Her throat burning, Winnifred drained the glass and wiped a drop from her mouth with the lace cuff of her white nightgown. “Father was here? He didn’t rush out into the field to catch Holmes?”
Aunt Lillian moved to fill the glass again. “Of course not. He can barely function for all his worry. I haven’t seen him in such a state since Eloise …” She let her sentence drift into silence.
Winnifred’s throat swelled, but not because of the smoke. “And Miss Lance?” She blinked back her rising tears and whispered, afraid of the answer. “Is she …?”
The morning light spilled into the room as her father’s form filled the doorway. “Safe, thanks to you and Detective Thorpe,” he answered as Aunt Lillian moved past him to show the doctor out.
Winnifred looked to her father, wanting, needing to ask about Jude, but knowing his feelings about Jude, she wasn’t sure how she could broach the topic. “Have you seen—” Her voice tripped, and she began coughing in earnest.
Her father handed her the glass of water and patted her on the back. “Yes, Percy came by early this morning.”
Percy. The glass shook so in her hands that she feared she would spill it. She set it aside on the cane-back chair. She hadn’t even thought about Percy while she was in that room, facing death. All of her thoughts were with Jude and always would be. She had known it in her heart all along, and she was fooling herself into thinking she could accept Percy’s hand while Jude was breathing. She would wait until the Lord showed her father that she and Jude belonged together. As long as it took, she would wait. “I meant Detective Thorpe … Jude.”
He sighed and removed the glass and wiped the wood with a pristine handkerchief before it left a ring on the antique chair. “I knew you did. I’m afraid that after his rescuing you from certain death, you will have little place in your heart for a man who did not run into the fire for you.”
Winnifred wrung the comforter between her fists, remaining silent as Father took a seat on the bed beside her.
He grasped her hand, drawing it onto his lap and stroking it. “When faced with losing you, it put things in perspective for me, and I’ve decided that whatever your decision is regarding Percy, I will respect it. I will not force you into a marriage with a man you do not love.”
She was so taken aback by her father’s change of heart that all she could do was embrace him. The movement jarred her ankle, causing her to moan, but even so, her heart felt much lighter knowing that she was no longer expected to accept Percy’s proposal. “Thank you,” she whispered as he kissed her cheek.
“You know I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you. I love you, Winnie girl. Your mother and I always called you our greatest treasure. When she died, I wanted to protect you so badly that I’m afraid I might have given you the impression that I didn’t care, but I did and I do.” He bowed his head. “It’s rather difficult for me to express myself. Your mother was always the one who had a way with words. I would just listen.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “You do know I love you with all of my heart?”
She waited for the years of hurt to rise up and claim the joy her father’s words gave her, but instead, she felt something in her break, and the anger she had always just pushed to the side finally vanished. Closing her eyes, she laid her head on his shoulder and absorbed his strength. Inspector Wylde was finally her father again. “I love you too.”
He sighed and wrapped his arms around her before kissing the top of her head and clearing his throat. “Well then, I think you should get some rest. Would you care for one of your books from the library downstairs?”
“I’ve read them all.” She attempted to laugh, but it came out sounding like a cackle. “But having lived the part of a heroine and surviving death’s fatal blow, I think I will never again read Percival Valentine’s work. His novels take over one’s imagination so. No, I think I will have to learn to be content with your book of sermons and a cup of strong coffee to keep me awake to read them.”
“I’m sure your aunt will be relieved to hear that.” Father laughed softly and shook his head. “But, I give it a week. Good night, darling.”
Jude paced the sidewalk in front of Winnifred’s ivy-covered cottage, looking up at her window at every turn, eager for news. The doctor had left an hour ago, but Inspector Wylde had yet to fetch him. What could possibly be taking so long? He ran his fingers around and around the brim of his hat, and at the click of the front door opening, he strode forward. “Please, sir, I have to speak with her. Is Winnifred, Miss Wylde, well? The doctor was in there so long, and he wouldn’t tell me how she was doing. I thought that there may be something wrong. Is she all right?”
Inspector Wylde squeezed Jude’s shoulder, halting his questions. “I’m sorry for keeping you in suspense. I went up to check on her right before the doctor left, and she was resting comfortably. The doctor was thorough and concluded that despite minor smoke inhalation, bruising, cuts, and a twisted ankle, she is fine and will make a full recovery within the week.”
Thank the Lord. Jude sagged with relief. “May I see her?” He knew he was being bold to ask to call on her after his conversation with the inspector, but a deadly situation tended to make people bold, refining thoughts that were confused or silent before. There was no confusion left in him. Winnifred Wylde was meant for him and he for her.
Inspector Wylde sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “A responding officer spoke with some eyewitnesses, and they relayed what you did.” He stared directly at Jude. “While Mr. Covington stayed safely away, a figure was seen sprinting into the flaming building. Is it true that when you spotted the fire, you ran into the building and remained searching for Winnifred after every other person had poured out onto the sidewalk?”
