Looking through her parasol, Winnifred saw that the house had a turret on either side of a large front porch. Directly above the center of the front porch, there was a balcony and still above that was a trio of windows to let the afternoon light into the attic. Right as they were about to pass the house, a little girl came flying around the side yard, giggling. Holmes chased after her, a grin on his face. Winnifred drew upright. She couldn’t in good conscience leave the child without knowing she was safe, despite her laughter.
Jude must have felt the same, because he bent to tie his shoe, allowing them to pause long enough to see the front door open. The woman from the night of the symphony appeared, displaying a gold band on her finger that had been hidden the other night by her gloves. Placing her hands on her hips, she called, “Lucy, come now. It’s time for dinner. Don’t keep your father from his hot food.”
“Coming, Myrta!” Holmes called, scooping up Lucy and giving Myrta a kiss before disappearing inside.
“Holmes is married? I thought Minnie Williams owned this house, so why is another woman living here?” Winnifred whispered to Jude as he rose and took her arm again. She hadn’t known what she would discover, but she certainly did not expect domestic bliss to be one of her findings. They walked along in silence, only pausing when they came to the end of the block and out of sight of Holmes’s house.
“I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe that Holmes has a wife! All the weeks I have been working at the office, not once has he mentioned a wife. He’s mentioned Minnie and Emeline working for him, but Myrta Belknap was only a name on a couple of deeds.” She rubbed her temple, trying to make sense of why Myrta was living in a house under Minnie’s name. “What is Holmes up to? Why would he keep his wife a secret from me and the rest of the staff?”
“It’s only further evidence of his nefarious side and his low moral standards, keeping his wife a secret while flirting with every skirt that comes across his path.” Jude scowled. “As much as I’d like us to continue our investigation here, I think we have all we need to explain why a woman’s name is on the deed. He’s protecting himself, but we don’t know yet what from.” Jude checked his pocket watch. “Our train will be leaving in a half hour, so let’s walk by the house one more time and then maybe find a sandwich to eat on the ride.”
Winnifred nodded, realizing that she had forgotten to eat lunch. Passing by the house once again, she could see the little girl and mother eating at the table. However, Holmes was not within sight of the window. A chill stole down her spine as she turned to him, wide-eyed. “Jude … you don’t think Holmes will be on the same train, do you? He didn’t say anything about returning late or being absent from the office on Monday.”
Jude ran his hand over his jaw. “What? I thought he was going to be out of town for a few days more. That’s what you told me.”
“I said he was going to be out of town a few days, but I meant that’s what I heard on Friday, so it’s already been a couple of days.” She bit her lip.
Jude grunted. “This is the last train back, and you can bet he will be on it. The cars won’t be crowded this time, so we will be hard-pressed to avoid him.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Ah, Winnie.”
“And I’m sure it would cost a fortune to take a carriage. We cannot return any later than we already are without Father sounding the alarm,” Winnifred mumbled, feeling horrible that she had made such a colossal mistake. “But Holmes wouldn’t take first class. He is always trying to make a dime, so I don’t see why he would spend money unnecessarily, especially since he takes this trip so frequently. If we go now, I can get the ticket agent to upgrade our tickets to first class.”
“I can’t let you do that.” Jude shook his head. “But I think you are right. First class is the only way we can possibly avoid him.”
“It’s my fault we are having to spend so much more. Please, you must allow me to do this and help me feel a little better about putting the entire mission in jeopardy.”
“Very well, but we best make haste. I would hate to run into him on the platform before we board.” Jude tugged her arm, picking up the pace to the ticket booth where, after making excuses and small talk, Winnifred paid for the first-class cabin tickets and they rushed aboard the train.
Panting, Winnifred saw that the cabins all had windows that looked out on the train’s corridor. That posed a problem in case Holmes walked through their train car, but at least it made sharing the cabin with Jude as proper as it could be under the circumstances. “Maybe once we are seated, we can purchase a sandwich,” Winnifred suggested, looking over her shoulder at Jude. She nearly gasped at the figure behind him.
