Page 41 of Barely a Woman
“Thank you, sir. I meant not to intrude.”
The woman’s voice brought Steadman bolt upright in his chair. When she turned to face Jack, Steadman nearly fell to the floor.Morgan!
“No trouble, little missy,” said the gang leader. “Pretty faces are never a bother.”
As Steadman gaped with astonishment, Morgan reached a tentative hand to brush Jack’s barrel chest. “Aren’t you a charmer, Mister…”
“Mister nothin.’ My friends call me Three-Finger Jack.” He splayed a paw of a hand bereft of the little and ring fingers. “And you are?”
“Miss Brady.” Her voice was tremulous as she withdrew her hand and lowered her gaze. “And are we now friends, Mr. Jack?”
“Oh, I’d like to be more than just friends.”
Steadman watched with fascinated horror as Morgan tried not to wilt in place. In a moment of frozen time, hesaw her—truly her—for perhaps the first time. The green dress accentuated curves formally buried beneath a threadbare suit. Her short locks were pinned up with a pair of combs into a decidedly delicate configuration. With hair swept aside, her prominent cheekbones and long neck cried femininity to the heavens. Her voice, boyish before, revealed itself for what it truly was—in possession of a sultry quality like the full-throated alto of a songbird. Her eyes alone remained unchanged—wide, intelligent, remarkable. But they also held a spark of fear.
“Tell me, sir. How did you lose your poor fingers?’
The giant man’s brow drew downward. “Nobody dares ask that question.”
She blinked twice, her fear more palpable still. “My apologies. I merely assumed everyone knew but me.”
Jack’s face split into a grin, and he laughed. “Just foolin,’ missy. You’re no coward, I grant you that. And if you must know, I lost ‘em in a fight. It was back in oh-four, during the dead of winter.”
With that, he began spinning the tale of his missing fingers, dramatic, detailed, likely embellished, and clearly designed to impress his new acquaintance. While Steadman watched Morgan, she listened intently and smiled at all the right times. In the throes of his observations, an alien emotion welled up from the depths of his soul to flood his chest. So unique was the sensation that he needed a moment to identify it.
Abject jealousy.
Without knowing quite when, he had risen to his feet. On finishing his tale, Jack captured Morgan’s chin as if to kiss her, even while she tried to duck away from his hand. Steadman ambled three steps forward before Morgan’s panicked gaze found his.
Come quickly, it said.
In an instant he was between the gang leader and Morgan, prying her away from the bar until a table blocked his path. He pivoted to stand as a shield between her and Jack, his temples pulsing with anger. The giant took one step in his direction.
“I’m going to crush your face, pretty boy.”
***
Held in Steadman’s grip behind him, Morgan felt her partner tense for the coming battle. Three-Finger Jack’s associates starting to lean into the conflict, convinced her that Steadman was in dire straits. She wrestled away from his grip and planted herself between the two men.
“I would not, Mr. Jack.” Her plaintive assertion caught the gang leader’s attention.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because this man is of devilishly low cunning and good with a knife in close quarters. He has made a steady living of criminal enterprise, the lower the job, the more to his liking. In fact, his friends and enemies alike call him Worm.”
Steadman exhaled a huff of breath into her hair. “Worm?”
Jack squinted at Steadman, clearly suspicious of her claim. “I don’t know…”
“Indeed, it is true,” she said hurriedly. “He once packaged a constable in Cornwall and sent him to Wales on the morning mail coach. That was after the time he created a detour on the Dover highway and robbed seven coaches singlehandedly as they came along. And then there was the day he liberated an orphanage and turned all forty-three of the children into the most effective band of pickpockets in Liverpool.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose as she spoke. Heseemedimpressed. However, his brow furrowed again. “How come I never heard of him, then?”
“A Home Office conspiracy. They actively bury his name to prevent him from gaining too much notoriety. Why, the common folk would riot in support if his true deeds came to light.”
The large man nodded and grinned. “Sounds like my kind of fellow. Believe I won’t kill him after all.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jack. I owe you a debt.”
