Girl of Shadows Read Online Free Page B

been rostered on in her place. She didn’t really mind: it was all money in her pocket — and in the Charlotte fund, carefully hidden under the floorboards in Sarah’s room.
    Rowie, though, would have to do something about her bleeding: this wasn’t the first time she’d cried off and she’d only been working for Elizabeth Hislop for four months. Rowie reckoned it didn’t matter how many sponges she stuck up there it still leaked through. And she wasn’t malingering either; you only had to look at the poor thing’s pinched, white face to see the pain she suffered.
    Friday smiled to herself as she thought of Sarah scaring the shite out of Esther Green. It certainly would serve her right. But the smile faded as she recalled the conversation that had given rise to Sarah’s latest scheme — the dreams fuelled by the awful power Bella Jackson wielded over all three of them. Bella knew they’d killed Gabriel Keegan, and Friday hated Bella even more than she’d loathed Keegan — they’d both been directly responsible for Rachel’s death — and the fact that Bella now controlled their fates made her blood boil every time she allowed herself to think about it. Theworst of it was the waiting. Bella had shown her hand in May: it was now September and nothing more had happened except that Friday, Sarah and Harrie had become increasingly sick with worry, wondering when and how she would strike.
    Friday walked down the carriageway at the side of the Siren’s Arms and around the back to the cobbled courtyard, fanning flies from her face with her hat, and flicked a wave to the stable boy, thirteen-year-old Jimmy Johnson. He grinned and waved back. She poked her head into the kitchen, said hello to the girls working there, their cheeks red from the heat of the enormous cooking fire, then pushed open the hotel’s back door. The light in the little foyer was dim but she could hear noise coming through from the bar at the front, and the sound of Jack Wilton swearing nearby.
    ‘Jack?’ she called. ‘You need a hand?’
    ‘Nah, I’m right.’
    He came around the corner struggling to roll a large beer barrel along the corridor, cursing again as it veered and banged noisily into the wall. ‘Shit, that’ll put a bloody great head on it.’
    Friday dropped her reticule and hat and grabbed one end of the barrel; between them they steered it across the flags in the right direction, towards the bar.
    ‘You didn’t heave this out of the cellar yourself, did you?’ Friday asked, giving the barrel a shove with her palm to keep it going straight. ‘Where’s Al?’
    Jack shook his head. ‘Me and him hoisted it up, but the bar’s flat out this afternoon. He had to nip back. I said I’d roll it along meself.’ He stopped and whipped open a door. ‘Quick, darlin’, now’s our chance.’
    Friday laughed: it was the storeroom where Mrs H, who owned both the hotel and the brothel, kept the spare plates, cutlery and linen for the hotel dining room. She slapped Jack’s arm playfully. ‘You never give up, do you?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘I told you you’ll be the first to know if I ever change my mind.’
    ‘Not today, then?’ Jack said, crestfallen.
    ‘Not today.’
    ‘You’re missing the time of your life.’
    ‘No doubt I am.’
    ‘Ah well.’ Jack closed the door again.
    Friday smiled, more to herself this time, and turned back to the barrel. Jack Wilton was Mrs H’s driver, handyman and part-time barman, very good-looking and a bit flash. He’d been after her for a shag ever since she’d arrived: she hadn’t capitulated and was never likely to. She had no intention of doing it for nothing and he couldn’t afford what she charged. Also, she suspected he genuinely fancied her and had high hopes, and she couldn’t have that. On the other hand, she had a fair idea he put himself about, so she didn’t feel too bad about constantly turning him down.
    ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s get this where it