Off Kilter

by Laura Strickland

  “There is the anti-cruelty league.”

  “Yes. I am thinking of joining.” Kelly emitted the grinding sound again. “Do you think they would make me welcome?”

  “No doubt.” James huffed in surprise. The automaton had a sense of humor. Who would have thought?

  “The horse in question has been taken into care,” Kelly said. “And I have made sure the coal company is investigated for other abuses. It may just have been the one driver at fault. I am informed one human cannot be held responsible for the sins of others.” He paused. “Is it about this you wished to talk to me?”

  “No, though I’m glad to hear the horse is in care. Do you know a Dr. Roesch?”

  Kelly cocked his head a bit like an intelligent setter. James realized he consulted his artificial intelligence. “Yes.”

  “I believe he studied you and your…fellows.”

  “My fellows, yes.” Grind, grind. “We are an elite company. Oh, look—she has removed the second stocking and is completely nude.” He banged his whiskey glass on the table in apparent approval. All around the room, the sound echoed. Kelly gestured to the woman, who hopped down from the makeshift stage and crossed to their table.

  “Nice dance,” Kelly told her emotionlessly. “This is my friend. Forgive me, friend—I did not record your name.”

  “James Kilter,” James told the woman. She looked into his face, and he prepared for her reaction.

  She didn’t disappoint. “Jesus, what the hell are you? One of them experiments,” she jerked a thumb at Kelly, “that went wrong?”

  James shook his head. Close up, she appeared far less attractive, and reeked of sweat.

  “You mean, you’re human?” She did another quick assessment and offered grudgingly, “If you want to go in back, I suppose I can keep my eyes shut. You all there under your clothes?”

  Robbed of the ability to speak, James nodded.

  “It costs a dollar, and no funny stuff. I do the usual, including doggie style. You get five minutes. Well?”

  “I will pay.” Kelly pulled a dollar from his pocket and laid it on the filthy, scarred table. “My treat as a reward for your heroism the other day.” Grind, grind.

  “No, thank you, though I appreciate the offer.”

  “Fussy, are you? With a face like that?” Obviously offended, the dancer stalked off, her butt cheeks bouncing.

  “Is that face of yours a disadvantage when trying to obtain women?” Kelly asked. He left the dollar lying on the table. “I would not think you would have an unlimited choice.”

  And what’s it to you? James burned to know but dared not voice the question. Kelly seemed friendly enough, but how did one man ask another—even an automaton—if he were able to enjoy a woman?

  “This is true. But I am interested in one particular woman, no one else.”

  “Ah, love.” Kelly leaned back in his chair and gave a smile so purely Irish it astounded James all over again. “Another great human tradition.”

  And was that what took place here? Did Kelly and these others scattered about the room play at the traditions of being human? Kelly had not yet drunk from the whiskey glass, though he waved it about like some Celtic king.

  Sadness touched James. As he knew very well, being an outsider didn’t feel good.

  “About Dr. Roesch,” he began again. “How well do you know him?”

  Another woman had come out onto the stage, this one fully clothed. The man with the concertina began to play another wheezing tune, and Kelly took a long look at the woman before he replied.

  “Not well, though he has looked into my most intimate places.” Grind, grind.

  This time James laughed with him. Then he laid his hand atop the dollar and deliberately slid it toward Kelly.

  “Officer Kelly, I don’t need this, but if you’d like to reward me, as you say, for trying to spare that horse a beating, you might do me a favor.”

  “Favor?” Kelly tipped his head again. “Ah, yes. Friends do favors for one another. What do you require?”

  James lowered his voice. “I’m trying to convince Dr. Roesch to operate on my face.” He gestured roughly. “To make me look—well, more human. But the surgery’s not perfected, and he’s reluctant. Thinks I wouldn’t be able to handle the pain.”

  “How are you at handling pain, my friend?”

  “As good as the next man, maybe better. Probably not so good as you.”

