by Ingis, Gail
He picked up his pistol, stumbled to his feet, and ran without looking back. He ran erratically until he found a place he knew well. He ducked into the doorway and leaned against the wall, panting. I got to get out of here. Screw Rork. Hope the bastard dies. Sweat slid down his face, back, and between his legs. His tongue was as thick as a water-filled sponge. He gripped the railing and dragged himself up the stairs. He doubled over as nausea climbed up his throat. His stomach heaved, and he retched on his shoes. The thick vomit puddled at his feet in the narrow stairwell. He gagged at the reek of vomit, slipping on it as he stumbled up the stairs, and banged on the first door. He gritted his teeth at the sound of giggles piercing his ears. He rattled the handle. “Come on, bitches, it’s Hank. Open the damn door!”
The door flew open, and two girls grabbed Hank’s arms, pulling him into the heavily perfumed boudoir draped in red velvet. They released him just as hastily and sent him stumbling as they pinched their noses. “My God, Hank, what in the world ya been up to?”
He fell and rolled onto his backside and stared at them. “I-I’m in trouble.”
A redhead put her hands on voluptuous hips. “Didn’t know anythin’ could touch the mighty Hank Dempsey.” She giggled and glanced at her equally curvaceous blond friend.
The blonde wrinkled her nose. “Ya stink, me fine cockerel.” Without waiting for a response, they ripped off his coat and tossed it in a corner. Amid squeals of mirth, they proceeded to strip him of his clothes and any dignity he had left.
He struggled feebly. “Back off, you stupid tarts!”
“Hank, where ya been, an’ what trouble ya in?” The blonde picked up his clothes using two fingers and held them out, her face screwed up in disgust.
Clutching his genitals and trembling with cold as much as shock, he wet his lips, looking around distractedly. “Bath, I need a bath. I don’t feel so good.”
The redhead brought buckets of water and prepared his bath in a tin tub. “C’mon, darlin’, get ya ass in here.”
The blonde tugged his arm. “It’s a real smart idea to sit. Ya look like ya is goin’ to have a heart attack.”
Hank tested the water. “It’s hot,” he whined.
“Ah, don’t be a damn milksop. Get in there.” The redhead gave him a shove.
Too weak to argue, he stepped into the tub and lowered himself gingerly. He hung his feet over the edge and dunked his head. “Ah, that feels better.” He sighed and closed his eyes. The blonde sponged his chest. “There, ya feelin’ better now?” The nausea left him, but what he’d done stuck in his throat, as though he had swallowed shattered glass chips.
Despite his walk through a portal of hell and his stupidity at shooting Rork, Hank gave them his brightest smile. “You’ve both been gems. I need to leave the city, but I can’t go without Sissy. Think you can help me out with fetching her? She’s at St. Nicholas Hotel.”
The redhead’s mouth twisted. “You still messin’ with that tart disguised as a lady?”
“Watch your damn mouth.”
She threw up her hands. “Fine, I’ll fetch the bitch.”
“And tell her to pack our clothes.” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose.
Crap, hope she doesn’t run into Leila.
The whore slid into the hotel foyer and smoothed her mauve satin dress with nicotine-stained fingers. She bit her lip and scanned the opulent surroundings.
Light from the chandeliers gleamed on the manager’s black patent-leather hair as he glided to her, mouth pinched and eyes steely. Blocking her advance, he clasped bony fingers behind his back and looked down his long nose. “How may I assist you, ah, madam?”
She tucked a red curl behind her ear, eyes darting. “What room is Sissy Lanweihr occupyin’?” she rasped.
He sniffed and flicked a speck of imaginary dust off his immaculate jacket. “We do not reveal our guests’ room numbers. Wait right here.” He eyed her imperiously, daring her to take another step on his pristine marble floor. “I will locate Miss Lanweihr. Can’t imagine she knows you.” He spun on his heel and sailed up the ornate stairway.
She pouted scarlet lips and flipped up her hand, making an obscene gesture. “Make it snappy.”
Eyebrows raised, guests gave her a wide berth, husbands shielding their wives and children.
She snorted and tossed her tangle of red curls. “Straight-laced pricks.” She flipped her tongue at an elderly gentleman steering his wife away from contamination. “Want me to help ya get it up for the old lady, gramps?”
They gasped and scooted out of sight.
Sissy appeared, chin held high as she sashayed down the stairs, the train of her dress elegantly brushing the steps behind. The manager was close on her heels. He hovered as Sissy stopped in front of the whore. “What could you possibly wish to discuss with me, woman?”
“Hank Dempsey be in trouble and askin’ for ya.”
Sissy gasped, and her eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”
The whore glanced at the manager, her painted eyebrows dipping. “Tell the watchdog to get his ass out of here.”
Sissy sighed and nodded at the manager.
“Are you sure, Miss Lanweihr?”
The whore flapped a grubby hand at him. “Just piss off like the lady says, ya little prick.”
Sissy sighed and gave him a sweet smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, thank you.”
He bowed and walked off.
