The White City

by Grace Hitchcock

  She filtered the papers as quietly as possible, fearing that even the slightest crinkle would somehow sound the alarm. Winnifred read over the names on several deeds to properties and countless insurance policies, pausing at the names of Emeline Cigrand, Minnie Williams, and Myrta Belknap. She recognized the first two as the names of the former secretaries of Holmes but the third … Who was Myrta Belknap? She was not surprised to find the insurance policies, but she was puzzled as to why he would have deeds in their names.

  Hearing a footfall on the steps, she scanned a property deed under Minnie’s name and found that she was the owner of a house in Wilmette. With a scrawling script, she quickly jotted down the address on her notepaper before rolling the top back down, praying it would not crash against the desk. Her hand trembled as she stuffed her pin inside the mechanism and twisted it, locking it before darting across the room to her desk on her tiptoes so her heeled shoes would not give her away, her heart hammering in her chest all the while.

  Owens appeared in the doorway, looking quite disheveled from his time in the basement. He wiped each finger on a hand towel, leaving dark smudges on the pristine white surface. “Miss Swan, did you finish your work?”

  She looked to the clock, astonished to find that it was nearly twelve o’clock and Owens had been in the basement for half an hour. It must have taken me a bit longer to open that desk than I thought. I am losing my touch. “Actually, I still have a little left to do.” She lifted the stack on her desk, praying that he did not notice that she had the exact amount of work remaining to do as when he had left her to attend to the stench.

  “Save it for Monday,” he replied, waving her out of the room. “Auntie Ann gave me a list and I have another hour’s work ahead of me on the second floor. Mr. Holmes won’t be pleased that I left you alone up here for even a half hour, but for reasons only heaven knows.” He shook his head with a laugh. “Seems he should trust the people he hires, but he is a peculiar sort of man. He once had me bring a trunk from the basement to the attic and then back outside in a single day, and when I asked what he had need of it for, he snapped at me, telling me to mind my own business. And last night, he had me move a hefty trunk from the basement to his wagon, and I could’ve sworn it was the same trunk. It keeps making its rounds, I guess.” He shrugged. “Anyways, sorry for my rambling. You go on and enjoy your Saturday, miss. I’m sure you have things to do.”

  Too skittish to protest, Winnifred grabbed her hat and slid past him, pausing on the second floor to bid the housekeeper farewell. “Do you know where Mr. Holmes is today, Auntie Ann?” she asked, threading her hatpin through her chapeau.

  “He is doing business in Wilmette,” she replied, stirring the bubbling saucepot on the stove. “He goes there often, as I’m sure you’ll soon notice.”

  Wilmette. The same town as Minnie Williams’s property. I need to see it for myself. The thought of being caught sent shivers down her spine. “Would you mind telling him that I came in today? I left a note for him on his desk, but I wanted to make certain he knows I fulfilled my promise and that I wasn’t trying to get out of hours yesterday.”

  “I’ll pass along the message of your dedication to come in on a Saturday. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that you got your job done.” Auntie Ann snorted, sarcasm exuding with each word as she wiped her beading forehead.

  What did I do to earn such aversion? Winnifred shook her head, reminding herself that she needn’t worry about what Auntie Ann thought of Cordelia Swan. If her alias was so dislikeable, then she was playing her character well. No one seemed to dislike Winnifred Wylde … well, besides Mr. Saunders and his fiancée.

  She waved farewell, stepped outside, and blinked against the light, enjoying the fresh air as a warm, gentle breeze rustled her curls against her cheek. She crossed the street and causally glanced about for her protector, but instead of finding Jude, she nearly ran into Percy. In keeping with her cover, she did not greet Percy, but apologized as she might to a stranger and walked a block or two down before turning left, waiting for him to join her. As soon as he rounded the corner, she grabbed his coat sleeve. “Where is Jude? I mean, Detective Thorpe?” Jude would never leave her, not even if he became ill again or there was an emergency, especially after what had happened yesterday. Surely, Father did not reassign him. Her heart thudded. He wouldn’t. He promised. After their time together at the fair yesterday, she was certain that Jude felt something for her, but out of respect to her father’s wishes, Jude was remaining silent.

