When Kate’s pulse settled and she pushed thoughts of Ben to the corners of her mind, she focused on Alice’s knowing grin and the naughty glint in the woman’s eyes.
“So it’s as I thought.”
“I am afraid to ask what you think.”
Alice laughed, a lighter, more feminine sound than Kate expected from the fearsome woman. “Well, when I look at your face just now and recall the expression on his face when he spoke your name, it’s clear as day.”
Kate opened her mouth to deny it, to tell Alice that nothing was as clear as day where Ben Quinn was concerned, but with her cheeks flamed with heat and her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Instead she asked the question on her heart.
“Have you seen him?”
Alice took a sip of her tea before replying, a sly smile still tugging at her mouth. “No, not at all. Last I saw Detective Quinn he’d come to question Rose.”
“How is Rose?” Kate had intended to ask about Rose and was determined to see her before leaving Whitechapel. “I would like to pay her a visit. Do you where she’s living?”
“Yes, a lodging house on Flower and Dean, but it’s not a place you should go alone.” All the teasing had fled from Alice’s tone and her expression turned grim.
Kate smiled at Alice’s warning. Was there a place in Whitechapel a woman should go alone?
But Alice didn’t share Kate’s mirth. “Rose was back here two nights ago. Bloodied and bruised, but she didn’t try to blame it on the Ripper this time.”
Kate sensed there was more and waited while Alice stood and glanced out onto the clinic floor. Most of the cots were full, but there was a young doctor from the Samaritan Hospital volunteering his skills and several nurses tending to patients.
“She’s taken up with an awful man. Takes his fists to her whenever he’s been at the bottle, which is most days.”
“If only the settlement was already open.”
Kate imagined the house could provide a safe haven for women such a Rose.
“It’s a fine thought, but I’d wager she wouldn’t stay. She disappeared again this last time, just like the night you tended to her.” Alice lifted her cup to her lips and tilted her head back to consume the last dregs. When she rested her cup on the desk beside her, she flashed Kate a glance filled with sadness and fatigue. “We must tend to those who want our help. It’s enough to keep us busy.”
“Miss Cole, can you assist me with Mr. Bailey?” Rachel, one of the volunteer nurses, stood holding a set of clean linens next to the cot of an inordinately large man. She was a diminutive young woman and would need help managing his girth if she meant to change his bedding.
Alice seemed eager to return to her work. “What was I saying about keeping busy?” She stood and arched her back, as if sitting caused her more discomfort than the hours she spent on her feet tending to the sick and wounded.
Kate stood too. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
As she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and secured it at her neck, Kate noticed the admittance ledger lying open on Alice’s cluttered desk. Nurse Cole told her what street Rose was lodging on but not the number, and she wondered if the answer was in the open book.
Alice was right, of course. Visiting Rose alone would be a foolhardy endeavor. What if her man was there and in the midst of a drunken rage? But who else did Rose have? Of all the memories that haunted her from her marriage to Andrew, the sense of being alone, helpless, that nothing, no one, and certainly she herself could never change her circumstances. Looking back, she saw choices she could have made—telling Will, running away—but while living in the center of the maelstrom her overwhelming emotion had been hopelessness.
Kate’s head was full of plans for the settlement, and she wanted to tell Rose about them. She prayed Rose might come to live or work there. At least Kate wanted to give her that option.
She leaned toward the desk and turned her head, scanning for Rose’s name. The house number on Flower and Dean Street was clear, written in Alice’s bold looping script.
****
“Another visit from you doesn’t bode well, Detective Sergeant Quinn. What can I do for you?”
Ben wondered if William Selsby wore the same unwelcoming expression with all of the visitors to his Moreton Terrace townhouse. The man looked less pleased to see him than the first time Ben had foolishly darkened Kate’s doorstep.
“I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Guthrie.”
Selsby led him to room on the left side of the entry hall, opposite the sitting room doorway. The sting of astringent burned his nose as Ben entered the room and took in the examination table and neatly arrayed medical supplies.