The whore sniggered. “Gawd strike me blind. Ya could freeze burnin’ coal on his ass.” She ran the back of her hand under a pert nose and sniffed loudly. “Hank said to tell ya to pack up yur things an’ his and come with me. He ain’t far from here.”
“Why all the mystery?”
“I ain’t no mind reader. I’m sure he’ll tell ya. Just move yer ass. How long will it take ya to pack? I ain’t got all day, ya know. I’m a workin’ gal.”
“I’ll only take a few moments. Wait outside.” She turned to a porter. “Please come to my suite in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Leila took a last look in the mirror and adjusted her coiffure. The dinner bell had rung. She sighed and glanced at the rumpled bedding. Hank had disappeared again. She would see Rork at dinner. Her belly fluttered, and she stepped out of her room, running into Sissy. “If you’re looking for Hank, he isn’t here,” Leila hissed.
Sissy’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Not surprising, after your little display of hysterics this morning.” She tossed her head. “However, I am not looking for him.”
“Where is he?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sissy’s lips lifted in a feral sneer.
“Actually, I wouldn’t.” Leila clenched her hands, struggling to control her temper and to remember she was a lady. Her fingers itched to slap Sissy’s smug face. “I couldn’t care less what he’s up to.” She tilted up her nose. “Or you, for that matter.” Disdain dripped from her words. “I have never encountered such lowbred individuals as you and Hank.”
“I’m warning you, shut the hell up!”
Leila smiled coldly. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll slap you.”
Leila laughed. “Your veneer of gentility is indeed thin.” Her blood boiled, but she kept her poise. “You’re a liar and no better than a common whore. You’ve always been a liar, sleeping with my husband, while pretending to be my friend. I never liked you, Sissy, but I didn’t think even you would stoop that low.”
Sissy snarled, and a slap reverberated in the empty passageway.
Leila’s head snapped to the side. She ground her teeth as lights exploded in her head and her cheek burned. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a deep breath. Don’t react, keep calm.
“You’re a damn cold fish. No wonder Hank doesn’t want to screw you.” Sissy shoved past
her.
Leila walked back into her suite and splashed cold water on her reddened cheek. Patting her face dry, she smoothed her silk dress festooned with lace. I don’t care anymore. They deserve each other. A knock sounded on the door, and she jumped. “W-who is it?”
“The manager, Partridge. Might I have a word, Mrs. Dempsey? It’s about Mr. Millburn.”
Dread crept over Leila. Premonition chilled her heart.
Chapter 14
Composing herself, Leila opened the door and stared at Partridge.
“Mr. Millburn was shot and is apparently being treated at the Hospital for the Ruptured and Crippled.”
She sighed and placed a hand on her chest. “Is he going to be all right?” A tear crept from the corner of her eye, and she quickly wiped it away. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see her distress. He peered past her. “Is your husband here?”
“No.”
“I looked for him in the, ah, saloon, but they haven’t seen him.”
Leila scowled. “I’m sure I can deal with the problem. What is needed?”
“I don’t have any details, but they cannot keep Mr. Millburn at the infirmary. The facilities are inadequate. They asked if someone could fetch him.”
Leila released a long breath. “How bad is he?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I received little information on his condition.”
“I shall go to him at once. Please arrange for a doctor to attend him when we return.” Her heart threatened to explode.
“Certainly, madam.” He bowed and backed away. “A woman of questionable character was here asking for Miss Lanweihr.” He flushed and smoothed his jacket.
“How is that relevant to me?”
He coughed lightly. “I overheard her tell Miss Lanweihr to pack your husband’s clothes and meet him.”
Heat crept into Leila’s cheeks. “What my husband does is his affair.” She avoided the compassion in his eyes.
“Of course, but I’ll be discreet. I shall also arrange for a carriage to meet you at the door.” He bowed again and slipped from the room.
She released a long breath and briefly studied her face in the mirror. The beginnings of a bruise marred her cheek. She opened an armoire and chose a black hat with a veil. Throwing a cape over her shoulders, she donned the hat, drew the veil over her face, and walked out, her heels echoing in the passage. Candle flames wavered in brass wall sconces as she headed for the stairs.
She swept through the crowded lobby and stepped into the carriage waiting in the porte-cochère. I wish Cornelia were here. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. The carriage rumbled over rough cobblestones, jolting Leila against the side. Please, God, let him live. She pressed trembling fingers to her temples to stop the buzzing in her head. This is like a horrible dream.
The carriage drew to a jarring halt at the infirmary. Leila adjusted the veil, ensuring it covered her face, opened the door, and stepped out. She stared at the imposing four-story building and slowly mounted the stairs to an open door. The odors of ether, blood, and unwashed bodies assailed her senses. She pressed a scented handkerchief to her nose and looked around the emergency room.
Depressing green walls closed in on her. Ragged children sat huddled on benches. A toddler with a bloodied rag tied around her head wept loudly. Temperatures soared outside, but a small boy sat on a bench, his teeth chattering. Gasoliers offered a soft, warm light to an atmosphere that would otherwise be ominous.
