by Goodman, Jo
"Look, Bennington," Christian said, "I already told you that if you're interested in the girl you'll have to find her. I don't know where she is. Now, if you'll both excuse me, since I can't see Amalie, I'm going to get my coat and take my leave." Christian turned to go and was stopped by Stephen laying a hand on his shoulder. "What the hell do you want now, Bennington?" he asked wearily, glancing back.
"This, you bastard." He drove his fist into Christian's jaw, sending him sprawling against the wall.
Christian realized he had either seriously overestimated Stephen's drunken state or underestimated his stupidity. He straightened and cupped his jaw, nursing it. "Before I set you on your ass," Christian said, "suppose you tell me what that was in aid of." He gestured to Dora to get out of the way as he and Stephen began to circle each another. "I don't fool myself that it is because of the girl."
"Not because of the girl," Stephen said. "At least not that one." He made a jab with his right that Christian ducked easily. "Your interference cost me a—" Stephen broke off, distracted by the sound of voices on the back stairwell, all of which he recognized. Not now, he thought, not when he was prepared to give Christian Marshall a small portion of what he deserved for ruining his life. He threw another wild punch and took a blow to his gut instead. Winded, he doubled over, backing up against the wall. Gaslight flickered as one of the glass lamps was knocked askew. "I should kill you for what you did," he said, sucking in his breath. "If it hadn't been for you, I would be—"
"That's quite enough, Stephen." William Bennington spoke in stentorian tones as he entered the hallway from the rear. "You've said more than you need to." Father and son exchanged equally hard, narrow-eyed stares before Stephen looked away. William took off his silk top hat and held it under his arm. He made a slight bow to Christian, acknowledging his presence. "My son will make a formal apology when he's sober."
"That's not necessary," said Christian. He spoke to William, but his attention was on the entourage that accompanied the elder Bennington. Mr. Todd was behind William, just off his right shoulder, and beside him were Amalie and Maggie Bryant. Everyone but Maggie was still wearing a cloak, muffler, and gloves. From the flakes of snow on their shoulders and hats, Christian could see they had only just come indoors. Amalie's cloak was damp at the bottom where it had apparently brushed through at least one drift. Christian tried to picture her tramping through the snow and couldn't.
Maggie was fidgeting with her hair, a sure sign that she was worried about something. Amalie's smile was forced. Only Mr. Todd was regarding this set piece with indifference. Christian found the entire confrontation odd rather than alarming.
"I disagree," William said. "You will have your apology." He removed his hat and scarf and handed both to Todd. "Take these, please, and then see that my son is escorted to my carriage. Send him home. I will take a cab."
John Todd nodded after glancing in Amalie's direction for approval. "Very good, sir." He broke away from the others. "Mr. Stephen? This way, please. Miss Dora? I'm certain your presence is required in the red parlor."
Stephen stumbled a little as he pushed away from the wall, but he brushed off Todd's hand when the older man offered his assistance. Mustering what dignity he could, he took Dora's arm instead.
Christian waited until the trio had disappeared down the main staircase before he spoke. "I'm certain Stephen will appreciate your timely intervention come morning. I honestly can't say that I feel the same way." He moved his lower jaw back and forth, shaking out the stiffness. "I was on the point of smashing his pretty nose."
"I saw that," William said gravely. "My son can be impulsive, but I've not known him to be so belligerent. Chalk it up to the high spirits of the holiday, youthful exuberance, and a touch more to drink than he can handle gracefully."
"My thoughts exactly," Christian said. He was not sure any of those reasons were sufficient to explain Stephen's animosity. Stephen had been on the verge of making himself clear when his father had interrupted. Christian regretted not hearing Stephen out more than he regretted missing the chance to flatten the younger Bennington's nose. "Now, if you'll excuse me, before Stephen stopped me I was going back to get my coat."
"Maggie," Amalie said sweetly, stepping around William. "Please get Mr. Marshall's coat for him."
What the hell was going on? Christian wondered. His eyes darted to all members of the trio trying to divine their purpose. "That's all right, Maggie. I can get it myself."
