Stealing Mercy

by Tate, Kristy

  *****

  The horse nickered and shook his mane and the harness tinkled, a small sound blending in with the night noises, barely audible above the music streaming through the brothel’s windows. Mugs pulled the wagon beneath a thicket of alders. The moonlight streamed through the dark leaves and Mercy prayed they were sheltered from sight. Mercy swung out of wagon and then held out her hand to help Chloe, box-like and awkward in her brother’s cloak. Chloe nudged her and pointed towards the stables.

  In a thicket of alders stood Trent’s Sonsby. Mercy knew Trent was here on a rescue mission, but what if he had another purpose or had grown distracted? Her heart twisted. She really didn’t know him. She didn’t even know if she trusted him…but of course she did. She had to.

  “He won’t be happy I brought you here,” Mercy said, pulling her hat so that it sat lower on her head and covered more of her face.

  Chloe chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll be very happy to see you here either. Although,” she said with glistening eyes, “it is a very good plan.”

  Cassie, dressed in a light cotton frock, nodded as she clambered out of the wagon. A number of Georgina’s girls had wanted to accompany Mercy, but only one could come and in the end, Cassie, the most strong willed had won the argument. “It’s brilliant. The girls would be stupid not to join us.”

  “Do you think the wagon’s big enough?” Mercy said, watching Young Lee gather the rockets beneath his cloak.

  Chloe watched the brothel. The windows were all shaded, but silhouettes and shadows occasionally moved across the shades like fleeting bits of pantomimes. “We have no idea how many of the girls will actually want to leave.”

  “At least ten, I think,” Cassie assured her.

  Mercy said, “Well, we know there’s no more than twenty girls. If half want escape--”

  “You can ride home with Trent and I can ride with Miles,” Chloe finished.

  Mercy shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to think about facing Trent. This was supposedly the eve of her wedding day and she was going to spend it at a brothel. For a quick moment, she thought of all the traditional bridal preparations she’d be missing: shopping for the trousseau, the wedding gown, choosing a cake, flowers. She straightened her hat and took a deep breath. She thought about the girls in the brothel and reminded herself she wasn’t the only one whose plans had gone awry. “Are you ready?”

  Chloe grabbed one hand and Mercy reached out for Young Lee with the other. Chloe caught Mugs and he took Cassie’s with his other hand so that they formed a chain. Mercy squeezed Chloe’s hand. “I’ll sneak into the girl’s dormitory.”

  Chloe squeezed Young Lee’s hand. “I’ll wait in the basement and lead the girls to Mugs, Cassie and the waiting wagon.”

  Mercy nodded. “And Young Lee will work his magic.”

  Cassie frowned and jutted out her chin. “I still think I should go with you.”

  “No,” Mercy said. “You’ll be recognized and raise suspicion.”

  Cassie snorted. “And you, dressed as a yokel, won’t?”

  Mercy paused. Cassie had a good point. She didn’t fit the profile of the Lucky Island patron. She looked blankly at the brothel. They were so close. They had to be successful.

  “Look,” Cassie pointed to a dark window. “The north room is empty.”

  “But, what if it’s not?” Chloe asked, her voice breaking midsentence. “What if someone prefers the dark?”

  Cassie shook her head. “That’s the room least likely used because—well, just believe me, that’s the one least used. Inside, there’s a wardrobe where you can find an assortment of…clothes.”

  Mercy narrowed her eyes. “What kind of clothes?”

  Cassie took the hat off Mercy’s head and ran her fingers through Mercy’s hair, brushing it out. “Clothes that will help you fit in.”

  Mercy grabbed the hat and shoved it back on her head. “And how do I get into that room?” She tucked her hair into the hat.

  Cassie nodded at a large maple tree. “I used to dream of climbing that tree and escaping. I never dreamed I’d be climbing it to get back in.”

  “You’re not,” Mug, Chloe and Mercy all said at the same time.

  Cassie scowled. “Remember, the guests are supposed to leave by three. Do you remember where Roxanne’s bed is?”

