The young man’s acne-scarred face hardened.
“He’s thirteen, blond hair, squinty eyes, freckles, a thin face, and wide shoulders.”
Zachary moved back. “Could be lots of people.”
All right—he’d not come this far and lost this much sleep for this hoodlum to lie. “Are you going to pretend I didn’t give you a shiner when I found you wrestling with Jimmy?”
The woman’s scowl deepened. “You’re the one who beat up my boy?”
He looked away from her to keep from saying yes. “If you help me find Jimmy, that’ll make you look a little better when you’re hauled in later for stealing. Lying isn’t going to save you.”
“I haven’t been stealing anything.”
Zachary’s mother moved in front of him, puffing up her shoulders. “Get off my property.”
“I will, once I know where to find Jimmy. That’s all I want. Tell me and I’ll leave.”
“Glenn.” The woman pushed her younger son out the door. “Get the cops.”
The boy zipped out beneath Aaron’s arm and through the overgrown yard.
Aaron sighed. He’d probably get in trouble for harassing them or something. Could he connect Zachary to burglarizing the mansion without Jimmy? Charges based on simple accusation wouldn’t stick. “All I want is an idea of where Jimmy could be—an address, a person to talk to. Just let me know how you’d find him, and I’ll leave.”
“Told you I don’t know him.”
“Yes, you do. I’m not an idiot, and neither are you.”
“That’s right. I’m not.” Zachary’s ruddy face was half stubbornness and half amusement at having the upper hand.
“Listen, I don’t care what you’ve done, though I’m sure you’ve done plenty. All I want is Jimmy.”
Zachary’s lips only curved up more.
The woman pushed against the door, pinching Aaron’s foot against the doorjamb. “Look, mister, he says he doesn’t know him, so leave.”
He should, but might his bullying experience be worth something—as long as he kept it under control? He pushed back against the door and leaned closer to the young man. “Maybe you know Jimmy’s mother, then? Sharp-Eyed Jane?”
Zachary’s mother frowned. Did she know Jane?
“Since I don’t know Jimmy, how would I know his mother?”
A man’s deep voice boomed from somewhere in the house with a curse. “Just tell the man what he wants and let me get back to sleep.”
The mother scowled at Aaron. “The witch you’re looking for is usually playing cards at the Wet Whistle. She’s about as crooked as they come. I wouldn’t step within three feet of her, and if she has a son, heaven help him. Now leave us alone.”
She pushed on the door again, and he slipped his foot out. The door’s slam shot air into his face, ruffling his hair.
“Thank you,” he said to the door.
But he’d already been to the Wet Whistle on a previous lead, and everyone there claimed to know nothing. He rubbed his eyes. The weight of sleeplessness and starting all over again made his head hurt. The mansion was only a mile across town, but he should probably wait and follow Zachary. Surely he’d feel compelled to go off and tell Jimmy someone was looking for him.
Aaron turned to make his way back across the dilapidated porch. He’d have to appear as if he’d left and then find a good hiding place to—
“Excuse us, sir.”
Aaron turned to see two policemen striding toward him, and Zachary’s little brother, Glenn, running to catch up.
He turned onto the main sidewalk and headed for them. Hopefully they’d be willing to help him search. Of course, if he ended up talking to the copper Jimmy claimed worked with his mother, they might not be any help at all. “Good morning, officers.”
The dark-haired policeman came closer. “This boy says you and his mother are having a row.”
He eyed Glenn, who was the same size as Owen. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that a family who knew where Sharp-Eyed Jane gambled would be trouble. “We weren’t. I was simply asking after a boy who’s gone missing. He normally resides at the Lowes’ orphanage and is about this tall, thirteen, blond with freckles, and green squinty eyes. The son of a woman named Sharp-Eyed Jane.”
The lighter-haired cop took a step around the taller one, his eyes narrowing as he took Aaron in from head to toe. “Who are you?”