Jude looked away from the inspector for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. While everything in him wanted to cast Percival in a bad light, he knew it would not be the fair way of winning Winnifred’s hand. He shrugged. “It’s true I ran for the building, but I’m sure I heard Covington yell that he would fetch the fire department. If he had not gotten to them so quickly, much more than the third floor would have burned. We each had our part in keeping Winnifred and other civilians safe.”
Inspector Wylde cleared his throat. “I know what I said to you was harsh. It still would not be my first choice for my daughter to wed someone with a dangerous position. But, I realize she is my daughter, and I feel that danger will never be far away from her. If anyone can protect her, it is you, a man who—” His voice seized. Pausing, he ran his hand over his mouth and gathered himself. “Who will run, without hesitation, into the fire for her, risking his life.”
Jude’s heart thudded. Is he saying …?
“I will never be able to repay you for what you have done for me.” The inspector squeezed Jude’s shoulder again. “You have my permission to approach my daughter with courtship. However, you cannot see her right now. I don’t want her to make a rash decision while she is caught up in the romance of it all and refuse Mr. Covington’s hand because you were the one who carried her from a burning building like some damsel in distress in one of her thousands of novels.” He waved his hand over his head and rolled his eyes.
Jude’s throat closed with emotion, and he stuck his hand out to the inspector. “Thank you, sir. I will make it my mission in life to keep your daughter safe and happy.”
He clasped Jude’s hand. “If she is happy, then I am happy.” Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Now, to the business at hand. Since Holmes is still on the loose, I want you to continue to act as Winnifred’s guard until we are certain he is not in the city anymore. As per your suggestion, I have officers on their way to the Wilmette house.” He lifted Jude’s small, black leather notebook. “I’ll read over your case notes, and hopefully there will be something that will lead us to his location sooner rather than later.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.”
Winnifred awoke to a single candle burning beside her bed.
She blinked, confused as to why the room was so dark. Her gaze flitted to the mantel clock. Eight o’clock? Did I sleep the day away? She rose on her elbows, panic setting in at being alone at night. Her forehead beaded with sweat as she watched the candlelight dance, casting a sinister shadow on the wall and bringing to life the memory of the crackling floorboards and smoke descending into the dark pit.
She scrambled to her feet, but the moment she set the slightest bit of weight on her left ankle, she cried out in pain. She gripped the bedpost and leaned heavily against the wood, taking a breath to steady herself and attempting to gain her thoughts. You are not going to die in that hole. Jude found you. The Lord sent you Jude.
Her gaze fell to her open Bible, resting on the chair beside her. She didn’t remember putting it there. She reached for it, held the pages up to the candle, and read, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.” She closed her eyes and allowed the psalm to bathe her in peace. In spite of all the evil that Holmes had intended for her, the Lord had other plans and had led her to find Miss Lance and had sent her Jude in her moment of need.
Oh Jude. Winnifred ached to feel his arms about her once again, protecting her from harm. She was gripped with the need to see him. If she could only see Jude’s face, she could return to sleep, certain he was well. Slipping on her coral dressing robe, she slid off the mattress, knowing without a doubt that he would be below her window, protecting her as he’d promised. She grasped the bedpost, reaching for the chair in a slow, labored movement to get to the window seat. Hopping on one foot, she crossed the room, grabbing whatever she could manage. She sank onto the seat with a grunt, sweat dripping down her neck from the effort.
Winnifred pressed her hands against the glass and absorbed its coolness and rested her forehead against the windowpane. She didn’t care that she looked like someone trying to escape as she searched the street below until she found him standing under the lamppost. She threw open the window. “Jude,” she called in a loud, hoarse whisper, nearly cringing at the thought of her father hearing her from the parlor. “Jude!”
He trotted over to her window and looked up at her, concern edging his every feature. “Winnie! Is something wrong?”
I’m being held captive in the name of resting, so it wouldn’t necessarily be a lie to hint that something is amiss. Satisfied with her reasoning, she waved him up. “I need you.” There, that wasn’t a lie.
Climbing the latticework, Jude was up the side of the house before she could even think of her excuse for calling him up. He grasped the ivy-covered windowsill and without effort, slipped inside, his feet landing on her floor with a light thud. He scanned the room, his gaze pausing on the open door. “Is someone out there?” he whispered, pointing toward the hall.
Her plan had seemed flawless at the time, but when she gazed up into his golden eyes, she lost all train of thought.
“Winnie? What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid there’s lots wrong. But it’s not because of someone roaming about the house.” She sank onto the window seat, hoping that if she did not look at him, she could gather herself enough to say what was on her heart.
He gently cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her gaze, questions in his eyes. “Winnie?”
She sighed and gave a half-hearted shrug. “I’m afraid I’m all out of books and there’s no one here who can save me. They all think I need rest, but what I need is more books.”
His concerned brow smoothed. “So, you need to be rescued?”
“I’m afraid so.” She rose, mindfully tucking her injured foot up under her, and hopped toward him, nearly losing her balance. “I’m quite the damsel in distress, really.”
