Jen Turano - [Ladies of Distinction 02]

by A Most Peculiar Circumstance

  “How do you know he’s here to rescue us?” Arabella couldn’t resist asking.

  “Why, one only has to look at the gentleman to know he’s a knight in shining armor come to life,” Miss James simpered.

  Miss James was obviously the easily impressed sort.

  “You may rest assured that I am here to rescue you, Miss James,” Mr. Wilder said, “but first, I do need to ask you some questions.”

  Miss James looked mildly disappointed when Mr. Wilder released her hand and took a step back, but she rallied quickly and sent him an adorable smile as she pressed herself against the iron bars. “What do you need to know?”

  “Miss Beckett told me that there was a man who entered the farmhouse while she was attempting to untie you. Have you ever seen that man or seen the man who escorted you there before, and do you happen to know their names?”

  Miss James nibbled on her lip. “I’m afraid I’d never seen either man before, Mr. Wilder, and neither one of them bothered to give me their names.” She gave a small sniff. “I first met the larger of the two men at the train station, and he told me he’d been charged with delivering me to my intended. Once we reached the farmhouse, he handed me over to that gentleman you just asked me about, who was short in stature and possessed little hair on his head. That gentleman proceeded to tie me to a chair and told me they would be back shortly. It was my understanding they were off to fetch my groom.” She batted her eyes again. “I still have no idea why they felt the need to tie me up. I can assure you, I was only too willing to get married. I recently turned eighteen and have no desire to obtain the title of spinster.”

  That explained the reasoning behind answering the advertisement.

  Arabella swung her head and watched as Mr. Wilder’s smile faded.

  “Miss James,” he said, “surely you must realize that there was never any groom?”

  Miss James giggled. “Of course there was.” She sobered and sent Arabella a scowl. “Miss Beckett must have scared him off when she shot that man.”

  “You conveniently forgot to mention anything about shooting a man, Miss Beckett,” Mr. Wilder snapped.

  Arabella lifted her chin. “I was about to tell you, but you decided to wake Miss James, and with all the pleasantries being exchanged, I haven’t had a chance to finish my tale.”

  “She was quite ferocious when she fired that pistol,” Miss James said. “Why, I’m surprised she didn’t hit me in the process, since the man she shot was rather close to me at the time.”

  “He was across the room from you, and his intention was clear. He did not want me to free you,” Arabella muttered.

  “He only wanted to keep me safe for my soon-to-be husband,” Miss James argued.

  This was what happened when ladies were not given the benefit of a suitable education.

  “Where did you get a gun?” Mr. Wilder asked, drawing her attention.

  “I always have a pistol at my disposal.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Good heavens, I should think not. I aimed for his shoulder.”

  Mr. Wilder cocked a brow.

  “I’m an expert markswoman. I don’t fire a pistol unless I’m completely certain of what I’m about to hit.”

  Mr. Wilder’s other brow joined the first one.

  He didn’t believe her.

  He was the most obnoxious, chauvinistic, old-fashioned gentleman she’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

  “There was blood everywhere,” Miss James said, “and some of it even got on my favorite dress.” She pointed to a small smudge on her skirt and then gestured to Arabella. “I still do not understand what happened to Miss Beckett. She was not covered in filth when I first met her, but then, after we were thrown into a wagon, she had taken a turn for the worse. I readily admit the scent of her made me quite nauseous.”

  “How did you come to be in such disrepair?” Mr. Wilder asked.

  “Perhaps you should ask Miss James,” Arabella said sweetly. “That is why you woke her.”

  “Miss James just stated she doesn’t know.”

  Arabella blew out a breath. There was nothing to do but finish her story. She was tired of being in jail, longed to take a bath, and longed to part ways with Mr. Wilder. She plopped back down on the cold floor and looked up. “After I shot the man—he was the balding one, in case you’re wondering—I finished untying Miss James, and then we were just about to make our escape when the sheriff showed up. Unfortunately, he took one look at the man bleeding on the floor and immediately placed me under arrest.”

