Her longtime reticence had nearly convinced him that she’d never step on the floor with him, but when she did, he was surprised at how easily she moved. Her slightly sheepish admission that Matilda had helped her practice charmed him. Obviously, she didn’t want to make a fool of herself, but she had also wanted to make him proud. It was a heady and humbling realization.
Someone bumped into Albert, almost knocking him into a small table covered with discarded plates. “Excuse me, Taylor.”
He was surprised to see that it was Charles. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m afraid so.” He looked quickly over his shoulder. “It’s Gwen. She was on her way to the garden when she tripped and fell. You know how clumsy she is.”
Albert clenched his jaw to hold back a sharp retort about Charles’s own clumsiness. Gwen was no more clumsy than anyone else he knew, less so when considering what she had to contend with. Still, this man wasn’t worth the energy it would take to correct him. “Where is she?”
“Matilda and I helped her into one of the sitting rooms so she could prop her leg up on a settee.” He straightened his tie and smoothed down the lapels of his coat. “I told her to relax, but she’s asking for you.”
“Of course. Which room is it?”
“Down the main hall, all the way down to another hallway on your left. Then down that hall to the last door on your right. Can you remember that?”
Did the man think him incompetent? “Yes, I can.”
“Good.” Without another word, Charles hurried away in the opposite direction from the one he’d just indicated.
Albert fumed. The man had no class, no consideration for others. As Albert stalked out of the ballroom, he passed Matilda on her way in.
“Is Gwen all right?” he asked.
Her brows rose in concern. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen her in hours. I thought she was with you.”
“You and Charles didn’t just help her to a room?”
Matilda shook her head. “No. What are you talking about?”
There wasn’t time to explain. “Please excuse me, Matilda.” After a curt nod, Albert hurried away.
Something didn’t feel right. Why would Drexler tell him Matilda had helped get Gwen settled, yet Matilda had no idea what he was talking about? And why had they put her all the way on the other side of the house? Surely they could have found a closer sitting room.
He rounded the corner and jogged to the end of the hall, then pushed his way through the door without bothering to knock. He was shocked to find himself not in a sitting room, but in a bedroom. From the looks of it, someone had been going through the bureau drawers. Several of them were half-open and clothing was strewn about the floor.
A moan drew his attention, and he looked down. A lump in dark blue satin lay between a dressing table and the massive four-poster bed.
“Gwen!”
Albert rushed to her side. As he knelt beside her, he pulled her close and cradled her head in his lap. She moaned again and looked up at him.
“Albert? What happened?”
“I don’t know. I found you here. Did you fall?”
She started to shake her head but winced and squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t think so. I think…I think someone hit me.” Her eyes flew open and filled with tears as she looked up at him. “Why? Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know. Shh, now. Just rest.”
His fingers threaded through the hair at the back of her head, and his stomach roiled. He felt something warm and wet.
Blood.
Help. He needed help.
He lifted his head to call out, but a commotion in the hallway stopped him. A moment later, the open door was filled with the hulking frames of two police officers. Behind them, Albert caught a glimpse of another face. It was Charles Drexler, looking grim, yet somewhat self-satisfied.
“Don’t move,” one of the officers called out, drawing his firearm while the other ran forward and grabbed Albert.
“No.” Gwen’s voice was weak, but she fought to be heard. “Don’t take him, please.”
The officer hauled Albert up against Gwen’s protest, leaving her once more alone on the bedroom floor.
“You’ve got to help her,” Albert said. “She has a head wound. She’s bleeding.”
“We can see that.” The other officer motioned with the muzzle of the gun to Albert’s once-white shirtwaist. Now it was stained with blood.
Gwen’s blood.
The police officers pulled him out of the room and down the hall. The closer they got to the ballroom, the more people lined the walls. Shame raked across Albert as the same people that earlier that evening had praised his ambition now glared at him with suspicion. But there was only one person he cared to speak to now.
“Matilda!”
Matilda ran up to him and stopped dead in her tracks, forcing the officers to stop, as well.
“Miss, we need to get him to the station,” the first officer said.
“Not yet. I need to ask about my sister.” Matilda looked up at Albert. “What happened?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I found her on the floor. She’d hurt her head.”
The other officer pulled on his arm. “That’s enough. Save the confession for later.”
“I’m not confessing,” Albert growled. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Sure, buddy. No one ever does.”
Albert turned back to Matilda. “I didn’t hurt her. I swear, I would never hurt her.”
“I know you wouldn’t. She trusts you, and so do I.”
In the past, he’d considered Matilda somewhat superficial, but he saw a strength in her eyes now, one that enabled him to trust her with the only other thing as important as Gwen’s welfare. There was no way for him to know how long the police would keep him. This was the only chance he had. “Please, someone needs to look after my cat.”
“Your cat?” She was understandably confused.
“Yes.” Albert stared her straight in the eye, trying to translate the importance. “My cat. Rachel. Someone needs to go to my house and take care of her. She won’t know what to do without me. Gwen will understand.”