“Since I started my medical practice, I found it useful to refurbish my father’s old examination room.” Selsby offered the explanation while indicating a chair in front a massive wooden desk. “Shall we speak plainly, detective?”
Ben nodded, but Selsby gave him no time to reply.
“What is your interest in my sister? Precisely.”
How should he answer? Ben had no notion what Kate had revealed to her family about her work in Whitechapel or her encounter with him over Rose’s attack. Never mind that his interest in Kate had nothing to do with Whitechapel or Rose or anything but an inexplicable thread that seemed to draw him toward her from the moment he’d met her.
“She’s an extraordinary woman.”
Selby’s wide eyes and open mouth captured Ben’s own shock at hearing his foolish declaration echo against the walls of the small, wood-paneled room.
Kate’s brother looked down, seemingly studying the desk in front of him. When he lifted his gaze to Ben, his expression was dubious, not unlike the look Ben gave a suspect who’d said something completely out of order.
“Are you trying to avoid my question or win my approval?”
Ben closed his eyes a moment and gripped the arms of his chair. All he wanted was to see Kate—he had no answers to offer until he spoke to her. “Speaking plainly, Dr. Selsby, I must speak to your sister, to Mrs. Guthrie, before I can state my intentions.”
Selsby squinted and examined Ben a moment, as if weighing his words, and then deflated on a long sigh.
“Then I wish she was here to speak with you. My wife tells me she’s in Whitechapel visiting a young woman she’d tended to at a charity clinic there. Rose? Yes, I believe that was her name.”
Ben shot out of the chair, nearly tipping it behind him.
Selsby stood too. “What is it? Is she in danger?”
“Not if I can help it. Good day, Dr. Selsby.” Ben tipped his head to Selsby as he backed out of the exam room door.
He grabbed his hat from the hallway table and jerked the front door open. He’d had the good sense to ask the hansom cab driver to wait on him this time and shouted Rose’s address up to the cabman before leaping inside. Heart racing, breath billowing out in wispy gusts, Ben knocked on the carriage walls to urge the driver faster.
Dusk brushed the sky with shades of blue and amber as the carriage wound its way through the clog of London traffic. Trapped in the confines of the too-slow-moving cab, Ben made a vow—he’d kiss Kate Guthrie again, fiancé or no fiancé. And once he’d finished, he’d set her straight about venturing out into the streets of Whitechapel at night. Had the woman no sense when it came to her own safety?
Her carelessness rankled Ben, but it was nothing like his impulse to protect her. If Jack Sharp so much as touched her… He blinked away thoughts of Sharp attacking Kate, though he couldn’t ease the ache in his chest or the acid in his stomach at the notion of her coming to harm. Nor could he deny the deep vein of possessiveness tangled with his protective impulse. He didn’t merely wish to safeguard Kate. He wanted her, needed her, as he’d never desired anyone in his life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The crush of people he found on Flower and Dean Street didn’t surprise Ben. With so many common lodging houses on the road, it had become one of the busiest, foulest, and most danger
ous thoroughfares in the East End. But as he approached the building where he’d last seen Rose, he noticed several dome-hatted constables among the throng. Swallowing down a wave of bile, he pushed his way through the crowd.
Just on the threshold of the building, a constable pushed him back. “Step aside, sir. We’ve an injured person to remove.”
Ben recognized the constable as one from Leman Street station. “Constable Watkins, it’s Quinn. What’s happened here?”
Before the man could answer, two more constables emerged through the doorway carrying a prone figure wrapped in linen. Blood seeped through the fabric, but Ben breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the hands hanging limp on either side of the body. Large-boned and massive, they were a man’s hands, beyond all doubt.
“This one attacked a couple ‘a women what’s still inside. Got a bit more than he bargained for. One of ‘em bashed his head to get him off the other. Knocked him out cold. If we can clear the crowd, we’ll get him to Samaritan Hospital.”
