by Denise Eagan
“Two hours late,” Jane complained, sitting next to her. “We ought to be in Chicago by now. You would think that without snow to slow the rails, we’d be on time.”
Star shrugged. “The lines cannot always account for freight traffic.”
“I don’t see why freight traffic can’t wait for us. Are people not more important than produce? I dare say, I had the worst night’s sleep of my entire life last night, with the train swaying from one side to the other. They might slow it at night, don’t you think, to allow us to sleep?”
Sitting across from them, Simon scowled at Jane over his book. “First they are too slow and then they are too fast. Is there nothing that will please you?” he snapped.
Star glared at him. Since New York, his conciliatory manner had changed, becoming increasingly domineering and patronizing.
“I am only suggesting,” Jane said in a whiny tone that grated on Star’s nerves, “that they be a little more accommodating to the passengers.”
“You are by far the worst traveler I have ever had the displeasure to meet.”
Star winced. Jane’s whole body seemed to compress as she said in a soft mewling voice, “I am ever so sorry, Simon. I did not mean to discomfort you.”
“Then stop pestering me with your silly complaints,” he said, rising.
“Oh, but where are you going?” Jane asked, reaching for his hand.
He shook her off. “I am escaping your cloying company to smoke a cigar.”
“Oh, Simon, I’m sorry,” she cried out. He stalked away, leaving Jane in a veil of tears.
Star clenched her fist to control the urge to race after Simon and slap him silly. “Do not apologize, Jane. He does not deserve it.”
“I oughtn’t to complain so much. Men don’t like it.”
Star’s eyes narrowed as anger tightened her belly. “Just because a man doesn’t like something doesn’t mean you are obliged to stop it. At all events, sleeping last night was difficult for everyone.” Especially for those haunted by dreams of escaped demons choking them in their sleep. “I suspect it made all of the passengers cross.”
“Including, Simon,” Jane defended.
“He is well bred enough, Jane, to know he oughtn’t to snarl at us about it. Honestly, I cannot, for the life of me, see what you like in him. He’s been absolutely boorish.”
“That’s just the discomfort of traveling,” she said, drying her eyes with a handkerchief. “He’s always before been exceedingly considerate of my welfare. Oh, I have some of his letters. You shall see for yourself.”
Star refrained from rolling her eyes, as Jane dug through her purse. She pulled out several letters and then searched through them, no doubt for the perfect example, full of flattery and poetry, for Jane responded best to that. Whereas Star responded to rough-voiced whispers of erotic direction—
She bit her lip as tears rushed to her eyes. Oh, she missed him, with every last nerve in her body. Even a thousand miles travel couldn’t wash it out of her.
Jane dropped a letter in her lap and Star, eager for distraction, skimmed the first lines.
And froze. Romeo.
Her hands started shaking. Romeo’s handwriting. . .
“Well, Jane,” Simon said over them. He stopped abruptly. “Is that one of my letters?” he demanded.
“Yes—you see—” Jane stopped, for even her poor observational skills must acknowledge that something was dreadfully wrong.
“Why, I supposed then the cat is out of the bag,” he said almost cheerfully, and sat down across from them again. He reached into his pocket. For what? Star sucked in her breath. “Go on show them all to her if you wish. After all, Virginia has shown my correspondence to all manner of people, have you not? Including your cowboy-lover.”
Oh God, she couldn’t breathe—
“Correspondence to Star?” Jane squeaked.
“Yes,” he answered smoothly. “Permit me, my dear, to re-introduce myself. I am Romeo, Virginia’s secret admirer.”
You belong to me. He’d known about Nicholas and her because he’d seen them, possibly first-hand. It had enraged him so entirely that destroying Nicholas’s photograph had not eased his ire. And he employed Jane’s love—carefully cultivated love—to drag her away from safety. Oh dear God, she was in danger. They were both in danger.
“But—but—” Jane sputtered, stricken.
Saving them would require bold action. Star excelled at boldness. “Yes, but it’s over now,” she said, rising. “Come along Jane, we have endured quite enough of this.”
