by Lyn Cote
A muffled thump came from below, jarring Gerard from his reflections. He heard more sounds from the main floor, stealthy ones. He rose in one motion, drawing his loaded Colt from under his pillow.
As quietly as possible, he crept out of his room and listened in the hallway. Faint footsteps and other whispers of cautious movement came from below. He edged to the top of the stairs, letting his eyes become accustomed to the near-total darkness. Awareness prickled through him. Then, footsteps right behind him.
He swung around, prepared for a fight, and found Stoddard in his robe.
“What?” his cousin whispered.
“Intruders,” Gerard replied and began to ease himself down the steps. Stoddard followed him closely. At the bottom they turned toward the kitchen, whence the muffled sounds emanated.
Stoddard leaned close. “I’ll slip outside and come around the back.”
Gerard gestured him on, heart pounding in his ears. He set each foot down with care.
“She’s nowhere on the first floor and not in the cellar,” a voice in the semidarkness said. Gerard peered around the kitchen doorframe. A ship’s lantern with only one side panel open sat on the floor of the room. Two men conferred in the corner. “We got to try the second floor and attic.”
“How will we be doin’ dat without wakin’ t’gents?”
“You won’t.” Gerard stepped through the doorway, his Colt drawn and pointed toward the two housebreakers.
They both cursed and rushed to the back door.
Perfect. As they opened the door, Stoddard sprang up in front of them and swung his cane at their heads.
Gerard raced to his aid. “Stop! Thieves!” he shouted repeatedly.
The men knocked Stoddard backward and trampled over him. They headed straight for the gate. Gerard pelted after them, but they escaped down the dark street. He didn’t follow. He couldn’t shoot men in the back, not even burglars.
He returned to Stoddard, who had not risen. “Cousin.” Gerard dropped to his knee. “Stoddard?”
Stoddard moaned. “My head.”
Gerard slid his gun into his pocket and helped Stoddard stand and stagger into the house.
Mrs. Mather, in her plaid flannel wrapper, met them just inside. “What’s happened?”
“Intruders,” Gerard replied, Stoddard’s arm slung over his shoulder. “Do you have any restorative? As they fled, they knocked down my cousin.”
A loud rapping came from the room off the kitchen, the cook’s quarters. Mrs. Mather followed the sound and exclaimed, “Help! They’ve tied her up.”
Gerard left Stoddard sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands, and hurried to his landlady. She was lighting a lamp by a narrow bed. The cook, tied to a chair and gagged, lay on her side on the floor.
He realized at once what had wakened him. The cook had managed to knock her chair over, and the thump must have echoed through the house. He quickly righted the chair and unbound the woman. She clung to him, gasping. “Burglars,” she muttered. “Burglars.”
“I chased them away.” He supported her.
“Ramsay,” Mrs. Mather instructed, “assist Mary into the kitchen. I will bring up one of the small bottles of sherry I keep for medicinal purposes.”
He did as he was told.
Soon they were all gathered in the kitchen. Mrs. Mather lit a lamp on the table and poured amber sherry into tiny glasses, one for each of them. “What happened, Mary?” she asked, once the woman had taken a fortifying swallow.
“I woke up with a hand over me mouth and a man holdin’ me that tight.” The cook trembled as she sipped the sherry.
“I’ve never had anyone break in before,” Mrs. Mather declared.
Gerard gazed at the faces around the table, illuminated within the pool of light. He knew exactly who had sent the burglars to break in and whom they were seeking. He sent Mrs. Mather a pointed look.
His glance arrested her attention. Finally she murmured, “I see.” She rose, dampened a cloth, and pressed it on Stoddard’s head, where a nasty lump was rising.
“I canna stay here tonight,” Mary declared. “I might be killed in me bed.”
“Mary, thee isn’t going to be killed,” Mrs. Mather said. “Those men will not come again.”
“How do ye know that?” the cook demanded.