“Aaron Firebrook, the Lowes’ gardener.” He turned back to talk to the one who’d appeared to be listening instead of scowling. “His name is—”
“You’re under arrest.”
Aaron looked back to the shorter officer, then glanced over his shoulder to see if someone was behind him. But there was no one. He frowned. “Me?”
“Yes.” The man’s eyes gleamed, and he licked his lips.
Aaron’s hands started sweating, and he blinked several times over. What had he done? “I wasn’t arguing with the boy’s mother, but even if I were, surely you don’t arrest people over spats.”
“No, but for theft we do.” The man unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his belt and twirled them around his index finger.
A cool breeze blew across Aaron’s now-sweaty neck, and he shivered. “What did I steal?”
The darker-headed one took a step closer, his expression grim. “We ask that you cooperate, sir.”
The short one with the handcuffs pointed to Aaron’s hands and smirked. “Put those behind your back.”
Despite the urge to pummel them both—considering they were smaller than he was—he did as he was told. Did he know the younger one from school, or did the man just find arresting people exciting?
If the officer had recognized him, Aaron had likely beaten him up in the past. “I’ll cooperate. Just tell me what I stole.”
The cold, metal bracelets slipped around his wrists.
“A lot, as you know.” The man behind him tightened the handcuffs until they bit into his flesh. “Paintings, jewelry, trinkets. I’ll read you the list once we get you locked up, if you’d like to refresh your memory.”
He shook his head. Had the man he’d entrusted to deliver his message to the mansion yesterday neglected to do so? “I know what you’re talking about, but that’s why I’m out here trying to find . . .” Should he implicate Jimmy? He wasn’t exactly responsible for the stealing, though if he were behind bars he’d at least be safe.
His mother likely deserved the cell, but if she heard someone was after her, she might hurt Jimmy. “I’m trying to find the boy who can tell us who’s stealing those things.”
“Right. Someone else decided your cabin was a good place to store his loot, and you had no idea what was happening.”
“No, that’s not it, though I can see how my disappearance looks bad.” He flinched as the man behind him shoved him forward on the sidewalk. “I assume Mr. Lowe reported me? Let me talk to him, and I can clear this up.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to talk through your excuses with a lawyer.”
“We don’t have to go through all of that—just let me talk to Nicholas Lowe.”
“Sure, buddy.” The man behind him jabbed a baton between his shoulder blades, causing him to trip. When the officer came around to walk beside him, he looked him up and down several times, narrowing in on his face. “You’re not Aaron, are you? You’re George?”
Aaron sighed. The officer would not believe anything he said now. “My name’s George Aaron Firebrook.” He turned to look at Zachary’s younger brother, who was following behind them, looking far too enthralled with watching a man being arrested. “I know your brother claims he doesn’t know Jimmy, but he does.” Aaron hoped Glenn would listen. “Jimmy’s in trouble and needs help. Please go tell Mr. Nicholas Lowe at the mansion that—”
He got jabbed in the back again, rougher this time. “That’s enough out of you.”
He swallowed the curse he would’ve spat so easily years ago and forced himself to march forward.
The little boy stopped walking but hadn’
t turned toward the mansion.
If only Glenn would go find Nicholas, he’d be exonerated soon enough. If not, all he could do was cooperate so he’d be released quickly once things were cleared up.
Please, Lord, keep Jimmy safe until I can get out and find him.
34
“How could you?”
The high-pitched feminine hiss startled Mercy, and she dropped her lotion. She turned to see Patricia, who’d swung open her door and was sending her an eyeful of daggers—an expression she’d hoped to avoid seeing from her brother.
Nicholas hadn’t fired Timothy yesterday, likely praying about it while he searched for Jimmy and Aaron—neither of whom had been found.
But she’d expected Nicholas would fire her brother soon, so she’d kept out of the way. She didn’t regret telling Nicholas about Timothy, but she figured it’d be best to avoid seeing her brother until he was out of the house, so he didn’t blow up at her in front of the children.