At the terror in her eyes, Jude reached for her hand and whispered, “Where?”
“He’s in our car. We need to get into a cabin and now.” Her voice rasped, her limbs going weak.
Jude’s hand found the small of her back and propelled her into the first vacant cabin and closed the door.
“Jude, he’s right behind us. He will see us! Jude! What do we do?” She whispered, hating the hysterical tears rising in her throat.
“The one thing that would make any passerby uncomfortable and make them look in the opposite direction.” Before Winnifred could even guess what he was about, his left hand was at her waist and the other behind her neck as he turned her back toward the interior windows of the car. Her mouth opened in surprise. “What are you do—”
His lips pressed against hers, silencing her with his passionate, voracious kiss as he tenderly held her to him. Winnifred knew she should protest. She knew … nothing but the feel of his lips on hers and the flutter of renewed hope in her heart that Jude cared for her. Her hands trailed up his arms and she encircled his neck, returning his kiss, their breath mingling as he kissed her again and again until, at last, he pulled away, leaving her dizzy. She blinked against the stars in her eyes. Jude. “Oh Jude.” She rested her head against his chest and sighed.
It felt so right to have her in his arms, her lips against his. At his name on her sweet breath, he bent and rested his forehead on hers, their hats bumping. He wanted to tell Winnifred that he cared for her. That he had spoken with her father. But anything he said would only give her a false impression. Well, it wouldn’t give her any more of a false impression than my kissing her did. Why does she have to be so—But the inspector did not bless their union, and he could never turn her against her father. He would have to win her hand honorably or not at all.
“What does this mean for us?” she asked a bit breathlessly against his chest.
He pulled back slowly and looked as far as he could through the interior window and down into the hallway of the train before turning back to her. “I’m sorry. I only meant to turn his gaze away from us as he passed by. I didn’t mean to get …” His words fell flat. He had been dreaming of kissing her from that moment on the Ferris wheel so long ago, but he hadn’t intended to ever kiss her before he had permission from her father to court her.
Her rosy cheeks began to deepen in hue as her shy blush turned to that of mortification. “Of course,” she whispered, and sank onto the plush red velvet seat. She set to righting her hat before smoothing her skirt. “And did it work?”
He hated that she felt embarrassed when it should have been him feeling that way. “It did. I’m sorry for any distress I caused you. It was all that I could think to do in the moment to keep you safe.”
“You can rest easy on that score at least. I feel no distress.” Her eyes lifted to meet his as he sat across from her and the train chugged away from the station. “And what if he passes us when the train stops? Do you plan on repeating your act? I dare say you were convincing.” Her words turned sharp as she retrieved her beaded reticule that had fallen to the floor.
The hurt in her voice crushed him. “Winnie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think—”
“That you were interested in me?” She tilted her chin up, her eyes sparking. “I don’t think it. I know it. No ma
n could kiss a woman like that and say he felt nothing. I never took you for a liar, Jude Thorpe.” She turned away from him and toward the window, her shoulders stiff as she slipped a pocket-sized book from her reticule and set to reading it, intent on ignoring him.
He reached out and lowered her book, taking her chin in his hand. “Winnie, look at me. You know why I can’t say what’s on my heart. We can’t go against your father. You have no idea how much I wish things were different.”
“Of course I do,” she responded so softly that he barely heard her.
His soul pricked at the thought of the hurt he was inflicting. He could endure the pain his actions caused him for the sake of protecting her, but to cause her pain as well? I should have never let her convince me to follow that lead today. I should have asked when Holmes was returning. I should have—
She pulled away from him, pressing a gloved hand to her mouth as she took a deep breath, composing herself. “Sometimes I forget about the mission and that my reality is skewed with my undercover identity. I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have known that your kissing me was only about keeping my cover.” Without another word, she lifted her book and hid within its pages.