  “And that’s the entire story?” Mr. Wilder asked.

  “You’re forgetting the pig.”

  “Miss Beckett started to act all funny when the large man who’d graciously given me a ride out to the farmhouse showed up. For some reason, she didn’t appear to like the fact that the gentleman was known to the sheriff. Before I could stop her, she darted away,” Miss James said. “As I said before, the next time I saw her, she was filthy and missing a large chunk of her hair.”

  Mr. Wilder’s gaze sharpened as he peered down at her. “Your odd hairstyle is not intentional?”

  “Hardly, nor is this circumstance of only sporting one shoe. The blame for both situations can be laid at Sheriff Dawson’s feet.”

  “Can they now?”

  Right before her eyes, Mr. Theodore Wilder went from annoying to lethal.

  “I’ll be back,” he rasped as he spun on his heel and strode away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Sheriff Dawson and I need to have a little chat,” he called over his shoulder before he disappeared down the hallway.

  Arabella struggled to her feet and looked through the bars, turning when Miss James let out another giggle.

  “Oh, he is divine,” the young lady breathed.

  Divine was not the word Arabella would have used to describe Mr. Wilder. Arrogant, annoying, and infuriating fit him better, but . . . something about finding out the sheriff had cut off her hair had changed his attitude toward her, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt they would soon be free.

  She limped over to the stone bench, sat down, and couldn’t hold back a smile.

  Mr. Wilder was certainly not who she’d thought God would send her, but he was what she’d gotten, and she couldn’t help but be thankful for the assistance.

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling.

  Thank you, Lord.

  3

  Miss Arabella Beckett was opinionated, bossy, and not at all what Theodore had expected when he’d agreed to fetch her home.

  Her brother Zayne was a likable sort, but Miss Beckett was one of those odd ladies who wanted to turn the world upside down and take over roles that gentlemen had held forever.

  She was not his cup of tea in the least, but she was a member of the fairer sex, and as such he was honor-bound to assist her.

  It didn’t sit well with him that she’d been sorely mistreated. Granted, he now knew firsthand she was exasperating, but someone—Sheriff Dawson it seemed—had divested Miss Beckett of her hair.

  That simply was never done.

  The good sheriff had also tossed her into a gloomy cell without allowing her the benefit of a good washing, and besides being forced to wallow in her own filth, Miss Beckett had most likely been terrified as she’d waited to learn her fate.

  He paused when he reached the top of the steps. Funny, she hadn’t seemed terrified. Although he had detected a slight trembling in her voice when she’d talked about almost being forced into a life of prostitution. His attitude toward her had softened in that moment, until she’d rallied a mere second later and proclaimed the disturbing idea that she was now determined to assist women down on their luck.

  Proper ladies were supposed to leave nasty business like that to gentlemen.

  They were also expected to be charming, not hoydens who were all too annoying and who, for some unfathomable reason, seemed to believe they were entitled to equal rights.

 
He’d always been of the belief that ladies should appreciate their delicate status and the fact that they were not required to provide a living or train for a profession. No, all they were truly required to do was produce children and ease a gentleman’s life.

  Why any lady would balk at that was beyond him. It was also beyond him why a lady wouldn’t prefer to act docile and sweet and look to a man for guidance.

  He highly doubted Miss Beckett looked to a man for anything, let alone guidance. It was clear she was quite lovely—at least the bit of her he’d managed to see beneath the grime—but she was obviously strong-willed, and she seemed more intelligent than most gentlemen he knew.

  It gave a man pause.

  It should have been an easy matter to retrieve Miss Beckett and escort her back to New York. Unfortunately, the lady appeared to possess a restless spirit, which her mother, Mrs. Gloria Beckett, had conveniently neglected to mention when she’d convinced him to go after her daughter. He’d spent weeks traveling from city to city, always one step behind the elusive Miss Beckett. He was about to give up in Kansas, but a lucky circumstance had him making the acquaintance of Mrs. Ellen Wallaby. After that woman forced him to listen to a rambling lecture on her dismal views of men in general, she finally informed him that Miss Beckett was on her way to Chicago to attend a rally.