Patricia barged into Mercy’s room and jabbed her in the arm.
Mercy tensed. Surely Nicholas wouldn’t have told Patricia she was the reason they were fired.
“Just an hour ago, Mr. Lowe claimed that with so few orphans he no longer needed us, though more could come any day. If he was cutting back on his financial obligations, fine. But when I asked to adopt Owen, he said no, though the gardener isn’t going to get him now.” She crossed her arms and glared. “When I asked Timothy why Lowe would deny us a child, he said it was your fault.”
What? Though she could understand he didn’t want to own up to the real reason, how could he dump the blame on her? He could’ve simply told Patricia they had to accept Nicholas’s decision, since Nicholas seemed to be giving him that out.
Patricia leaned closer, her clove-scented breath blowing against Mercy’s cheek. “I don’t know how you found out about your brother’s indulgences, but what right did you have to tell anybody?”
Mercy backed away to look at Patricia. She’d known?
“It’s not as if he’ll change because of this, but at least I had children to occupy myself with. What made you think it was a good idea to bring up your brother’s moral failings to that holier-than-thou Lowe, knowing he’d kick us out? You didn’t think about me at all, did you?”
Mercy reached for Patricia’s shoulder, but the other woman jerked away.
“I’m sorry, but I was thinking about you. I thought being at the mansion was making things worse, since it gave Timothy too much idle time. I hoped that if he went back to—”
“You should’ve asked me what I wanted.” Patricia sniffed. “At least here I had servants and distractions, books and gardens.”
Tears built up behind Mercy’s eyes. Had she done the wrong thing? Surely she hadn’t, not if these orphans needed a healthy marriage to model their own future relationships after. No, Nicholas had the right to know.
Oh, there was no winning. “I’m sorry, Patricia. I really am.”
“Well, that won’t do us any good. But at least Timothy promised me you won’t be coming with us.” And with that she turned and stomped out.
Mercy sank onto the bed and stared at herself in the mirror. Would she ever see them again? She blinked against the warmth in her eyes. She’d not meant to lose the few family members she had left, but she’d wanted what was right for them. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
And what if Aaron never turned up? Two nights and almost two days had gone by without a word from him. Nicholas had made a report to the police, and he and Franklin had searched for him and Jimmy without success.
The hope that Aaron had a good explanation for his disappearance and the things in his cabin lessened with every passing hour.
“Excuse me.” Sadie popped her head into the room. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Beauchamp is asking to see you.”
“Me?” What could Henri want from her?
Sadie disappeared back into the hallway, and Mercy picked up her lotion and put it back on the dressing table before heading downstairs. Hopefully Henri wouldn’t ask her for advice on how to fix his crumbling relationship with Caroline. She was obviously not the right person to get involved in anyone’s relationships, considering how her own family members wanted nothing to do with her.
From the top of the staircase, she could see Henri a floor below, pacing the foyer, his hat going from one hand to the other in quick succession. The second she stepped onto the landing, he raced to the bottom of the staircase and gripped the baluster. “Please help me, Miss McClain.”
From the way he strangled the staircase newel and the desperate look in his eye, one might think he was begging to be released from jail.
“I must see Caroline, but she has refused to see me.” He held a piece of paper that shook in his hand.
She slowed as she came down the stairs, shaking her head. She’d muddied up enough things already. Her help would likely get him the opposite of what he wanted, or at least make it harder somehow.
“I know she found out about Katelyn, and that you know too since she said so in this letter.” He waved the piece of paper in front of him. “I’ve been here for two hours and have knocked on her door, but she refuses to come out. I’ve sent the butler down with a note, but she’s refused to take it. And I can’t holler what needs to be said through a door.”
He left the bottom of the stairwell and started pacing again. “I need to talk to her, at least once!” The desperation in his voice sounded exactly like Aaron’s the day he’d interviewed for the teaching position and then realized gaining her approval was his only hope of getting the job.
