A STUDY IN SCARLET
Jacob looked again at the note that the mysterious woman in the scarlet dress had handed to the judge. Mangled Mermaid at Billingsgate Docks. He had been here once and didn't remember this visit as the most amazing one. The liquor was mostly beer without gas and gin that ate at the insides with its power. The ladies left much to be desired, and the wasted sailors, often not only with alcoholic beverages, were looking for a provocation in absolutely everyone.
However, he went inside, not wasting time wondering why the woman wanted to meet here. It occurred to him that she didn't look like a prostitute, and she didn't look like a brothel-keeper either.
It seemed to him that he'd seen her in a theater once, in one of the many plays he'd crept into out of boredom — and Evie always said he wasn't a man of culture.
He felt the gaze of the woman behind the counter on him. When he looked back at her, he saw the woman pull the picture out of her corset, then look at him and then the picture.
She whistled in his direction and showed him a four on her fingers as her gaze turned to the stairs.
He nodded and made his way through the drunken men, past the brawl that was taking place right outside the bar.
It was extremely quiet upstairs. It's as if all the employees have evaporated along with the customers. And although he saw them outside, despite the terrible, freezing rain, he did not expect them all to be out.
He went to door number four. He put his ear to the door to try to hear what was going on inside. Silence again. However, the eagle's gaze told him the presence of two people. And they weren't the enemies.
He opened the door. The woman and man turned to him. The woman who bet on his fight and gave the message to the referee, and Sergeant Reginald Hargreaves, a friend of Frederick Abberline at Scotland Yard. They had a chance to exchange two words when Jacob was passing by to visit Freddie.
"Good evening, Mr. Frye."
"Is that a joke? We couldn't meet at the police station, but at the brothel?"
He closed the door behind him. The woman's look told him that, heavy against his skin like a lead ball.
"We might, if not," he grunted, putting his hands behind his back and straightening up, "our little arbitrariness."
"Our?"
"Mine and Miss Seymour's." He pointed at the woman. "We're investigating a pervert milieu that buys child sex services. Actually, I'm investigating… And I'm helping Miss Seymour a bit."
"What does it mean?"
The woman moved her hand, ordering him to follow her. They stood at a table on which lay a very detailed sketch of a young girl in a striped shirt and a once-white apron. Her hair was short and unstyled. Facial features thin, but… extremely attractive.
"This girl came out of the Home for Wayward Youth on Houndsditch in the City of London a few days ago. On her way to the pharmacist, she met Pris Witless, whom she went to, and has not been heard from since. Pris denies that she did anything to her. The girl just left without a word and is now probably wandering around London."
"She has memory lapses that she can't come back?"
"So much so that she often forgets her own name," she confirmed, and Jacob could hear an unimaginable heaviness in her voice. "In addition, under the influence of strong emotions, mainly stress, she falls into a state resembling a psychotic attack. She could get into big trouble. She also could have hurt herself unintentionally."
"And why am I in all this?"
"You're much more mobile than we are," Hargreaves said. "You are able to climb to the rooftops and find Miss Alice more quickly that way. And then make sure nothing happens to her."
"Can't I escort her straight to the orphanage?"
Seymour shook her head.
"She's looking for the culprit of the fire that killed her family eleven years ago, and she needs her own reality to piece together her memories. And this manifests itself in sleepwalking. She's tried it before at Rutledge Asylum, but to no avail, and Doctor fucking Bumby won't let her traumatic memories be retained, so she can't do it at the orphanage."
Miss Seymour seemed to have a rather unflattering opinion of the director of the orphanage. Jacob wondered why that was.
"At any rate, she will be, or already is, walking through her reality, wandering the streets, and for my peace of mind, I'd like you to look after her. Freddie said you could be trusted, and you'd do a great job on this assignment."
Jacob's eyes ran across her face. She looked seriously worried and desperate.
And he, actually, was currently unemployed anyway. Since the Blighters were broken, Starrick defeated, and Evie left for India with Henry Green, the frequency of his missions had been reduced to a minimum.
"I have much to offer you, Mr. Frye. I know everyone has their price and…"
"I don't want money, Miss Seymour."
She straightened up and glared at him.
"So what?"
"You're worried about that girl. I want to know who is she to you?"
Even Hargreaves himself wasn't entirely sure. He knew they met when Seymour was a teenager and Alice Liddell was six. And that was basically it.
"We're not related by blood," she said, wondering for a moment what she really meant to say, "but she's like a daughter to me. And I want her to be as safe as possible in this extremely dangerous process."
Jacob had people all over London. Plus, he could watch her himself, and it's all for justice.
He extended his hand towards the woman. She grabbed it tightly.
"It's a deal, Miss Seymour."
"You don't even know how much your help means to me in this case, Mr. Frye."
"I don't know, it's a fact. But you can be sure I won't let hurt her."
They shook each other's hands. And after a while, Jacob went to tell the Rooks that they had a new, very important work to do.
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*after Jacob and Alice kill Roth*
*some angst*
*you have been warning*
He tried to go to the truck where was Alice but Agnes didn't gave him to do it. She banished him with Nigel and locked the door.
“Fuck!” he screamed, pounding fists into the door.
He tightened his teeth and tilted head back.
He walked into another truck and sat on the sofa, sobbed loud and covered his face with hands. His facies was red, tears fell dawn on his cheeks.
He felt Evie's hand on his wrists.
“Jacob, calm down”
“I killed her, Evie! I almost killed her!” he cried, trembling in spasms. “What if she dies?” His sister sat beside and hugged him.
“Evie, if she dies, I'll kill myself”
“Be still, Jacob. She'll cope”
“What have I done?...”
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