by C. A. Asbrey
They needed full daylight to see the full picture. Jake carried her outside and laid her on the grass. Her stiff hair hung over her waxy face, still in the same armor of desiccated vomit which had hardened around her mouth and on her clothes. He lifted the encrusted lace of hair shrouding her mud-covered face with gentle delicacy. “She’s burnin’ up. How could they leave her like that?”
“The bastards left her here to die.” Nat frowned at the disheveled shred of humanity lying in her own waste. “Get her in the wagon. There are blankets in the cabin, I’ll get them.”
“She’s got dark hair. Do you think she’s the same one who was askin’ about us? Pearl said the Irish girl had light brown hair.”
Nat crouched, examining her. “Her face is covered in mud and sick, but she looks pretty familiar through all the mess. I think it’s that Scottish woman again. Why’s she cropping up all over the place? Let’s get her to Pearl’s to see if she’s been playing the Irish girl, too.”
Chapter Four
“Dora?” Jake tapped at the door. He paused, listening hard, sure he heard whispers and rustling inside. A flushed blonde opened it a mere crack. She emerged, closing it behind her as she drew her robe over an enticing porcelain shoulder which emerged from the swathes of fabric.
“Jake,” she breathed and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yeah, I’m here with a woman we found out in the woods. Pearl’s cleanin’ her up with the doctor.” He frowned and glanced into the rumpled room behind her. “I wanted to speak to you. Pearl said you weren’t with a customer, but it sounds like she was wrong.”
“Nope, she’s not wrong. I was—tidying,” she giggled for no real reason. “What happened to her? Is she alright?”
“Dunno. Pearl said you might know her. She used to work here and helped you dress. It’s the Irish girl who ran away. Can we go into your room?”
“It’s far too untidy.” She slipped a hand into his and led him to the staircase. “Come with me. Does Pearl want me to come and help?”
“No, she wondered if you knew if she has any folks about here.” He cast a wary look back at the room and followed her downstairs to the seating area in the main hall.
“Nope. I’ve no idea. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
“We’ve been busy.”
She turned back to him with a meaningful glint as they descended the staircase. “So I hear.”
They reached the bottom and she drew him over to a table, pushing him into a seat with his back to the stairs. She waved to a black woman wiping the counter. “Seraphina, honey. Can we get two coffees?”
“Sure.” The woman’s wide smile lit the room. “I’ll be right back.”
“So what did you want, Jake? Long time no see.”
He sat back with a warm smile. “Pearl said the new girl was askin’ questions, then ran away.”
“Annie…Abi…Anna? Oh shoot, what was her name again? That little maid?”
“Abi,” Jake flicked a brief nod of thanks at the girl as she set down the coffees. “Pearl said her name was Abi.”
“I can’t say I had much to do with her. A quiet little thing with glasses? Light brown hair?” She poured cream into her cup before offering to do the same for him. “She asked who comes here. Well, that got a laugh, I can tell you.” Dora leaned back and released a delicious giggle. “None of us were gonna tell her about you or anyone else. There’s a reason this place is so expensive, and secrecy is part of the service.”
“What did she tell you about herself?”
“Nothin’ much. She came from Ireland, her folks were dead, and she needed the work. Nothin’ unusual in that. I never paid much attention. Sorry, honey. She was kinda insignificant. I don’t think she has any folks. She said she had nobody.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much what everyone is sayin’.” Jake took a sip of his coffee. “So how’ve you been? How’s the boy?”
His eyes drifted to the huge ornate mirror on the wall behind her which reflected the whole upper balustrade. The door to Dora’s room opened a crack.
Her eyes lit up. “Great, Jake. I think I’ve found a way out.”
“Out?”
“I ended up here because I had no choice. I have a son to support.”
His eyes softened. “I know.”
“It looks like my luck’s turned. There’s money coming and soon. I’ll be leaving here. My David can have a fresh start where his ma isn’t called a dirty whore.”