“Because Gerard Ramsay is going to see to it,” she said in a steely tone with a stern look in his direction.
Gerard stared back at her and wondered how he could manage that. Then came a pounding at the back door.
He went to answer it, his hand on the pistol in his pocket. “Who’s there?” he challenged.
“The night watch. I heard shouts, and your house is the only one with a light on. Is something amiss?”
Gerard opened the door to a man wearing the night watch badge and holding an intimidating club. “Come in. My cousin and I chased away a pair of burglars.” He waved the man forward.
The young officer joined them at the table and jotted down the information they provided in a small black notebook he’d retrieved from an inside pocket. “I don’t have much to go on,” he admitted when they had all run out of the few details they had. “But I will report this incident, and there will be extra patrols on your block for the next week or so.”
The watchman turned to Mrs. Mather. “And you can’t think of any reason these burglars would target your house?”
She sent Gerard another of her pointed looks. “I’m sorry, Officer, but I’ve done nothing to draw attention to myself or my boardinghouse.”
The officer rose. “I’m very sorry that you and your cook had to suffer this, but I promise we’ll do what we can to keep your establishment secure. We’ll even walk around your house twice each night if you wish.”
“I think that would be advisable.” Gerard stood and extended his hand to the officer. “I appreciate your response tonight.”
The young man colored. “Just doing my job.”
“Well done,” Stoddard murmured.
Gerard walked the watchman to the door and locked it behind him. Back at the table, he helped his cousin to his feet.
Mrs. Mather attended to the cook. “Mary, thee will come upstairs with me tonight. Thee can sleep on the daybed in my room.”
“Take my arm, Mary,” Gerard said. The four of them trooped upstairs, Stoddard leaning heavily on the handrail and Mrs. Mather lighting the way with the lantern the burglars had left. Gerard saw the women safely to Mrs. Mather’s chamber, then followed Stoddard into his room.
Stoddard sat on the side of his bed. “What just happened?”
“Burglars broke into our house and knocked you down.”
“I know that. But who is the ‘she’ they were looking for?”
“Some things it’s better you not know, Cousin. Believe me.” He got as far as the door before Stoddard’s voice stopped him.
“This has something to do with that villain Smith, doesn’t it?”
Gerard turned, wondering how Stoddard had come to that conclusion, but he was too tired to try to make sense of it. “Good night, Cousin.”
Back in his room, Gerard tried to think of what he could do to keep Smith away. When would Blessing Brightman return to face the mess she’d created? His conscience stabbed him at the thought.
For he’d been the one who had brought this to his own door. One couldn’t dance with the devil and not pay. Regret was too paltry a word to describe his feeling over becoming involved with a man like Smith. In trying to pursue his own desires and strike back at his father, he’d stumbled into a serpent’s nest. What would Smith’s next move be? Gerard lay down on his bed, wondering how many more sleepless nights he would have to endure.
He considered all the possible avenues he could pursue to bring this to an end and finally realized that not reacting was his best course. Smith’s mistress had come, undoubtedly at Smith’s behest, and she had left by the back door—and that was all he’d confess to knowing about her.
Blessing
knew more, but she had effectively concealed her role in the woman’s disappearance. At all costs, Gerard must ensure that Smith would never learn of Blessing’s part in this.
Smith could likely replace a mistress with ease, but he’d been crossed, bested. To a man like him, such a slight must be repaid—with interest. And Gerard would no doubt be his target.
NOVEMBER 1, 1848
Over a week later on a sunny, unusually balmy day, Gerard could no longer stay away from Mrs. Brightman. Curiosity over where Jewel had gone was eating him alive, and surely the most dangerous window of time had passed. He’d heard through Stoddard that Blessing had returned from visiting her parents three days after the intruders had broken into Mrs. Mather’s house. Gerard had expected her to make some overture to him, but she had not. More importantly, Smith and his cronies had also kept away.