He hoped she would. He hoped she would understand all of it.
* * *
To the best of her recollection, Gwen’s head had never hurt so much as it did the next morning. Waking in her own bed with the sun shining and the birds singing, she forgot for a moment that her world had been turned upside down the night before.
Then she remembered the look on Albert’s face when the police had dragged him away.
She sat up, threw off the covers and immediately regretted the speed of her actions. The room tilted and spun while she gripped the edge of the mattress with both hands and prayed not to get sick all over herself.
“Thank the good Lord you’re awake.” Mother rose from the chair beside her bed and moved to Gwen’s side. “But you shouldn’t be trying to get up. You went through quite an ordeal last night.”
After gently pushing Gwen back down against the pillow, Mother went to the bedroom door and looked out into the hall. One of the maids must have been waiting right outside, because Gwen heard Mother issuing directions.
“Please tell Mr. Banks that Gwen is awake. And bring up some tea and broth. Thank you, Mary.”
Gwen didn’t want to eat or drink anything. She wanted to know what had happened to Albert. But the set of her mother’s mouth when she turned around convinced Gwen to stay quiet for the moment.
“You gave us quite a fright, young lady.” Mother settled on the edge of the bed and brushed a lock of hair from Gwen’s forehead.
Heavy footsteps on the stairs announced her father’s arrival moments before he blustered through the open doorway. His eyes met hers and a sigh of relief rushed past his lips. “Seeing those lovely eyes of yours is an answer to prayer.”
Gwen wasn’t used to such openly affectionate comments coming from her father. She blinked twice, ho
lding back the tears that brought tingles to her nose. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Father wagged a scolding finger at her. “Don’t go apologizing for something that isn’t your fault. Unless you asked that villager to knock you senseless, you aren’t responsible for what happened.”
“Albert didn’t hurt me.” Moving more slowly this time, she scooted up in the bed until her back was pressed against the headboard.
“Now, dear, you mustn’t agitate yourself.” Mother patted her hand. “The doctor said your recollections might be a bit muddied today. A police officer told us exactly what happened.”
Frustration bubbled up inside Gwen. Yes, her head hurt beyond anything she’d thought possible, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think clearly. “How would he know what happened? There was nobody with me.”
Father crossed his arms over his chest. “He said a witness saw Mr. Taylor drag you down the hall and into that room. He was concerned that something nefarious was going on, so he fetched two officers.”
Mother shuddered. “Thank goodness that person was there. I can’t bear to think what might have happened to you.”
“No, that’s all wrong.” Gwen pressed her fingers against the bandage that circled her head. If only the pain would stop for a second, then she could explain things as she knew them and make them understand. “Albert did not drag me into that room. I was looking for a way to the garden, and I got lost. When I opened the door to the room, I saw someone rifling through one of the bureaus.”
“Do you know who it was?” Mother asked.
“No. I could tell it was a man—he was wearing a tuxedo—but his face and hair were covered.”
Father nodded. “That proves it. Taylor was wearing a tuxedo. You walked in on him committing robbery, and he attacked you.”
“No.” Gwen’s firm reply seemed to surprise her father. “It wasn’t Albert. I know that with absolute certainty.”
“Then you’re saying one of the residents of the park did this to you? One of our friends?” Father asked. “That’s absurd.”
“It’s true.” Why would anyone be so adamant that Albert had done this, when she knew very well he hadn’t? She was positive Albert had not dragged her into any room, so how could this witness have seen that happen? “Where is Albert?”
Father’s mouth twitched beneath his mustache. “Where he belongs. In a holding cell at the police station.”
“No, they can’t hold him. They have no reason. I refuse to press charges.”
“You don’t need to,” Father said. “The Ashfords have charged him with burglary.”
“How can they do that? They have no proof!” As her voice rose and she leaned forward, the room once more began to spin.
“Dear, please. Calm down.” Mother stroked her shoulder.
Father looked at her with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Gwen, but they do have proof. They found a piece of family jewelry in his jacket pocket.”
No. It wasn’t possible. Albert was no thief. He was the kindest, most honest man she’d ever met. He would never hurt anyone—he would never hurt her.
But he had been experiencing a great deal of stress in his bid for the upcoming competition. Then she remembered finding him at the clubhouse after he’d obviously been sleeping in the barn. Although he denied being destitute, she knew he had some kind of problem at home. Could those things have prompted him to follow in another archer’s path? To rob from the rich and give to the poor, which in this case would be himself?
Of course, it was possible. The problem was, it wasn’t remotely probable. None of it made sense.
Her head was pounding. Mother was right. She needed to rest.
“I think I’d like to lie back down for a while.”
Mother nodded. “I’ll have Mary hold back the tea until later.”
After her parents had left the room, she pulled the covers up to her forehead and curled into a ball beneath them, as she had when she was a little girl and wanted to hide. When one of the children at school was mean to her and called her names, she would come home and burrow under her blankets, imagining she was in a secret cave and if she wished very, very hard, she’d be able to disappear. She was too old to believe such things now, but the mere act brought a small amount of comfort.
