Hannah's Promise

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  As if confirming that, Slade took her hand and effortlessly pulled her to her feet. “I’ll scrub out the stain with my shirt and go get a clean one. You get dressed. Just leave your hair down—I like it better that way, anyway. And put on only what you need—forget that bustle and corset. You don’t need them.”

  Hannah nodded, silently storing away his compliments and noting how he liked to see her. Going in search of her chemise, she turned away from him, but took only two steps before he burst out laughing. She jerked back around in time to see him sit down abruptly on the piano’s ivory keys, his buttocks striking very discordant notes. One arm was wrapped around his lean and muscular middle, but his other hand was pointed directly at her.

  All of Hannah’s insecurities burst to the fore. Had what happened here between them been one big joke on her? Or did he find her God-given body funny after all? More than a little hurt, Hannah froze. “What is so funny?”

  He wagged his pointing hand at her, laughing and crying out, “Come here, my sweet.”

  “I will not.” Hannah raised her Lawless chin and drew her hair around her, over her nakedness.

  Slade tried to sober up, but he took another look at her, and wilted into a belly laugh again.

  That did it. Decorum be damned. Hannah stalked over to him and shook a finger threateningly at him. “If you don’t tell me this instant—”

  Slade jerked her around and ripped something from off her buttocks. Hannah squealed out at the stinging bite, put a hand to the offended area, and twisted in his grip. “What is that?”

  Slade relaxed his jaw and stretched his face muscles, trying to focus around his happy tears. “Let’s see. Why, it’s a piece of sheet music.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he handed it to her. “Look at our song.”

  Half afraid to, Hannah nevertheless snatched the paper from him and looked at the title. And wanted to die when she read “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.”

  * * *

  Samuel Rigby ducked into the narrow alley next to the West End tenement. The young driver-turned-spy stepped gingerly over the noxious debris in his way. Kicking aside a broken chair, he took up his place against the wall and out of the sunlight. He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and a bit of pencil. Leaning toward the daylight, he turned to a clean page, flipping past his notes from the past four days of following Olivia.

  Around the corner, a door closed with a bang. Rigby’s head came up. Sounded like the first floor—where Olivia’s mother’s apartment was. If the two rooms could be called an apartment. Pocketing his notepad and pencil, he sidled up to the front corner of the weathered-wood building. He peeked around the corner and jerked back, flattening himself against the wall. Olivia was walking down the two sagging steps of the landing. In her arms was her blanket-wrapped baby.

  She was coming this way. Rigby stepped back farther into the shadows, accidentally kicking a stray cat. The tabby jumped straight up, shrieking in outrage. Rigby heard Olivia gasp. He mouthed a curse as the mangy creature flew like an arrow out of the alley and across the buckled walkway right in front of Olivia. Rigby held his breath. If she looked in the alley, all would be lost.

  “Stupid cat!” Olivia called after it. Then her voice lowered, became soothing when the baby coughed hoarsely and fussed. “Shh now, Colette. Mama’s right here. It was just a cat. No need to fret. There’s my big girl.”

  Rigby heard her words accompanying her feet right past where he hid. He slumped in relief. But in a way, he wished she had seen him, because he’d like to confront her and maybe convince her to let him help her. He missed her chattering and smiles and airy ways about the old place. But he’d no sooner thought it than he frowned and shook his head. When would he ever learn? She was a lady’s maid. Much too good for the likes of him.

  Sighing, he pulled out his notes again as he peeked around the building’s corner, checked to be sure she’d walked on, and then stepped into the daylight. Flipping through the pad, he found the blank page and made his new entry. He then looked up to Olivia’s retreating back. If she turned right at that next corner, then she was taking the little one to the doctor’s office in the next block.

  Then, that meant that her old mother was alone. Rigby’d been dogging Olivia long enough to determine that, mother though she was, she was wife to no one. And apparently her father was dead or just gone, either way leaving her and her mother alone. A shudder seized him when he thought about the crippled old woman alone with the baby on the days when Olivia worked.

