“I talked with Mac this morning. I think we need to discuss his duties now that Rebecca is here.”
“It’s something to consider,” he replied, nodding. “We’ll talk when the two of you return from your tour.”
The crowd behind us hushed as Rebecca and her father appeared at the door. Everyone stood and I could feel the beating of my heart as I watched her walk down the aisle. She was soon at my side and the service commenced.
Rabbi Mordecai began by explaining that the ceremony would by and large be Jewish, but that he would relate each part of the ceremony to a verse in the New Testament. I thought that he had his work cut out for him. There were a few murmurs among the guests, but he was used to such things, having stood in the gap between these two faiths who worshiped one God for years.
First, we drank a ceremonial glass of wine together as Rabbi Mordecai explained it symbolized the joy of our union and the sanctification of a man and a woman to each other. The wine was terrible and I choked a little.
Next came the walk around the chuppah. As Mordecai chanted in Hebrew, we slowly circled the delicate structure together, symbolizing the journey we were about to begin together. I was about to do so without incident, but I think Rebecca must have trod on the front of her dress. She stumbled and bumped the chuppah. I caught her, but everyone gasped as the flimsy structure began to sway. I looked up to see her cheeks burn scarlet.
Afterward came the lighting of one candle with one of our own. It was a simple matter, two lit candles lighting one, symbolizing the union as two became one. By then, both of our hands were shaking so violently that lighting the standing candle with the flame of a taper in our hands was difficult, but we managed to succeed.
The rabbi brought us in front of the assembled crowd and we went through the Christian part of the ceremony, the vows. My tongue cleaved to the back of my throat and I was certain that I would stumble over or even forget the two words I was going to say. Looking at Rebecca, I wondered if she felt the same.
“I will,” I croaked.
At last, Rabbi Mordecai spoke a final prayer over us in Hebrew. The ceremony was almost over. He folded a cloth over a glass goblet and set it in front of us. He explained that the breaking of the glass suggests the fragility of human relationships.
“As this glass shatters, may your marriage never break,” he intoned.
I stepped forward onto the bundle, but it didn’t shatter. I saw a flash of surprise on her face. This was it, I was certain. She was going to bolt. The ceremony had been a shambles. I stepped forward again and the goblet slid out from under my foot and skittered a foot or two away.
There was a wail, then, and I realized as my stomach clenched that it was Rebecca. Then I heard laughter from the side of the marriage altar; loud, rumbling laughter. It belonged to Cyrus Barker. Then others began to laugh, too. I had never felt so mortified in my life. I looked up at Rebecca and I realized my own wife was laughing, too. In fact, she nearly collapsed, she was laughing so hard. Worse yet, I heard Rabbi Mordecai beginning to chuckle, as well.
In desperation, I jumped into the air and came down upon the goblet and the cloth, and at last, the glass gave a satisfying pop. Everyone jumped to their feet and spontaneously began to applaud. People were yelling and even whistling.
Then I understood, if a bit belatedly. They were laughing with us, not at us. We were loved in that room. The laughter bubbled up in my chest and burst forth. I had never laughed so loud in my life. I walked to my bride’s side, put her arm in mine, and we left the chuppah as Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Llewelyn.
It was an interesting wedding. It would be an interesting marriage, as well, and we would not change even a minute of it for the world.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
That day Rebecca Llewelyn gave up wearing black. The gown she changed into for the reception was a silvery blue. I looked at her with pride. She was mine now. All her worldly goods, but I didn’t care about that. She was entitled to keep all she owned. Now that I had her, I needed precious little else.
Still, I owned a house, in the abstract at least. I had spent much of my life in hovels, garrets, cottages with too many people, usually no more than a bed to myself. I had skipped ahead of the rent. I had worked for my board. To think that I might own a place, any place in this world, was alien to me. No more so, however, than having someone for my very own, someone who loved me. Someone who, in fact, had just tethered herself to me for life.
Mac had delivered a change of clothing to the house in Camomile Street, and it felt strange changing into my gray cutaway in so feminine a guest room. When I had finished knotting my tie, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Thomas Llewelyn, married man. Thomas Llewelyn, husband.
I came down the stair and was stopped by Aunt Lydia. She took my arm and kissed me on the cheek.
“Welcome to the family, Thomas,” she said.
“Am I a Mocatta now, or is she a Llewelyn?”
“Only time will tell, darling.”
Rebecca came out with a spring in her step. Her dark eyes were livelier than I had ever seen them. There was a dimple in her cheek. She was exuberant when she came up and took me by the hand.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
“You look glad the ceremony is over.”
“I’ve had easier cases,” I admitted.
