by Holly Bush
“I think she enjoyed herself today,” Elspeth said. “I think she feels the weight of everything heavily on her shoulders. It is nice to see her relax for a moment or two.”
“That man wanted to know what side my bollocks hang on, James,” Payden said in a loud whisper from behind them. “I told him it wasn’t any of his damn business.”
“Oh Christ, Payden. That’s how they fit your trousers properly, and anyway, we don’t talk about that on the street, especially with your sisters nearby,” James said.
Elspeth glanced back and smiled at James, who shook his head and put his hand on the back of Payden’s neck, guiding him and laughing aloud. It was a good moment, Elspeth thought later. It was a family moment, as James was the only father figure Payden had, and he’d been a good one. Steady and thoughtful and gruff sometimes, which was necessary considering the boy had three older sisters and a great aunt who spoiled and coddled him.
James was the one who required Payden to work alongside Robert, washing pots and pans, raking their small yard in the back of their home, and learning how to darn his own socks. It didn’t matter at all that Father had not sired James. Not at all. James was the son of the chief of the clan in every way except the investiture. Father must have rested easy in his final moments, she thought, knowing that James, even at eleven years of age, would grow into the type of man who could raise up the next Earl of Taviston.
When they were finally home, Kirsty excitedly told Mrs. McClintok about all of the dresses they’d ordered as they pulled off hats and gloves. Payden tore off to his room, dragging Robert along. Elspeth climbed the stairs, letting the family noise fade into the background, even Muireall’s claim that dinner was only an hour away.
She shut her door behind her, thankful again, as she’d been so many times, that each of them had their own sleeping room. That their home was spacious enough for six good-sized bedrooms on the second floor and the same amount on the third floor, where Mrs. McClintok and Robbie had their bedrooms and a sitting room. There was also a sewing room on the third floor with a large table and good lighting beside a room set up for Payden’s and Robert’s studies.
Elspeth locked her door with her skeleton key, something she rarely did, but she just did not want to be disturbed. She unbuttoned her dress, pulled off her petticoats and stays, and slipped her arms into a large, worn flannel dressing gown in the Taviston plaid that had been her mother’s. Now she knew why that plaid was so significant, why so many of her mother’s and father’s clothes, still in leather-strapped trunks in the attics, had swatches of this plaid. Why her father’s kilts were the same.
She sank down into a worn chintz-covered chair, comfortably soft and large enough to pull up her feet beside her as she gazed out the window. She could see carts and horses in the alley through the leaves on the branches of the neighbor’s oak tree that waved near her window. She’d had little time to think about what had been said that afternoon, when everything in her world had changed. Finally knowing the mysteries that surrounded her family and slowly realizing her ignorance may have been better in some ways. Payden kidnapped! James, just a boy, with an infant in one arm and a dagger in his hand, prepared to defend himself and his charge at all costs. An escape across the ocean for them all. And finally, most horribly, Mother and Father’s murder.
Aunt Murdoch must have been terrified knowing that their killer was on the vessel with little recourse other than to guard them all in one berth, abandoning the larger one where Mother and Father had died, and her own accommodations. She remembered sleeping in a narrow bunk with Kirsty, and James sleeping under a blanket on the floor against the door, even though the lock had been turned above him. Muireall in a bunk below her, holding Payden, and Aunt dozing in a chair. How many days had they stayed in the same room together, only Aunt and Elspeth with her to carry, venturing out for food, until they came to the New York wharf? She never really understood the panic she’d felt, only that it was there, turning her stomach and making her jump at every noise.
Elspeth remembered the ride in the carriage, with all the trunks loaded in another conveyance, making their way away from the busy harbor to a fancy hotel. She remembered feeling so free, having a suite with a large living area, two bedrooms, and hotel staff that came to their rooms with clean towels and bedding and meals. She remembered Aunt telling them that they were staying for a few weeks to rest and recover from the long voyage.