  “He was here this morning, but then your father sent me to release him and tell him to return to the precinct on an urgent matter. Apparently, Inspector Wylde trusts me with your safety as much as one of his top detectives.” He grinned, offering her his arm.

  She pushed down her rising panic. Even after hearing her father’s renewed and adamant stance against her marrying a lawman, she was having a difficult time releasing her dreams of a future with Jude. A part of her still held on to the hope that maybe that magical place in her mind called One Day would become a reality.

  While she enjoyed Percy’s company and thought he was quite handsome, he still lacked the one thing she craved. He wasn’t Jude. But maybe if I honor Father’s request to see Percy, I can soften him to the idea of Jude.

  Percy shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked a rock down the sidewalk. “And since I knew you were going to be off this afternoon, I asked your father’s permission, which was granted, to have you come to my estate on Lakeshore Drive.” He gestured to the clouds. “It is a perfect day and not too hot for a stroll on the grounds and possibly a game or two of badminton?”

  The address she had finally procured weighed heavily in her reticule. “That sounds lovely, but I really ought to follow up on this lead.” It felt wrong to accept his invitation when she knew her affections lay elsewhere, even if she did promise her father to see Percy. He was kind and mostly thoughtful, but more importantly, expressed an interest in her hobbies, which included his favorite thing, his books. He didn’t deserve to have her heart’s sloppy seconds. No one did.

  “Come on now. I’m sure you can work on it with Jude come Monday. You need to take your mind off your work for once and enjoy yourself. I should know. I get quite obsessed when I work on a novel. It is literally the only thing that is on my mind from the moment I wake to the moment I sleep, and even then, I dream plots. Until I met you and …” He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

  “And?”

  “And now, I have a new dream.”

  She looked to see if she could catch a hint of teasing in his gaze, but all she saw was stark earnestness. How to tell him that she wanted the man she could never have? Was something wrong with her to not desire the man before her who was on paper her perfect match? Thinking of her father’s stipulation, she selfishly relented and allowed him to assist her into his awaiting carriage, the tufted seats smelling of new leather. Next to Percy’s flawless attire, she once again felt underdressed, being that she was in her work suit of navy. But, unfastening the ribbon necklace hidden under her collar, she slipped on her mother’s pearl ring, knowing it would add a bit of sophistication to any gown.

  Percy chatted the whole way up Lakeshore Drive, telling her about his new book, which sounded almost word for word what she had told him of her time with Holmes. Losing herself in the plot that was based on her own adventures, Winnifred couldn’t help but be excited to think that she was going to have such a substantial influence on her favorite author’s next work.

  At the abrupt turn of the carriage, her shoulder was thrown against his, and Percy paused in his talking to smooth back a wisp of her hair, his eyes locking on hers. He leaned toward her, but she cleared her throat and twisted toward the window, thanking the Lord that they were pulling into the drive of a large estate that could only be described as a castle. “Is this your home?” she squawked, feeling awkward at what had almost transpired between them.

  “Ah yes, this is White Cas
tle. It has just been completed.”

  Her breath caught as they drew closer. Having lived in a modest cottage her entire life, the sight of the greenery surrounding his castle made her feel quite small, but something about it reminded her of someplace dear. Upon further examination, she realized that it was a perfect match to the setting of one of her favorite novels. “White Castle … isn’t this the setting for your first novel?”

  He smiled and nodded, helping her down. “That house has haunted me in my dreams for years and I knew that I must have it, so I built this castle with my earnings. My father may not approve of my job, but he appreciates that I earn more than I will ever inherit from him.” He held the massive carved mahogany door for her as she stepped into the marble foyer. “I thought we’d take the tour first and have lunch outdoors before selecting a game to play.”