  “Third door on the third floor.” Mercy nodded. Roxanne was her contact. Cassie knew that Roxanne wanted to escape.

  “Good. Let Roxy talk to the other girls. They trust her.”

  “What if we wait in the basement and no one shows?” Chloe asked.

  “Kaboom!” Young Lee smiled.

  CHAPTER 32

  Shake rather than wash off loose dirt. Many root–cellar vegetables store better this way. Always handle your vegetables with care; even slightly rough treatment can cause invisible bruising, and start the produce on the road to decomposition.

  From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

  Feeling the gaze of her friends on her back, Mercy snuck to the side of the building. She hadn’t pressed Chloe, Cassie, Young Lee or Mugs into service; they’d all gladly volunteered to take her place. This was something she wanted to do herself.

  Nature’s night noises, insects, crashing surf, the wind, were subdued by the music and laughter of the brothel. The thump of her rapidly beating heart drowned out the sound of her footsteps. The downstairs rooms, the party parlor and dark kitchen, had opened windows, but the upstairs windows, mostly lit, had drawn blinds. Mercy watched the shadows, looking for Trent’s tall frame. She knew he was inside, but she didn’t where, or with who.

  Mercy snuck a glance at the doors of the root cellar. Formerly dark, a faint glow now radiating up the steps and told her that Young Lee had secured his position without interference and was at work setting up the explosives. Mercy couldn’t think of a reason for someone to go to the cellar at two in the morning, but still she prayed he wouldn’t be interrupted. She watched the attic windows, wondering how she’d make it to the girl’s dormitory.

  The moon had long since reached its apex and before they’d finished it would slide closer to the horizon, and finally, if all went as planned, be overwhelmed by explosives. Mercy worried her heart would explode if she had to wait much longer.

  The plan is simple really, Mercy thought, scurrying around to the side of the mansion and stopping at the bottom of the maple. Simple if one knows how to climb trees.

  CHAPTER 33

  Boiled beets in a red velvet cake recipe retain moisture and add the rich maroon hue.

  From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

  Trent wondered if each girl were decorated like a room adornment, or if it was merely a coincidence that his girl happened to match the room’s decorating. Deep maroon paint, pink satin floral frenzy, frippery and flounces, swinging tassel. He wondered if there were blue or green rooms and corresponding girls. Patsy lounged on the bed, hip bone poking towards the sky. Patsy, pink Patsy, could that really be her name? Fluttering her lashes, Patsy watched Trent remove the bills from his money clip.

  “You sure you haven’t seen either girl?” he asked.

  Patsy shook her head and trailed a finger along her leg, pausing on the garter circling her thigh.

  Trent looked at the ceiling and asked, “The new girls, do they stay with the others as soon as they arrive?”

  Patsy licked her lips and smiled. “That all depends.”

  “On?”

  “Are you sure you don’t have a more interesting game you’d like to play?” Patsy sat up and her bodice slipped a hair lower.

  Trent sighed and slipped off his jacket and tossed it to the girl. “Put this on,” he said.

  Patsy looked at the jacket as if it were made of horse hair.

  “Look, I’m paying generously for my half hour and I want you to wear the jacket. Surely, you’ve been asked to perform more arduous tasks. I’ll play double for information.”

  Patsy sighed, put on the jacket, sat up and tucked her legs beneath her
. She kept her eyes on the money clip as if it would help her to stay rooted to her assignment. “I can’t tell you about the new girls, it’s too dangerous for me,” she said, “but I can tell you there have been no recruits for weeks. We’d know. We keep track. A newbie cuts into our wages and can steal our clients. Newbies are always a threat.”

  “And you’re sure no one has recently arrived?” Trent heart stopped when a fast moving shadow outside the window diverted his attention.

  “Absolutely,” Patsy said.

  Trent moved to the window and peaked through the blinds. A boy swung from the limbs of the giant Maple tree while trying to maintain his hat. He landed on a branch even with the second story and scrambled to maintain his grip. The hat slipped and a long lock of dark hair escaped it’s confines. It flopped to the boy’s waist catching the light like a flow of dark, warm brandy. Long hair. Mercy’s hair.

