by Goodman, Jo
Reilly paled. "Are you certain you don't want me with you?"
"Certain. I know the layout of the house, so I have an idea where to begin looking. It's relatively early for most of the girls. Many of them will be in their beds. They're the least of my worries."
As Christian turned away to begin his route to the back of the house, Mr. Reilly touched his sleeve. "Good luck, sir."
Christian nodded, smiled narrowly. "I'm bringing Jenny out with me, Mr. Reilly. Depend on it."
* * *
Amalie unfolded the Herald across the top of her desk. She fanned out the treasury notes. Stephen hitched his hip on the edge and watched Amalie smooth the bills with her fingertips.
"Didn't your father wonder about the amount you took this time?" she asked. She did not look up. Instead, she began sorting the notes. Stephen had met her price exactly.
"He questioned me," he said, shrugging. "But he also left the matter of Caroline up to me. Until today, he did not realize that I've known where she is."
"He was pleased?"
"I think so. He wanted to know the details, but I thought it would be better to keep that between us."
"Then he is unaware that I've had Caroline here?"
"Yes. He would have argued that you shouldn't be trusted." Stephen smiled, still watching her closely. "I know differently, don't I?"
"Of course," she said blithely.
"Of course," Stephen repeated. "Father agreed to make the appropriate entries in the ledgers. The three of us are the only ones who will ever know what's been done at the bank. And only you and I know everything."
"You are rather smug, aren't you?" she said. "Why do I suspect that perhaps you've skimmed a little cream for yourself?"
"Perhaps because it's true. You don't mind, do you?"
"Why should I? You've paid me what I asked. I had the deeds checked, you know. They were all good... everything quite legally registered to me now. Those properties will triple in value in a dozen years, maybe less. I'm a very wealthy woman, thanks to Caroline Van Dyke."
"Dear, dear Amalie," Stephen said, chuckling softly. "If I weren't betrothed to Caro, I could be tempted to plight thee my troth."
Amalie snorted derisively. She stopped fingering her money and turned a cynical eye on Stephen. "I'm not flattered," she said, folding the newspaper into a tight roll.
"Fashioning a weapon?" he asked. "I assure you, it's not necessary. I have no intention of crossing swords with you, Miss Chatham. I saw how you dispatched John Todd, remember?"
"Good."
"May I see Caroline now?"
"Of course."
"How is she feeling? It occurred to me that losing the baby could push her right out of her mind."
"I was with her only a few hours ago. She was still carrying the child."
"What?" Stephen pushed away from the desk. "This is not our bargain. You promised me I wouldn't have to worry about Marshall's bastard."
"Have a care with your voice," she said. "You don't want the girls to hear, do you? Anyway, I intend to keep my promise. It's only a matter of time before she miscarries."
"Then she's taken Restell's pills?"
"No, not yet. But she will. I've been giving her a mild dose of opium in her tea. Her resistance is fading. And I've put her in the cellar to break her. That was a few hours ago..." She stopped, cocking her head to one side. "What was that?"
"What?" Stephen's head also turned. He waited, listening.
"I heard something." Amalie's mauve satin skirt whispered as she crossed the floor toward her living quarters. She paused at the entrance to her sitting room and listened again. "Nothing," she said finally. "I could have sworn..."
Stephen waved aside her concern. "Probably one of your girls taking the back stairs to the kitchen."
"No. No, it sounded as if it came from inside my suite."
"If you're that worried, I'll take a look. For God's sake, Amalie do something about the money. It could be a little difficult to explain." Stephen moved fluidly across the room, unaware that Amalie's eyes followed him. His primary concern was how he was going to kill her. It seemed a bit of luck that she had moved Jenny to the cellar. Stephen liked the irony that he would be responsible for reuniting Amalie with her erstwhile partner.
Amalie was locking the middle drawer of her desk when Stephen returned to the office. She made a point of dropping the key in her bodice and adjusting the neckline so the key rested comfortably between her breasts. "Anything?"
"No one's there. I didn't see or hear anyone in the back hallway. Maggie and a few other girls are in the kitchen. Will that be a problem?"