  Rigby scratched thoughtfully at his neck, wondering what Mr. Garrett would say if he knew about Olivia being mother to the little babe, her not being married and all. You couldn’t tell with these Brahmin—who may boot you out for daring to have a care outside of their whims. No, Mr. Garrett wasn’t that sort. Hadn’t he allowed her to come with no threat to her position? True. But too, Himself’d charged him with following Olivia to see if the reason she asked off so suddenly was because she had suspicious doings with her former employer. Rigby now knew nothing could be further from the truth.

  He watched Olivia turn right at the next corner. Ah, the doctor’s. He wrote that in his pad and then pocketed it. Having added protector to his assigned role as spy, Rigby made up his mind. He’d speak right now with Himself regarding Olivia’s troubles. Mr. Garrett was a fair man. And the new missus seemed to care about Olivia. Hadn’t she as much as spirited the maid away with her when she left Cloister Point?

  That settled it. He was right to speak up. The sweet girl needed help. And he would get it for her. Maybe then she’d look kindly on him. A smile wreathed Rigby’s Irish good looks as he sprinted across the narrow street. For two blocks, he dodged carriages and pedestrians to where he’d hitched his horse. Then, his feet slowed. Damn the lad! The roan and the street urchin to whom he’d given a coin to look after it were nowhere in sight.

  * * *

  Turning right at the corner, stepping around the other people crowding the walkway with her, Olivia walked briskly, frowning in worry as she tuned her mother’s ear to Colette’s coughing. Rattling carriages and yelling children made it hard to hear, but she believed Colette sounded better.

  Olivia reassured herself by recalling the cheerful Dr. Rowe. Such a good man to hold a free clinic two afternoons a week here in the West End. He’d reassured her that Colette had a common chest congestion of the sort to afflict babies at this time of year. But still, Olivia couldn’t help but be scared. Mum and Colette were all she had. And Mum was on her last leg.

  Olivia bit at her lip, trying not to worry. One thing at a time. With her new wages—she sent up a prayer for Mr. Garrett and his generosity—she ought to be able to move Mum and Colette into something a little more respectable. But to get her wages, she’d have to go back to Woodbridge Pond. Which meant leaving Mum with a nine-month-old to care for, and her with her crippled-up legs.

  Almost beset with tears, Olivia forced a cheerfulness on herself as she shifted her daughter’s weight in her arms and bounced her playfully. “There, now, sweetling. Perhaps we can give Dr. Rowe a good report this afternoon.” She hugged the brown-eyed, chubby child to her breast. “We’ll get through this, Colette. I swear we will.”

  Just then, someone bumped her from behind. She clutched reflexively at Colette as she stumbled forward a step. Regaining her footing, Olivia spun around, already sounding her protest. “Here now, watch yourself. Can’t you see I have—?”

  The words died in her throat as a jet of fear lanced through her and held her immobile. Jostling people brushed by, cursing her for being in the way. But she had wide, unblinking eyes only for the hated man she faced.

  “Were you going to say … you have a baby? But then, I already knew that, didn’t I?” He reached out to stroke the babe’s cheek. “And a lovely girl she is. May I hold her? I promise to give her right back.”

  Mutely, Olivia shook her head and backed up a step. She’d die before she’d hand Colette over to Mr. Wilton-Hu
mes.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Garretts must chew locoweed, was Hannah’s exasperated thought. She laid her soup spoon down, dabbed at her lips with her linen napkin, and turned to her left. “Isabel, we never should have told you my real reason for being here. My kin are my problem. Not yours. I won’t allow you to put yourself at risk. There can be no party. It’s insane.”

  Isabel waved her hand in the air. “Oh, pooh. I can take care of myself. You two cheated me out of the wedding I was planning. And then the way you carried on in the music room this afternoon, I may already have a great-grandchild on the way. Right, Esmerelda?”

  Hearing her name, the mastiff cocked her ears up and scooted closer to Isabel for a head-rubbing. For Hannah’s part, a burst of heat flared over her cheeks as she stared in numbed shock at her grandmother-in-law.

  Isabel mumbled to her pet, “That piano never will be the same.” She looked beyond Hannah. “Will it, Rowena?”

  Hannah whipped around in her chair. There stood the ancient maid at the sideboard, her back to the table as she lifted a lid on a silver tureen. She didn’t turn around, but she did shake her head in agreement. Or maybe it was just her palsy. Hannah jerked back around and shot her so-far-silent husband The Look.

