A feeling of helplessness had swept over Violet, making her fist her hands in her apron. She hated feeling helpless. But what to do? She knew men from the upper classes liked to frequent establishments in the rookeries. They even had a name for it—slumming it. But the Silver Unicorn was not a slum to her. It was her family’s home, and their only means of support. She could tell there would be trouble by the way the other men, many of whom she knew as regulars, eyed the newcomers. The nobs were preening and talking loudly, laughing uproariously, and making themselves hard to ignore. They’d already been drinking. That much was clear. Their faces were pink from over-imbibing, their eyes bright and slightly glossy from intoxication.
They were just drunk enough to be dangerous.
But what was she supposed to do? Ask them to leave? Refuse to serve them? That would only invite trouble. Men like that expected service, and if they didn’t receive it, there were consequences. They’d call the magistrate or some lord secretary or other, and soon she and Georgie and Joshua would be out on the street, to say nothing of Archie or Peggy, the girl who helped with the cleaning and cooking.
One of the men had stood and looked about. He had green eyes and brown hair that was a bit long and swept back off hisforehead. His cheekbones were high and his nose straight, and he would have been very attractive if his mouth wasn’t twisted in a sneer. “A bottle of your best champagne!” he’d shouted to Archie, who had rolled his eyes.
“Don’t have any champagne,” Archie had answered.
The men seemed to think this was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. They laughed and laughed until one of them finally ordered rum. Violet had brought the mugs herself, and after a few minutes of hovering anxiously near the bar, her hands tightly fisted in her apron, the men seemed to settle down to drinking. She slipped behind the bar, and Archie leaned an ear toward her. “Keep serving them,” she murmured. “If we’re lucky, they’ll drink themselves into oblivion.”
Archie grunted. “If we’re lucky, they’ll go somewhere else.”
Violet had hoped luck was with them tonight, and returned to the back to finish drying glasses and mugs. When that was done, she took a new tray of glasses and placed them in the soapy water to start a new batch of washing. But she hadn’t even finished with those dishes when she heard the thump and crash. A moment later, the sound of raised voices. By the time she had run for the door to the front, the fight was in full bloom. She considered trying to quell it for a half-second, but then a bottle had crashed against the wall beside her face, and she slammed the door and barred it. If Archie couldn’t stop the brawl, then what hope did she have?
That helpless feeling she so hated stole over her again, and she pressed her hand against her lungs, which felt tight and pained. She blinked back the sting of tears. She had to do something.
She could run for the Watch or the constables, but by the time she reached them, the fight would be over. No guarantee they would come, either. The Watch didn’t like to be caught in Seven Dials at night. She could step into the fray, but she wouldmore than likely be injured. She couldn’t be hurt. Joshua and Georgie needed her. She was all they had.
And so she’d stood on the other side of the door, listening to the destruction until finally Archie’s voice rose above the din. Then there was more crashing, most likely Archie bringing his crowbar down on something solid, and then she’d heard the sounds of the melee moving away. She waited a moment longer, thinking Archie might knock and tell her to come out, but when no knock came, she straightened and unbarred the door. She’d stepped out into the wreck that she surveyed now.
The fight had moved into the streets, and her tavern was almost completely empty. Except for Archie, who leaned heavily against the bar, his crowbar dangling from one hand. He turned to look at her, and Violet gasped at the stream of blood running down his cheek. “Archie!”
“I’m fine,” he’d all but croaked. “Go bar the door so they can’t come back in.”
But Violet hadn’t been able to move. There was so much blood. Archie’s shirt was splattered with it, and his hair was matted and soaked on one side with crimson.
“Vi?”
She’d whirled at Joshua’s voice. He stood in the doorway to the back, his eyes wide as he surveyed the damage. Joshua might be thirteen, but he looked more like he was ten. His voice hadn’t lowered, and he hadn’t begun to grow into his adult size. Tonight that worked to her advantage, as he was small and fast enough to dart about the rookeries undetected.
“Bolt the door,” Archie said again. Violet nodded, and Joshua raced to the door of the pub, closed the heavy wooden piece, and bolted it. He then went a step further, closing the wooden shutters and bolting those as well. With the windows closed, the sounds of the riot—for it had turned into a riot now—dimmed. The smell of alcohol and blood became more pungent, though.
Joshua turned, his eyes widened, and shouted, “Vi!”
She followed his outstretched hand and ducked under Archie just in time to keep him from falling over. He was a big man, and she was rather petite, so she was only able to see that he slid down to the floor slowly rather than crashing down. She tore off her apron and pressed the clean linen to his temple, which seemed to be the source of the injury. Joshua was beside her in a moment. “Should I fetch a doctor?”
“No doctor will come here and into that”—she lifted her head and inclined it toward the sounds of the riot—“tonight. Fetch me clean water from the back.”
Joshua turned to do her bidding, but she grabbed his hand. “Is Georgie upstairs?”
“Yes. He’s in bed. I told him to stay there.”
“Are the doors and windows bolted?”
“Yes.”
She nodded and released him. Violet turned her attention back to Archie, but her thoughts were still on Georgie, and she had one ear trained on the sounds of violence outside. They were safe for the moment. The building was made of stone and could withstand most types of assault. Her main fear was, as always, fire. Thankfully, it had rained this morning, and the fog tonight was damp and low. Everything would be wet, making it difficult to light a fire, much less allow it to spread.
In the daylight, with Georgie safe beside her, Violet glanced at the area beside the bar where she had knelt with Archie for hours. She’d been able to stanch the blood by pressing her apron hard against the wound, but he’d lost consciousness and not opened his eyes again. When the sounds of the commotion outside had subsided, she was able to have Joshua find two men to carry Archie home. He had a wife and two small children, and Violet could only imagine their terror when Archie had been carried inside, pale and unconscious. She would stop by latertoday and see if he had opened his eyes. She didn’t have much money, but she would give what she could to Archie’s young wife and children.
Of course, she had two children to support as well, and without Archie, she wasn’t sure how that might be accomplished. She still had those casks of spirits in the back, but so much of her stock had been destroyed last night. The smashed bottles and the sticky liquid on the floor were lost profits. She had to pay for the wine and spirits in advance, and she counted on the money she made from selling cups of the stuff to pay for food, rent, and other expenses. Most weeks she barely had enough to pay Archie and Peggy and feed herself and the boys. She was already late on her rent and her taxes—the legal and illegal ones. She worried about the legal taxes, but the threat of debtor’s prison or being hauled into court was nothing to what Ferryman and his gang would do to her if she did not pay him in time.
Still, she couldn’t give up. If she gave up, she’d certainly be dead. Instead, she hugged Georgie in a hard embrace. “We’ll get a new mirror,” she said, wiping his tears away. “An even larger and better one.”
“But we don’t have enough coin for that,” he said.
Violet hated that at the tender age of six, Georgie worried as much about blunt as she did. “We will,” she said. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
