As Mrs. Rutledge shrank away from her with a small sound of distress, Drake glared at Gina and motioned her back to her seat. He had been leading up to the same question, but he hadn’t planned on being quite so blunt about it. Gina glared back, but complied.
“He didn’t mean to,” Mrs. Rutledge said defensively, smoothing her sleeve back down over the evidence of her husband’s ire. “He doesn’t know his own strength.”
“And has he hit you?” Drake asked with a warning glance at Gina.
Mrs. Rutledge shook her head, but she wouldn’t raise her head or meet his gaze.
“He has, hasn’t he?” Drake made it more of a statement than a question.
“Only a few times,” the woman said with a pleading expression. “And only when I made him very angry with my wicked ways.”
Drake could tell Gina wanted to jump in again, but he didn’t need any help in handling this. He gave her another warning glance. “What wicked ways?” he asked softly.
“Speaking to strange men,” she whispered. “Reading novels, and . . .” she covered her burning cheeks with her hands, “. . . being vain.” A sob escaped her lips. “I’m so ashamed.”
Further questioning revealed that the strange man in question had only been asking for directions, and her only vanity lay in taking a justifiable pride in her appearance and wanting to look nice for her husband.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Drake assured her.
“But Clyde says—”
“Never mind.” Drake was quite tired of what Clyde said. He wanted to tell her that her husband’s opinions were irrelevant, ignorant and stupid, but she would never believe him. “Clyde is blinded by jealousy,” he said softly. “Can’t you see that?”
“Yes, I—I suppose—he even accused me of having a lover, which he has to know isn’t true . . . but what can I do about it?”
Just admitting that her husband was part of the problem was a huge triumph and Drake shared a brief victorious glance with Gina. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do to change him, only yourself.”
“I’ve tried,” she wailed, finally showing some spirit. “But I can’t seem to please him, no matter what I do.”
“That’s more his problem than yours,” Drake said, and Mrs. Rutledge regarded him as if he had just grown a second head.
Gina cleared her throat, much louder than necessary, and Drake took the hint. Now was the time to broach the subject they both had agreed upon. “Perhaps you might consider leaving him?”
Mrs. Rutledge gasped. “Leave him? You mean . . . go home to Mama for a little while?”
“No, I mean forever. Even . . . get a divorce.”
He knew as he spoke the words that she would be appalled, and she didn’t disappoint him.
“How could I possibly? The disgrace . . . My family . . .” Then, as if it were relevant, she exclaimed, “I’m from Boston.”
Maybe it was relevant. The blue bloods of Boston and the middle class who emulated them wouldn’t dream of anything so lowering as divorce, no matter what the circumstances.
“I’m from Boston myself,” he said, which gave him an idea that might help her. “Would I know your family?”
“I don’t know,” she said, seeming more confident now that they were on a different topic. “My father is Robert Lawton—do you know him?”
“No, but I’ve heard of him.” And there was nothing in the man’s background to make Drake think he would abandon his daughter. “Wouldn’t your family rather you be safe and happy, rather than battered and miserable?”
“But no one in my family has ever gotten a divorce,” she said in shocked accents.
It was obvious she hadn’t heard the important part of his sentence and had fixated on the one word that terrified her—terrified her even more, perhaps, than her husband.
It would be impossible to convince her to leave her husband right now, but at least Drake had planted the seed in her mind. “Perhaps it needn’t go that far,” he said soothingly, ignoring the rude noise Gina made in the background. Especially if he were to contact her father and let him know exactly what had been going on with his daughter and her husband.
Mrs. Rutledge slumped in relief, and Drake said, “Instead, shall we work on making you less afraid of him?”
She looked undecided, so he added, “If you aren’t afraid of Clyde, there will be no reason to leave him.” It wasn’t the real reason, but he needed to ease her into the idea of divorce, and to do that, he needed to help her find some self-assurance first.
“All right,” she said hesitantly. “If you think that’s best.”
“I do,” he assured her. She relaxed as he used the by now familiar passes of his hands and soothing words to help her slip easily into the mesmeric state. Once she was firmly ensconced there, he made her believe that Gina was her husband, to see how they interacted.
Gina rose and scowled down at Mrs. Rutledge. “You read too many novels,” she scolded.
Her “wife” cringed, saying, “I’m sorry, but I love them so.”
The sight riveted Drake with anger. He recalled Charlotte exhibiting similar behavior to her boor of a husband, though he hadn’t recognized what it portended at the time. Now, however, he did, and he had to do something about it.
“No,” he said gently to the cowering woman, though he wanted to throttle the man who had put her in this condition. “You are not a cowering slave. You are Clyde’s wife, his helpmeet.”
“His equal,” Gina supplied. “No, his superior.”
Well, he wouldn’t quite go that far, but if it would help Mrs. Rutledge, he was willing to let it go. “He has no right to treat you badly, to bruise and beat you. You mustn’t let him.” But how could he provide an example to show her how to behave—a person she could emulate? He had no idea what her female relatives were like.
But of course—she had one right here. “When your husband speaks to you this time, pretend you are Miss Charles,” he urged.