The reception was at the Mocattas’ house. Rebecca’s father extolled the joys of converting to Judaism. Mrs. Mocatta actually touched my hand and I wondered for the first time if I might be able to build a relationship with her, too. I would try, for Rebecca’s sake.
I heard a squealing wheel behind me and turned to meet the Guv.
“How are you, sir?” I asked.
“I’m fine, lad. The question is, how are you?”
“Never better. What will you do while I am away?”
“Philippa has convinced me to go with her to Sussex to convalesce. The offices will be closed until we both return.”
“Excellent.”
The Guv frowned as he inspected me. “Married now, eh?”
“So it would seem.”
“It looks good on him, don’t you think?” Philippa said, bending over his shoulder.
Barker mumbled in response. She was pressing him. Cyrus Barker does not like being cornered, but then Philippa Ashleigh is fearless. One would have to be in order to have a relationship with my employer.
“I expect you back from your tour on time, lad,” the Guv said. “When we reopen the agency in a few weeks, there will be a surfeit of matters that will need our attention. You need to be rested and refreshed and ready to get back to work.”
“Yes, Mr. Barker, sir.”
The reception was under way. It became a blur of cutting of cake and speeches. Israel Zangwill spoke in lieu of Barker and gave a very jovial oration, completely at my expense. It was my own fault for revealing myself over the years to a now-treacherous friend.
The Scotland Yard contingent finished their punch and shook my hand, preparing to leave. Some people worked for a living.
“Now that you are a married man,” Sergeant Kirkwood said, “you might want to set something aside permanently for bail.”
“Droll, Sergeant,” I replied. “Very droll.”
The party went on too long. We had to reach Dover in a few hours if we were going to meet the ferry. My sense of time was lost. Some moments took forever, while others sprinted beyond me, calling for me to hurry or be left behind. I looked up and saw that Rebecca was smiling at someone, but I saw the strain in her eyes. I frowned at Israel.
“Everyone!” he said, rising. “A final toast to the young couple or they will miss their train, which would not be an auspicious start to the marriage.”
They drank to us. We were unused to such good wishes, or at least I was. Rebecca was whisked off by friends and soon returned in a traveling dress of lavender-and-white stripes. It was a bit modern, but then we were going to Paris first. She kissed everyone in the room save my employe
r and then we were finally off.
“Drive along Whitehall Street!” she called to the cabman after I had helped her into the hansom.
“Dear, there is no time!” I argued.
“There is plenty of time, darling. I had Israel set your watch forward an hour.”
“You clever little minx.”
“One of us has to be clever,” she replied. “I decided it would be me.”
“What, pray tell, is in Whitehall Street?”
“Oh, government buildings, public houses, offices…”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
She smiled and we bowled down the Strand, with her hand in the crook of my arm. She looked at me with a smile. Our lives were about to begin. I wanted her to feel that way for her entire life. I was a lucky man, I who had blasted luck my entire life.
“Here, driver!” she sang out.
We came to the curb in front of the Clarence, right beside the gate at Scotland Yard.
“You intend to have me arrested,” I said.
“Not yet, but I reserve the right.”
She took my arm and propelled me in the direction of Nelson’s Column.
“What’s this all about?” I demanded.
We reached Craig’s Court and Rebecca promptly stopped. She held out an arm to our offices. There was a new hoarding over the door:
BARKER AND LLEWELYN
Private Enquiry Agents
It smote me. My eyes began to water. It was difficult to breathe.
“I don’t deserve this,” I stammered. “I nearly lost the case.”
She wiped my eye with a morsel of a handkerchief. “That’s not for you to decide, darling. It was Mr. Barker’s wish.”
I thought I was going to break down. Six years. Six years I had worked here. I had been shot, stabbed, very nearly hung. Barker had saved me countless times and I’d even saved him once or twice. I had doubted this day would ever come.
“Don’t dawdle, Thomas,” my wife murmured in my ear. “Remember, we have a train to catch.”
Also by Will Thomas
Some Danger Involved
To Kingdom Come
The Limehouse Text
The Hellfire Conspiracy
The Black Hand
Fatal Enquiry
Anatomy of Evil
Hell Bay
Old Scores
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WILL THOMAS is the author of the Cyrus Barker and Thomas Llewelyn series, including Old Scores, Hell Bay, Anatomy of Evil, and the Shamus and Barry Award–nominated Some Danger Involved. He lives in Oklahoma. You can sign up for email updates here.
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Also By Will Thomas
About The Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BLOOD IS BLOOD. Copyright © 2018 by Will Thomas. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by Sara Wood and David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover artwork © Mark Owen / Arcangel; clouds © Tim Robinson / Arcangel; tower © Justin Black / Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request
ISBN 978-1-250-17038-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-17039-2 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250170392
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
First Edition: November 2018