appointments.”
She shivered. She put her hands in her lap and she tried to hide it, but she shivered.
“I’ve dealt with the Houses before. They don’t bite Markhats. We taste of strong bright sun and good clean living.”
She didn’t laugh. “They scare me,” she said, softly. “They ought to scare you too. Walking around after Curfew-are you trying to get killed?”
I leaned back. “You heard about last night.”
A bit of fire crept back into her voice. “Oh, I heard. Some of the cleaning girls are New People. You’re all they’ve talked about. The bold finder Markhat, whistling down the street. By tomorrow they’ll have you lighting your cigars with flaming vampire corpses and kicking down Troll strongholds with the heels of your dressing slippers.”
I frowned. “Dressing slippers don’t have heels, do they?”
Darla came forward, caught my hand across the desk, pulled it toward her. “Listen to me. I like you. I’d like to spend a year or two getting to know you. I’d like to teach you how to read and trim your hair and knit you a pair of earmuffs for Yule. But I won’t get to do any of that if you make midnight strolls down Arbuckle Avenue part of your exercise regimen.”
I bit back a short reply. There was something in her voice, something making it shake, something tingeing it with fear.
Inspiration dawned.
“You’ve been talking to Mama. She pulled out her cards and turned down the lamps and convinced you she could see my untimely demise unless I mend my wicked ways.” She’d do that, too, I thought. Just her little way of getting things said that she knew I’d not bear coming from her.
Darla gripped my hand harder. “She was reading her cards when I came in. And she wouldn’t tell me what she saw. But I know people, Markhat. She saw something. And whatever it was scared her.” She realized how tight she held me, let loose, leaned back. “We both know what Mama is, most of the time.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “But you sit there and you tell me it’s all fake, all the time. Tell me it’s all put-on. Tell me, and I’ll forget all about it.”
“It’s all fake, all put-on, all the time.”
“Liar.” She found a smile. Not a big one, not a strong one. But maybe she knew she’d pushed too hard. “Just promise me one thing. Will you do that?”
“Ask, and we’ll see.”
“Just be careful. More than usual. Especially after dark. Can you do that, Markhat? Just for a while?”
I sighed. “I promise. And speaking of Curfew breaking-it’s getting pretty dark out there right now, and I’m not the one ten blocks from home.”
“What have I to fear, when the valiant finder Markhat is at my side?” She batted her eyes at me, gave me a sly grin. “You will keep an eye on me, won’t you?”
“I promise. You’re safe with me.”
“You mean it?”
“I do.” I must have looked suddenly puzzled. She’d lost her grin, lost the playful twinkle in her eyes. I realized something had happened, but couldn’t place it from the words we’d spoken.
She took a deep breath. “I asked around today,” she said, looking away. “About Martha.”
“And what did you hear?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I asked the girls if they’d seen her with anyone. Asked if she’d gotten any messages, or sent any runners, or gotten any flowers on All Heart’s Day. She hadn’t, she didn’t, and she hadn’t.” Darla sighed. “I guess that isn’t much help.”
“It tells me where not to look. That’s something. Especially coming from people I couldn’t ask.”
She bit her lip. “There’s something else.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t really want to tell you.”
“Which means you certainly should tell me.”
She sighed again, brought up her hands, put them on the desk. Her knuckles were white. She took a breath and looked away.
“The day Martha disappeared, she had a bag. In the bag was eleven hundred crowns.”
I whistled. “Paper or coin?”
“Paper,” said Darla. She looked up at me. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” she added, quickly. “Martha didn’t steal the money. I gave it to her. It was mine. We’d been planning to open a dressmaker’s shop. The eleven hundred was my share.”
I fought the urge to rise. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, but I didn’t. I’ll always regret that.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
She shook her head, finally looked back at me. “Eleven hundred crowns? I was sure you’d quit looking. Sure you’d figure Martha just took the money and bought a stage ticket.”
“Do you think that’s what she did?”
I waited. Eleven hundred crowns-gods, you could buy your own stagecoach line for that, and have enough left over for a small house or two.
“Maybe I did, at first. Maybe I was angry. Maybe I was so shocked I couldn’t think straight. But I decided something, finder, after you came to see me. I decided Martha was my friend. Martha was no thief and I ought to be ashamed of myself for thinking such a thing.”
I opened my mouth to tell her she shouldn’t be ashamed, but she spoke again first.
“I know eleven hundred crowns is a lot of money. It was everything I had. But if you’re about to tell me that you think Martha ran away with it, then you’re not the man I think you are.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that if Martha Hoobin wanted eleven hundred crowns she could have gotten twice that by raiding Ethel’s sock-drawer.” I recalled the ragged stuffed bear, tucked away in a chest with a pillow under its head. “Whatever this is about, it isn’t about your money. I’m not going to stop looking for Martha.”
“Good,” she said. She sighed, with relief this time, and for the first time she looked tired. “So we’re still friends?”
“We are. I don’t blame you for not telling me, first thing. You didn’t know me then, hadn’t had a chance to succumb to my mannish and worldly charms.”
She laughed. I rummaged in my pocket, brought out the silver comb. “This turned up last night,” I said. “Ever seen it before?”
She took it, eyed it critically. “Never. It’s a bit gaudy. Where did you find it?”
“Martha’s dresser,” I replied. “In a junk jar. Her brothers hadn’t seen it before.”
“It doesn’t look like anything Martha would buy.” She handed it back to me and frowned. “Where did she get it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she bought it herself. But no one knows who gave it to her, or when.”
Darla bit her lower lip. “The Park. It had to be the Park.”
I pricked up my ears. “Why the Park?”
She smiled an impish smile. “If you wanted to meet a girl, where would you go?”
I shrugged. “I just stand still and young ladies flock to me in doe-eyed droves. Why don’t you tell me how lesser men find hearts to break.”
“The Park.” She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Strolls through the flower gardens? Benches beneath the whispering oaks? Lazy afternoons watching the sun?”
I frowned. “And?”
“It’s a good thing you met me when you did. Let me spell it out for you. Martha lived with four scowling behemoths in a Balptist neighborhood. She worked with women in a house guarded by the Hoogas. She went three places-work, home and the Park.”
I shook my head. “Interesting. Maybe I’ll hire you as an assistant. Mama can read her cards and you’ll do all the thinking and I’ll be able to sleep in, emerging only occasionally to collect fees and issue directives to the Watch.”