  Slade picked up his cue. “Isabel, you’re shocking Hannah. She’s not yet been a wife for an entire day, so she doesn’t need the added worry of being a mother.”

  Flames of embarrassment licked at Hannah’s cheeks. She was hardly used to the idea that she had a … love life, and much less ready to hear it discussed publicly. She made a show of smoothing her napkin across her lap before she spoke up. “Slade, I may never have the chance to be a … a mother if you allow Isabel to persist in her dash to get us all killed.”

  He leaned forward over the table. “If I allow her? My sweet, the entire Garrett family will erect a huge sculpture in your honor if you can stop her where we have all failed.” He made a sweeping gesture toward Isabel. “Have at it.”

  Hannah frowned as she turned her gaze from her husband to her grandmother-in-law. Why was everyone so afraid of Isabel? She was just one tiny little woman. Isabel grinned satanically at her. Wasn’t she? Somewhat daunted, Hannah nevertheless chided the elder Mrs. Garrett for her breach in front of a servant. “Isabel, where is your sense of decorum? That you would say such a bold thing about our private married life in front of … in front of—”

  “Who—Rowena? Oh, pooh. She changed Slade’s nappies. It’s not like I placed an announcement of your musical consummation in the Advertiser. However, an announcement of your elopement will appear in tomorrow’s editions of all the newspapers. Prepare to be swamped with callers and gifts.” She then turned to her grandson. “I believe she’ll out-Brahmin us with all that twaddle about decorum, don’t you?”

  Piqued at being brushed off, Hannah turned to Slade, but that one nodded at his grandmother and then winked at his wife. Hannah raised her chin and showed him a cool façade. When that elicited a chuckle from him, she was pleased to turn back to Isabel when that outrageous lady next spoke.

  “Enough about your lovemaking. You two didn’t invent it, and you’re not the only ones engaging in it. What’s more important, young lady, is you’re daft if you think I’ll sit around here like some silly old helpless ninny and allow a Garrett—any Garrett!—to be threatened by the likes of Cyrus and Patience.”

  Hannah pushed her shallow soup bowl away from her and leaned an elbow on the table. “No one thinks you’re a silly old helpless ninny. Least of all me. And you should know that, Isabel. Especially after our talk about our families in the garden—”

  Across from her, a hand smacked down on the tabletop. “What talk?”

  Hannah’s gasp echoed Isabel’s. They stared at each other and then both turned to Slade. Protecting the secrets Isabel’d shared, Hannah lied. “It was nothing. Just a walk through the gardens.”

  “I heard that. I asked you, what talk?”

  God love Rowena. The antique maid chose that moment to shuffle over from tending the sideboard and reach around Hannah toward her soup bowl. “That I did, Miss Hannah—change his nappies. Slade was quite the big baby. Nearly tore his mother in two, he did, when she brought him into the world.”

  Leaving Hannah openmouthed with that terrifying image, she picked up the flower-patterned dish, narrowly missing the hem of Hannah’s green satin skirt when her slight tremor upset the bowl’s contents.

  Isabel chuckled, further sidetracking her grandson. “Look at her face, Slade Franklin. Young girls think they can’t get with child their first time with a man. But they can. I did.” With that, she smiled gleefully and began feeding hunks of bread to the patiently slobbering Esmerelda.

  “Enough, Isabel. You and Rowena are terrifying Hannah.”

  Hannah glanced across the table at her new husband. He was quick to take her side. A bud of tenderness opened in her heart, but quickly wilted as she absorbed his posture. He slouched in his chair with an elbow propped on the armrest, his thumb and index fingers supporting his jaw and chin. He stared unblinking at her, and then made as if to speak.

  Fearful of his topic, Hannah desperately turned to Isabel. “Isabel, dear, we haven’t resolved anything. I still say you cannot hold a dinner ball for the sole purpose of drawing out Cyrus and Patience. What makes you think they’d even show up?”

  Isabel tore off another hunk of her dinner roll and fed it to the eager-eyed mastiff. “They’d come, all right. You heard Mrs. Ames say—before Esmerelda gave her the dead rat and made her faint—that Cyrus and Patience aren’t being received. That’s worse than death to them. So, if we have a little party and invite them, it’ll seem as if we forgive them, won’t it?”