Leila’s footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as she approached the nurses’ station. “Excuse me.” A nurse looked up with a glary, cold stare, and Leila tightened the hold on her reticule. “Where will I find Mr. Millburn?”
“I cannot give out that information, madam. May I ask who you are?”
“I’m a close friend.”
She consulted a sheet of paper. “I see a Mr. Dempsey was called.”
“He isn’t available.” Leila lifted her chin.
“We don’t take adults as a rule. We cannot keep Mr. Millburn overnight.”
Leila was reminded of her youth and the teachers at the academy—cold, callous, and uncaring. My heavens, this nurse was pathetic, and all those things as well. I must get Rork out of here as fast as possible.
“I’m aware of that. Is he able to come back to the hotel?”
“Does he not have a relative who could be called?”
Nerves stretched to the limit and quickly losing patience, Leila leaned on the desk. “Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be here. Now may I please see him?”
The woman’s mouth tightened. “Please take a seat. We’ll let you know when he can be moved.”
“I assumed he was well enough to move.”
“He is being tended by the doctor.”
Leila’s mind raced. What in the world happened to him? A street fight? Robbery? Is Hank responsible?
The nurse glared at Leila. “Like I said, wait over there.” She waved at the crammed benches.
I’ll get nowhere being high-handed. Leila smiled sweetly. “Why aren’t adults permitted in the infirmary?”
“It’s a children’s hospital. Dr. Knight donated his home for poor children in need of medical care. He’s the chief surgeon.”
“The hours must be taxing. I admire such dedication.”
“Yes, they are.”
“I have a friend who will train as a nurse.”
The woman gave her a skeptical look.
Leila smiled. “We helped Dr. Smith save the children from the burning orphanage. Draft Rioters set it alight.”
“You did?” The woman shook her head. “Nasty business that. Why in the world attack defenseless children?”
“It was terrifying.” She waved a gloved hand in the general direction of the passageway. “My friend, Rork Millburn, rescued me and the children.”
“My, such bravery.” The nurse lumbered to her feet. “Let me see how things are going with him.”
“Thank you.” Leila released a breath. Within minutes, the woman returned.
“Follow me, dear.”
“What’s the prognosis?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think the bullet hit any vital organs.” She glanced at Leila. “Is he your beau?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Don’t get a fright when you see him.”
Her heart jolted. Dear God, how bad is he?
A matron approached. “Your name please, madam?”
Leila bit her lip and fiddled with the wedding ring under her glove. “Ah, Miss Ashburn.”
The nurse chuckled. “He’s her beau.”
The matron nodded. “Nurse will take you to him.”
Walking along the endless corridor, the pounding in her ears grew louder and louder. A chill invaded her as though she’d walked barefoot in snow. She relived the brief kiss they’d shared. She scrabbled in her reticule for a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. The nurse ushered her into a room with four beds. The odors of disinfectant, ether, and blood intensified.
“I’ll leave you with him.”
“Thank you.” A single lamp cast a pool of yellow light. Hesitating at the door, Leila stared at an iron bed containing a figure covered in bloodstained sheets.
The nurse touched her arm. “Take courage, dear, at least he’s alive.” She turned and left.
Leila stumbled to the bed, tripping on her skirt, and leaned over Rork. Her heart ached to see his skin so pale and the dark rings under his eyes. His right shoulder was swathed in bandages. With her trembling hands, she touched his rugged cheek.
“Leila?”
“You’re alive.”
“You’re here. Now I’m alive.”
She nodded and shook her head.
He
chuckled. “Yes or no? You look exhausted and frightened. Don’t worry, I’m tough. I won’t die.”
“I am here to take you back to the hotel. Apparently, they don’t hospitalize adults here.”
“Suits me.” He tried to sit up.
“Please don’t move. I’ll see if I can find the doctor who treated you.” The door opened, and she turned, relief flooding through her.
A tall, whiskered man in a white coat entered the room. “I see our patient is awake.” He looked at Leila, his brown eyes twinkling. “Your husband had a lucky escape.”
Leila opened her mouth to protest, but Rork chuckled and took her hand.
“I’m Dr. Knight. Luckily the bullet passed through and through. The attacker shot him at close range.”
“W-where is his attacker?”
“A passerby who ran to the hospital for assistance said the swine fled the scene.”
“Did anyone identify him?” Leila asked in a whisper.
“Not really. He was apparently well dressed but seemed intoxicated.”
Rork squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t matter, Leila.”
She glanced at him. “Of course it mat—” A warning look from Rork shut her up. “I suppose not. At least you weren’t killed.”
“The swine should be behind bars,” Knight said, taking Rork’s wrist. “His pulse is strong.” He grinned. “I suspect a certain little lady has something to do with that.”
Heat rose in Leila’s cheeks. “Is it safe to take him to the hotel?”
“I’ll send him in the ambulance. With care, he will recover well.” He winked at her.
“Thank you for treating him, Dr. Knight. Can I offer a donation for your hospital?”
He beamed. “Most kind of you, my dear. Certainly can use the money.” He patted her arm. “Excuse me. Children must be tended to.” He bowed and left.