by Jen Turano
“You won’t be in any danger, Miss Flowerdew,” Eugene said. “We menfolk will keep you safe, don’t you fear.”
Following Eugene out of the carriage, Temperance found Gilbert already waiting for her, his arm extended and his expression determined. She walked to join him, took the offered arm, then waited as Agent McParland and Harrison got down from their horses and moved their way.
Turning toward the brownstone that had never felt like home, Temperance let her gaze drift over the building. It was an impressive home, three stories high, but it wasn’t built on the lines of the fashionable mansions that were popping up along Fifth Avenue. Wayne had made the claim often that he preferred living in a brownstone, more in keeping with the established Knickerbocker set.
Temperance had never questioned that claim, but now, when faced with the possibility that Wayne had no job, which meant he had no income flowing into the family coffers, she couldn’t help but wonder if there had been a small inheritance left from her father’s fortune, one Wayne had managed to swindle from her, but . . .
Shaking herself from ideas that were hardly helpful, and thoughts that were rather farfetched since she’d seen with her own eyes how horrified Wayne had been to learn she’d been left a pauper after her parents died, she lifted her chin right as Gilbert gave her arm a squeeze.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked.
“I don’t know if one can be ready for something like this, but because Wayne is the only one with answers to the vast number of questions I have, there’s no choice but to confront him.”
“I can do it for you, Temperance. You don’t have to do this if you find it distressing.”
Her heart gave an unexpected lurch. Gilbert had always stepped in to deal with anything unpleasant for her, and she’d missed that support over the years. But she was no longer a child, which meant she could no longer expect her dear friend to navigate through the unpleasantness for her.
“I can do this.”
Moving together, they walked to the front door of the brownstone, Temperance frowning when the door wasn’t immediately opened for them. Knowing it was quite unlike Wayne to allow his butler to shirk what was a most important task, she considered the door for a moment, wondering if someone should step forward and make use of the knocker mounted on the wood.
Before she could make that suggestion, though, or do the task herself, Agent McParland stepped around her, rapped the brass door knocker several times, then stepped back.
To Temperance’s concern, no one answered.
“Perhaps they’ve gone out,” she finally said after a full minute passed and the door remained closed.
“And gave the entire staff the day off?” Gilbert asked.
“That would be a rather unusual circumstance.”
Agent McParland stepped forward again and jiggled the doorknob. Finding it locked, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a thin piece of metal.
“You’re going to break in?” Harrison asked, joining Agent McParland.
“As Temperance just said, it’s unusual that no one is answering the door,” Agent McParland returned. “And I’m not breaking in. I’m merely going to check on the welfare of Temperance’s relatives since there is cause to believe it is in question.”
Sticking the piece of metal into the lock, he maneuvered it around, stilling when Eugene edged forward and peered over Agent McParland’s shoulder.
“That’s a skill that could come in handy at times,” Eugene said to no one in particular.
Temperance fought a smile. “Eugene . . .”
Eugene stepped back and winced. “Sorry. Don’t know what I was thinkin.”
A second later, the lock clicked, Agent McParland withdrew the metal, then nodded to Gilbert. “It might be best if you were to wait out here with Temperance. There’s no telling what I may find.”
Temperance opened her mouth, a protest on the tip of her tongue, until she remembered that Agent McParland was a professional, which meant she needed to allow him to do what he did best. Closing her mouth, she sent him a nod, earning a flash of a grin from Gilbert in return, who’d obviously known she’d been about to argue with the man before she came to her senses.
Ignoring the grin, even though the sight of it, for some curious reason, was making her pulse hitch up a notch, Temperance watched as Agent McParland slipped into the house, Harrison right behind him, leaving her on the stoop with Gilbert and Eugene.
The seconds ticked away, until . . . someone started screaming.
Chapter
Fourteen
Gilbert’s first instinct was to pick Temperance up and run as fast as he could away from the house. But before he could move so much as a single muscle, she was running—not away from the house, but into it, leaving him and Eugene behind.
