"What a way to start the day",Cherise thought to herself, holding down the thigh of a man twice her size, as her father pulled a large shard of glass from the thick flesh. Blood stained her forearms, smearing on the front of her white nightgown, and droplets spattered upon her face. Strands of her auburn hair stuck to her rosy, freckled cheeks, as beads of sweat rolled down her brow. The sun had not risen more than an hour ago, and her pale green eyes still felt heavy from sleep. With all the relentless screaming from their large patient, she doubted she would stay groggy for long.
Her father was more collected – more awake. Through his thick spectacles she could see his dark eyes fixed in concentration, every muscle relaxed and moving with delicate precision. He had certainly gotten the blunt of the gore, white dress shirt completely stained up to the chest in crimson with tiny droplets in his greying, red beard to match. He inhaled deeply while swiping his wrinkled forehead with the back of his arm, and exhaled slowly. It really was a shame his career had fallen apart; he really was a natural talent at doctoring.
"Press the rag firmly now," he instructed in a feathery, English accent, "I'm going to remove it completely."
Cherise swallowed before nodding at her father. Pressing all of her weight into the wound, her father gave the piece of glass one last tug. The patient let out a roar in agony, lifting his back from the stretcher and slamming it back down again. Blood poured from the gash like a river, and Cherise could feel the warmth rising to her hands through the cloth as she pushed harder. Her father turned, placing the glass into a tin container, and whipped out a thread and needle from his shirt pocket. When the needle was threaded, he instructed Cherise to move her hands to hold the opening together, and then gave a quick swipe over the laceration with some alcohol. Without further warning, he plunged the needle into the skin, and got to work.
The patient, a member of London's newest gang, groaned with every stitch, grinding his teeth on a piece of cloth her father had given him. Henry Green may have been in good standing with the Delany family, but that didn't mean he wouldn't owe them for this. Just after sunrise was a dreadful time to be woken up to a bleeding, hollering man being shoved through your front door.
"All finished," Cherise's father tossed the needle into the tin container, throwing his hands up at a job well done, "the stiches have all been tied."
Cherise lifted the rag from where she had held the wound together, gloves covered in slick red, the unmistakable, metallic odor filling her nostrils. Letting out a curt sigh, she blew on her short bangs and removed her gloves. Spotting a clean patch on her lacy, cotton nightgown, she wiped the perspiration from her face onto the fabric, while her father clattered with his supplies at the workbench behind them.
"I swear; all these early morning operations are the reason I'm balding." Her father sighed, taking a drink of water from a crystal glass. He placed it beside the tin container, perched upon an elevated surgical tray beside the stretcher. "Well Sir, do have a drink if you please."
The patient sat up on his elbows, cleft chin pushing into his chest as his beady eyes peered at the handiwork on his leg. If it hadn't been for his cries of pain moments ago, his bald head and massive shoulders would have intimidated anyone. Even when venerable, Cherise couldn't imagine anyone wanting to take him on. The black pants and lime jacket he wore seemed to be popping up all over London lately. It was clear he was involved with the Rooks. Green better have had an explanation for that as well. As if reading her mind, Cherise's father patted her on the shoulder.
"Would you tell Mr. Green's friend had a splendid operation, dearest? I think it best we not keep him waiting."
Cherise nodded and bowed her head, as her father began talking the patient through the rest. Creeping up from the cellar stairs, Cherise poked her head into the hall to see if Henry was still waiting there. There in the hall was a tall, dark skinned man dressed in a white and gold tunic. His black eyes stared patiently at his pointed slippers, colorful sashes draped around his square hips. The young English woman held back a smile as she continued into the hall, relieved that he hadn't left the domicile.
"Ah," he spoke with a voice light like a breeze, glancing up to greet her with a smile, "Ms. Delany."
"How do you do?" Cherise replied, giving a quick bow. "The man you sent to us should be alright. The wound was deep, but we were able to stitch him up."
"That's good news," Henry exhaled, standing up from the wall, "I didn't know where else to bring him in such short notice."
From what he described to her father, Henry was being assisted by the man with some business in a nearby warehouse. He never went into much detail with stories of his work, but he vaguely mentioned a small explosion. Glass from the window had exploded outward, embedding a piece in his assistant's leg. The bleeding was certainly bad, so he brought him to the nearest place he knew to get help. The Delany's front door.
"You know we are always willing to help, Henry. After what you did for us, against the Blighters I mean, it's the least we can do." She pushed her brows together, mouth tugging upward at the corners. As much as she found herself frustrated with some of the work he brought in, she couldn't help but feel it was all worth it for just that.