  Trent froze, watching Mercy wrap her legs around the tree’s branches. She hugged the tree as tightly as her breeches hugged her hips. The sight of Mercy shimming along the tree did things to him that even Pink Patsy couldn’t imagine. He took a deep breath. Fear, anxiety, and anger, boiled inside of him. Trent crossed the room and scrolled down the lamp’s wick, plunging the room into darkness.

  Patsy squealed and sat up straight. “Changed your mind then?”

  Trent didn’t look at her. “No.” He pulled open the blind and lifted the window, noticing for the first time the balcony that ran along the house.

  “Where you going, love?”

  “Shh,” he said, without turning.

  “Well, what am I supposed to do?” Patsy whined.

  Agitated, Trent peeled several dollars from his clip and tossed them on the bed. “You’re to be very quiet.” He looked Patsy in the eye. “Can you do that?”

  “Quiet as a cat.” She smiled. “But, I’d much rather be purring.”

  Trent turned back to the window, but to his frustration, Mercy had disappeared.

  *****

  Mercy climbed into the dark window. The moonlight shone on the great four poster bed with the mussed linens.. Quietly, Mercy slunk to the wardrobe. The doors opened silently. In the semidarkness she rooted through the clothes, each choice seemed either too smaller or too sheer. All she needed was something that would allow her slink into the dormitory without notice, something not masculine, but also, something that she could wear later, for the escape, without fear of freezing.

  She held up a frilly ensemble. Oh dear. It would have to do. Perhaps the staff could come in useful. She pulled the coverlet over the sheets and sat down on the bed to tug off her boots and the bed complained with a groan. Her heart, already racing, did a small flip as she slipped off her father’s shirt.

  *****

  The lights flickered low, casting dark shadows down the long corridor. A red carpet with gold filigrees ran beneath his feet. Paintings of women in varying stages of undress lined the hallway. The tinkling of a piano from the downstairs foyer filled the air. He remembered another hall, the hall leading to Steele’s door.

  Where was Mercy? And why would she come, after all they’d said and promised to each other? He felt sick with the belief that she couldn’t be trusted. That perhaps she would always be this way, championing causes that couldn’t be won, waging war on foes for principles, albeit noble, but without hope. True, her friend had fallen into Steele’s trap, but she, as far as he knew, didn’t even comprehend Steele’s influence and the danger.

  He thought of her lying in his arms at the cottage, soft, vulnerable, had he been wrong to assume that she would willingly embrace a quiet life, a life without assaulting villains, rescuing misplaced maidens, and raiding brothels? Did she need a bump on her head to keep still?

  True, he loved her fire, her unflagging intelligence, her can-do, will-do, why not, serve-it-up-with-a-pie-attitude, but could she be happy at the ranch with nothing to plot but the antics of children? He leaned back against the wall as a familiar gray haired gentleman rounded the corner.

  He nodded at Mr. Muir, who returned his greeting with a leer. “Is this your charmer?” Muir said, cocking his head at the frilly beauty standing still at the end of the hall, a flush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. Mercy.

  Trent forgot Muir, and sprinted down the hall. He caught Mercy by the wrist and tried to drag her into a room. Locked. He tried the next and hauled her inside. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d stay at Tilly’s?” He kicked the door shut and held both her arms, shaking her with each word for emphasis.

  “I-” she licked her lips nervously.

  He stopped and tried to muster composure. He couldn’t be distracted. “This is dangerous--haven’t you learned? Will I ever be able to trust you? This isn’t child’s play--” he halted, suddenly noticing her apparel, or lack thereof. “Although, you do seem dressed appropriately.”

  Mercy pulled away from him and tugged on the slipping bodice which had obviously been sewn for someone with a more generous bosom.

  “What are you wearing?”

  Mercy looked down on her costume, a white frilly frock with a lace up corset, a lace tulle petticoat, and barely there pantaloons. “I think I’m Little Bo peep.”

  “And I should think all the sheep will soon be following you around,” a voice spoke behind them.

