During their hour before dinner and before Father returned, Jude would coach her on what to say and do and what topics to avoid. To keep her from being trailed to her true address, he had rented a room for Winnifred two miles from Holmes’s Englewood building. Jude even spoke with the landlady on Winnifred’s behalf, flashing his badge to impress the seriousness of the situation on the woman so she wouldn’t divulge the fact, if asked, that Winnifred didn’t actually stay there.
His thoughtfulness touched Winnifred again and again, but she had to remind herself that it was his job to look after her. After that first morning on the Ferris wheel, he had maintained a respectful distance, only touching her arm if something appeared out of the ordinary. She sighed as she sank onto the settee, tracing the spines of her Valentine novels stacked on the side table. Percival’s books did nothing for keeping her imagination in hand with all his tales of forbidden, star-crossed love. Father had always said that she was not meant to be a lawman’s wife. So why was she daydreaming about it in that moment on the Ferris wheel?
She dropped her hand from the books and gathered herself. Jude was not an option, unlike Percival. She couldn’t think of Jude as anything more than her protector, her instructor. At the knock on the front door, Winnifred straightened her shoulders and let her thoughts fall aside. She rose to answer the door herself to find Percival standing with a bouquet of two dozen tulips. The blooms took her breath away. Surely, he knows that, in the language of flowers, to give a woman tulips is a declaration of … love?
Percival started at the sight of her standing in the doorway and bowed, a smile overtaking his features as he presented her with the tulips. “Miss Wylde, may I say that with the morning light casting its radiant glow on your golden locks, you look like an angel among mortals.”
She felt heat creep into her cheeks at his praise and dipped her head as she accepted the flowers. She was unused to such blatant flattery.
“Miss Wylde, you should have allowed me to answer.” Clara’s cheeks puffed from the effort of rushing to the door. She reached out for the flowers. “I’ll put these in some water. You two best be on your way to the church.”
Percival extended his arm to Winnifred and escorted her out to an impressive carriage with two white horses hitched to it. Of course Percival would have white horses. All the heroes in his books do, so why would he be any different? Forcing herself to swallow her laughter, she pressed her hand over her smile.
Pausing with her foot atop the carriage step, she looked over her shoulder and spied Jude down the sidewalk, leaning against a streetlamp with his Tribune, keeping an eye on her. She chided herself for not thinking of sending him breakfast or some kind of refreshment, but as she didn’t wish to be late for Danielle’s wedding ceremony, she merely sent him a smile and a small wave.
Winnifred stared out the window as the carriage rolled toward the church, watching the people and vendors meandering down the sidewalk, a significant portion traveling in the direction of the world’s fair. Her city, along with her life, had forever changed when the fair opened.
She turned her gaze to Percival, finding him quite handsome if not a bit silent, as he stared out the window, mouth pressed in a firm line. It wasn’t like the quiet moments between her and Jude. This felt awkward and a bit ridiculous after their time in the park, but the excitement she had felt of discovering his secret had faded into nervousness when she thought on their dinner afterward where she had boldly expounded on a possible new plot for her favorite author. Is he upset with me? Is that why he is silent? But, remembering the tulips, she dismissed the notion and cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “So, can you tell me what you’ve decided to do with your next book?”
He blinked as if in a faraway land and slowly turned to her, smile bright. “I’m sorry for my absentmindedness. I have a tendency to get lost in my thoughts. I was actually thinking about my new plot involving a swindler turned murderer.”
“Oh?” Elation sparked within her. She hadn’t truly believed Percival when he said he was interested in her suggestions. Danielle would melt if she discovered the truth.
“Since you’ve told me of your adventure, I’ve put my other story on hold, feeling that it should be finished later. This story is more important to tell at the moment.” He rubbed his hands together, unable to keep his enthusiasm from showing. “I am thrilled that Detective Thorpe agreed to let me shadow him. I want to write this from the perspective of the detective, and what better way to learn than from one of New York City’s finest?”