  “Why do you want the surgery so badly?” Kelly appeared to examine him. “Those are just scars.”

  “It’s difficult to explain.” To someone without a heart. “As I say, there’s a woman.”

  “The one with whom you are in love.”

  “Well, yes.” Might as well admit it.

  “You have chosen one woman above all others.”

  “Yes. And I wish to look…well, the best I can for her.”

  “If she cares for you in return, she will not mind how you look. At least, that is the premise with which I have been presented.”

  “It’s a fine premise, in an ideal world. But look at me. What woman wouldn’t mind?”

  “So how can I assist you in your effort?”

  “Speak to Dr. Roesch for me. He knows you. Assure him I can withstand any pain or risk.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  “What?”

  “I cannot give Dr. Roesch any assurance which has not been proven to me.” Kelly snatched James’ wrist in one of his mechanical, skin-covered hands and, from his pocket, brought a box of matches, one of which he struck against the table. He forced James’ hand, palm down, over the match head and held it there while the small flame seared the flesh.

  The automaton’s strength was such that James couldn’t have pulled away if he wanted. He didn’t want; he knew this for a test and endured without a sound until the match burned back to Kelly’s fingers and snuffed out.

  “Very good. I will speak to Dr. Roesch about you. Come back here and talk with me again, sometime. I have enjoyed this.”

  James swore under his breath and shook his hand surreptitiously, against the sting.

  “Thank you, Officer Kelly. I appreciate it.”

  “Anything to further the cause of love. But call me Patrick. You are my friend. And put some ice on that. I hear it cools the burn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cat’s heart beat up in her throat as she heard the heavy footsteps pause outside her door, and she fixed her gaze on the latch, watching to see if it would turn. She wished she had a weapon, but the only thing to hand was the wooden coat rack in the corner. She snatched it up and hoisted it over her head.

  “Miss Delaney? ’Tis myself, Michael Murphy.”

  The air left Cat’s lungs in a rush. She lowered the coat rack with a bang and opened the door.

  Tate Murphy stood there looking overly large in the confined space. His gaze fell on the coat rack, and one corner of his wide mouth twitched.

  “Never say you were going to try and club me with that?”

  “If I had to.”

  “A fine state of affairs. My sister meets me downstairs with a butcher knife and you with a great length of wood.”

  “Not you, Mr. Murphy so much as…whomever else. Boyd’s sent men looking for me door to door, armed with a picture.”

  “So I hear.”

  “What am I going to do? Where’s Jamie, do you know?”

  “I do not. Off about some business, I’ll be bound. For now, I want you to come away with me. I don’t believe ’tis safe here for you anymore.”

  “Oh.” Cat’s heart sank. She hated this tiny room, yet she would miss Roselyn’s house.

  “I will take you back to my place on Niagara for now. James will come back there when he’s done with his business, and we’ll tell him what’s happened. All right? Best get your things.”

  “I don’t have much.”

  Roselyn met them at the bottom of the stairs. Cat felt ridiculous tears come to her eyes.

  “Miss Murp
hy, thank you for everything. If I can ever repay you in any way, you’ve only to tell me.”

  “No need for thanks. You pulled your weight, and no mistake. Come back and see us when you can.”

  Cat nodded and waved at Dottie, who hovered in the doorway of the kitchen.

  “I’ve a steamcab waiting out front. I want you to hop inside quick, and we’ll drive around the city for a while, lose any tail we might have. I’ll not lead the hounds back to my own den,” Tate said.

  Cat cast one look back at Roselyn before ducking out and had to choke back foolish emotion. Tate Murphy planted a large hand on her head and urged her into the vehicle. The steamcab moved off with a rush and a belch of vapor.

  “I am sorry to cause so much trouble,” Cat told Murphy miserably.

  “Not your fault, is it? Men like Boyd need to find out they don’t rule the world and can’t buy and sell people like cattle. I knew men enough like him back in Ireland—thought they could have anyone, ruin anyone.” He stopped speaking abruptly. Cat wondered if there had been a woman in Ireland, someone he’d lost and never forgotten.