The next two hours were filled with lonely silence. His arms ached to comfort her, but he knew that any action on his part would only cause them both undue pain. The train halted, and Winnifred leapt out of her seat as if determined to beat Holmes and leave Jude behind in her wake, but Jude lifted a gentle hand to stay her before thrusting his head into the hallway. Holmes was approaching. God forgive me. He turned to Winnifred and gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but he’s coming this way.”
Turning her back to the interior windows, she stepped into his arms and lifted her gaze to him. “Jude? Tell me one thing.”
Anything, he wished he could say. “And what is that?”
“Do you care for me?”
With every beat of my heart. Jude leaned down and kissed her for the last time. He could swear he heard the sound of his heart cracking.
Chapter Nineteen
“You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!”
~Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
Winnifred sat at her desk, bleary-eyed from her sleepless night. All she could think of was Jude’s kiss and how wonderful it had been, only to have her world come crashing down seconds afterward.
Mr. Owens plunked a cup onto her desk. “Looked like you could use some coffee, so I took the liberty of getting you a cup, but don’t worry. Auntie Ann made it, not me.” He winked and stretched his back with a groan.
“Bless you,” she whispered, taking an unladylike gulp, pleased with the flavor and thankful for its strength to bolster her through the morning. “Thank you. I couldn’t sleep. What has your back hurting? Did you have a sleepless night too?” She wrapped her hand around the mug and propped her elbow on her desk, flipping through the latest stack of papers. She paused at the sight of an envelope addressed to a Mr. H. Howard in a flowing script. H. Howard … as in Henry Howard Holmes? She turned it over to see that the seal was still intact. A mistake. Her hands fairly trembled as she scanned the return address and made out a name. Georgiana Yoke.
Owens spied the letter and snatched it out of her hands, tucking it into his pocket. “Sorry, this one is for Mr. Holmes,” he mumbled.
“I wonder why Miss Yoke doesn’t use Mr. Holmes’s correct surname?”
“It’s none of my business, but I would think the lady was misinformed from the start and he hasn’t corrected her in their correspondence because he doesn’t want to embarrass her now that they’ve been writing for so long.” He waved his hand dismissively.
So, he has a wife in Wilmette, flirts with his employees, and corresponds with another woman? She rubbed her hand over her eyes, weary of searching for clues about the disappearances and coming up with nothing that would put Holmes behind bars.
“Anyway, to answer your question about my back, Mr. Holmes came home last night and asked me to move another trunk from the third floor to the basement, and it weighed a ton. Between us, we barely got it down to the basement.” He chuckled. “I tell you what, I have no idea how he moves those darn trunks up to the third floor, but he never fails to call me up to the landing to help him take them down.”
“Oh? I wonder what he’s storing. We haven’t had any deliveries for the hotel recently.” One trunk wasn’t much cause for suspicion, but multiple trunks? It was surely another sign that he was up to something illegal. Ignoring the nearly scalding heat of her coffee, she drained her cup and rose. “This was so delicious. I might go see if I can beg another from Auntie Ann. Can I get you anything while I’m downstairs?”
He shook his head, lifting his cup. “Thank you, but I like to sip mine slowly. You go ahead.”
Coughing against her singed throat, Winnifred returned her cup to the kitchen sink, and, as Auntie Ann wasn’t in sight, took the stairs down to the basement. The basement door gave an ominous growl, and she was struck by a malodorous smell. She knew Auntie Ann had sent Owens to eradicate it earlier last week. He had found a bag of rotten potatoes and concluded he had found the source. Pressing her sleeve to her nose, Winnifred scanned the dirt-covered floor, her heart nearly stopping at the sight of the trunk in the corner with a rather large, ancient-looking brass padlock securing it.
She bent over the trunk, examining it for any initials, and knocked on each side for a clue as to what it contained. Studying the lock, she was certain there was no way she could pop it open using a hairpin, but she gave a tug anyway, sending the old metal to rattling. The clank made her draw her gaze upward, but when she didn’t hear anyone coming to investigate, she tapped the trunk, listening for the hollow sound she knew she wouldn’t find, judging from Owens’s sore back. She attempted to scoot it a bit to listen for the contents shifting, but found it was far too heavy and would not budge even an inch. At a creak on the top stair, she darted away from the trunk, searching for anywhere that could conceal her, but the basement was too small to offer her any refuge. Thinking quickly, she grabbed a sack of carrots, praying that whoever it was would think she had come down to fetch food for the kitchen.