"It was merely the luck of the draw," he dismissed with a shake of his head, his raven hair swaying, "I'm not able to do such things for everyone. It just so happened that in your case, I could."
"Well," Cherise said, cocking her head and pouting her lower lip, "the only reason we can even stay in business is because of you, so I thank you for it anyway."
It was hard thinking about what might have happened if Henry had failed, or chose to turn a blind eye. She certainly wouldn't be standing there, let alone speaking with Mr. Green. At one point, the Blighters received orders to run them out of London. Perhaps a competitor wanted them gone; maybe an official with suspicious connections needed their illegal franchise to disappear. Whatever the case, Henry was there to stop it when they invaded their home. Maybe it really was a matter of being in the right place at the right time, but she had a roof over her head because of it.
"You're very welcome," Henry gave a chortle, unable to hold back a grin, "but I'm afraid I'm not quite done asking you for favors."
"A favor?" Cherise furrowed her brow, frowning a bit.
"Perhaps it's best we sit down first?" He added, motioning towards the parlor with his hand.
"Certainly, but I should probably get dressed first." Cherise agreed.
In the parlor, Henry positioned himself on the loveseat as Cherise meddled in the kitchen to make tea. He glanced around the room, the same red wallpaper with gold damask patterns that were on every wall in the house. A wooden boarder covered a fourth of the wall's height, above it various frames and trinkets of all sizes. The space was intimate, not too big and furnished with a few couches, a Turkish rug centered on the floor with a coffee table on top. In the corner, a cherry wood grandfather clock chimed beside a potted plant. It had a warm aura; a certain something that made the place feel inviting.
"Is it seven o'clock already?" Cherise called from the kitchen, tea kettle screeching soon after.
"I suppose so." Henry said with a chuckle, having seen Cherise scramble for the stove through the kitchen doorway.
"You must excuse me for my clumsiness," Cherise sighed, swiping a piece of hair back into her loose up-do, entering the room with a small plate and teacup in the other hand, "I didn't really sleep well last night…"
"Why is that?" Henry frowned, steady hands taking the porcelain plate from her fingers.
"Well," she lowered her voice, a bit of heat rising to her cheeks, "I was quite entranced by my novel, The Headless Horseman. However, when it came time for me to rest my head, I'm afraid I simply couldn't stop my heart from racing."
"Were you frightened?" Henry added, raising a brow as he rested his teacup on his knee.
"N-not terribly," she stuttered, "just a bit…"
"Well," he reassured, holding back a laugh, "just remember that a story is just a story. There's nothing to fear."
"Yes, of course…" Cherise's voice trailed off, as she seated herself on the couch opposite of Henry, "…speaking of stories, did you have one for me then?"
"Ah, indeed!" Henry's eyes widened and he placed his tea upon the table, "I was going to ask you and your father a bit of a favor—if you didn't mind. I have some allies who recently came to London who may need your help from time to time."
"What's all this now?" Cherise's father entered the room, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, "Friends of yours need some help?"
"Mr. Delany." Henry had begun to stand, only to have the motion dismissed by the doctor.
"No need for such formalities, Henry. And call me Edgar." He beamed at the young man, strolling over to give him a pat on the shoulder.
"Mr. De – ah, Edgar," Henry corrected, "I hope it wouldn't be too much trouble."
"Nonsense!" Edgar replied, tsking at the very thought of it, "Any friend of yours is a friend of ours."
"I'm glad to hear it," Henry gave a sheepish smile, gesturing for the older man to take a seat, "and I'm sure they will be glad as well."
Cherise's father positioned himself upon an armchair, crossing his long legs as he did so. He pulled the ends of his straight, black trousers to cover his ankles, exposing a bit of his tall, green socks. Adjusting the suspenders that lay across his broad shoulders, he finally managed to make his lanky body comfortable.
"Will we be performing services for these folks like we have been for you?" The doctor fiddled with his beard, long fingers gently tugging as he thought.
"Well, actually," Henry's eyes bounced back and forth between the pair, "you already have."
"What?" Cherise cocked her head to the side, lips pursed slightly.
"That man I sent in earlier, he's a member of the Rooks, as I'm sure you've figured out."
"Yes," Edgar gave a curt nod, "I was going to ask you about your relationship."
"He works for my allies – the ones who may need your help."