He shook his head, laughing as he grabbed her elbows, steadying her. “If there is one thing you are not, it is a damsel in distress.” He stroked an escaped curl behind her ear. “I wish I could stay, but …” His gaze flicked to the doorway, his meaning clear. “I’m afraid that in a novel, a hero might attend a damsel in distress in her chambers, but if it’s not an emergency, I had better take my leave before your father has me thrown in jail. Then you will have to do the rescuing.”
Her cheeks burned at his gentle admonishment. She grasped her dressing robe’s collar and pulled it against her neck, suddenly aware at how the situation would appear to anyone who had not just been delivered from a burning building in the arms of the man she loved.
“But may I come call on you in the morning?” he asked.
Her heart soared. Call on me? She knew he could have said visit or check on her, but he’d deliberately said call. “I would love that. Yes.” A thousand times, yes!
He grinned as if he could hear her thoughts. “I really want to kiss you right now, but—”
“But you are aware that her father, who is an inspector, heard you enter through the window and might catch you?” Her father’s voice sounded behind them, making her start and lose her footing again.
Jude grabbed hold of her waist and eased her back down onto her cushioned window seat. “Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I thought she was in danger.”
He lifted his hand, staying Jude’s explanation. “I heard Winnie call for you. Well, Daughter, since you are awake and seem far too excited to sleep, perhaps we can all adjourn to the parlor where we can discuss the case at length.” Without waiting for their reply, he scooped her up and marched them downstairs, placing Winnifred on the settee and propping her ankle upon his favorite tufted footstool. He then draped a blanket over her for added modesty before joining her on the settee with Jude’s case notes in hand.
“Have you spoken with Miss Lance?” Her heart hammered in her chest, eager for any news.
“She is awake and on the mend, thank the Lord. However, she doesn’t remember how she got into the room under the trap door.”
“What? How could she not remember?” It took everything for Winnifred to block the vivid memories.
“The doctors think she has amnesia, which was brought on by the traumatic events of her ordeal. She could remember within days, years, or never. There was one thing on her person that she did not recall.” He withdrew a brooch from his waistcoat. “This was in her pocket.”
Winnifred gasped, pressing her hands to her chest.
“Is that—” Jude asked, his gaze flitting between her and the piece of jewelry.
“Yes.” Winnifred took it from her father and turned it over to find that hint of green caught in the pin. “I’m fairly certain this belonged to the woman at the fair I saw all those weeks ago. I must have dropped it by accident in Miss Lance’s room and she found it and brought it to Holmes.” She blanched. “He must have panicked and wanted to get her out of the way. Miss Lance almost died because of me.”
Jude shot to his feet and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. “Do not place that on your shoulders. It is because of you that Miss Lance is alive. Holmes most likely marked her as his next victim anyway.”
Father grasped her hand. “Jude is right. There is too much blame being passed about when it is one man who was the cause of all this evil. Holmes was the one who attempted to murder her and you are a witness. That alone will be enough to detain him until his trial.”
“That does bring me a small measure of comfort. And of course, there is always the charges of arson and insurance fraud,” she added.
Father’s brows rose. “I thought he’d just completed that building?”
“I have been in that building for the past month, and I can tell you that the third floor is slapped together.” She tapped the notebook. “If you read further, you will read about when Jude went to different contractors, following up on the leads I found in the ledgers. Except for his primary lawyer, Holmes has n
ever paid a single one of them for their work. It was worth it to him to burn the third floor for the insurance.”
Jude nodded. “It’s true. He owes so much on the building that the insurance would be the quickest way for him to make money and not have to pay off creditors.”
“So you have no doubt that he was burning his building for the insurance money?” Father asked, looking to Winnifred.
“Positive. Before he threw me into that secret room, I saw him with the pitch in his hands that he was using to coat the third story to light it ablaze. Holmes has always been upfront about his insurance policies with his employees and requires all of his staff and boarders to fill out an insurance form. If you look into his policies for Emeline Cigrand and Minnie Williams, I’m certain you will see they have been claimed. He said that after I perished in the fire, he would gain ten thousand dollars from my insurance policy.”
Jude pressed his lips into a grim line. “I can attest to that, sir. It is not the first time he’s tried to fake someone’s death to claim insurance money … a fact that Victor paid with his life upon learning.”
Father groaned and leaned his head into his hands, betraying his pain at this news. “The depth of this man’s depravity is astounding. We will open Officer Victor Wallace’s case again and see that he has justice. Even without any evidence for attempted murder, we can, at the least, book Holmes with insurance fraud based on his actions tonight.”
“Have the men found Holmes yet, Father?”
“He’s disappeared into thin air. I’m sure he’s going to lay low for a very long time. But know this.” Father reached for her hand, squeezing it. “We will find him. And when we do, he will be charged to the full extent of the law for the death of Officer Wallace and be put where he will no longer hurt anyone. Until then”—he tapped Jude’s case notes—“we will open a missing person investigation on Mrs. Conner, her daughter Pearl Conner, Miss Cigrand, and Miss Williams, with Holmes as the prime suspect in their disappearances.”
The White City Page 23