  He’d immediately boarded a train for Chicago, but once there, discovered the rally over and Miss Beckett gone. It was only due to the fact that Miss Beckett was a beautiful woman, when she wasn’t covered in pig slop, that he’d been able to learn she’d traveled to Gilman. Most people he’d spoken with had taken note of her presence, each and every one of them more than willing to describe her in minute detail. It seemed her strikingly dramatic face, large blue eyes, delicately arched brows, and rosy soft lips were obviously difficult to forget. More than one person had waxed on about her honey-blond hair, and now some of that hair had apparently gone missing from her head.

  She didn’t seem overly distressed about that.

  It was disconcerting, this lack of expected feminine dramatics.

  His sister would have dissolved into a fit of the vapors if her hair suddenly went flying off her head.

  A shout of laughter pulled him abruptly back to reality. His feet set to motion, and a few seconds later he was standing in front of a closed door, the sound of laughter still drifting through it. He twisted the knob and stalked into the room.

  Sheriff Dawson was sitting behind a desk, a cigar clamped between his teeth. Three deputies were sprawled around him in wooden chairs, glasses of whiskey clenched in their hands. His temper changed to amusement when he noted the dismal state of their clothing. Liberal streaks of something foul coated every man, and a glimmer of satisfaction flowed through him. At least Miss Beckett was not the only one who’d suffered from the encounter with the pig.

  “Gentlemen,” he exclaimed as he strolled across the floor and stopped in front of the sheriff’s desk, “we have matters to discuss.”

  “Is she the lady you sought?” Sheriff Dawson asked.

  “She is.”

  The sheriff took a puff of his cigar. “Did she tell you she shot a man and caused me and my deputies no small amount of distress?”

  Theodore eased down into a chair and crossed his ankle over his leg. “I find it difficult to believe one refined lady was capable of causing too much distress. As for the shooting incident, we’ll need to discuss that in private.”

  Sheriff Dawson frowned. “That woman is no ‘refined lady,’ and I see no need for privacy, since my men were the victims of her crime spree.”

  “Rescuing a woman from a prostitution ring hardly constitutes a crime spree.”

  “We don’t have a prostitution ring here in Gilman,” one of the deputies said as he ambled to his feet and moved to a table where he proceeded to pour himself another drink.

  “Prostitution may be nonexistent in your small town, but I can assure you, something of a disturbing nature is happening on the outskirts.” Theodore looked to Sheriff Dawson. “As for Miss Beckett, you and your men arrested the only daughter of Mr. Douglas Beckett, owner of Beckett Railroads.”

  An uneasy silence filled the room.

  “She’s a railroad Beckett?” Sheriff Dawson asked as a bead of sweat dribbled off his nose.

  “She is, and that’s why I’m going to suggest you immediately release her and Miss James into my custody.”

  Sheriff Dawson settled back in his chair. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Railroad royalty or not, she did shoot a man and then tried to evade arrest.”

  “Which I find perfectly understandable, considering Miss Beckett was confronted by a man of the criminal persuasion who tried to stop her from saving Miss James. I would have shot the man too, and I certainly would have tried to evade arrest if the authorities didn’t seem very interested in apprehending the true criminal.”

  Sheriff Dawson released a boisterous laugh. “Don’t tell me you believe all that nonsense, boy? These are women you’re dealing with, and everyone knows you can’t trust a woman to tell the truth. Don’t let Miss Beckett and Miss James hoodwink you into believing they’re innocent just because they are pretty ladies.”

  “Don’t call me boy, and don’t presume that I’m an idiot.” He reached into his pocket, drew out his billfold, extracted a card, and tossed it across the desk toward Sheriff Dawson.

  “You already told me you’re a private investigator.”

  “Read the card.”

  Sheriff Dawson plucked the card off the table, scanned it, and turned a little pale. He gestured to his men. “I need to speak with this gentleman, alone.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise, boss,” the deputy who’d spoken earlier said before he tipped his glass back and took a noisy swig. “I don’t trust him.”