Gina’s eyebrows rose, but she gave him a slight nod of agreement. The only side of Gina that Mrs. Rutledge knew was the confident way she acted around him, so it should work.
He nodded at Gina, and she turned to Mrs. Rutledge, reiterating her earlier statement. “You read too many novels.”
Instead of cringing, this time Mrs. Rutledge said calmly, “Do I?”
“Yes, you know you do,” Gina said, getting into her role as Clyde Rutledge.
“Then I shan’t do it again.”
Gina seemed a bit taken aback. She had obviously expected an argument, but was met instead with passive acceptance. She didn’t seem to know how to handle it. Much as Clyde would react, Drake hoped.
But Gina gamely hopped in with several other accusations. Each time, Mrs. Rutledge answered calmly, turning her “husband’s” accusations aside with calmness and dignity. He could see the gracious, gentle woman she used to be before her husband had changed her, and it made him even more determined to help her.
Though her reserved handling of the situation wasn’t the way Drake would have assumed Gina would react to the situation, this particular role seemed to work for Mrs. Rutledge.
So much the better. He didn’t want her browbeaten—or beaten in any other way—before he had a chance to convince her to leave her husband.
Their time was about up, so he ended the session. But, fearing too much of a change would send warning signals to the angry Clyde, he didn’t urge Mrs. Rutledge to remember what had happened during the trance this time. Besides, it might frighten her. Instead, he asked her to remember the confidence she had felt, and told her that when she needed it again in the future, she would remember just enough to give her the confidence she needed.
Then, feeling rather pleased with himself, Drake ushered her out to where her husband waited, glad to see the waiting room was otherwise empty.
Gina watched him go, shaking her head. The woman was hopeless, if only he could see it. And though it was nice to finally be in Drake
’s confidence again, Gina wished she could recapture some of the closeness they had once had. Instead, he seemed to be getting closer and closer to Annabelle . . . just as the article promised.
Jealousy struck at the thought of Drake and Annabelle together, but Gina quickly pushed it aside. She couldn’t let herself care about Drake, or anyone else in this time. In less than five weeks, she’d leave them all behind when she returned to the future.
Drake returned, rubbing his hands in satisfaction. “That went rather well, don’t you think?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Gina couldn’t help being snippy. She agreed that the best thing to do was to encourage Annabelle to leave her husband, but since the wimp was unable to take care of herself, that meant Drake would probably have to leave with her. It was the only way to get Drake to leave the hotel, though it veered way too close to the article’s accusation for Gina’s comfort.
But she couldn’t complain about that, so she picked on the first thing she could think of. “You need to be more forceful,” she said in a quarrelsome tone.
His eyebrows rose. “Yes, I gathered you thought so from the rude noises you were making in the corner.”
Gina shrugged, just a tad embarrassed. “Well, you won’t let me talk, so that’s the only way I could tell you what to do. You should have tried a little harder,” she reiterated.
“But Mrs. Rutledge needs a gentle hand . . . surely you understand that.”
“We don’t have the time for it,” Gina insisted. “We have to get you—and her,” she added grudgingly, “out of the hotel as soon as possible.”
“But she’s not ready yet. What would you have me do? Kidnap her? I’d be no better than her husband.”
“No, I just want you to live,” Gina said in frustration. She couldn’t bear the thought of him dying in that fire. And the threat was so real, she even imagined she could smell smoke.
Wait—that was no illusion. She did smell smoke.
She watched in horror as wisps of dark gray vapor curled in from beneath the door. Her heart stuttered like a jackhammer as she clasped a hand over her mouth and pointed.
As a distant voice yelled out a warning, Drake whirled around and grabbed the door knob. “Hot,” he exclaimed, shaking his hand. He swiftly removed his coat and wrapped it around his hand, then opened the knob. A wall of flame roared up, flaring toward the ceiling.
As it reached greedy fingers toward Drake, Gina screamed. Not now—it’s too soon!
Chapter 16
Drake backed away, shielding his face with his arms. The flames subsided as fast as they had flared up and Drake saw that it wasn’t nearly as bad as he had at first thought. The fire seemed confined to the doorway of the office, though the flames and smoke made it impassable. “The other door,” he said.
Gina choked in the smoke behind him. “I just tried it. It’s blocked,” she said, fear in her eyes.
He had to do something. Wait—the water. He grabbed the bucket from beside his desk and hauled it to the door, but before he could dump its contents over the fire, he heard a deep voice bellow, “Ready, aim, fire!” and a deluge of water smacked them in the face.
He wiped the water out of his eyes to see the Major, Rupert, Jack, and a couple of bath attendants standing on the other side with empty pails. Filled, no doubt, from the nearby baths. Luckily, they had managed to get some of the liquid on the fire, and it fizzled out.
“Reload,” the Major ordered and the others hurried off with the empty pails while Drake doused the surrounding area with the contents of his bucket, just in case an errant spark had escaped. When Jack and Rupert returned shortly, they zealously emulated him until the entire area was drenched.
Now, Drake could see that the fire had indeed been localized in the doorway, in a metal bucket of its own. Carefully grasping the handle with his ruined coat, Drake moved it out of the way so he and Gina could leave the smoke-filled room.