And she remembered being awoken in the middle of the night just a few days after their arrival, Muireall telling her to dress quickly and help Kirsty. They left all the things they’d carried into the rooms, even Kirsty’s doll, who she’d clung to and slept with. Elspeth remembered walking a quiet hallway and down a set of steps, coming out in the kitchens of the hotel. She remembered walking past massive stoves and cloth carts stacked high with towels. She remembered climbing into a closed carriage and rattling off into the night.
She had suppressed those memories. Had she ever left off the feeling of an impending disaster? She didn’t think she had, and she didn’t think Muireall had either. The view outside was suddenly blurred. She let herself cry for her nine-year-old self and the loss of the two people in her life that had been everything to her. She cried for the moment that she had realized her world was no longer secure and sure and perfect.
“Did you see anyone?” Alexander asked MacAvoy as he loped down the alley. Alexander and James Thompson were standing in the shadow of a small roof over a delivery door.
“There’s three,” MacAvoy said. “One watching from the tavern across the street and one loafing in the alley behind the building. Almost missed the one in the storefront on the ground floor till he lit a match.”
“Could be more?” James asked.
MacAvoy nodded. “Oh yeah. I don’t get the feeling these ones are amateurs.”
Alexander had dug around in Schmitt’s desk after the office had closed until he found the address of the men who wanted information about Elspeth. The place that Schmitt had sent his lackeys. They told Schmitt that they’d closed up shop, but it did not ring true; in fact, it made him think that they were baiting a hook. After discovering what he could, he went to James Thompson. There was really no one else to trust with Elspeth’s safety.
“How will we get inside?” Alexander asked.
“What? You think we’re acquainted with criminal ways?” James hissed.
“No! I just thought you might have an idea,” Alexander said. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Shut up, the both of you,” MacAvoy said. “This is how we’re going to do it.”
A few minutes later, Alexander found himself crawling up a rickety ladder that MacAvoy had found in a pile of garbage. It barely touched the ledge of concrete just below the first-story windows. He pulled himself up, slowly stood, and backed against the brick wall. James had inched his way around the corner on the ledge, looking for a window that was not latched.
“I can barely see my fingers in front of me,” MacAvoy whispered. “Where’s the ledge?”
“Reach your hand straight up,” Alexander said and touched the other man’s fingers, pulling him up to reach the ledge and get his bearings. “Have you thought about how we’re to get down? It’ll be near impossible to swing down and get your feet on a rung.”
“You worry too much,” MacAvoy said and hoisted himself up, bumping into Alexander and sending him perilously close to the edge.
“Jesus,” Alexander breathed. “That was close.”
“Psst.”
Alexander turned his head to the corner of the building. “Must be James. Inch along, MacAvoy.”
They made slow progress but were finally on the side of the building facing the long alley that ran behind the mishmash of manufacturers and storefronts on the street. There was a dim shadow from the moon, enough to see James’s hand waving through an open window. MacAvoy crouched and ducked through, and Alexander followed behind. He stood completely still, as did the other two, listening for signs t
hat someone had heard them, smelling the musty closed-up air, and seeing little. He heard the creak of an unoiled hinge and could see that the opened door had let in enough light from a hallway with long windows on the front of the building to see James’s figure near the door and MacAvoy nearby. Alexander looked around when his eyes adjusted.
“This couldn’t have been their meeting place, do you think? It’s not much bigger than a linen closet,” Alexander said.
“It’s toward the front of the building,” MacAvoy said. “I looked at the mailboxes in the lobby, and 2A is down the hall.”
“How did you get into the lobby? I thought you said there was somebody watching in the lobby.”
“In the storefront actually,” MacAvoy said. “I came here yesterday, as soon as James told me what you had a mind to do. I wasn’t doing it completely blind.”
“You’ve always been useful, MacAvoy,” James said.
“So where is 2A?” Alexander asked.
MacAvoy stuck his head out the door. “Straight down this hall, I think. Trouble is going to be these creaky floors.”
“Train’s coming. Let’s go!” James said.