She shook her head. "The cellar is virtually soundproof. Besides, there's no way to it except the outside entrance. You won't have any trouble removing your fiancée as long as you bring your carriage around back."
"How did you get her down there?" A lock of Stephen's ash-blond hair had fallen across his forehead. He tossed his head back once to get rid of it.
Amalie's eyes went to the line of Stephen's strong throat. In some ways she regretted what she was going to have to do. But what choice did she have really? She had to look out for herself. He would appreciate that. It was the same for him. "Maggie helped me."
"What?" He stared at her, open mouthed. "That was a damn fool thing to do."
"I knew what I was doing. Maggie didn't recognize her. She remembers her from New Year's Eve. That's all. She thinks I've procured the girl just for you, and she's not far off the mark. As long as you don't say anything, Maggie won't bring it up. She's smart enough to know not to ask questions." Amalie raised one eyebrow in a perfectly haughty line. "Satisfied?"
"It doesn't matter. It's done."
"Then if you are finished taking me to task, you can see your fiancée. Frankly, I'll be glad to be rid of her. Come this way. I need to get a lamp. We'll go through my suite and out the back. None of the girls will see us."
Stephen followed Amalie. They exited the rear door and went to the angled double doors that led to the cellar. Amalie tugged on a handle and opened one door a fraction.
"Didn't you lock it?" Stephen asked.
"Does it look as if I did? You worry about the wrong things, Stephen. She can't get out of here. She is too weak. I can hardly lift this door by myself. Help me, will you?"
Stephen bent and placed his hand over Amalie's. They heaved the door open together and descended carefully, Amalie first. She held the lamp in front of her while Stephen closed the door over his head.
"Back here," Amalie said, pointing to the room off to the left. "Where you buried John Todd." Amalie entered the moist, earthen chamber. Light did not scatter far, but it did reveal spider webs, mouse droppings, and evidence that John Todd's grave had been disturbed.
Jenny raised her forearm to shield her eyes. After so long in the dark, the lamplight seemed unbearably bright. The bluish gray bruises from the manacle were clearly evident on her wrist. She sat in the far corner, hugging her knees to her chest.
"I thought you said you drugged her," Stephen said. "She's alert. Too alert. I can't move her like this." He took a few steps toward Jenny. Amalie's voice, cold and stiff, reminiscent of her emotionless state when she fired on John Todd, brought him up short. He turned slowly. Behind him he heard Jenny sharply indrawn breath.
Amalie's outstretched arm was steady, her derringer aimed at Stephen's heart. "I'll save you the trouble of moving her at all," she said. "You cannot be surprised by this turn. It has to end like this." Watching Stephen carefully, Amalie bent slowly at the knees and placed the lamp on the floor. "It just isn't possible for me to allow you to live, Stephen."
Stephen's face was impassive. "There really is no honor among thieves, is there, Amalie? I had a similar plan for you."
"I thought you might."
"It's all very well that you want to get rid of me, but what are you going to do about Caroline?"
"You know the answer to that."
"I see."
"Consider this, Stephen. You c
an be with her in death as you never were in life."
"You make it sound almost inviting. I wonder what Marshall will think about it."
"Marshall?" Amalie's brow creased. "What does he have to do with anything?"
Stephen's eyes left Amalie's face and looked beyond her right shoulder. "Tell her, Christian."
Amalie's lip curled in a sardonic smile. She did not glance behind her. "You didn't really think I would fall for that trick, did you? I wasn't born this minute. You'll have to do better."
Stephen shrugged indifferently. His focus did not shift. "Think what you like. I'm quite certain he'll let you kill me, but he is not going to let you harm his precious Jenny. Isn't that so, Marshall?"
Amalie hesitated, listening. There was no sound behind her, no voice, no hint of breathing. She was angry with herself for allowing Stephen to give her even a moment's pause. She set her feet firmly. "Don't reach for your pistol."
"You're going to kill me anyway. Why shouldn't I try to defend myself?" He lowered his hands slowly, away from the weapon concealed by his vest. "I wonder how well you're going to fare when it's just you and Marshall left."