Holding her gaze, Simon withdrew his hand from his pocket, along with a revolver, which he then concealed from casual view next to his thigh. He pointed it at Jane. “My dear Virginia, oblige me by sitting back down. Jane, compose yourself. You would not wish to make me nervous, would you?”
Heart slamming into her chest, Star lowered her voice. “You are not so stupid as to fire that. The porter would be upon you in a minute.”
He cocked his head, his smile never leaving his face. His eyes were dark, cold. Why had she never noticed that before? “Did I never tell you, Virginia, that my father works for the railroad? The porter is an old friend of ours.”
Memory flashed through her mind. The porter had addressed Simon by name and given them the best of sleeping arrangements. “He would not countenance murder,” she bluffed, for who knew what the man might countenance?
“He’d think twice before accusing me, however. You might, note, also, our seating arrangements.”
They were at the back of the train, separated from other passengers by several empty rows. Simon could, she realized with a terrified whirring in her brain, shoot them both and then escape out the door directly behind her. The jump from the train could kill him, but it was far less likely than that gun killing her and Jane first.
He watched her, his smile widening as if he enjoyed her growing anxiety. He was playing with her. “I’d shoot her first, you know,” he said pleasantly. “Do you want another death on your conscience?”
Jane let out a squeak of pain and horror. “Oh no, Simon, you cannot mean it—”
“Shut up Jane,” he snapped, and then addressed Star in an eerily jovial voice. “Do sit down, Virginia. You aren’t going anywhere.”
***
“And so, sir,” Nick said to Ward after finishing the details of the rescue plan, “Del and I are leaving first thing in the morning. We’ll return Star to you without any harm.”
Ward studied Nick from behind his desk. His face remained remarkably calm, although Nick spied tightness around his eyes. “If Price has not already harmed her. She ought not to have withheld this from me. It seems, Nick, that we are once again indebted to you, this time for hiring Keller. You trust him, I take it. The man has a reputation in Boston due to a scandal several years back.”
“I do.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry, sir, I ought to have told you instead and let you handle it.”
“Star ought to have told me. Trust me, she knew quite well that you’d never risk her ire.” He paused. “You love her, I believe, almost as much as I do.”
Nick’s started. Damn, what did a man say to that kinda thing? How did he know?
Some things cannot be kept quiet . . . I suspect people ‘knew about us’ before we even did.
Star had been right. Naturally. She knew her family better than he did.
“Anyhow,” Nick began. He wasn’t going to lie. He wasn’t going to admit it either. “It’s all water under the bridge now. I better say goodbye and thank you for your hospitality—”
Ward’s eyebrows shot up. “Goodbye? Pardon my obtuseness, Nick, but I believe you just vowed to return my daughter to me.”
“I’ll save her from Price. Del will return her to Newport. Chicago’s most of the way home and I reckon I’ll just keep on going.”
Ward’s brows lowered as calculations flashed through his eyes. He looked disturbed. It didn’t make sense. Nick had expected him to be distraught over Star�
�s situation, and to be overjoyed at Nick’s departure, especially if he knew they were lovers. Instead, Ward studied him coolly, like he was a chessboard. “I see,” he said presently. “Be that as it may, I’d prefer you to return with Star. We’ve grown quite fond of you, Nicholas.”
Nick swallowed a lump rising in his throat. “Me too, sir. Maybe you and Morgan will come on out to Colorado for a visit. As I recollect Morgan wanted a tour of the mountains.”
Ward continued to scrutinize Nick with a piercing gaze that suddenly seemed capable of seeing through a body. Nick shifted in his chair like a boy being scolded by his pa. “Star will miss you most of all,” Ward said.
His words twisted the knife Star had left lodged in his chest, the serrated edge shredding his heart. “Yeah, until another fella comes along,” he said gruffly.
“I doubt that. I confess I thought I’d marked a stronger bond between you and my daughter than this hasty departure implies. I believed. . .” He paused. “Forgive my lack of delicacy, but I believed it was the most intimate of bonds.”