“She’s mighty fast for a girl,” Eugene said, before he lurched into motion, running alongside Gilbert into the house.
Following what now seemed to be some type of shrieking—and high-pitched shrieking at that—Gilbert dashed down a hallway and through an open door, skidding to a halt at the sight that met his eyes.
Agent McParland was standing in the middle of what turned out to be a drawing room, hands raised even as he ducked to the right when Clementine, wearing a mobcap on her head and wielding a mop, swung the mop at Agent McParland’s head. Wayne Flowerdew was holding a pistol in his hand, one that, thankfully, seemed out of bullets since he was fumbling around with additional bullets that were scattered on top of a desk. Fanny Flowerdew stood behind him, her eyes wide as she stared at Temperance, who was simply standing off to the right, frozen in place, as if she couldn’t quite comprehend what was unfolding before her in the drawing room.
“Take that,” Clementine screeched, poking the mop toward Agent McParland again, but stopping midpoke when she caught sight of Gilbert. Her mouth dropped open, she lowered the mop, snatched the cap off her head, and curiously enough, sent him a charming smile before she dipped into a curtsy.
“Well, isn’t this a lovely . . .” Whatever else she’d been about to say seemed to get stuck in her throat when her gaze drifted from him and settled on Temperance. Fire seemed to flash right out of her eyes.
“Temperance,” she all but spat, her single word having the immediate result of Wayne abandoning his desk, along with his pistol, as his head shot up and his expression turned hard.
“You!” he bellowed, striding around the desk, but stopped in his tracks when Gilbert stepped in front of Temperance and arched a brow at Wayne. “Oh, Mr. Cavendish. This is an unusual time to pay a call, and we’re not in a position to entertain at the moment because . . .” He gestured around the room, drawing attention to the fact that it was in a state of disarray with open trunks lying about, and odds and ends strewn all over the place.
“Are you going somewhere?” Gilbert asked right as Temperance sidled past him and began roaming around the room, poking her head into one open trunk after another.
“Stop being nosey,” Wayne snapped, and for a second, Gilbert thought he was speaking to him, until Wayne marched up to the trunk Temperance was peering into and slammed it shut.
Temperance straightened and, curiously enough, she smiled. “I was simply making certain you weren’t trying to stash away anything that didn’t belong to you.” Her smile faded just a touch. “I would hate to find myself accused of theft somewhere down the road or have one of my friends framed for a crime they certainly didn’t commit, a circumstance I’m sure you’re aware happened to my dear friend, Gertrude Cadwalader.”
Wayne raised a hand to his chest. “Your friend was framed for theft?”
Temperance shot Gilbert a look. “And this right here is exactly why you should have lent me your pistol.”
Gilbert’s brows drew together. “And I would say this right here is exactly why I didn’t lend you a pistol.”
“And I would say,” Wayne began, “that while I’m sure there’s a reason all of you broke into my home, which, if there’s
any question, is against the law, we’re not receiving callers today. Because of that, I must insist you take your leave because we’re on a bit of a tight schedule.”
“Why isn’t someone manning the door?” Temperance asked, ignoring Wayne’s request right as Harrison, whom Gilbert hadn’t realized had been missing from sight, suddenly pushed himself up from behind a fainting couch, rubbing a hand over his head and holding a lamp that had a large hole in it. The sight of Harrison had Clementine releasing a gasp right before she set aside the mop and smoothed her hair into place.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she all put purred as she smiled and fluttered her lashes. “I do beg your pardon. I certainly wouldn’t have thrown that lamp if I’d recognized you.” She fluttered her lashes again. “I thought you and that other man”—she jerked her head to Agent McParland—“were burglars here to rob us of our worldly possessions.”