A moment later, she heard the turn of the doorknob and the click of the latch. Mother must not have been able to stop Mary from bringing up the tray.
“I’m not hungry,” she called from under the covers.
A female voice answered. “That’s good, because I didn’t bring any food.”
“Matilda?” Gwen pulled down the cover just enough to peep out over the top.
“Oh, Gwenie, I’m so glad you’re all right.” Matilda dropped to the bed and gathered up Gwen in a bear hug, sheets and all. “I was so scared.”
“Thank you, Tilda. But if you squeeze me any tighter, I fear my head might pop off.”
Matilda sat back abruptly. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I should let you rest, but I have something very important to tell you.” She leaned in closer. “Do you have the strength to talk?”
Gwen wasn’t sure she had the strength to do much of anything, but Matilda had her attention now. “Is it about Albert?”
“Yes.” Matilda nodded.
“Then I want to hear what you have to say.”
“All right.” Matilda drew in a deep, steadying breath. “I saw him last night, when the police were taking him out.”
“He didn’t do it, you know,” Gwen interrupted.
“I know. I told him as much.”
A glow warmed Gwen’s chest. She really could count on her sister. “Thank you. Continue.”
“Well, he professed his innocence, told me that you had been hurt, and then he said something very strange.”
“What was it?”
“He asked me to look after his cat.”
Surely Gwen had heard her wrong. “His cat? Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite sure. Let me see if I can remember everything he said.” The tip of Matilda’s tongue poked from the corner of her mouth as she looked up in the ceiling in concentration. “He said someone needed to go to his home and look after his cat because she wouldn’t know what to do without him. Then he said you’d understand.”
Why would he be thinking about his cat at a time like this? She could only recall him talking about the animal once before. What was it he’d said? Oh yes, that the cat was hugely independent and probably wouldn’t notice if Albert went missing for a week or more. Then why was he suddenly worried about the cat’s welfare?
Because it was a message. There was something at Albert’s home he wanted them to find. And he probably wanted them to find it before the authorities turned his place upside down looking for evidence against him. She had to do it, but she didn’t even know where he lived. And if she did, how would she get there? She was in no shape to walk. Like it or not, Gwen needed assistance.
She looked up at Matilda. “I need your help.”
“Whatever you need.”
Gwen held up a hand. “You might want to think about it. When Mother and Father find out, they will most certainly be mad. Are you sure you want to be part of it?”
Matilda smiled in a conspiratorial way Gwen hadn’t seen since the time they’d booby-trapped the kitchen cookie jar. “I’m beyond sure. What do you need?”
Her sister’s words were exactly what Gwen had hoped to hear.
“Tilda, has Mr. Adler regained his driving privileges yet?”
Chapter 9
The holding cell of the county police department made Albert yearn to be back in the Tuxedo Park stables. At least the stall he’d fallen asleep in had been empty. And clean. And had only smelled of horses.
Had it only been three days ago that he’d been frustrated about juggling his work, raising support for the competition, figuring out how to tell Gwen about Rachel? Looking back, it all seemed so simple. Now he was facing bogus charges of burglary and
assault. He’d been publically humiliated, providing grist for the rumor mill and essentially guaranteeing that no one in Tuxedo Park would want to be associated with him, let alone be represented by him in Saint Louis.
But his two biggest concerns were the women in his life. Was Gwen all right? Had Matilda given her the message, and if so, had she understood it? If she had, then the woman he was in love with would be meeting the woman he’d been hiding. Ironically, that might mean the safest place for him would be right where he was, behind bars.
The door at the front of the holding area opened, producing the now-familiar squeal of hinges desperately in need of oiling. A man in a slightly worn day suit entered, followed by a uniformed police officer. The man in the suit kept his eyes forward, blatantly ignoring the insults and slurs that were hurled from the incarcerated on either side of him. The officer, however, seemed to enjoy not only disciplining the behavior, but encouraging it. He ran his baton across the bars as he walked by, adding to the cacophony and managing to smash the occasional knuckle in the process.
Finally, the man in the suit stopped in front of the crowded cell. “Albert Taylor.” He looked squarely at Albert, not hesitating to wonder which one he was.
Albert rose from the bench and approached the bars. “I’m Albert.”
“I’m Detective Sutter. I’ve got a few questions about your case.” He turned to the other man. “Officer Wyatt, we need to move him to an interrogation room.”
The officer looked at Albert and nearly growled. “Step back, then.”
Albert barely jumped back in time to avoid getting hit with the baton. One of the other men who had moved to the bars wasn’t so lucky. He howled and backed away, holding his hand to his chest. Albert could see blood beginning to ooze through the fellow’s fingers.
Detective Sutter frowned, but held his tongue. When the cell door was open, Officer Wyatt motioned to Albert.
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