The three men scurried under the cover of locomotive noise to the doorway of 2A. Alexander was beside the door and reached for the knob. He twisted it slowly until the door swung open. They walked inside, able to see well enough with the light from the gas streetlights and the moon coming in the windows. There was a desk in the middle of the room and no other furnishings, not even a chair.
“Something don’t feel right,” MacAvoy whispered.
“I was thinking the same thing,” James said. “The skin’s prickling on my neck.”
“We’ve got a watcher,” Alexander said from near the window. James and MacAvoy bent at the waist and scurried over to the wall between the windows.
“I don’t see him,” James said.
“Second floor above the tavern,” MacAvoy said. “He’s got field glasses. Union, probably. He’s got that look.”
“And he’s homing in on these windows, boys,” James said. “There’s nothing much to see in this office either. One empty desk and some dust on the floor. Let’s vamoose.”
James crouched down and headed toward the door, Alexander behind him.
“Too late,” MacAvoy said. “They’re already across the street! Go, go!”
They heard the clatter of boots on the steps as they went down the hallway to the open window, although Alexander wondered what good it would do them, unable to hurry on the ledge and with a faulty ladder to climb down. The man from the alley and possibly others would be waiting for them as they descended.
“We’ve got to fight our way down the stairs,” Alexander said, without even trying to keep his voice down.
“He’s right,” James said and turned sharply around. He ran at the men coming up the steps, screaming a battle cry that shot down Alexander’s spine. MacAvoy did the same. Alexander followed them, pushing through the flying fists as MacAvoy and James engaged with the first two men on the landing at the top of the steps.
Alexander turned the corner, hanging on to the newel post, and charged down the steps. There were two men running up, and he let his momentum carry him forward, picking up his feet and flying through the air, connecting with the chest of one man. He grabbed the banister as he fell and saw the man tumble down the steps, head over feet. He barely had time to stand up before the first punch came from the second man. He could hear the punishing blows from James above him and the sounds of a man dropping to his knees. He threw a punch of his own and landed it squarely on his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back.
“Are you all right down there?” James yelled.
“I’m fine,” he shouted and then heard the snick of a blade as it came free of its sheath. “I’m fine.”
Alexander bent back, nearly lying flat on the steps behind him as the blade came whizzing past his chest. A coat landed on his outstretched hand from above, and he quickly wrapped it around his arm fending off the thrusts of the knife.
“Come on, boyo,” MacAvoy said.
Alexander concentrated on the knife hand of his opponent and on his own footing, juggling from one stair to the other. He ducked under the blade as it came toward his neck and punched the man in the kidney, jumping back as the blade made an arc toward his shoulder.
“You can do better than that,” James yelled. “Hit the bastard. Hit him hard.”
His opponent’s eyes flitted up at the sound of James’s voice, and Alexander swung with all his strength, a great roundhouse punch, landing on the man’s nose. He heard a crunch of bone, the knife clattering down the wooden steps, and saw blood spurt onto his shirt and vest. The man dropped to his knees, falling back against the railing, holding his face in his hands.
“Come on,” he said to James and MacAvoy. “What are you waiting for?”
Alexander hurried down the rest of the stairs, stepping over the man he’d kicked in the chest and hearing him moan. He was glad. He didn’t want to have killed anyone. He led them down a hallway to the back of the building and found a door leading to the alley. He turned the knob and let it swing out onto the mud-laden stoop.
“Harry? Ben? Is that you?” he heard from out in the darkness. James came up behind him.
“It’s us,” he said softly.
Alexander heard the slap of boots trailing away as the man ran down the alley.
“I don’t think he believed you,” MacAvoy said with a laugh. “You mustn’t sound like a Harry.”
“Come on,” Alexander said. “My house is only a few blocks from here. We can clean up there.”
“Well, well. Aren’t you the high-flyer?” James said as they went through the back gate of his home, past the carriage house, and into the ground floor of the large stone building.
Baxter came down the kitchen steps in his long robe and nightcap, carrying a candle. “Mr. Pendergast! Is that you, sir?”