Nick winced. No doubt, this was where the man lunged across the desk and throttled him for taking his daughter to bed. Except Ward didn’t seem troubled about it in the least. Nick was the one blushing.
“Ah, I see I was correct,” Ward continued almost smugly. “Morgan and I expected to hear a happy announcement any day now.”
The knife jerked upward, gouging Nick’s vocal cords, rendering him mute. Ward couldn’t mean it. This was just Eastern politeness. A man with Ward’s connections, his status, couldn’t think a Colorado rancher good enough for his daughter.
“Granted,” Ward went on, “Star is rather, shall we say, difficult, to hold on to, but I detected no marks of trifling this time.”
Nick frowned. Had he mistaken her feelings? No, a woman who’d give away a man’s baby sure as hell didn’t want to marry him. If he had a lick of sense, he wouldn’t want her either.
“She’s,” Nick said, groping for words, “she’s a remarkable woman, sir, but she made her choice long before she met me. She’s pretty clear that nothin’s gonna change her mind.”
Ward peered at him a moment longer. He sighed disgustedly. “Why then,” he said, “she is more fool than I should have credited, and selfish as well. You would have made me a fine son-in-law.”
And that was it. No rage over Nick’s betrayal, not even dismay. Suddenly Nick recalled something Jess had said months before. Ward has as much interest in being tamed as does a wolf. He’d never cared about Star’s honor. Nick’s anxiety had been a creation of his own beliefs, not Ward’s. Wasted, wasted time.
“I suppose then,” Ward said rising and coming around the desk, “we must make do with visiting you. While we visit my son.” Regret touched his eyes. “It seems you’ll have company in Colorado. Lee and Jess have decided to move to Denver after the baby is born.”
“Denver?” Nick said, rising also. For the first time in days, his heart lightened. “He didn’t tell me that. We’ll be mighty glad to have him. Not that I don’t understand you’ll miss him sir, but, well Jess. . .”
Ward nodded. “She’s unhappy here, as is Lee. He’s never cared for Society. I give them credit for trying. As for his hurrah’s nest of Star’s. . .” Ward frowned, concern tightening his eyes again. “Perhaps I ought to join—”
Nick interrupted with a shake of his head. “No, sir. We’ll be travelin’ light. The more people involved, the harder it’ll be to maneuver.”
“All right,” he said offering his hand. “You’d better make sail. Lee, Keller and I will collect and disseminate information from here.”
“Yes sir,” he said, shaking Ward’s hand. “We’ll telegraph as often as possible.” After one final squeeze of Ward’s hand, he started for the door.
“Nick,” Ward said, stopping him. When Nick turned, he noted lines of anxiety and traces of guilt on Ward’s face. “I told her that I believed Romeo was harmless—”
“Yes sir,” Nick interrupted, hoping to prevent Ward from useless self-punishment. “You’d have said differently if she told you everything. But don’t worry. Price loves her.”
“She’s quite a capable young woman, but she does not always know her limits. Were she to run afoul of him. . .”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get her back long before that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Now I will show myself to have more of the serpent than the dove; that is more knave than fool.
Christopher Marlowe, The Jew of Malta
The summer sun bore down upon Star’s bare head as miles of flat farmland slid by. She memorized the twists and turns that Simon took as he drove the rented carriage to his cousin’s farm. Remembering directions might aid in her next escape attempt.
Her first plan—to attract attention at the train depot—had failed. Simon had guided them through the depot with his gun hidden in his coat, but shoved up against Jane’s waist. Star didn’t dare scream for help. Content to be by his side, Jane made no attempt to get away, either. She kept silent until ten minutes out of the city, when he’d stop the wagon to bind their hands. Since then she’d alternately wept and pleaded.
Up ahead a line of trees cut through the farmland, indicating water nearby. A minute later, a bridge confirmed it. Simon directed the horses closer to the side of the road.
Water. Perhaps if she asked Simon for a drink, she could convince him to untie her hands for that purpose. Or maybe, she thought more excitedly, she could claim the need to relieve herself. He might not care about her thirst, but he could hardly wish to be party to such an embarrassing accident. Hands free, she would use her strength and size to overpower him. The gun could go off, true, but she’d concluded that he might kill them regardless. The farther they were from the city, the less likely they would find help.