"Shut up, Stephen."
He gave her an arch look. "I don't think you're as certain as you were. Niggling doubts. Niggling. Like worms."
Doubts were niggling. As though Stephen's gaze were a tangible thing, Amalie could feel its light caress on the curve of her shoulder. What if he was telling the truth? She decided to challenge him. "How would Christian Marshall get in here? How would he even find us?"
"Well, Christian?" asked Stephen. "How did you find us?"
There was no answer behind her, and Amalie told herself she hadn't expected one. "It's no good, Stephen."
"He wants you to kill me," said Stephen. "Don't you understand? He's been waiting for us down here. We were so interested in Caroline that we never looked behind us, not once. He's been here all along. He wants you to kill me, and then he thinks he'll overpower you. He won't let you touch Caroline. He has a revolver, Amalie." Stephen's eyes narrowed slightly. "I make it to be a Colt. A Dragoon model, I believe. I've heard it called the Avenger. Appropriate, no? You have not forgotten that he is a war hero. His leg be damned, he knows how to pull a trigger."
Amalie's hand was shaking now. She raised her left hand to support her outstretched arm at the wrist. "You're lying."
"Look over your shoulder, and you'll see for yourself that I'm not."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Amalie's finger tightened on the trigger. She was remembering the noise she had heard earlier when she and Stephen were talking in her office, and again she asked herself if Stephen could be telling the truth? She swung around and fired blindly.
Jenny screamed as Christian dropped to his knees. With no thought for anything but his safety, Jenny scrambled across the floor. She narrowly missed being kicked by Stephen when he lunged at Amalie. Jenny rolled out of the way as Stephen knocked Amalie to the ground. The lamp fell on its side and the glass globe broke. Droplets of oil splattered on the dirt floor and tiny yellow and orange flames rose up from the oil. They were already licking at the hem of Amalie's gown when Jenny reached Christian's side.
The eerie light cast Christian's face in a jaundiced glow. His voice was gutteral, urgent. "Get out of here, Jenny."
"No, I'm not leaving you."
He saw her resolve. "Then take this." His grip on the revolver loosened as he sucked in his breath. His thigh pulsed with pain, every nerve ending in the exposed muscle firing like a roman candle.
Jenny took the Colt from Christian's hand. She'd never held a gun before and the weight of even this small one surprised her. She set her hand around it, supporting her wrist with one hand as she had seen Amalie do, and rose slowly, sliding her back against the wall for support. Uncertain who might emerge from the tangle of bodies, she took aim at the clawing, grappling pair on the ground. Amalie's skirt was wreathed in flames. There was a moment, quickly passed, that Jenny thought Stephen was trying to beat out the fire. The reality was much different than that. It was Amalie who was holding onto Stephen and every one of his blows was meant to free him from her grasp. Amalie's raw, enraged screams made Jenny flinch. The Colt jerked in her hand. The screams were too familiar, each one a reminder of hours spent in the treatment room when no one answered her cries. Stephen grunted as hoarsely and as hard as the attendants ever had. He jabbed at Amalie with his fists. She scrabbled at him with her fingers curled like talons. They rolled into the oil slick. The sleeve of Stephen's sporting jacket erupted into flame.
Jenny did not know when Amalie's screams became her own or when Stephen's blows felt as if they were striking her, but what was happening in front of her was also happening to her. She recoiled, and her hands came up. She ducked, and they dropped again. She jerked, and this time she squeezed the trigger.
Within the confines of the cellar, the report of the Avenger deafened her. Jenny had a moment to appreciate the silence before she slumped to the floor beside Christian.
Chapter 17
May 1867
"It's a good likeness of her," Scott said as he examined the front page of the Chronicle. "Everyone in New York is going to be able to put a face to the name of Caroline Van Dyke."
"You've captured her beautifully," Susan agreed softly, looking from the paper in Scott's hands to Christian. "There is already a groundswell of support for her because of the stories in the Chronicle. This sketch... well, it's easy to imagine that Stephen and William are going to pay dearly for what they did. No one can look at this and not be moved."
