The Friday Society by Adrienne Kress Page A

heel across the footman’s head, putting him out like a light. She stood over the body for a moment, then looked at Cora.
    “I think maybe that wasn’t necessary,” the assistant said, biting her lower lip.
    “Maybe.”
    “When I get mad, I go a bit overboard.”
    I know the feeling, thought Cora. She knelt down and examined the footman. He was still breathing, thank goodness. The heel of the assistant’s boot was a formidable weapon and could have gone clear through the man’s skull if applied with enough force. “That was an impressive kick.”
    “Never used it for violence before. Normally just kick high in the show.”
    “Yes, I saw that earlier. You’re very skilled.”
    “Thank you.” The assistant smiled broadly, brushing one of her blond curls from her forehead. “And thanks for the help.”
    “Well, I hardly think my blow even bruised him.” Though her knuckles were still sore.
    “You distracted him good and proper. Wouldn’t have had the confidence to do what I did without you takin’ charge like that.”
    “Well . . . glad I could help, then.” Then she added, “I’m Cora Bell.” She extended her hand.
    “Nellie Harrison,” replied the assistant, taking it firmly. Almost a little too firmly. She pumped Cora’s arm up and down with great enthusiasm, and though, yeah, it was a slightly painful experience, Cora liked her general level of energy. Having spent so much time with the upper classes, Cora had grown familiar with the accepted tradition of never demonstrating passion about anything. It was nice to meet someone so artless.
    There was a moan, and they turned to look at the footman. He pushed himself up to his elbows and then noticed the two of them staring down at him.
    “Get on with you!” ordered Cora, with an edge to her voice that she saved for such characters. The footman took to his feet like a newborn foal falling over himself. Once standing, he lumbered off down the hall.
    The girls turned to each other again.
    “It’s very nice to meet you,” said Cora.
    “Likewise. And cheers for the rescue,” replied Nellie.
    “My pleasure. Though I think you’d have done just fine without me.”
    “Like I says before, not so sure about that.”
    “Well, you’re welcome, again.” There was a slight awkwardness, the kind that always came when saying good-bye to someone one had just met. Ought one to be familiar, formal . . . they had just shook hands. Should Cora extend hers again? A little nod? Her thoughts were interrupted by:
    “Say, how you gettin’ home?”
    Oh. Well . . . “Probably with his lordship in his carriage. Though”—she thought of Lord White getting drunk in the library—“when that might be, God only knows.”
    “I’m takin’ a steam cab,” Nellie announced. She said it with great pride, though Cora could hardly understand why.
    “Well . . . that’s good.”
    “You want to share it with me? Could drop you off at home.”
    Cora was about to say no automatically when she realized that the suggestion was actually a good one. She’d be able to leave this horrible party, getting home at a fairly reasonable time. She might even be able to do a bit of reading, something that had become a luxury of late.
    “That sounds like a very good idea, actually.”
    “Wonderful!” Nellie linked her arm in hers. “We can get to know each other better, and the best part, of course, we’ll get to ride in a steam cab!”
    “Uh, yes,” Cora replied as she led the two of them down the hall to the servants’ staircase. “How thrilling.”

11
    The London Fog
    “ G O HOME, M ICHIKO.”
    Sit, Michiko. Beg, Michiko. Play dead, Michiko.
    It hadn’t been her fault that everyone had wanted to speak with her after the show. Though it was pretty intimidating having all these people crowd around, talking loudly at her. A huge wall of sound. Well, maybe it was a bit her fault. But she’d just been doing her job, after all. Just doing the fights like they’d