"It's no bother," Amalie said, speaking to Maggie.
Thinking of Jenny's safety, Christian's mind worked furiously. "Please, Amalie, I'd rather not worry that my money's being lifted. I'll get my coat myself."
The insult struck home. Amalie's cheeks flamed with color.
"My girls do not steal!"
"Oh?" Christian asked coolly, raising one brow. "Then no one told the little light-fingers that Maggie pushed off on me earlier. I caught her going through my pockets while she thought I was asleep. When she realized I was watching her, she ran off. That's not the sort of treatment I expect in your house, Amalie. I considered chasing her, but decided I'd let you handle it. I doubt I would be as fair-minded as I know you'll be. I was on my way to find you when Stephen accosted me." He started walking to Maggie's room. "My experience tonight speaks for itself," he said. "I'll get my own belongings."
"A light-fingers!" William snarled at Amalie. "You told me it was..." He stopped, seeing that Christian was taking in his every word. "Excuse us, Marshall," he said abruptly, grasping Amalie by the elbow. "Amalie. Your office. Now."
Amalie's mouth opened and then closed. The frown between her brows creased her forehead, making her look every one of her fifty years. Her dark, glittering eyes narrowed on Maggie, and she was satisfied when the other woman recoiled slightly. Amalie had to blame someone for this turn of events, and Maggie was the most useful target. Her skirts rustled noisily as she broke free of William's grip and turned on her heel. Without a word to anyone, she stalked toward the back staircase, her chin thrust forward aggressively. William followed, his long, hurried stride speaking eloquently of his impatience and anger.
When they were alone in the corridor Christian rounded on Maggie. "Would you please tell me what in God's name is going on here tonight?" he asked, keeping his voice low. His fingers raked his hair. "And do not give me that swill about it being the high spirits of the holiday."
Maggie's sea-green eyes glistened with tears. "Do you think anyone's told me anything?" she fairly wailed. "Oh, God, Christian, I think I am in so much trouble! Amalie was furious when she came back and found out I sent that girl to your room. How was I supposed to know she wasn't one of the maids? She looked like one. I couldn't have known she was a thief!" She sniffed inelegantly, searched for a handkerchief, and when she couldn't find one, plucked Christian's out of his vest pocket. "I had no idea that anything like that was going on until you told us. I thought the girl was drunk, but she must have been pretending to cover for herself. I even warned her not to let Amalie see her in that condition." Maggie blew her nose hard. "How could I have let her take me in that way? Amalie's going to send me to Canal Street. I just know she is."
"I seriously doubt that."
Maggie folded the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "You didn't see how angry she was when she came back here. Mr. Todd and Mr. Bennington were waiting for her in her office. They were all there only a few minutes before Amalie called me in and asked me if I had seen that girl. I think Amalie must have suspected that she was a thief."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because that's why Amalie left the house—to look for her. She wouldn't have done that if she hadn't good reason."
Christian believed that as well, but unlike Maggie, he knew more about the nature of Amalie's real interest in Jenny. "What does Mr. Bennington have to do with any of this?"
"How should I know? Perhaps that little bitch stole from him earlier this evening. It wouldn't surprise me if Mr. Todd brought him back to
identify her." She raised her eyes beseechingly. "What am I going to do, Christian? What if Amalie tells me to pack my bags?"
"You'll land on your feet, Maggie," Christian said. "Cats like you always do."
Maggie's mottled cheeks suffused with color. "You really are a bastard, aren't you?"
He shrugged. "That's what they say."
Angered by his indifference to her fears, Maggie balled up both hands and pushed hard at Christian's chest. "Damn you! This is more your fault than mine! If you'd been a real man tonight, with a real man's appetites, I wouldn't have sent her to you."
Christian caught Maggie by the wrists and squeezed hard enough to make her fingers unfold. The handkerchief dropped to the floor. He released her as suddenly as he had grabbed her, then brushed himself off, straightening his vest and jacket. "I'm sorely bored with being accosted this evening. Don't try digging your talons in me again. Ever." A muscle ticked in his lean cheek. "As for having a real man's appetites, I think you know the problem was with the menu, not my hunger."