Harrison set aside the lamp and raked a hand through hair that was standing on end. “And here I thought you screamed something about ‘filthy debt collectors’ right before you smashed me over the head with a lamp and rendered me senseless for a few moments.”
Clementine didn’t so much as flinch as she gave an airy wave of her hand. “Burglars, filthy debt collectors, they’re all the same when you think about it. Regardless, I do apologize for being so true with my aim.”
“She’s had a lot of practice,” Temperance said, inserting herself into the conversation, “which is why I’ve gotten so adept at dodging flying objects since I grew weary of suffering bumps and bruises whenever Clementine became annoyed with me.”
“I’m sure there’s another lamp around here somewhere I could fling your way,” Clementine said sweetly, although it looked to Gilbert as if a vein had started throbbing on her forehead.
Temperance sent her cousin a sweet smile in return, one Gilbert found absolutely terrifying, and then drifted over to a chair, pushed the pile of books stacked on it to the floor, then took a seat before directing her attention back to Wayne. “Where are the members of your staff, and why, if I’m not mistaken, are you leaving town?”
“It’s . . . ah . . . Thursday. Fanny and I always give the staff the day off on Thursday.”
“It’s Tuesday, and you never give all the staff time off at the same time.”
Wayne narrowed his eyes on her. “What’s happened to you? You seem far more assertive than I’ve ever known you to be, and . . . talkative. You never used to talk.”
Temperance shrugged. “I’ve come to the conclusion that the reserved, timid, and yes, practically mute attitude I embraced over the past few years was a direct result of the grief I was experiencing due to the loss of my parents.” Her eyes began to spark with something dangerous as she kept her attention on Wayne. “That attitude was not helped by having to experience such abuse at the hands of your family. I’ve now abandoned that attitude and have vowed to never become a victim again.”
“You were never a victim,” Fanny said with a sniff. “And I take issue with the manner in which you’re portraying us to everyone present in this room. It hardly lends them a good impression of the family.”
Temperance shot a look at Fanny that had her cousin’s wife retreating back into silence before she looked back to Wayne. “Because you did mention that I’m assertive now, allow me to put that into good use and move this conversation right along. There is a reason we’ve paid you a visit today, one that centers around this question.” She leaned forward. “Why have you hired someone to murder me, and how are you going to go about the tricky business of canceling whatever price you’ve put on my head?”
Wayne blinked, Fanny sucked in a sharp breath, and Clementine smiled more broadly than ever as she hummed a cheery tune under her breath.
“On my word but that’s a peculiar accusation,” Wayne began. “I haven’t settled a price on your head.”
Temperance’s lips thinned. “Word on the street is that someone wants me dead. You’re the only person I know who would want to see the breath snuffed out of me, especially since it was because of me that your plans in regard to . . .” She tossed a nod Gilbert’s way. “Well, all that, went awry.”
Wayne shuddered ever so slightly as he glanced at Gilbert before he returned his attention to Temperance. “I may not care for you, but I don’t want to see you dead.”
Agent McParland cleared his throat, attracting everyone’s attention. “But you were responsible for setting up the events that led to Temperance’s abduction, weren’t you?”
Wayne narrowed his eyes on Agent McParland. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.”
Agent McParland inclined his head. “I’m Agent Samuel McParland, with the Pinkerton Agency.”
“And you’re here because my cousin has convinced you I want her dead?” Wayne asked slowly.
“That, and I have some questions regarding Temperance’s abduction, a case of mistaken identity if I’m understanding the peculiarities of the case correctly.” He smiled. “You do realize that organizing an abduction is a criminal offense, don’t you?”
Wayne shook his head. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re accusing me of, Agent . . . McParland, did you say?”
Agent McParland didn’t bother to reply as he turned and nodded to Eugene, who was standing in the doorway, shuffling around on his overly large feet. “Are you able to identify this man as the man who approached you and your sister with a plan to abduct Miss Flowerdew?”