She’d let his pleas stop her from doing what she’d believed right at the time, and though she’d changed her mind later, it seemed she had been right from the beginning. She couldn’t trust her instincts or her compassion.
But who was she to make decisions for Caroline? “I’ll try.”
He latched onto her hand. “Thank you.”
“But I can’t—I won’t—force her.”
He nodded solemnly, but his eyes lit with hope.
How many people was she going to disappoint today? She blew out a breath and headed downstairs. At Caroline’s door, she knocked lightly, in case Katelyn was sleeping.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, why won’t you leave me alone?”
Though it wasn’t funny, she chuckled a little at the woman’s exasperation. “It’s me. Mercy.”
Caroline’s door opened a crack, and she peeped out as if afraid a monster would barge in. She sighed and opened the door. “At least I know you aren’t going to try and prod me into seeing Henri.”
“Prod? Well . . . no.”
“Don’t tell me he’s still here and begged you to come down?” She huffed and rolled her eyes. Caroline was rarely this expressive. But at least she didn’t ask her to leave.
Mercy moved to sit next to Katelyn, who was jerking her feet around on the thin mattress as if trying to get somewhere sideways. Mercy captured her little fist, and the babe grasped her finger.
Caroline stood staring out the tiny window at the top of her basement room.
“Can you tell me why you won’t talk to him?” She couldn’t help but pick the baby up and nestle her in her lap. “It might be hard to do, but you could get your questions answered.”
“I can’t think of anything he could say that would make things better, and I can’t . . .” She swallowed hard and looked away.
“He says he only wants to talk once. If you don’t want to talk again—”
Caroline sniffed, and was that other sound a muffled sob?
Mercy put Katelyn down, got up, and wrapped her arms around Caroline. “What’s wrong?”
“I just really wanted to believe him.” Her voice cracked, and she broke away to search for a handkerchief. “I wish . . . I wish I hadn’t fallen in love with him all over again.”
Oh, how she could relate to that regret, though she’d only had the opportunity to regret falling in love on
ce.
Caroline shook herself. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. And when he spoke so well of me, like he’d actually come to care for me . . .” Her voice died off and she sniffled.
“I think he really does care for you, Caroline.”
“Then, what about her?” Caroline gestured toward Katelyn.
“Well, I don’t know much about her. All you and I know is what Henri initially said and what a prostitute said. Perhaps you need to hear Henri out.” The evidence of the crime he was accused of wasn’t piled up for everyone to see, like Aaron’s. Maybe there’d been a misunderstanding. “It might not be pleasurable, but I think you should talk to him rather than wonder forever. And if you choose never to speak to him again, I’m sure Nicholas will inform Henri he’s no longer welcome here.”
“Fine.” And with a quick swipe at her eyes and a second to stuff her handkerchief in her pocket, Caroline became stoic again. She crossed over to the mattress and swaddled Katelyn. “But you’re going with me to keep me from doing anything emotionally foolish.”
If there was ever a woman who didn’t need someone to keep her from being foolish, it was Caroline. But if that’s the sort of support she wanted, Mercy would give it to her.
At the top of the stairs, the foyer was silent. Henri was nowhere to be seen.
“Well,” Caroline huffed.
Sadie came around the hallway and pointed toward the front doors. “He said he’d be out there.”
Caroline snatched Mercy’s hand and pulled her outside.
Henri turned around at the sound of the door opening, and his body went limp for a second. Then he strode toward them, glancing down to where Caroline was constricting the blood flow to Mercy’s good arm.
He stopped in front of them, and Mercy tried to tug her wrist from Caroline’s grip.
“Stay.” Caroline turned to her with pleading eyes.
“I will, but . . .” She disengaged herself. “Why don’t I hold the baby while you talk?”
Caroline stared at her for a couple seconds before handing Katelyn to her.
Once she had the baby, Mercy pointed to the low wall at the end of the portico. “I’ll just sit there.” She wasn’t particularly keen on standing between them.
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