“So where’s this money comin’ from?” Jake hid his observation of the mirror as best he could, but the tapping of a cane signaled a man slipping out as quietly as a blind man could. He felt his way to the top of the staircase. He knew his way around. But he would. He worked here. He was the pianist.
“I can’t say,” she shook her head. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy until a lawyer can go through the will, but I’m sure I’ll be gone soon.” She reached out and curled her fingers around his hand. “I’ll miss you. You’ve been special. One of my favorites.” She gave him a playful pat. “Don’t look so sad. It’s a good thing.”
“Who?” Jake frowned. “Men can promise all kinds of things and then drop you when they’re bored. He’d better treat you right.”
“It’s all right. It's family, and a real future,” she purred.
“Family?” Jake asked. “You ain’t got no family except your son.”
A mysterious smile flickered across her face. “It’s more complicated than that. My husband had a brother, Michael who died about eight years ago. It’s to do with that, but there’s some legal stuff to sort out. It’s an inheritance from someone who’s been dead for a while, but the will hasn’t been properly acted on. It’s not even sad. Nobody in the world would miss that old sadist. Giving us a future is the only good thing he’ll have done in his life.”
“Who? You? Is it David? Is your son going to inherit?”
“I was told David can’t inherit, but someone who can will look after us. I haven’t told anyone yet; not until I’m sure. I didn’t want to build up hopes for nothing. I’m bursting with good news but I know I can tell you. ”
“Is it male relative? Is anyone putting pressure on you, Dora? I can speak to them for you.”
“Thank you, Jake,” her perfect skin stretched into a smile without a wrinkle. “No, nobody is pressuring me. I just need to speak to a lawyer when I can get a copy of the will and then I’ll be on easy street. It’s on its way. I’ll be collecting it at a meeting soon. I gotta go.” She stood, waving to him as she sashayed into the covey room, the place the prostitutes gathered to be chosen by their clients. “I need to get back to work.”
He sat back, deep in thought. Something about the secrecy didn’t sit right. Pearl said she wasn’t working, yet the blind man had been in her room. The man had hideous scars, his face a mask of distorted flesh with barely a wispy hair on his head. Did she feel sorry for him? Was it love? Friendship? Why did she lie? One thing was sure. He might add an air of class with his soaring symphonies and operatic pieces, but he sure as hell didn’t earn enough to pay a fifty-dollar a trick prostitute. And who was this mysterious relative? In all the years he’d known her, she had nobody but the washer woman neighbor who looked after her son while she worked.
Jake shook himself back to the here and now. There were immediate worries to deal with.
♦◊♦
The hotel clerk peered at the register. “Mr. R. Daintree?”
The guest nodded his head, the light gleaming off the Makassar oil’s slick making his hair appear like patent-leather, exemplifying the height of this praying mantis of a man. “Rigby Daintree, yes.”
The clerk reached around and grabbed a key with a gigantic wooden fob. “You’re in number twelve. Dinner is served in the dining room right over there at five.”
“Five? That’s a bit early, isn’t it?”
The clerk glanced at the ledger. “You’re from Boston, sir? This is Bannen. Peopl
e here work on the land and rise with the sun. Come five, they’re real hungry. We keep serving until nine, so we can still cater for you city folks, too.” He clicked his fingers at a lad in an enormous bottle green jacket covered in shabby gold frogging. “Number twelve, Johnny.”
The lad bent to pick up the suitcase, but the long sleeve unfurled, getting in the way. “That jacket’s a bit big, isn’t it?” Daintree chuckled.
“The boss bought it cheap from a circus. I hate it. Ma ain’t had time to take it up yet.” Johnny lifted the case and tucked the leather bag under his arm. “It used to belong to the chimp and he got a new one. It ain’t right when apes get dressed better’n folks.”
“No, it’s not,” Daintree’s benign smile twinkled at Johnny’s sartorial predicament as he followed him to the staircase.
The boy climbed. “So, you’re from the East? What brings you to Bannen, Mr. Daintree?”