  Her skirts trailed behind her as she wandered the halls beside him, feeling as if she were Elizabeth Bennett seeing Pemberley for the first time after refusing Darcy. But unlike Elizabeth, it didn’t move her to accept Percy’s suit. Rather, it widened the cavern between them. She was from a simple home and, as much as she loved the grandeur of the mansions in his novels, she preferred a cozy parlor that was actually lived in with piles of worn books surrounding her.

  Percy paused at the large front room that had a net spread from one side of the room to the other over a costly Persian rug. “Have you played a lot of badminton? When I was visiting Morris Montgomery last summer, his sister Danielle, I mean Mrs. Fairfax, told me how she had set up one of these in her parlor. It sounded like such great fun that I thought we might play indoors as well.”

  Winnifred laughed, remembering well how much trouble she and Danielle had gotten into for that little escapade.

  “I haven’t played since then, but I’m willing to try my hand at it once again.” She swung her arms as if warming up for calisthenics. “Be prepared. I am quite proficient at tennis, and I am prepared to crush your very spirit.”

  His eyes widened at her threat before he threw his head back and laughed. “That is why I so enjoy your company, Miss Wylde. You are always full of surprises.”

  Jude was alarmed to be called in to Inspector Wylde’s office, especially since he was supposed to be on duty watching the inspector’s daughter. Standing outside the open door, he cleared his throat, waiting to be acknowledged and invited inside, but the inspector appeared to be engrossed in the file on his desk. After waiting a few moments, Jude knocked on the doorframe. “Sir? You wanted to see me?”

  Without looking up, Inspector Wylde waved him inside. “Yes. Shut the door, will you?”

  At the request, a bead of sweat collected on his forehead. Did Inspector Wylde know of his feelings? He was an inspector, after all. The door clicked shut. He moved toward one of the seats opposite the desk, waiting to be invited to sit and be told what was going on. He hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Baxter. He wouldn’t lie to his captain, no matter what Winnifred preferred.

  The inspector folded his hands, resting them on his desk. “My daughter speaks very highly of you.” Before Jude could reply, he continued. “Which concerns me.”

  “Sir?”

  “Do you have feelings for my daughter?”

  Jude swallowed. This wasn’t exactly how he envisioned this conversation. He had wanted to bring it up, but it sounded as if the inspector had already figured it all out when Jude had only just come to the point of admitting his feelings for Winnifred to himself.

  “It’s a simple question, Detective.”

  He had taken too long to explain, and now Jude seemed guilty, as if he had been lying to his superior. He cleared his throat. “I was actually going to speak with you on the subject this week, sir.”

  “Oh Thorpe.” Inspector Wylde sighed and looked to the ceiling, rubbing his hand over his face. “Why? Why couldn’t you focus on the task at hand instead of getting so emotionally involved? I thought out of all of my men, I could trust you to remain in a professional relationship with my daughter. My daughter.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I was attempting to keep an emotional distance from her, but …” He shook his head and lifted his hands up, helpless. “She has a way about her that draws you in, and it is impossible to resist. You should know.”

  The inspector cracked a smile. “I know you don’t expect me to contradict that Winnie is witty or winsome and, not to mention, lovely.” He stood, leaning on his knuckles atop his desk. “Nevertheless, I expect my detectives to maintain a level of decorum.”

  Jude bristled at the insinuation that he had been anything but proper. A thought fluttered into his mind of the crystal cave, but he whisked it away in his anger. “And yet, you placed Baxter as her guardian while I was ill. The man practically shouts his love for her at the mere mention of her name.”

  “I don’t know how things were done in New York, but here, you will address me with respect.” The inspector narrowed his gaze at Jude. “However, I will dismiss your tone due to your passion this time. I do not have to explain my reasoning to you. It’s true Baxter has always admired Winnie. However, I never once worried about him because she has never shown any interest in the poor fellow.”