“And now one of Chicago’s finest.” She nodded with approval. “Detective Thorpe is the perfect hero.” His eyes, build, smile, and kind spirit combined with his fierce manliness and drive to protect. She held in a sigh as the carriage rolled to a stop. The world would swoon at his feet as she wanted to, if only her father would relent.
The church was alive with the hushed flurry of wedding guests finding their seats before the ceremony began. Taking her place in the pew beside Mr. Covington, Winnifred felt a twinge of sadness that she had not been able to join the wedding party. However, she understood that Danielle had little to no power in whom she had chosen to stand with her. Besides, when one had four single sisters, there was no room for another bridesmaid.
The music began along with the procession, and when the bride appeared in the doorway, the crowd rose, murmuring with admiration as she glided down the aisle on the arm of her father, who placed her hand in Edward’s without so much as a tear. Danielle looked ethereal in her cloud of white, and the expression on Edward’s face told Winnifred everything she needed to know about him. Even though Danielle may not be in love with him at the moment, Edward adored her, and Winnifred was certain that his adoration would, in time, woo Danielle.
After the short ceremony and drive to the Montgomerys’ mansion for the reception, Winnifred grasped her friend’s hands in her own, offering her congratulations. With a quick hello to Edward, she focused her full attention on Danielle. “You did it! I cannot believe that you, the last of my single friends, are married. Mrs. Edward Fairfield. It has such a nice ring to it.”
“Oh good. I felt positively ill,” Danielle confided. “I was terrified that I would lose the single piece of toast that I managed to eat this morning.”
“You look stunning. I’m certain that if I did not notice your queasy stomach, no one else did.” She gave Danielle a peck on the cheek, whispering, “Are you feeling better though?”
“Now that the ceremony is over and I am seeing the presents flow into the front parlor, I am wondering why I was so worried in the first place.” Danielle laughed as Edward slipped his hand under her elbow, gently reminding her of the others in the line that was beginning to grow. Danielle sighed and embraced Winnifred again.
“I don’t know if we will get any more time together today, but I wanted to wish you the happiest of honeymoons.” Winnifred slowly pulled away to join Percival in the dining room, sighing. If only she could find the love, the sense of belonging she had been reading about for years. She knew her father loved her. But sometimes, it seemed as if he loved his work more, and it kept him away so often that she felt quite alone in the world.
At the sound of Percival’s laughter, she spotted him across the room, her heart skipping as his gaze met her own and lit with unencumbered delight.
Jostling in the rear of the grip car, Jude felt a twinge of something akin to jealousy as the memory of Percival Covington in his black coattails escorting Winnifred to the wedding flashed to the forefront of his thoughts. He was reluctant to allow her out of his sight, but he had been instructed to watch her only until Percival’s arrival. Apparently, the inspector trusted that dandy to watch out for his daughter, but Jude did not believe that the pen was mightier than a pistol when it came to confronting danger, and he was disinclined to leave her. But, as he had to obey orders, he had made his way to the grip car line to meet his sister and nephew for a much-needed day of fun at the fair.
It
felt odd taking the entire day to himself. In New York, he only took a half day on Sunday to attend church. He enjoyed his work and, as he had no family in New York City and all of his friends worked at the precinct, he felt lonely if he was not working on a project or near his desk with a cup of coffee in hand and his friends at his elbow. While he missed his old precinct, he was finding that he enjoyed having some time to himself and spending it with his family despite the melancholy cloud that constantly hovered over them.
Hopping off the grip car, he strolled to the corner intersection on 60th Street where he’d agreed to meet Mary and Georgie and found they were already waiting on him. Jude chuckled as his sister struggled to keep Georgie at her side in his eagerness to enter the fairgrounds. Georgie, catching sight of his uncle, jumped up and down, waving his hat over his head to ensure that Jude had seen him. With a wave, Jude ran up and scooped his nephew into his arms, tossing him in the air, much to his sister’s unease.