Gerard stopped first at Blessing’s private residence and was directed to the orphanage. He’d intended to knock on the front door but heard the sound of children playing in the back garden. Recalling Scotty’s invitation to play, Gerard chuckled, suddenly coming up with a logical excuse for his call.
He entered by the same gate where he’d stared down a mob during the riots. But now, in contrast to that night, the garden was filled with about twelve children. The oldest ones looked to be playing a game of tag. Two young women of color were swinging the littler children in seats that hung from tree limbs.
One of them noticed Gerard’s arrival, but before she could make her way over, Scotty recognized him. “Mister, mister, you came!” The boy ran to him and wrapped his arms around Gerard’s knees as before.
Gerard patted his head again, unsure what else to do.
“Mr. Ramsay, sir.” The young nursemaid approached, greeting him with restraint. “What can we do for you?”
“I came to visit this young lad. He invited me to play ball with him.”
The woman very obviously sized him up and then nodded, as if savoring some private jest. “Why, how nice of you. You are Mr. Ramsay, and I am Joanna. Scotty, go get one of the balls.”
The game of tag ceased and the children all stared at him, gawking as if they’d never seen a man before.
Scotty quickly obeyed. “Mister, you stand there and I’ll stand here, and you throw me the ball, okay?”
Gerard shed his coat and hat, hanging them on the porch railing. He accepted the ball and went to stand where Scotty had indicated.
“Hey!” another boy yelled. “I want to play too.”
Soon Joanna had the children lined up so they could take turns catching and throwing the ball with Gerard. For the next several minutes, he was kept busy trying to toss the ball low and slowly enough for the children to catch, then chasing after their wild returns.
A loud chuckle caused him to look up. There she was, standing on the back steps. Blessing.
She grinned at him openly. He had rarely seen her in daylight without her head covered. Now her thick chestnut hair, braided and coiled, reigned like a crown. Her large green eyes danced with amusement and her smile dimmed the sunshine. He’d started their flirtation to entrap her, and here he was the one in danger of being snared. He grasped for control, tried to moderate his reaction to her. But he wanted to rush up the steps and pull her close . . . His lips tingled with their imaginary kiss. Stop. Now.
“How good of thee to come and visit the children, Ramsay.” She sauntered down the steps as if she fully realized her effect on him. And found it amusing.
“I needed some exercise today.” He couldn’t take his gaze from her. If only he weren’t hip-deep in children.
“He came to visit me,” Scotty declared with obvious pride. “But I’m sharing him, Miss Blessing.”
“Sharing is always good,” she agreed, trying to hide her amusement. “I’m going to sit here and watch and see how well everyone can catch and throw. Please don’t let me interrupt.”
Her insouciance gratified Gerard, and he chuckled as he signaled for the play to continue.
After another ten minutes, his reprieve came.
“I think it’s time for everyone to get a drink of water!” Blessing called out. “Ramsay, come sit in the shade with me.”
The children complained a little but obeyed Joanna and the other nurse, who lined them up at the pump.
Gerard joined Blessing, sinking into the wicker chair beside hers. The cook came out of the house with two glasses of lemonade.
“Thy reward.” Blessing raised her glass and saluted him. Never the dull, serious widow.
He drew in a long swallow of the tart lemonade and exhaled. He patted the perspiration from his brow with his handkerchief and allowed his gaze to rove over her—covertly, of course. Somehow she appeared elegant even in a simple dress. “What have you been doing these days, Widow Brightman?”
“Oh, the usual,” she answered evasively. “I hear thee has found employment.”
He nodded with a smug smile. “Yes, I am now with Cincinnati Fidelity, selling fire and life insurance.”
“Definitely needed.”
“So,” he said in an undertone, “are you ever going to let me know what really happened?”
She watched the children, who had begun their game of tag once more. “I’m sorry about the break-in. I read about it in the newspaper.” She continued before he could comment. “I was wondering if thee would like to borrow my copy of Frederick Douglass’s book.”