  Winnifred is interested in me? His heart soared. Maybe it wasn’t such a lost cause after all. Maybe he could win her heart before that author fellow. He dipped his head. “I’m sorry for my tone, sir. I meant no disrespect, but yes, you are right. I am coming at this from my emotions.” He looked his captain directly in the eye. “I would have said something sooner, but I only realized yesterday that I could no longer staunch my feelings for Miss Wylde. I know your preference for whom she should marry, but I would like permission to court your daughter and give her the chance to decide which suitor she would prefer.”

  Inspector Wylde leaned against the window frame, the dark circles under his eyes betraying a late night. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his shoulders sagging. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen. I do not want my daughter anywhere near a detective for anything other than protection.”

  Jude’s stomach dropped as he gripped his hat. “Are you sure it is the job that you object to, sir, or is it me?”

  Inspector Wylde gave him a sad smile. “You are a fine fellow, Thorpe. And if you were in any other vocation besides police work, I’d happily allow you to court my daughter.” He must have seen Jude’s protest coming, because he lifted his hand and continued. “I saw how worried it made my wife to see me go out day after day, not knowing if I’d come back at night.” He lifted the framed portrait on his desk, stroking the rim. “You may have heard that I was injured in the line of duty?”

  Jude nodded. “It was because of that injury that you earned your promotion to detective.”

  “Yes. But on the night I was shot, an officer went to my house and told my wife that I had been taken to the hospital to be treated for a gunshot wound to the chest.” His voice grew rough as he set the picture down. “She was so distressed, she suffered an attack of the heart. Even though I recovered, my Eloise did not. Winnifred may have inherited her mother’s heart and only time will tell, but I will never allow that to happen to my little girl. While I may allow her to have her adventures, pretending to approve of her sleuthing, I have no intention of allowing her to be in any real danger or to marry someone who is in constant danger.”

  At the mention of danger, Jude felt a prick of guilt for not informing the inspector about what occurred the day before, but as Winnifred had begged him to be silent until they had proof, he kept it to himself.

  “Unless you can suddenly have a new vocation, she will marry Percy.”

  His words brought Jude’s thoughts crashing to a halt. Winnifred … marry someone else? The thought of her not loving him was painful enough, but the thought of her in some other man’s arms, being kissed, being adored, tore at his heart. “Sir, you can’t mean that. You know being a detective isn’t just a job. For me, it’s a calling from the Lord. I cannot—”

/>   Inspector Wylde lifted his hand again. “I know you cannot give up your work, as I could not give up mine. Eloise never once asked me to, for she knew it was my calling as well.” He shook his head. “If she had been a girl from my set, it may have been an easier transition. She was from high society, and her other suitors had good, safe vocations. Jobs that would never cause her to worry a day in her life. But, she chose—” He looked out the window and cleared his throat. “Percival will give my daughter a good life, a secure life, yet one filled with the adventure she craves. With an author for a husband, she can use her imagination by helping him in his work.”

  “But what if she doesn’t want to marry him?” What if she wishes to marry me?

  “Winnifred doesn’t know what she wants yet, but you can be certain I will heavily influence her decision. When I die, I want to know that she is taken care of. Until then, I don’t wish to worry if the man that I am leaving her with will be around to care for her and her children. No, Thorpe. The answer is no.”

  Jude wanted to argue, but the inspector was still his captain. Short of giving up his calling and finding another means of providing for a family, he could never have Winnifred. He swallowed back his hurt, anger, and confusion. Why would God bring the perfect woman into his life only to take her away? Lord, I don’t think I can bear losing another person I love.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight!

  You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.”

  ~Emily Dickinson

  It had already been the longest Sunday morning in existence when Winnifred received Percy’s note, saying that the muse had called and he regrettably must cancel their luncheon once again. Sighing, she crumpled the note and tossed it into the parlor’s wastebasket, sick of the inconvenient muse. Pausing, she realized that she had saved room in her calendar for Percy … and now she had the entire afternoon free from Aunt Lillian’s string of social obligations. Obligations she was forced to keep if she wanted to continue her detective work in the mornings and which left precious little time for her novels. Normally, she would have finished her current novel long ago and already read ten on top of it, but she had been too engrossed in her work to finish.