“Uncle Jude, I’m getting too old for you to toss me.” Georgie giggled, which betrayed that he was anything but too old for such antics.
Five years of age was far too young for a boy to lose his father, and Jude meant to be there for Georgie to guide and help him in any way he could. Extending his arm to Mary and grasping the boy’s hand in his own, he stepped up to the ticket counter and purchased day passes. At the sight of a vendor selling molasses taffy out of a cart, Georgie tugged on Jude’s arm, pulling him toward the sweets.
Mary smiled, shaking her head. “Georgie, honey, we have been here for all of three minutes and you already want your one treat of the day?” She lifted her brows, placing a hand on her hip, reminding her son of their prior agreement.
His crystal-blue eyes widened as he vigorously nodded with his little tongue licking the side of his mouth. He pointed to the candy. “Please?”
At his sister’s smile of consent, Jude dug a coin from his pocket and handed it to the man, purchasing two small sacks of the sweet. Giving one to Georgie, he reached into the other and winked at his sister. “Never too old for candy.”
“So, tell me. What sights did you and Miss Wylde see at the fair this past week?” Mary’s dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ve never heard you talk about one of your cases quite so much, and that is saying something. Everything is ‘Miss Wylde’ this and ‘Miss Wylde’ that.”
Jude had to catch his jaw from dropping. It had been months since Mary had shown interest in anything but Georgie’s well-being. For him and him alone did she smile or feign a light heart. “Uh, well, since we found our suspect last week, we haven’t been back to the fair. I have been preparing Miss Wylde for the week ahead of her. However, I did find a few places that I think Georgie might like,” he replied, pulling them toward the Midway. “There is even a place where I heard that a tiger actually rides a velocipede,” he added, looking toward Georgie.
Georgie’s mouth dropped open at the mention of the tiger. “Can we go? Mama, can we go?”
They laughed at his fervor enhanced by the copious amounts of sugar he had consumed. Mary bent down to kiss his cherub cheeks. “Of course. We need to see what time the next show starts though. It may not be for a while, so don’t be too disappointed if we have to wait.”
Jude paused in front of the crowded Hagenbeck Arena building and read the billing. “Georgie, we are in luck. The next show starts in ten minutes. Hopefully, we can still find a seat,” he called over the din, guiding them inside the overly crowded arena.
Children swarmed with their parents clutching their little hands for fear of losing them. Keeping to the edge of the crowd, Jude skimmed the seats but didn’t see a vacancy. Then he saw a child, two rows up on his left, clutch his tummy and beg his father to leave. Without hesitation, Jude helped his sister to the now empty seats and placed Georgie on his lap, thankful for the moment’s respite from the blazing sun as the show began.
They had only reached the second act when Jude spied fingers stretching toward his sister’s purse that was dangling from her wrist. His gazed locked with the dark glare of the pickpocket and he shifted to grab the man, startling his sister into realizing what was happening. But the thief was faster, vanishing with the purse.
“Stop!” Mary cried out, but in the pandemonium of the cheering crowd, no one heard her, not even Georgie. “Jude, my locket with Victor’s picture. It’s in my purse.” Mary seized his arm, panic edging her every word. “I was going to have the clasp repaired. I didn’t think—”
“I’ll catch him. Don’t tell Georgie.” Jude transferred Georgie to his mother’s lap and scrambled through the crowds. Exiting the building, he spied the pickpocket sprinting away. Jude took chase, vaulting over and around anything in his path. The thief led him on for nearly a half mile, only stopping when he reached a dark alley outside the fair, joining a tall, scruffy-looking man who came out of the shadows.
The thief spread his arms out with the beaded reticule dangling in his fist. “What? Are you really going to fight me for this? It’s two against one. Me and my pal here will kill you if you try to mess with us.” His brows narrowed as his breath came in short gasps.
Jude lifted his coat, flashing his badge. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Hand over the purse.”
The men laughed, elbowing one another. “He thinks his badge is going to make a difference?”