Eugene, to Gilbert’s surprise, shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not the man, Agent McParland. The man I met had a different voice, rougher, not refined, and he was taller, with not much meat on him.”
“See?” Wayne said with a nod to Agent McParland. “I told you.”
Temperance released what sounded exactly like a snort. “Please. You would never mingle with the criminal class or travel into the worst parts of town to find those criminals in the first place. You hired someone to do your dirty work—the same person, if I’m not mistaken, you then hired to handle my murder.”
“I don’t have the funds to hire anyone, let alone waste those funds on you,” Wayne said, then snapped his mouth shut as if he’d not meant to disclose such troubling news.
Temperance rose to her feet. “That’s why there aren’t any servants and why Clementine thought Agent McParland and Harrison were debt collectors, isn’t it?”
Instead of answering her, Wayne turned on his heel, moved to a chair piled high with books, shoved some of those books to the floor, then sat down on the rest of them and directed his attention out the floor-to-ceiling window.
Silence settled over the drawing room until Agent McParland fished a notepad out of his pocket, walked to a chair directly beside Wayne, sat down, and began riffling through the pages. Stopping on a page, he lifted his head. “Should I assume that you’ve gone through the funds I believe you got from Temperance’s estate?”
Wayne turned his head and frowned at Agent McParland. “There were no funds to be had after Temperance’s father died.” He nodded to Temperance. “You know that.”
“I know what I was told,” she countered. “But I’m now questioning the truth of it because Agent McParland discovered an interesting tidbit regarding your lack of employment. That got me to wondering how you could afford this brownstone, a purchase you made soon after I came to live with you.”
Wayne waved that aside. “My lack of employment is no secret, Temperance.” He gestured to Fanny. “Fanny’s father settled a large dowry on her.”
“Over twenty years ago,” Temperance said. “And while I don’t recall much about you growing up, I do recall my father mentioning to my mother once how you were a man known to enjoy a lifestyle that far exceeded your means.”
“Since your father lost his many millions in a poor investment opportunity, I don’t believe you should put much stock in anything he said pertaining to my ability to handle funds.”
Temperance looked to Gilbert. “It is odd, isn’t it,
that my father would make my cousin my guardian when he evidently questioned his ability to manage money.”
“It is,” Gilbert agreed. “Although I would have to imagine your father never thought he’d meet such an untimely end or that an investment mistake would render him penniless.” He looked to Wayne. “But speaking of that, I wonder how it came to be that Temperance was left absolutely nothing, especially when the house her parents owned in Connecticut was a very fine establishment. The sale of that house should have given Temperance some type of inheritance.”
Wayne shifted on the chair. “Mr. Howland, the attorney who managed Temperance’s father’s estate, showed me stacks and stacks of bills he settled from the money made through the sale of that house.”
“Where did the money come from to fetch me home from Paris?” Temperance asked.
To Gilbert’s surprise, Fanny suddenly flung herself on top of a pile of books stacked on a fainting couch and released a dramatic breath. “You may as well disclose all, dear. From what I can tell, Temperance and this Pinkerton man seem to believe you’re some type of thief. If we ever want to see our daughter well-settled, we certainly can’t have talk of that nature spreading about town. Why, my aunt will cut us off without a dime if that nasty business begins making the rounds, and then where will we be?”
“Your aunt has already given us an ultimatum, Fanny,” Wayne replied. “One that required us getting Clementine good and engaged before the fall season begins in earnest. Clearly, we’ve not been successful with that, so there’s every reason to believe she’ll not allow us to stay long in her home, throwing us into the streets with all our worldly possessions scattered about for everyone to see and realize our dire straits.”
“Father,” Clementine all but screeched. “Have a care with what you say. Mr. Cavendish is not yet officially engaged to Temperance, so . . .” She glided across the drawing room, stopping directly in front of Gilbert. “There’s still time for you to change your mind and offer for me, Mr. Cavendish, instead of my cousin.”