Edgar sighed, crossing his arms and looking to the ceiling. He chewed his lower lip as he always did while in thought, and in his silence, Cherise had some questions of her own.
"What kind of people are they, Henry?" Cherise narrowed her eyes, leaning forward to read his face as he answered. "I never took you for one to mingle with gangs."
Henry understood her suspicion. After all, the Delanys had almost been run out of London by the Blighters a few months ago. The Templars had extensive underground connections, and they didn't like competition. Edgar was certainly a threat, once having been a professor at the University for medical studies.
He refused to work with the Blighters due to their poor treatment of the less fortunate, but with a career ripped away by scandal, he became an easy target for their aggressions. He had little friends of status left, and had even less influence himself. With a single daughter being the only family he had in London, the doctor was defenseless.
But Henry knew the Rooks – or he knew their founders. Those siblings would never approve of preying on the weak, and certainly wouldn't have their gang chasing families from their homes. He just hoped that the Delanys could trust him; that they could trust the Rooks.
"They are a pair of twins," Henry began, looking Cherise in the eye, "and they happen to be close in age to us both."
Cherise could hardly believe what she had heard. How was it that these two people, people her age for that matter, could be so influential? The Rooks seemed to almost spring up overnight, and their strength and numbers was growing by the day. Still, she held back her inquiries until Henry was done explaining. There was more to this story, she was sure.
"They were raised under the same order as I was, and came to London to restore that order here. Our enemies are strong in London, so I was more than relieved to have their help. I didn't expect them to take their mischief to the streets, but they have done great by this city."
"I see," Cherise said, feeling somewhat relieved. "But are they good people, Henry?"
"Most certainly," Henry replied, looking quite serious, "they fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. They bring justice in ways authorities simply cannot."
"And they do this through the rooks?" Cherise raised her brows, not quite convinced.
"I didn't say their methods were sophisticated by any stretch." Henry gave a soft chuckle.
Cherise nodded, still curious, but satisfied enough. After all, who was she to judge when her and her father were currently practicing illegally? Now it was her father's turn to ask questions.
"What will they have us do? More of what we did today?"
"Essentially," Henry folded his hands together, "but they did want to meet you before they took their business further."
"Excellent!" Edgar clapped his hands together, grinning ear to ear, "I was about to plead we do just that! It's not that I didn't trust your word, Mr. Green, I simply cannot put my faith into strangers I had never met."
"I understand perfectly, Mr. De- um, Edgar." Henry cleared his throat, correcting himself immediately. "I've been thinking about having you all meet somewhere near Westminster Abby. If you don't mind, I can set up an arrangement for some time this afternoon."
"Sounds like a plan, Henry." Cherise chirped, standing as she placed her hands on her hips.
"Will you be escorting us, Mr. Green?" Edgar cut in, shooting his daughter a glance.
"Yes, of course." Henry agreed.
"Excellent!" Edgar let out a hearty laugh, walking over to Henry with open arms, embracing the foreign man as he stood from his seat. "Thank you for your cooperation as always, Mr. Green."
"And the same to you, Mr. Delany –" Henry winced at the tight embrace, and stood back to shake the doctor's hand, "oh, and you too, Ms. Cherise."
Cherise felt a warmth rise to her cheeks as Henry gave her a dazzling smile, and gestured farewell before exiting the room. His charm was the kind that was unintentional, but striking to her none the less.
Henry headed up the stairs, escaping through the window on the second floor. From there he took to the rooftops as to not be spotted leaving the home from the street. When he was sure that Henry had left, Edgar turned to his daughter, a stern look etched upon his face. He strode over to her, placing his hands over her shoulders.
"Now Cherise, you mustn't make such bold statements. You cannot simply assume that you can wander downtown without an escort."
"I'm sorry father… I didn't even think to ask for one. I thought that you being there would be enough."
Edgar sighed, his features softening. "I simply want you to start making a habit of asking. For now, it would be fine, but in the future there will be times where I am not to accompany you. When that time comes, you must think of your safety."
"I understand, father…" Cherise couldn't help but sulk, looking to her feet in shame. She hated disappointing her father more than anything.
"You are a clever girl, Cherise," her father spoke softly, placing a hand on her head, "but London can be a dangerous place. Please, do remember that you are just a woman. One woman cannot fend for herself all alone."
Cherise nodded, the praise she received bringing a faint smile to her face. Still, she had to wonder just how dangerous London could really be. With the life she lived, how could it have possibly been any worse? As the time to meet the Frye twins drew near, she would soon have her answer.