  Sheriff Dawson pulled open a drawer on his desk, extracted a pistol, and sent the deputy a wink. “I’ll be fine, Cunningham.”

  Even though the three deputies began to mutter under their breaths, they did finally meander from the room. Theodore waited until the door closed behind the last deputy before he turned back to the sheriff and arched a brow.

  “What’s going on in your town?”

  “You work for the government?” Sheriff Dawson asked, ignoring Theodore’s question.

  Two could play that game. “Who are the men at the farmhouse?”

  Sheriff Dawson narrowed his eyes. “You tell me about the government and I’ll tell you about the men.”

  “I work for the government.”

  “And?”

  “That’s all you need to know,” Theodore said. “And maybe the fact that if you don’t cooperate, I won’t leave your town as soon as I get the ladies released. I can assure you, that won’t be something you’ll enjoy.”

  More sweat popped out on the sheriff’s forehead. “The only names I have for those men are Carl and Wallie. They moved here a few months ago, and I don’t know much more about them.”

  “What about the prostitution ring?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

  Every muscle in Theodore’s body tensed. “Why not?”

  “It’s somewhat of an internal affair.”

  Understanding was immediate, as was trepidation. Theodore pushed out of his chair, snatched up the pistol Sheriff Dawson had laid on the desk, and directed it toward the sheriff. “I’m going to need the keys to the cell.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Not at all. If I understand you correctly, you suspect someone on your staff of participating in whatever shady business is going on in your town, and that someone could even now be prowling the halls of this building. You’ve left the ladies at that man’s mercy.”

  Sheriff Dawson eyed him for a second, brushed away the river of sweat that was now covering his face, and got to his feet, hurrying over to a peg on the wall where he grabbed a ring of keys. He gestured to the door.

  “You first,” Theodore said as he casually point
ed to the door with the pistol.

  “There’s no need for that,” Sheriff Dawson muttered as he strode out of the room, Theodore dodging his steps.

  Theodore tightened his grip on the pistol. “Oh, I’m afraid there’s every need.”

  He followed the sheriff down the hallway, but then brushed past the man and broke into a run when he suddenly heard a high-pitched squeal. He took the steps two at a time, but skidded to a stop at the unusual sight that met his eyes.

  Miss James was pressed against the bars, holding hands with one of the deputies and giggling as if she were in the midst of a party.

  Perhaps Miss Beckett had been right and he should not have woken the lady.

  “Step away from the cell,” he ordered, drawing the deputy’s attention as he directed his pistol at the man.

  “Mr. Wilder,” Arabella exclaimed as she pressed her face against the bars and stared at him with wide eyes. “Whatever in the world are you doing?”

  “Getting you released,” he said before he returned his attention to the deputy, who still retained possession of Miss James’s hand.

  “I would have thought your diplomatic skills would have allowed you to secure our release without actually shooting our way out of jail.”

  Annoyance snaked through him. “I’m not busting you out of jail. I’m simply trying to get this deputy to release Miss James’s hand.”

  “Oh, well, that’s somewhat disappointing.”

  He felt his jaw clench. “Did you want me to shoot someone?”

  “While that idea is vastly appealing, I suppose we should do this the normal way and just pay bail.” Arabella bent over, fiddled with the hem of her skirt, and then straightened, thrusting what looked to be slimy bills in his direction. “This should cover it.”

  He edged forward and took the bills. “Do you always carry money in that unusual place?”

  “I must admit that I do. I also must admit that I’m a bit bewildered as to why I wasn’t given an opportunity to pay bail before this.” Arabella sent a glare to the sheriff, who’d come to stand beside him. “You have been quite negligent in your treatment of me, Sheriff, and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she frowned and shifted her attention back to Theodore. “May I suggest you lower your weapon, Mr. Wilder? If it has escaped your notice, there are two deputies right behind you, and both of them have guns currently pointed in your direction.”