A faint frown pulled at the corners of Christian's mouth. It had been six weeks since the confrontation in Amalie Chatham's cellar. Time had only had an opportunity to heal the most visible wounds. Christian glanced down at his left leg, which was raised on the ottoman. He touched his thigh. Beneath his trousers he could feel the spiral wrap of the gauze bandage.
"Is it bothering you?" Scott asked. He handed the newspaper to Susan and began to rise for the purpose of looking at Christian's leg.
Christian sat up a straighter in his leather armchair. He warded off Scott's approach by picking up his ebony walking cane and waving it back and forth. "Get away from me, you quack. I'm fine. And I'm not dropping my trousers in front of Susan so you can gloat over what you've done to me."
"More's the pity," Susan said under her breath, flashing Christian a flirtatious grin.
Scott gave his wife a dark look and then addressed Christian. "I was only going to refill my glass." He thought the lie settled nicely on his lips as he lifted his crystal tumbler from the table beside the sofa. "Can I get you something?"
Christian raised his glass of whiskey to show Scott that he had hardly touched it. "Nothing for me." He lowered his cane as Scott went in the direction of the sideboard. "The leg's fine, Scott. I mean it."
"No pain?"
"Hardly a twitch. I touch it out of habit, I suppose."
"You lived with that ball in your leg too long," Scott said. He filled his glass, turned away from the sideboard, and studied Christian over the rim of his glass. "I told Susan months ago that I'd eventually find a way to remove it. Of course I didn't expect it would take another bullet to give me the chance. Damn queer twist of fate that was."
"Amalie couldn't have aimed better if she had tried," Christian said, shaking his head. It was hard for him to admit that the madam's bullet had ultimately served him well. It did not change his feelings toward her, not when the memory of what she had caused Jenny to suffer was still so clear in his mind, but it also did not mean that he could not appreciate the irony. Amalie had meant to kill him after all. What she had done had saved his leg, perhaps his life.
Susan knew the precise moment when Christian's musing ceased and his attention was caught by the movement in the doorway. His features relaxed almost instantly. The line of his mouth softened and his brow smoothed. His eyes lost their shuttered appearance. They became warm, tender, and welcoming. He released his
grip on the cane and leaned forward in his chair.
Beth charged into the study, answering Christian's open smile. Her parents laughed as she crawled onto his lap and snuggled comfortably in the curve of the arm he put around her. Christian continued to look toward the open door.
Jenny was standing there, and her dark brown eyes were solemn, her gentle smile knowing. The invitation he had cast toward the doorway had been meant for her. Little Beth would never know.
Scott raised his glass, greeting Jenny. "I'm glad you're finally back. Christian's been scowling since you took Beth to see the nursery. It's just a guess," he added dryly, "but I don't think he likes having you out of his sight."
"That's the way newlyweds act," said Susan. "It pains me that you don't remember."
Jenny was grateful to Susan for proposing another explanation for Christian's mood. All of them accepted it, and all of them knew it was a partial truth at best. Jenny remembered nothing of the time she'd spent in Amalie's cellar, but Christian was not so fortunate. In his sleep, he still recalled every part of what had happened, and his most vivid memory was the moment when his Colt fired and he thought she had killed herself. It was at that point in the nightmare that he usually woke. He would reach for her then, sometimes just to hold her, sometimes to make love to her, always to reaffirm that he was awake, alive, and death was the dream.
Scott offered Jenny his seat beside Susan, but she chose the ottoman in front of Christian's chair. He moved his feet to one side to make room for her. Her slender arm rested lightly across his legs.
Susan motioned to her daughter to come and sit with her. Beth reluctantly slid off Christian's lap and joined her mother. "I think she's going to be jealous of the baby," Susan told Christian. "She's somewhat proprietary where you are concerned."
"Beth still has me all to herself for four more months," he said. "I think we can work out an equitable arrangement by the time tie the baby arrives."
Jenny nodded. "She approved of the nursery, and she has promised to stay sometimes and help me with the baby. Isn't that right, Beth?"