  Softly, she asked, “Have you had any word from Toronto? Do you know if Boyd has gone after my family?”

  “My man sent a message; he’s on his way back.” Tate hesitated. “Says the news isn’t good.”

  “My sister, Becky?”

  “That’s all I know as yet, lass.”

  “If Boyd takes this out on her, I’ll never forgive myself. I should have stuck to my plan and stayed with him.”

  “And done what? Let him pass you around among his cronies? ’Tisn’t decent, that.”

  “Better me than Becky.”

  “You’re a brave lass. I admire that. But I’ll be needing to ask you before we get back to my office—what are your feelings toward James? He’s dear as a brother to me, you understand, and a good man to the heart. He’s had a weight of trouble to bear ever since I’ve known him, and I wouldn’t want to stand by and let him run headlong into still more.”

  “I understand. Neither would I.”

  “Good then, if you don’t mind me saying: I saw the two of you back in my sister’s kitchen, and I have to admit I was surprised. Most women are that put off by his appearance they refuse to get close to him.”

  Cat gave Tate a look. “I’m not most women.”

  “Clearly. But I wouldn’t like to think you’re toying with the lad, because, see, he’s the type who gives his heart completely.”

  “Do I look like the sort to toy with anyone?”

  “I don’t know, do I? High society woman from wealthy Toronto, and him a working stiff.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Murphy, I am not toying with James Kilter.”

  “Aye, because I’ve been thinking about this pretty much nonstop since the other evening, and I’d be happy to pay your way out of the city.”

  “To get rid of me, you mean?”

  “No, to help you. To help both of you.”

  “Mr. Murphy, the only way I’m leaving this city is if James Kilter comes with me.”

  “Well, then.”

  “You needn’t look so gob-smacked.”

  “I’ve never heard anyone speak that way about our James before.”

  “It just proves,” she told him, “you encounter something new every day.”

  ****

  “What’s this, then? Another stray?” The man who spoke had a short stature, a large nose, and hair so brightly yellow Cat wondered if he bleached it. “You gonna put this one out back with the dogs, Tate?”

  “Lad’s here as part of a job, Drappot, and you know what that means—not a word to anyone. It’s worth your job, understand?”

  “Hiding him from somebody, are you?” Drappot’s brown eyes examined Cat slowly and she wondered if he would guess her sex.

  “Something like that. Why aren’t you out on assignment? I thought you were playing bodyguard to Mr. Taylor.”

  “He had a doctor’s appointment and gave me a few hours off. I’ll be headed out soon.” To Cat he said, “You got a name, kid?”

  “Albert.”

  “Well, Al, try not to be too scared of the local boogey man. He’ll give you nightmares if you stare at him too long. And make sure he don’t take you out back and feed you to his dogs, especially that wild one. Damn bitch barks all night.”

  Tate shot a look at Cat and correctly assessed her rising temperature. “You’ll be on assignment tonight, Drappot, and won’t hear the dogs or anything else. Come on, lad. I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

  “Why, that insolent weasel,” Cat said as soon as they were out of earshot. “What’s Jamie ever done to him?”

  “Oil and water, those two. The quarrel’s been going on as long as I can remember.”

  “Truly, Mr. Murphy? I should consider firing that toad, if I were you.”

  “Man’s good enough at his job, and James has grown a pretty thick skin. Sorry, this room’s worse than the one you had at Roselyn’s, but you should be safe here. You can wander about the building and out into the yard, but I don’t want you to leave the premises. As soon as I talk to our man from Toronto, I’ll let you know. Just don’t show your face, understand?”

  “Yes. Where are the facilities?”

  “The what?”

  “Outhouse or water closet?”

  “Christ, I didn’t think of that. We men all use one bog, and that’ll never do for you. Not fit for you to set foot in. For now, use the commode under the cot there. I’ll think of something.”