  Trent wheeled around and to face Steele. Trent had been so involved with Mercy, he hadn’t noticed the door opening. From the shocked, wide-eyed look on Mercy’s face, she hadn’t heard his arrival either.

  “This is a private party, Steele,” Trent said, his voice like flint. He drew Mercy beneath his arm, sheltering her.

  Steele slipped a pistol from a holster hiding beneath his jacket and leveled it at Mercy’s corset. “Perhaps you’d consider another arrangement, a bargain.”

  “Take your sickness elsewhere,” Trent said through clenched teeth.

  “Ah, but I’m never sick. And unlike some,” he met and held Mercy’s eyes, “I’ve never died. It seems your death was unsuccessful the first time. Perhaps you need my help.”

  Trent reached for his own pistol secured in his waistband.

  Steele flicked his head at him. “One stupid move and the girl dies.” His finger rested on the trigger. “Just think of all those lost sheep.” He pulled back and the world exploded.

  Rose Arbor, Washington

  The sea of cars depresses me. Shiny, hot, glistening in the sun, the chrome and mirrors sparkle. Row after row of cars. Balloons. Flags. Even a hotdog stand. It’s like a circus. And I am the clown.

  Armed only with the printed out pages from Kelly Blue Book, Consumer reports and the advertisement section of the Seattle Times, I face my dragons. A group of men in sport-coats loiter near the entrance of the glass and steel showroom. Salesmen. The enemy.

  It won’t be a fair fight. Car salesmen sell hundreds of cars a year. I have never bought a car. They’ve had training. Manuals. Practiced sales pitches. They’d probably taken classes and workshops on selling to susceptible widows. If they want to sell me a go-cart they’ll probably succeed. But, they wouldn’t want to sell me a go-cart. No, they’d want me to buy a giant Mercedes like Errol Michaels’.

  Why think of him? I dismiss all memories of him. I’m buying a Toyota, not a Mercedes. I want this car, I mentally rehearse. Just this one in the advertisement.

  “They’ll try to up-sell you,” Lizzy had warned. “They don’t want to sell you that stripped down model.”

  Heated seats? No. Moon roof? No. Built in DVD player? No. My stomach clenches with nerves when a salesman catches my eye. He oozes towards me, swaggering. He looks like Mr. Steele.

  I take a deep breath. If Mercy could fight off Mr. Steele and plot the destruction of Lucky Island, then surely, I can buy a car.

  “How are you today?” the Steele-look-a-like asks. He’s squinting in the sun, but I can tell his eyes are blue. Steel blue. “Are you interested in test driving one of our new Lexus 300 models? A shipment arrived just th
is morning.”

  “Does it come with a hotdog?” I ask, motioning towards the stand.

  He laughs, exposing his sharp teeth. “And a soda, if you’d like.”

  “I really just want this car,” I show him the advertisement and the car I’ve circled with a red sharpie.

  His teeth withdraw and his smile fades. He squares his shoulders, mustering his sales-know-how. “What color would you like?”

  I glance at the advertisement. “It says you only have five at this price. What colors do you have?”

  He motions for me to follow and I do. “Mustard and olive green.” He sweeps his arms like Vanna White in front of the ugly cars.

  I’m going to have to spend the next ten years driving something that looks like a condiment from the hotdog stand. Unless… I squint at all the other cars in the lot. There are hundreds of them. I decide that I can find one that I like that’s reasonably priced. My years at the library have prepared me for this moment. A library has thousands of books. I don’t want to read them all. It’s not hard to find the ones I want to spend my time with, it just takes some time. Maybe it’s the same with a car. Slowly, I begin to walk up and down the rows.

  The Mr. Steele look-a-like trails after me like a trained dog, spouting car lingo and statistics. I stop in front of a midnight blue convertible. Looking at the sticker price, I pull out my glasses to read the fine print.

  I will be victorious.

  I’m paying cash.

  CHAPTER 34

  A dumb waiter may refer to:

  A dumbwaiter a freight elevator or lift between building floors or a

  lazy susan, a small rotating table used for serving food.