Though she was shaking with reaction and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her, they had too much of an audience. The commotion had attracted the notice of the guests, and the area was filling with people who had come to gawk.
The hotel employees were opening windows throughout the bathhouse to disperse the smoke, and were therefore too busy to disperse the guests until Miss Sparrow arrived with Jess Garrett, the police chief, in tow.
The chief quietly and efficiently shooed the guests out without ruffling sensibilities as Miss Sparrow gathered Gina into her arms to give her the comfort she needed.
Drake felt the need of comforting arms himself. Now that it was all over, the realization of how bad it could have been washed over him. Good God, they could have died. His knees turned weak and dizziness washed over him. It was entirely too close. To cover his weakness, he shakily leaned against a nearby wall and asked the police chief, “How did you get here so fast?”
“I was already at the hotel,” Garrett answered. “Miss Sparrow sent a message asking me to check on a report of stolen jewelry.”
“Lucky for us that you’re here, then.” And very convenient, too. Had the housekeeper somehow known he would be needed?
“Yes,” Garrett said. “Let’s see what we have.”
As the Major sent the hotel staff to ensure no one was still lingering in the bathhouse, the police chief inspected the burned area. The door was blackened and scorched, and the paint and wallpaper next to it blistered and peeling. “The fire was here?”
“Yes,” Drake answered. “The bucket was in front of the door.”
They looked inside and found rags that had evidently been soaked in some flammable substance. “It was definitely set on purpose,” Garrett muttered. “But the man who did this wasn’t trying to burn down the hotel, or he would have used a more flammable container. It was probably a prank.”
“A prank?” Gina exclaimed as she came over to join them. She seemed to have recovered from her fright and was now fighting mad. “It was more than that. Whoever did this also blocked the other doorway—we couldn’t get out.”
Garrett went around to check Gina’s assertion, and they found that a chair had been wedged under the doorknob on the other side. Frowning, Garrett said, “This is a bit more serious. With one exit blocked by the chair and the other by fire, you wouldn’t have any escape except from the second story window.”
“We could have suffocated,” Gina exclaimed. “Or died of smoke inhalation.”
“Do you know who might wish the two of you harm?”
“I’ll tell you who,” Gina said. “It’s that Shorty Callahan. He’s made threats against Drake before.”
Drake nodded. “Yes, we have reason to believe he may be an arsonist.”
Garrett regarded them thoughtfully. “I’ve heard . . . rumors about Mr. Callahan, but nothing I have been able to confirm. Do you have proof?” When they shook their heads in the negative, he asked, “Did you see him in the hotel before the fire was set?”
“No,” Gina said, “We were inside the office with the door shut. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t here.”
“Of course not,” the police chief said, then asked the same questions of the rest of the hotel staff. No one had seen Shorty Callahan or anyone else who looked suspicious loitering around the bathhouse. Until someone had yelled fire, none of them had been there.
Garrett nodded. “I’ll question the guests, then.” Turning to the Major, he said, “You’ll probably want to close off the bathhouse, at least for a day or two. The fire chief may want to take a look at the damage.”
The Major wisely deferred to the police chief. “Of course. We’ll need to clear out the smoke and repair the damage caused by the fire anyway.”
“Aren’t you going to arrest Shorty?” Gina demanded incredulously.
The police chief gave her a ster look. “Not unless we have some proof he is responsible for this.”
“But—”
“However, you can be quite sure I w
ill question him,” Garrett added, overriding her objections. “And I will attempt to ascertain where he was at the time of the fire.”
Before Gina could protest again, Drake said, “Thank you, Chief. I’m sure you’ll do your best.”
Gina glared at him, but she would have to be satisfied with that. Short of mesmerizing Shorty and wringing the truth out of him, there was nothing else they could do. And Drake sincerely doubted Shorty would ever allow himself to be mesmerized again.
After the police chief left and the staff reported that the rest of the bathhouse was empty, the Major drew himself up and boomed, “All right then, you heard the chief. Everyone out.”
The few employees who were still left drifted away as the Major shooed them away like so many errant chicks. When Drake hesitated, the Major turned to him with beetled brows, obviously wondering why he wasn’t following orders.
“I’d like a little more time,” Drake explained. “I need to collect my papers and clean out my desk if I won’t be able to get to them for a couple of days.”
Major Payne grudgingly nodded, and Gina moved forward, saying, “I’ll help.”
Before he could object, Drake said quickly, “Thank you. It will go much faster with two people.” He ushered Gina back into the smoky office, saying over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll lock up when we’re through.”
The Major gave them a suspicious glare, but pressing questions from the guests on the other side of the door claimed his attention, so he merely nodded and gave them a warning scowl.
Once the door closed behind the hotel manager, Drake felt relief that it was all over. And, knowing how shaken he had felt, he was surprised Gina hadn’t succumbed to hysterics. But . . . was she really as tough as she appeared? He paused in the doorway as she busied herself with his papers. “That can wait,” he said gently. “Are you really all right?”
He does care. Gina dropped the papers she’d been blindly pushing around and flew into his arms. “I was so scared.”
“Me, too,” he murmured, holding her close and stroking her hair.
Mesmerist Page 21