Maggie sucked in her full lower lip at Christian's taunt. She knew she had gone too far, but an apology stuck in her throat. She took refuge in self-righteous rage. No man had ever found her lacking before—including Christian.
Before Christian knew what she was going to do, Maggie had swept past him and thrown open the door to her room. He reached out to stop her, and found himself clutching at air as she flounced angrily toward the unmade bed. Christian held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion once she spotted Jenny.
"Get your coat and get the hell out of here," she snapped, yanking pins from her hair. She tossed them on the bedside table and sat down on the bed, shaking out her fine, silky blond hair. The glance she darted in the mirror above her vanity assured her she looked magnificent even if Christian couldn't appreciate it. She wished she could call back what she had said about his appetites. He was one of the few men she actually enjoyed in her bed. "What are you waiting for?" she said instead. "Come in, then get out."
Releasing his breath slowly, Christian limped across the room to get his coat. Where was Jenny? Under the bed? In the wardrobe? God, he hoped not. He considered looking behind Maggie's dressing screen, but couldn't think of a way to do it without rousing her suspicions. It was only when he reached the coat and hat hooks that Christian understood Jenny was no longer in the room. His eyes quickly scanned the French doors and saw the latch had been thrown back. There was no place she could be but out on Maggie's postage stamp balcony. At least she had had the sense to wear his coat.
"Where is it?" Maggie demanded, seeing Christian's hand waver above the empty brass and porcelain coat peg. "You obviously didn't hang it there."
"I could have sworn I did," he said, affecting puzzlement. He searched the room, pretending to look for it. "I must have left it downstairs," he said finally. "Good evening, Maggie. I won't say that it's been a pleasure."
"Good riddance!" She kicked at the tray that was still lying on the floor. Her cherished oriental carpet was littered with the tray's contents. "Jesus, Christian! Look at this mess!" A bit of melted chocolate stuck to the toe of her shoe. She grabbed one corner of the sheet she was sitting on to wipe it away. "I swear if I ever see her again, I'll kick her all the way to Five Points where she belongs!"
His mouth twitched at this further evidence of Maggie's helpless anger. "It appears she was no better a pickpocket than she was a maid." He started to go, but Maggie's choked scream rooted him once more.
"Ooooh!" She held up the sheet, snapping it so Christian could see it clearly. Spots of dried blood darkened the material. "You found out what she was good for, didn't you? On my bed! You took the little trollop on my bed!"
The set of Christian's mouth was grim as he took the sheet from Maggie's trembling hands. He balled it up and pitched it into the corner of the room. "Isn't that exactly what you had in mind when you sent her in here? And I think trollop hardly applies. The blood speaks for itself."
Maggie sneered. "That's easily faked. I've done it often enough for gentlemen who like to pretend that sort of thing. I didn't know you were one of them. Imagine Christian Marshall's tastes running to virgins." She laughed, but the sound held no humor. "I had no idea. You should have said something. I could have been more accommodating." She reached out and held Christian by his jacket sleeve when he turned to go. "Just a moment. You never paid up. Put your money on the vanity. You owe me at least for my time."
Christian reached for the money clip discreetly tucked away in the lining of his jacket. He peeled off some bills and threw them on the bed. "For your time and hers," he said. "You pimped her, Maggie. You deserve something for that."
"Bastard!" she called out as Christian walked away. She scrambled off the bed and knelt on the floor. Picking up an unbroken china saucer, Maggie flung it at Christian's head. He ducked out moments before it shattered against the door.
In the hallway, Christian quickly retrieved Jenny's cloak and scarf, folding the cloak over his arm so it might be mistaken for his own coat. He hurried down the stairs and out the front door. The frigid wind immediately tousled his hair. With the strains of treacly sweet harp music and warbling soprano voices finally behind him, Christian kicked up snow dust as he rounded the corner of Amalie's brownstone. He had no difficulty finding Maggie's balcony. It was the only one with a shivering female leaning over the iron railing.