His eyes met hers, sparking with an anger that struck her as unearthly.
“Mr. Holmes, good to see you, sir.” She lifted the sack to her shoulder to draw his attention to it, giving him a bright smile. “Auntie Ann asked me to get her some carrots while she made me a second cup of coffee. She said the stairs are too difficult for her to traipse up and down two flights for every little thing.”
“Did she?” He crossed his arms.
He was not satisfied. How much more will he allow before he fires me … or takes me like he did the woman in green and the Conners. He followed her up the stairs, not even offering to take the sack of carrots from her. His seething anger was nearly tangible, and she could see a darkness in him that she had only guessed he possessed. Surely he was hiding something in that trunk, something that, judging from the look in his eyes, he would kill to protect.
“Miss Swan, wha—”
“I brought you the sack of carrots like you asked.” She interrupted Auntie Ann and set her burden on the counter, praying that the housekeeper would protect her lie.
“You asked Miss Swan to fetch you these carrots?” Holmes fairly glared at the cook. “After I told you that no one is to go down there except me or Mr. Owens?”
Auntie Ann must have seen the panic in Winnifred’s gaze as she reached for the bag. “Of course I did! Why else would Miss Swan have cause to venture down there? The boarders will be clamoring for their food come dinnertime, and I don’t have time to go running up and down the stairs for supplies or wait for you to fetch them or Mr. Owens. Miss Swan had a few moments to spare when she came down to the kitchen for a glass of water, and I thought she could go down in the basement for me this once.”
“Water? I thought you were making her coffee?”
“Well, I—” Winnifred fair
ly stammered as Auntie Ann interjected.
“Sure, she wanted my special coffee, but she will be getting water. It’s not fit for a body to drink so much coffee all at once.” Auntie Ann put her hands on her hips.
He shook his head and laughed as the cloud surrounding him dissipated. “It’s a good thing you’re such a good cook, Auntie Ann. Make Miss Swan the coffee and don’t send her down there again. As I said before, if you need supplies, ask me or Owens. Now, would you mind stepping over into the hallway, Miss Swan? We need to speak alone for a moment.” Mr. Holmes motioned for her to join him.
Her heart pounded as hard and fast as when he had first followed her. Is this it? Surely he wouldn’t try anything with Auntie Ann right down the way.
“I was sorry to see your note stating that you had a headache last week. I trust you’re feeling better?” His brows knitted into a furrowed line, daring her to lie.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry about leaving early, but I returned, as promised, on Saturday and finished my tasks. I hope it didn’t interfere with your schedule.”
He shrugged as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m not as worried about my schedule, as I am about what I saw.”
“Saw?” She steadied her nerves. She couldn’t allow him to see how rattled his words made her. Dear Lord, please let him not have spotted us in Wilmette.
“I did not wish to bring this up, which is why I waited so long to speak with you on the subject, but it has been bothering me. I was on a walk, and I happened to see you with a young man whom I recognized as the one who lingers nearby here sometimes.”
She felt her knees grow weak. Dear Lord, he’s seen Jude.
“I was puzzled because at the time, I had not received your note, and you seemed well enough. So, I must ask you, did you leave here early with the intention of meeting the gentleman during your scheduled work hours?” Holmes tilted his head, waiting for her to answer.
“Oh no! You can ask the pharmacist downstairs. I took some medicine for my headache and then went for a walk and before I knew it, I found myself at a friend’s house and her, uh, cousin happened to be visiting. We had met once before. He asked to escort me on my walk and, as I was feeling a little bit better by this time, I agreed. Since it was after my normal work hours by that time, we ended up at the fair.”
The White City Page 17