  Hannah was forced to nod in agreement, but jumped when Slade snorted in amusement. “She’s got you there. Didn’t Pemberton warn you on your first night here about her plottings?”

  Isabel chunked a wad of bread at Slade. “I’m not plotting. I’m merely trying to bring this situation to a head. I want nothing whatsoever to do with those people. So the sooner this convoluted mess of Ardis’s will is over and done, the sooner we’ll be rid of all the despicable Wilton-Humeses.” Isabel stopped, apparently hearing her own words. Unrepentant, she looked directly at Hannah. “You’ll be glad to know I don’t consider you one of their ilk.”

  Hannah grinned, her respect for Isabel’s legendary toughness rising by the moment. “Thank you. Neither do I. But I am a Lawless through and through. I hope that’s not a problem for you.”

  Isabel’s face sharpened with a sly look tinged with humor. “Too late if it is, eh, Mrs. Garrett? No matter. We’ll just temper all that outlaw blood with some good Garrett stock. But don’t be so quick to deny your McAllister blood. You get some of that backbone and sass of yours from your great-grandmother Ardis. She and your mother were the best of the lot, I’ll warrant. Wouldn’t give you a cat’s behind for the rest of them.”

  Slade captured Hannah’s and Isabel’s attention when he applauded. “Bravo, Isabel. Wonderful recovery.”

  “Show some respect, young man,” Isabel huffed as she shifted toward Hannah. “Now, say Patience and Cyrus are here. What’s your plan?”

  Hannah didn’t even hesitate. “It’s simple. I plan on shooting them. But other developments tie my hands right now.” Thinking of the men tracking her sisters, Hannah sought Slade’s eyes. He shook his head no. Hannah took his meaning, not to speak of it with Isabel, and turned back to her. “It’s just that it’s too soon to confront Cyrus and Patience. We have no proof yet. And I certainly don’t want another scene like the one I caused at Cloister Point.”

  Isabel laughed gleefully. “I heard all about that one, missy. I knew right then what kind of a girl you were. Damned proud of you, I am.”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes in mock-slyness. “I see your game, Isabel, and it won’t work. Pretty words to me won’t change my mind about being a party to … your party.”

  Isabel shrugged. “I’m not
trying to change your mind. You’re trying to change mine, remember?” She then shoved at Esmerelda, who stood with her massive paws on the arm of her chair. “Get down. Next thing you know, you’ll want your own chair at the table. I swear, I don’t know who spoils you so.”

  Esmerelda got down, but she wasn’t happy. She tucked her haunches under her as she sat and stared accusingly at Hannah.

  Ignoring the beast, and thinking of her sisters’ well-being over her own, Hannah issued her ultimatum. “You’ve forced me into a corner, Isabel. If you won’t stop with your fancy ball, then I’ll move out. And I won’t come to the party.”

  “The hell you say!”

  Like Isabel and Esmerelda and Rowena, Hannah jumped at the harsh words directed at her from across the table. A hand to her throat, she turned to Slade. His black eyes glittered. “You’ll go no farther away from me than I can smell you.”

  Hannah swallowed, again feeling the heat on her cheeks. He hadn’t moved at all, but she felt he was at her throat. She didn’t like that feeling. “Don’t think that your ring on my finger makes me your property. If I choose to leave this room, this house, or this town—I will go.”

  “Just where do you think you’ll go?” His voice was low and threatening.

  Hannah could take only shallow breaths against the tightness in her chest. Still, she raised her chin and glared back at him. “Your brownstone. You offered it to me not so long ago. So, now I’ll take it. There. I’ve said it. If plans for this or any confrontation go forward—before I’m ready for it, I’ll leave Woodbridge Pond.”

  Slade’s eyelids drooped dangerously low. He leaned over the table, like a panther in a crouch. “How far do you think you’ll get being tied to my bed?”

  Up to those last words of his, Hannah’d only been half-serious about leaving. No more. In the deadly quiet that followed his threat, she felt her Lawless blood boiling. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Slade dipped his head, catching light and shadow in the planes and hollows of his face, intensifying his pantherlike pose. “Try me.”