Lamps from inside the house cast meager light across the lawn. Christian had to stand very close to the house to avoid being seen by anyone happening to glance out one of the parlor windows.
"Can you jump?" he called up to her in as loud a whisper as he thought safe.
Jenny was afraid to answer for fear of Maggie hearing her, although the noise from inside the room had not abated much since Christian left. Maggie was still swearing and throwing things. The vanity mirror had been the last item to go.
"Never mind," he said as it was brought home to him why she didn't respond. "Just climb over the railing and lower yourself. I'll catch you."
Madman! Did he think she was part spider?
"Jenny! Do it! There's no other way!"
She wished she could prove Christian wrong, but if there had been another way down she would have already taken it. Grasping the railing with fingers that were growing numb with cold, Jenny carefully raised first one leg, then the other, over the side. Her skirt was a nuisance, getting caught on one of the iron fleur-de-lis that decorated the railing. She yanked at the material impatiently. When she tore it and set herself free, she also lost her balance. Her feet slipped on the edge of the icy balcony and her grip on the railing loosened. It took all her willpower and every bit of courage she had not to scream as she fell.
Christian heard her scrambling for purchase before he actually saw that she was in trouble. He jumped away from the house and blocked Jenny's fall. They both tumbled in the snow, winded by the force of their contact with each other and the ground. As soon as Christian was able, he dragged Jenny into the shadow of the balcony.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his own breathing harsh.
She nodded, swallowing air in great gulps. "I—I'm fine. Please, Mr. Marshall, can we go home now?"
"Yes, Jenny Holland. We can go home now." Christian did not like it much that he sounded paternal. "Here, take your scarf and cloak and give me my coat. Don't you have gloves?" When she shook her head, Christian sighed. They exchanged garments, and then he took her hand and helped her to her feet. "Keep your head low past the windows. At the corner of the house, I want you to start walking away as quickly as you can. I'll hail a cab and pick you up in a few minutes."
"But..."
"No arguments. I don't think we can risk being seen together. If you knew how many people were interested in your whereabouts, you wouldn't bother me with questions."
She did exactly as Christian asked.
***
William Bennington leaned back in the emerald velvet chair opposite Amalie's desk. He raised
a glass of champagne to his lips. He could feel the bubbles burst against his mustache as he drank. The alcohol was just what he needed to wet his parched throat. There had been a few moments upstairs when he didn't have enough saliva to spit. His cobalt blue eyes bored into Amalie's green ones and remained there until she had the grace to look away.
"You should be embarrassed," he said, twirling the stem of his glass. "What you tried to perpetrate tonight was nothing short of blackmail, and don't think I didn't know it from the beginning. I wouldn't have returned here at all if that leg-breaker of yours hadn't been so insistent."
"I must insist you adopt a different tone, William. I saw how you listened to what I had to say. I didn't hear you denying it could be true when I confronted you in this office. Now that she's disappeared, you would like me to believe it is otherwise."
"You stumbled upon a petty thief who looked a lot like—"
"Not 'a lot' like her," Amalie said. "Exactly like her. Of course I thought there had been some mistake."
"And immediately jumped to the conclusion that it meant money in your hands. I don't begin to pretend to understand how your mind works, Amalie, but I know you overstepped your bounds this time. That girl—what did Maggie say her name was?"
"Jenny."
"Jenny, then, had a clever little scheme going for her. I think you realize now that's all it was. I don't care who she looked like." He finished his champagne. "I have to admire her panache. She marches right up to your front door, announces she has a message for someone, manages to get herself upstairs, and proceeds to rob your clientele. I shouldn't be at all surprised if your business falls off a little after this incident."
"We don't know that anyone was robbed. Marshall said she fled when he caught her in the act."
"Count yourself fortunate if that's true."
"Are you going to repeat this?" she asked.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't. I can't get over the fact that you thought you could turn a fortune on my grief."