“I’m a lawyer. I’m here trying to find some potential heirs.”
They turned onto the landing and walked along the corridor. “Oh, who?”
They stopped at a paneled door embossed with the number twelve in Clarendon font. “That’s not something I can discuss with anyone except the client, is it?”
Johnny shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I know most everyone around here. I could save you a barrel-load of time.” He dropped the bags on the floor and caught a glistening coin before his hands disappeared inside the long sleeves once more. A heavy sigh marked his annoyance. “Just ask for me at the desk.”
“You know, Johnny. You might be able to help me, but I need to know I can depend on your silence. Can I rely on you?”
Johnny’s face brightened into a cheeky grin. “I keep tellin’ folks I can be bought, but you’re the first one who offered.”
Daintree took out a deck of cards and fanned them out revealing an array of nude and semi-nude women embossed on them. “Let’s pretend I’m here to sell novelties like this. It’ll mean people’ll talk without thinking there’s money in it. They’re more honest that way. Help from you will mean I can go straight to the right people.”
The lad’s mouth dropped open. “Wow! Look at her. And that—”
“You want to keep the pictures of naked ladies, Johnny?” Daintree’s lips spread into a gap-toothed grin. “What do you know about the Benson family?”
Chapter Five
Abigail awoke to the sun beating in through a window. There had been dreamlike memories of being carried, trees flashing by overhead, and water being dripped over her reluctant lips until her raging throat was quenched, but she knew no more than that. She had no idea where she was, or how long she had been there.
Her whole body was wracked with pain, and she lacked the strength to even speak. A dry rattle rasped from her parched throat toward a concerned pair of blue eyes which hovered into view.
“How you doin’?”
The blurred face came into focus and she started at the realization that the man she knew to be Jake Conroy stood over her, stroking her hair. Was it him? He looked like the man standing behind Nat Quinn on the platform, but she couldn’t be sure. She tried to speak, but no sound came out of her ravaged throat.
“Sit up, darlin’. Try to drink some water.”
He propped her against his firm chest and put a glass to her lips, encouraging her to drink until the glass was almost drained. Her foggy mind tried to make sense of all this. Jake Conroy was not a member of the gang she had followed. Why was he here? Did he know who she was? No. She must be mistaken. This was a dream.
“You’re safe. No one’s goin’ to hurt you while I’m around.”
“What? Where?” She croaked as he laid her back down.
He smiled. It lit up his face with a gentleness she hadn’t seen at the train. “You were sick. We found you in the barn. Why’d he put you there?”
“Who?” She shook her head in confusion.
“Frank Patterson.”
“Patterson?”
“What’s your name?”
Her voice gave out with the exertion as he could see his questioning was getting him nowhere. It would have to wait .He took a damp cloth and mopped her face before continuing to her neck. Cooling waves of refreshment washed over her as she gave in to the weakness and relaxed into the lumpy mattress.
“Go back to sleep. We’ll try to get you to eat somethin’ when you wake up.”
♦◊♦
The shrill shriek of birds announced their delight at the new day was her wake-up call as she struggled to open her leaden eyelids. The fever had given her wild vivid dreams, with horrors from her past haunting her, ripping any possible rest from the turbulent sleep. She frowned. She’d even been dreaming about the damned Innocents tending to her. She needed reality, and she needed to wake up. Her eyes flickered open to a pair of kind brown eyes dripping over her like molten chocolate as the man gave her a dimpled smile. “Good mornin’.”
No! Not Nat Quinn. What was going on? Abigail took a deep breath as her weak hands fluttered by her sides and her heart thumped, too debilitated by illness and her injured arm to support her leaden weight to sit.
“Let me help you.” He placed a hand under each arm and supported her weight while he arranged her pillows in a sitting position. He settled her back. “Better?”
She nodded, confusion still reigning behind her dark eyes. He answered as though he had read her mind. “You’re in a cabin, in a different place. We took you from those men. You’re safe now.”