Jude stepped forward, his fists at the ready. “This is your last warning.”
The man lunged at him, but Jude easily dodged him and his friend’s jab. It had been a while since he had last taken a boxing class in New York, but the lessons of old were seared into his muscles. With a single blow, he knocked the tall one out, but the pickpocket landed a solid right hook, knocking Jude to his back. Jude rolled to his feet with a grunt, moving in a circle, and was calculating his next move when yet another form appeared in the alley, a black bandana covering his face, his bowler hat pulled too low for Jude to make out his features. He could fight two at once, but three? Jude’s hands twitched for his revolver, but the man lifted his hand, brandishing his own firearm at the ready.
The man took a seat on one of the crates, bracing his heel on the base of the crate. “I heard you were looking for me.”
His stomach twisted at the man’s words. “H. Williams?” How could I be so stupid? I ran straight into this thug’s trap. Jude faltered in his defense and his opponent landed a punch to his gut. Jude doubled over as the other henchman rose from the dirt with a groan, shaking his head as if to wake himself from a deep slumber. He clenched his hands, stepping toward Jude. Jude attempted to straighten and lift his fists, but the man’s iron fist found its mark on Jude’s jaw, sending him reeling backward and falling to his side. Too weakened by the blow, Jude barely had time to raise his arm to attempt to block the men’s kicks to his torso. Together, the two pummeled Jude until the masked man grunted.
“Enough boys.” Williams squatted in the shadows, a foot from Jude’s throbbing face. “I don’t like to kill lawmen, as it raises too many questions, but I do so enjoy creating little accidents.”
Jude lifted his gaze, the cut above his eye fissuring even more. I wonder if he gave Victor the courtesy of a warning too, before he killed him? He thought of the pain this man had caused his family and pulled himself up onto his elbows with a guttural yell. “I won’t stop until you are marching to your judgment—” At the kick to his ribs, he curled inward, the pain nearly blinding him.
“Hold off.” Williams flicked his wrist at the two men and turned back to Jude, his masked face growing hazy. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll make sure your sister attends her son’s funeral shortly before her own.”
Jude lunged at the man, his hands reaching for his throat before the two henchmen grabbed him by the arms and hauled him back. “If you dare hurt my family, I’ll kill you myself. You hear? Stay away from them.”
Williams laughed, turning his back to Jude. “They live across the street from that little Italian bakery, don’t they?”
/> Jude’s head spun at the murderer’s words, and his arms went limp. Knowing Jude was defeated, the two henchmen shoved him backward into a stack of crates before joining their leader.
“Drop your search for me and maybe your family won’t end up like Victor.” He stepped into the shadows and disappeared with his men, Mary’s purse forgotten in the dirt.
Shaken, Jude dusted his coat as best he could and ran his hands through his hair, grunting at the pain in his ribs. Testing his injuries, he pressed his hand over his ribcage. His ribs felt tender, but he didn’t have the searing pain his friends told him that broken ribs caused. Using his handkerchief and a bit of spit, he patted away the blood from his eye before stepping out of the alley. He paused in front of a storefront window and examined his swollen lip, his bruised cheek, and the cut above his eye. Other than those injuries, he appeared well enough. He was thankful that most of his bruising would be hidden from Mary and Georgie.
Stiff and sore, he returned to the animal show to find Mary and Georgie waiting outside, the threat cutting him anew. He would report this incident to the inspector, but withhold any information about why the threat had been made. Until he had that man behind bars, he would have someone watching each member of his family, even if he had to hire private bodyguards to do it.
At the sight of him, Mary pressed her hands to her mouth, halting any outburst, her gaze darting to Georgie. But he was so busy finishing off his candy and watching two men on stilts walking by, he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
“Oh Jude, what happened? Mother will be worried sick when she sees you.”
With a kiss on her cheek, Jude pulled the reticule from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. “Don’t fret over me. It was only a small scuffle. They escaped, but I managed to retrieve your bag. Victor’s picture is still there.”
The White City Page 8