“It’s me, Baxter. I’m sorry to have woken you,” Alexander said.
“Who is it, Mr. Baxter?” Mrs. Emory called.
“It’s me and a couple of others, Mrs. Emory,” he said. “I’m sorry to be coming in at this late hour and disturbing you. We’re just going to sit here in the kitchen and heat up the coffee still in the pot on the stove.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Mr. Pendergast. I’ll put on a fresh pot right away.” Mrs. Emory came sweeping into the room, her long robe swirling about her and her braided hair swinging over her shoulder. She stopped when she looked at their faces. “Oh dear! You’ve been fighting! Mr. Baxter? Would you please get the medical kit from my office?”
“Mrs. Emory, these are friends of mine. Mr. Thompson and Mr. MacAvoy. Gentlemen, Mrs. Emory keeps my house in order and does so with great efficiency. Coffee would be much appreciated, and I think considering how dirty our clothes are, I’d rather sit here at the kitchen table than dirty up another room for someone to clean,” Alexander said.
James went to the table with MacAvoy and sat down.
“I thought all housekeepers were old biddies,” MacAvoy whispered, staring under his brows at Mrs. Emory as she prepared their coffee.
“She is a looker, I’ll say that, Pendergast.” James narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure she’s just your housekeeper?”
Alexander clenched his teeth and whispered, “I don’t appreciate the implication, Thompson. She’s a widow whose husband worked at our family’s factory. She has a young daughter who lives here as well. Do you think I’d fool with a woman in front of her own child? And an employee at that!”
“Shush,” James said, tilting his head taking a long look at the housekeeper. “Just checking. Elspeth wouldn’t like it.”
There was an expectation from Elspeth’s family that should have shocked him, but he wasn’t surprised considering she’d run into his arms that day in her parlor. She’d been so afraid, shaking and pale. It made his heart pound, thinking of her running for her life, ducking in and out of
stores and alleys.
Mrs. Emory poured coffee for each of them and set out a plate of sliced cake. She sat a bowl of hot water down on the end of the table and wrung out a towel after she’d dipped it. “Now, Mr. MacAvoy? Let me see that cut above your eye.”
MacAvoy stared up as if the woman was an angel sent from above while she crooned nonsense and dabbed away blood and dirt from his face. James and Alexander exchanged a look. They waited until she had examined them all and bid them good night.
“Whatever those men told Schmitt, they lied. They’ve not left town. They’re setting traps, and we walked into one tonight,” James said.
“They were waiting for us,” Alexander said.
“But why?” MacAvoy asked. “What does it get them?”
“It would have gotten them somewhere if they’d caught me,” James said and blew on his cup of coffee. “One of them said when they got to the top of the steps, ‘There he is.’ They were looking at me.”
“What do they want? What do you have that they want?” Alexander asked. “What would have kidnapping you done for them or their cause?”
James stared at him, slowly setting his cup down. “It would have gotten them one step closer to the Earl of Taviston and all the riches and property under his control.”
“You’re an earl?” MacAvoy asked. “The chief of a clan?”
“No,” he said and held a penetrating stare on Alexander. “I’m not chief of the clan. Payden is.”
MacAvoy dropped his cup to its saucer with a rattle, sloshing the hot liquid over his hand and onto the table. “Payden?”
“Well over ten thousand acres of prime Scottish property. Dunacres castle. Livestock. Tenants. A home in London and a town house in Edinburgh.”
Alexander stared back. This was what Elspeth was talking about when she said she was worried about Payden. “Why is your family here and not there?”
“That’s a story for another day.” James stood. “But I told you what I did so you don’t underestimate this enemy. The man behind it all is ruthless, and holding one of the brothers or sisters would be the easiest way to make the family comply. I’ve already told Aunt and Muireall that no matter what happens to me, what they might do to me or threaten, that they must never hand over Payden, no matter how much the kidnappers swear to keep him safe. If I die to save him, then I’ve fulfilled a duty I was charged with years ago, and that I would never go back on.”