He grinned at her bewilderment but made no effort to clarify any further.
“How?”
He shrugged, examining every micro expression. “That doesn’t matter. Those men are in jail in Bannen. The law’s taking care of them. We’re taking care of you.”
“Really?” She frowned.
He nodded and lifted a glass of water. “Drink.”
He delivered an order, not a request, but she complied and gulped at the contents as he held it to her mouth
“What’s your name?”
She considered inventing a new identity before she thought the better of it. It was always better to stick to the story unless there was good reason to do otherwise. She gave the name under which she had entered Pearl’s employ. “Abigail. Abigail Ross.”
He sat on the bed and faced her, his eyes boring into hers with intensity, making her wonder what more lay behind their dancing lights.
“Well, Miss Ross. Suppose you tell me how a Scottish girl like you ended up in a barn with a bullet graze in her arm? You’re a long way from home. That is a Scottish accent isn’t it? People don’t use fake accents when they’re delirious.”
She was weak and tired, but her natural cunning kicked in as she detected an undercurrent to the question. He didn’t appear to recognize her. “Yes. It only grazed me, but I could see it was getting infected. Am I in Bannen? Are you a doctor?”
His eyes narrowed as he recognized the beginning of a verbal joust. It surprised him considering her weakened state, but he was quick to identify an agile mind behind the brown eyes assessing him so shrewdly. He grinned. “You answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
She gave him a weak smile. “I had a job. I hated it and ran away.” Her doe-like eyes widened with feigned innocence. “You’ve no idea what those women were expected to do. I couldn’t stay there. I was scared I’d be forced to stay and be like them. You read stories like that all the time in dime novels. Those men thought I followed them and shot me before they even realized I was a woman. I think that scared them and they didn’t know what to do with me.”
Nat nodded, not buying it for a second.
She gazed at him through long lashes. “So? I’ve answered you. What about my question? Why am I here?”
“I’m not a doctor, but he did see you. You weren’t fit to travel too far. This was the first safe place to bring you. ”
“Did the doctor say I couldn’t travel?”
“Sure.”
“When was he last
here?”
He leaned forward and slammed her with a determined glare. “Enough. You’re still weak, but passed the worst. Tell me the truth. Pearl forced nobody to do anything in her life, and you know you’re with Nat Quinn and Jake Conroy. You were on the train we robbed at Hillside Bend. You worked at Pearl’s with a different accent and a wig the stable boy found hidden in the straw. Stop playing games and tell me why you were with the Pattersons.”
She made sure outrage exploded over her face as she processed this information. “You’re Nat Quinn and Jake Conroy?”
He arched a brow. “You know who we are. You stick out in a crowd, you know, especially when you stand up to Jake. Not many have the guts to do that, male or female. Why do we keep bumping into you, and why were you asking questions about us at Pearl’s?”
Her mind ran like quicksilver, so she dropped her head and changed the mask. “I had hoped you wouldn’t remember me. I was afraid you might not let me go if you knew I could identify you.” Her eyes widened with engineered pathos. “It’s been a frightening time, to go from one set of outlaws to another. If you thought I didn’t know, or care who you were you might just let me go.”
“Why the wig?”
“I’ve been ill. My hair is bad.”
“It looks thick enough to me.” He snorted, reaching out and running his long fingers through her endless dark ringlets. “Real thick. It was tough to wash all the muck and vomit out of it. You could stuff a couple of mattresses with it and have enough left over for the pillows. What about the accent? They said you were Irish at Pearl’s.”
“Lots of people don’t know the difference. They must have got confused.”
He chuckled. “Oh, you’re good. This is gonna be fun.”
Nat’s cheeks dimpled into a grin as he patted her knee and searched her gaze. “It’s your call if you don’t want to tell me now. You’ll talk. There’s nothing but time out here, but one thing’s for sure, being with Nat Quinn and Jake Conroy doesn’t scare you. In fact, I don’t think there’s much that does.”
He stood and towered over her with folded arms. “Hungry?”