darkness. Maggie screamed, but managed to cut it short so that it didn’t carry more than a few yards.
“Thought I’d find you two here, gettin’ cozy.” Charlie Butterfield squatted on his heels and contemplated them.
“Charlie, you scared the shit from me!” Maggie cried, at the same time pulling away from Jem.
Charlie noted every move they made-their closeness, their pulling apart, their shame. “Got yourself a hidey-hole, have you?”
“What you doin’ here, Charlie?”
“Lookin’ for you, little sister. As is everyone.”
“What were you doin’ with those men at Mr. Blake’s, anyway? You’re not interested in any o’ that. And why were you botherin’ Mr. Blake? He’s done nothing to you.” Maggie had recovered herself quickly and was working hard to gain the upper hand over her brother.
Charlie ignored her questions, and gave up no ground, returning to the subject he knew made her the most uncomfortable. “Come back here, have you, Miss Cut-Throat? Funny place to bring your sweetheart-back to the scene of the crime. But then, this did used to be called Lovers’ Lane, didn’t it? Before you went and changed it!”
Maggie flinched. “Shut your bone box!” she cried.
“What-d’you mean you haven’t told him, Miss Cut-Throat?” Charlie seemed to take great relish in repeating the nickname.
“Stop it, Charlie!” she shouted, heedless of the men hunting for them.
Jem felt her body shaking in the small space they shared. He said to Charlie, “Why don’t you-”
“Perhaps you should ask your girl what happened out here,” Charlie interrupted. “Go on, ask her.”
“Shut up, Charlie! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Maggie was screaming by the last repetition. “I could kill you!”
Charlie smiled, the torchlight twisting his face. “I expect you could, dear sister. You already showed me your technique.”
“Shut up,” Jem said.
Charlie laughed. “Oh, now you’re startin’. I tell you what-I’ll leave it to them others to decide what to do with you.” He stood up and called out, “Whoo-wee-over here!”
Before he could think about what he was doing, Jem jumped up, grabbed a loose brick, and clapped it against the side of Charlie’s head. Charlie stared at him. Then the torch in his hand began to dip, and Jem grabbed it just before Charlie himself staggered. As he fell, his head knocked against the side of the kiln, ensuring that when he landed on the ground he did not get up.
Jem stood still, clutching the torch. He licked his lips, cleared his throat, and stamped his feet, hoping Charlie would move. All that moved, however, was a trickle of blood down his forehead. Jem dropped the brick, squatted next to him, and held the torch in his face, fear clutching at his stomach. After a moment he saw in the flickering torch light that Charlie’s chest was rising and falling slightly.
Jem turned around to Maggie. She was crouched in the shallow hole, arms wrapped around her knees, rocked with violent shudders. This time Jem did not get in next to her, but stood holding the torch and looking down at her. “What crime?” he said.
Maggie squeezed her knees tighter, trying to control the spasms that shook her. She kept her eyes fastened on the brick at her brother’s side. “D’you remember when we’d lost Maisie in London and were lookin’ for her, and you asked if I’d seen the man get killed on Cut-Throat Lane?”
Jem nodded.
“Well, you were right. I did. But it wasn’t just that.” Maggie took a deep breath. “It was a year and some ago. I was comin’ back from the river down by Lambeth Palace, where I’d been diggin’ in the mud at low tide. Found me a funny little silver spoon. I was so excited I didn’t wait for the others I was with to finish. I just set off to find Pa so he could tell me what the spoon was worth. He knows that sort of thing. He was drinking at the Artichoke-you know, the pub on the Lower Marsh what I took you to when we met, where you met Pa and”-she jerked her head at Charlie lying prone-“him. It was foggy that day, but not so bad that you couldn’t see where you was goin’. I took the shortcut up Lovers’ Lane, ’cause it was quicker. I didn’t think anything of it-I’d gone along there lots o’ times. This time, though, I went round the bend, and round that bend there was a-a man. He was walking the same direction as me, but slowly, so slowly that I caught up with him. He wasn’t old or nothing-just a man. I didn’t think to hang back-I just wanted to get to the Artichoke and show Pa the spoon. So I passed by him, hardly looked at him. And he said, ‘What you runnin’ from?’ And I turned and he-he grabbed me, and put a knife to my throat.” Maggie swallowed, as if still feeling the cold metal pressed against the soft skin at the base of her neck.
“First he asked me what I had, and I gave him a penny-all the money I had on me. I didn’t want to give him the spoon, though, as I’d spent so long digging for it in the mud. So I kept it hidden. But he felt in my pockets and found it anyway. And I should have given it to him to begin with-I shouldn’t have hidden it, it was stupid of me, ’cause the hiding made him angry, and that made him-” Maggie paused and swallowed again. “So he dragged me-here.” She patted the crumbled walls of the kiln.
Charlie’s eyelids fluttered, and he moved a hand up to his head and groaned. Jem shifted the torch from one hand to the other, and picked up the brick. He was glad, in fact, for the excuse not to look at Maggie; relieved too that Charlie was not hurt worse. He did not think he would need to hit him again, but clutching the brick made him feel better.
Charlie rolled onto his side, then sat up, wincing and groaning. “Jesus Christ, my head!” He looked around. “You bastard!” he moaned when he saw Jem with the brick.
“You deserved it, Charlie. At least Jem’s willin’ to defend me.” Maggie looked up at Jem. “Charlie found me, see, with the man. He was comin’ along the lane and he saw us in here. And he come over, and he didn’t do a thing! He just stood there grinning!”
“I didn’t know it was you!” Charlie cried, then held his head, for shouting made it pound. “I didn’t know it was you,” he repeated more softly. “Not at first. All I could see was a muddy dress an’ dark hair. Lots o’ girls has dark hair. I didn’t see it was you until you went and-”