  “And you’ll tell me when Jamie arrives?”

  Wild barking erupted behind the building.

  “No need,” Tate said. “He’s just arrived; the dogs always know he’s here; don’t ask me how.”

  Tate led Cat back down through the warehouse and out into the small, scrappy yard which contained a number of metal kennels. James stood in front of the first on the left while all the other dogs, save one, clamored for his attention.

  Cat knew just how they felt. She wanted his attention too, and his big hand touching her. She shivered with the sudden onset of desire.

  “Remember, now,” Tate told her in an undertone, “you’re a lad, and there are eyes all around.”

  James spun when he heard Tate’s voice, and his eyes lit at the sight of Cat.

  “I’ve brought young Albert here for safekeeping,” Tate said quickly. “There’ve been a few developments, none for the good. Come in my office, and I’ll explain everything.”

  ****

  Hours later Cat lay, sleepless, in still another sweltering room, this time under a metal roof that clanged and banged beneath a driving rainstorm. She didn’t know how anyone could possibly attain slumber in such a racket.

  Lightning flashed outside her window and thunder rumbled so close above the tin roof it made her cringe.

  Her thoughts ran like a train, relentless and unstoppable. Jamie Kilter had walked her to her room a short time ago and said, as if to reassure her, “No need to be frightened. I’m right next door, so call me if you need me.”

  She needed him. Oh, she did! Her flesh quivered with need, and her imagination played fantastical scenes in her head: the two of them closed away together here or next door, anywhere. His hands touching her, his lips claiming her; the taste and scent of him filling her.

  Thunder rumbled again, and she groaned softly. Then she slipped from the cot and, on bare feet, went to the door. Fumbling with the strange latch, she swung it open.

  Darkness and a stifling corridor. How many of Tate Murphy’s workers lived here? Lightning flashed again, and she saw a row of doors. Should one of them open unexpectedly and the inhabitant catch her standing in her underwear, it would be more than obvious she was no lad.

  She’d better move quickly and get out of the hallway.

  Jamie’s door, like all the others, stood shut. Two steps took her to it, and she scratched cautiously.

  No reply. Did he sleep? Surely not; perhaps he couldn’t hear her above
the rain. She tapped, and that went unanswered also, so she turned his latch and leaned in.

  “Jamie?”

  He moved at once, as if he’d been awake and listening for her after all. The room, dark as the pit of hell, didn’t let her see, but she heard him.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared. Can I stay with you the rest of the night?”

  Dead silence met her request. Cat ignored it, stepped in, and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Thunder rumbled again and lightning flashed, rattling the roof and window. James caught a glimpse of Catherine standing just inside his door, an image that seared his eyeballs like fire. She looked like an angel clad in scanty white, with her cap of short hair ruffled and hesitance in every limb. His heart began to pound great, shuddering beats high in his chest.

  She couldn’t be here just as if his thoughts had summoned her, as if the longing he’d felt lying here knowing she lay just ten feet away on the other side of the narrow wall had conjured her like some powerful magic. He’d been nursing the pain in his hand and thinking about how much more he’d be willing to endure for the chance to win her.

  And now she came whispering in, no more substantial than a dream.

  Neither wise nor safe for her to be here. Already he felt his body respond to the sight—or perhaps just the idea—of her. He should tell her to go.

  But she feared the storm. Could he be so cruel?

  “It’s just thunder,” he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

  “The thunder doesn’t bother me so much as the lightning. Has the roof on this place ever been struck?”

  “I don’t think so.” The dogs down in their kennels hated storms, too. He’d been thinking about braving the wet to comfort them. Now he had the chance to comfort Catherine instead.

  Again, not a good idea.

  “Please, Jamie.”

  How he loved it when she said his name that way, making of it an intimate caress only the two of them shared. He could deny her nothing.

  “Not a good idea.” He said it aloud this time, like a warding spell.