Ben started across the threshold as the constable finished his explanation. A wet, crimson trail of the man’s blood dotted the dilapidated stairwell leading to Rose’s door. He stepped into disarray—furniture broken and overturned dishes shattered into jagged pieces across the bare wooden floor—and found Kate and Rose huddled in the corner, holding each other, rocking back and forth as they sobbed.
Slipping from his overcoat, Ben approached the women, knelt, and wrapped them in the warm wool as best he could.
Kate snapped her head up and looked at him. “I hit him. I couldn’t let him hurt her.”
Her voice was strong, even as she sniffed back tears.
Ben reached out to touch her, careful not to disturb the abrasion on her cheek, and stroked a strand of her hair. “Well done.”
She grinned at that, and Ben heard Rose chuckle before she lifted her head too.
“Braver than I ever was. Why did I never stand up to ‘im?”
As Ben looked at the gaunt girl and remembered the man’s large frame, he considered offering her reassurance, but Kate spoke first.
“He bullied you, overpowered you. You were terrified of him. You didn’t fight back for fear of making him angrier.”
Kate’s words didn’t sound like guesses to Ben, but more like the words of a woman who knew Rose’s terror firsthand. Had someone hurt Kate in such a way?
“We should get Rose to Fieldgate Street or the hospital. I think he broke her arm.” Kate pointed to the girl’s twisted limb.
Rose hissed as Kate helped her to stand just as a constable entered the room.
“All’s done and dusted ‘ere, then?”
When Kate was on her feet, Ben winced at the sight of her torn skirt and bloodied shirtwaist. Her hair had been wrenched from its pins on one side of her head and hung in twisted waves, but beyond the single angry-looking mark on her cheek, she appeared uninjured.
“This young woman needs a doctor. There is a clinic on Fieldgate Street. Can you take her, Constable Jones?”
Though the room was dim, the young constable recognized Ben and tipped his head at his sergeant’s request. “Yes, sir.”
“I should go with her.”
Ben heard the insistence in Kate’s voice but leaned in to whisper near her ear.
“Come with me instead.”
He could envision her at the clinic fussing over Rose and never taking a moment to recover from her own ordeal.
She gazed at him and then at Rose.
Rose lifted her chin before speaking in the cocky tone Ben had grown used to hearing from her. “Go on, then, miss. This ‘ere peeler’ll take care o’ me. Won’t ya, bobby?”
Ben thought he saw the young man flush before he reassured Rose. “I will, miss.”
Kate pulled Rose into a quick embrace, mindful of the girl’s injured arm, before letting her go with Constable Jones. Kate swiped at her cheeks as the constable led Rose away.
Ben’s coat still rested on Kate’s shoulders and he approached to begin buttoning it around her.
She watched his fingers work rather than meeting his gaze.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace warm. Someplace safe.”
****
Kate expected to walk with Ben to his lodgings on White’s Row, but he led her down the street and hailed a cab. He took care with her, as if he was afraid to exacerbate any injuries she might have sustained during the attack. But she wasn’t aware of any pain, just overwhelming gratitude for his presence. She leaned against him in the tight confines of the carriage, absorbing his heat, and he kept an arm around her, chafing his hand against her arm and shoulder to keep her warm.
“Are you taking me back to Moreton Terrace?”
His deep voice was quiet. “No. Is that where you want me to take you?”
She didn’t have to consider her answer. “No. I want to go with you.”
Explanations would come soon enough. She’d have to go back to the townhouse eventually. But she couldn’t speak of her foolishness in seeking out Rose in the most notorious East End slums, alone, at night, and recount details of John Sharp’s attack. Not yet.