Simon slapped the reins on the horse, speeding it up. They crossed the threshold of the bridge, the hoof beats on wood drowning out Jane’s whining.
He might anticipate her actions, Star thought, but she could employ a knee to his groin as Lee had taught her when she became a reformer, for purposes of self-defense. Simon wouldn’t expect that.
They reached the end of the bridge. Suddenly Simon let out a huge, outraged growl. “Enough!” He dropped the reins and then, with strength she’d not have credited, he picked up Jane and threw her from the carriage.
“NO!” Star yelled in horror as Jane hit the ground with a thump. A long, ear-piercing screech rent the air. Jane started rolling and sliding down the embankment, hitting trees as she went. . . .
Simon pulled out his gun. . .
Oh God no!
As he aimed it, Star slammed into him. The gun still went off . . . and the screeching ended.
“No! You bas—” she started as he turned in the seat. The palm of his hand crashed against the left side of her face, halting her tirade. Pain burst in her head. He backhanded her, hitting her right cheek, snapping her head to the other side.
“Never,” he snarled as her vision darkened. She was sliding down the bench to a lump at his feet. “Never touch me in anger. Do you understand? A woman is subservient to man.”
“You killed her,” she whispered as the world started to fade away. Jane could not be dead. Why would anyone kill Jane?
“Her harping annoyed me. A woman does not voice her opinion unless asked. You shall learn your place, Virginia, or I’ll deal with you in the same manner.”
***
A rooster was crowing, a surreal sound in her surreal world, Star thought as she listened. Before these last two days with Simon, she’d never truly believed that roosters woke up farmers. For what reason would they do such a thing? It had turned out to be true, however, and was just one of many new learning experiences. Like learning how to wring a chicken’s neck, dress it and cook it. Like learning how to fry eggs and wash dishes. Like learning the blood-curdling scream of a woman thrown from a carriage, and the way blood spurted from a man’s head when struck by a bullet.
Simon had answered his cousin’s greeting with murder.
“Virginia, that is the crow of the cock. It’s time for you to make breakfast. Rise up my love, and I shall unlock those handcuffs.”
She’d learned, as well, the consequences of disobeying Simon—the feel of a hand slamming into her head, followed by a ringing in her ears. She jerked up and before her eyes were fully open, threw her legs over the side of the backbreaking Jenny Lind bed. “Yes, sir,” she replied obediently. He unlocked her cuffs.
For the last two days, when he’d not cuffed and chained her to the bed, Simon had held a gun on her, even during visits to the necessary. He swore he’d not hesitate to use it and she believed him. She would, he insisted, learn to obey men “like the Good Book said” or receive correction in heaven, like Jane. And Bella.
He’d told her about that, too. About how he’d courted Bella for months, while trying to teach her the error of her ways and the perils of the movement. Bella had refused to learn, however, which compelled him to kill her. At one of the Carrington’s balls they made plans for a secret late-night rendezvous in Central Park, where he’d plied her with wine, liberally dosed with arsenic. After she died, he paid a cab driver to take her up in his cab and crash it. The driver, believing Bella had died in a “compromising position,” felt no compunction about murdering a dead woman.
Neither did Simon.
He wished, he’d said, to do better by Star, for he loved her more than Bella. Star had refrained from telling him precisely how much she relished his love.
After taking the handcuffs off her, Simon leaned against the cracked, whitewashed wall of her prison-bedroom and fixed his gun upon Star. Wearing only her chemise, she washed, then dressed, as he followed her every movement with hot, lustful eyes. Thus far he’d made no attempt to molest her, but she expected it was only a matter of time before he acted upon those impulses. She must escape.
She finished dressing—fourth day in her grey silk travel gown, which was stained and starting to smell. She would never again take clean clothes for granted. On the other hand, her dreams no longer haunted her by night. The demon had escaped from the dream world, and held her at gunpoint by day, a living nightmare.