Her refusal to quench his curiosity annoyed him—but he’d expected evasion. That this woman might be involved in the Underground Railroad again suggested itself to him. But Gerard didn’t want to delve into her radical activities, especially if they broke federal law. Surely Blessing would not do that. Regardless, she owed him the truth of what had happened that strange night. “I will not stop asking you until you tell me.”
She didn’t reply immediately. “I think it’s best thee not know the facts.” She spoke so low, he had to focus intently on her voice, shutting all else out. “Then thee can maintain ignorance. Mr. Smith may suspect that I had something to do with his . . . loss, but I have provided him no evidence connecting me to it. Yet I remain on my guard, as thee should.” In spite of her serious words, she waved to the children and called encouragement as they chased each other around the garden, giggling and shrieking.
He chewed on her words, disgruntled. “Very well, for now. But sometime in the future I will demand to know the truth.”
“Agreed. Again, would thee like to borrow my copy of Frederick Douglass’s book?”
Her insistence grated on his nerves. “Why would I want to borrow a book I have no interest in reading?”
She met his gaze. “I thought after hearing James Bradley speak, thee might want to know more of slavery.”
“What does any of that have to do with me, with you?” Gerard asked, returning his gaze to the playing children. “Why do you care so much?”
“How can I not care when so many suffer?”
He didn’t know how to answer her. Of course there was great suffering in this world, but that wasn’t going to change. One person’s effort to right wrongs amounted to spitting into the ocean. Some emotion he couldn’t identify roiled up inside him. “Don’t you ever think about having a life of your own?” he snapped.
“I have a life, a full one.”
He knew that he was flirting dangerously with wanting more of this audacious woman in his life. The idea was out of the question. She was clearly not a candidate for a discreet affair, and he wanted no wife. So they could share nothing more than . . . friendship. That in itself was an astounding idea. Men and women didn’t become friends. Or did they?
He glanced at her. “Are we friends?”
Blessing laughed. “What a scandalous idea,” she teased. “What will people say?”
He shrugged. He’d tried to shore up his defenses, but this unique woman could not be dismissed. “I hear we will be attending a wedding soon.”
“Yes,” Blessing said, her voice suddenly su
bdued.
“I am best man.” His tone matched hers.
“I am matron of honor.”
Silence ensued until Blessing spoke again. “I would like to invite thee to listen to another unusual speaker who is presently traveling around Ohio. And is scheduled to give an address at Lane Seminary.”
Gerard felt the corners of his mouth lifting of their own will. He tried to imagine a more provocative speaker than James Bradley. “Let me guess. A radical suffragist?”
“Yes.”
He drew in air sharply and shook his head at her nerve. “Why not?”
Going to listen to another speaker like Bradley definitely wouldn’t bore him, and it would give him a reason to spend an evening with Blessing. Still, even with these ulterior motives, he sensed a shifting inside him, a realignment. The feeling was alarming yet invigorating. He’d never experienced anything like it and was unsure whether he wanted to.
BLESSING ESCORTED GERARD RAMSAY from the orphanage in time for his luncheon at Prudence Mather’s and a few appointments with prospective clients in the afternoon. After some prodding, the children lined up to go in for their meal. Blessing rose to go inside too but found Joanna blocking her way. Instead of entering with the children, Joanna had let the other nursemaid direct their charges.
“What is it, Joanna?” Blessing asked.
Joanna bowed her head as if praying and then looked up. “I have something hard to say.”
At her friend’s unusual demeanor, Blessing stilled, apprehensive. Resuming her seat, she patted the now-empty wicker chair beside hers. “Sit and tell me.” But she really didn’t want any more sobering or distressing news.
Joanna accepted her invitation. By now, the garden was quiet with just the two of them, the southbound Canada geese honking overhead, and the chickadees chittering in the trees. Fall had come, and the leaves were just starting to show red edges.