A moment later the hansom cab rattled to a stop, and Ben led her into a public house. Everything about the pub sparkled—the brass at the bar, the gleam of dark, polished wood, and the frosted and etched glass forming partitions between different sections of the establishment. Kate feared Ben might wish to sit and eat or drink, thinking she might need the comfort of a meal, but she knew her unsettled stomach would reject anything she consumed. Instead he led her to a sumptuous staircase near the back of the pub and up to a second floor landing. An intricate mosaic beneath her feet drew her eyes as she followed him to a door halfway down the hall.
“I take it we aren’t in Whitechapel anymore.”
“No. A bit nearer the city. On Fenchurch Street. My lease on the room in Whitechapel was up, so I’ve taken temporary lodgings here.” Ben unlocked the door as he spoke.
The room couldn’t have been a greater contrast to his place in Whitechapel—a fire burned low in the grate, giving off a flickering glow that limned two richly upholstered wingback chairs, a spacious desk covered in books and newspapers, and a large elegantly carved four post bed in golden light.
“It’s quite a change from your room off Commercial Street.”
Ben grinned at her as he approached, and then reached up to unbutton his overcoat, peeling it gently from her shoulders.
“You should sit by the fire and keep warm. I’ll return directly.”
“Wait, where are you going?” She heard the tremor in her voice as she spoke. She needed him to stay.
He drew close to her and reached up to slip a strand of hair behind her ear. She knew she must look frightful.
“I knew you were with Rose because I’d gone to seek you at home. Your brother told me where you’d gone. He’ll be mad with worry. I would be.”
Kate knew he was right. He should get word to Will and Ada, allay their worries, but she wanted him near. The firelight had turned his eyes silver blue and the tenderness in his gaze eased the knot of anxiety in her chest.
“You’ll return soon?”
“As quickly as I can.”
He would hurry. She could see the eagerness in his gaze. Lifting up on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his. She’d only meant to wish him Godspeed, to remind him why he should return to her quickly, but she couldn’t resist tugging at the lapels of his coat, slipping her hand up and grasping the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He leaned into her, deepening their kiss, but Kate sensed hesitation in his touch.
“I won’t break.”
He grinned against her mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you. What did he do to you?”
Kate pulled back. “I’ll tell you when you return. Now go, so you come back.”
Ben didn’t seem any more eager to leave than she was to see him go. He nuzzled her uninjured cheek and placed a soft kiss there before leaving the room.
When he was gone, Kate sank into a chair before the fire, stretching out her legs to warm her feet. She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. John Sharp’s angry sneer rose up in her mind’s eye. He’d turned on her so quickly and pushed her so forcefully she’d fallen against the table, scraping her face on the edge. When he’d yanked her up by her hair and reached around to rip her blouse, she’d instinctively reached for the cudgel Sally had given her. But then he’d released before she’d had a chance to strike, more interested in attacking Rose than bothering with her.
Kate opened her eyes and focused on the glowing coals in the grate. Far more appealing to contemplate the snug comfort of Detective Quinn’s room than her recent ordeal. She looked around the space again, breathing in the scents of clean linen, beeswax polish, and the distinct masculine smell she associated with Ben. It was a far finer accommodation than most Whitechapel police officers could afford, and she wondered about Ben’s family’s circumstances. His sister had married well. Had he come from a family of similar means? And if he had, why choose such a dangerous, thankless profession?
She smiled into the firelight. How could she question his desire to work in Whitechapel when it was the only place she ever felt useful?
Glancing back at the invitingly plush bed, Kate ran her tongue along the seam of her lips. Would she share that bed with Ben?
Her desire for him was unique. She’d loved Andrew with a kind of innocent foolishness, as much to do with her own dreams of marriage as with anything to do with his character. He’d been handsome, charming, but most of all she’d be so very eager to fall in love. But she’d met Ben Quinn as a woman with few illusions, and from the first moment in his presence, she’d been drawn to him—and not just to the virility he exuded but to the pain in his gaze he couldn’t quite hide. Though he hadn’t divulged his identity to her in those first moments, she’d trusted him, perhaps because he could not hide his emotions. She’d felt safe with him, despite how he towered over her.
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