Out of the Ordinary

by Jen Turano

  Gertrude pulled away from him. “While I appreciate your outrage on my behalf, what I’m about to disclose will give you a clear glimpse into my true character, one that does not show me in a favorable light, which will then have your outrage dissolving straightaway.”

  Harrison frowned. “I highly doubt whatever you disclose is going to change my attitude about your character, but you’ve piqued my curiosity, so disclose away.”

  “I was not all that sorry my mother was dead. In fact, the honest truth is that I was relieved.”

  “Which is perfectly understandable given that she’d abused you both physically and mentally.”

  Gertrude ignored his response. “I barely mourned her death, relishing instead my new circumstance of being sent off to a fancy boarding school, paid for by the very relatives my mother refused to approach after we’d run out of money. Once settled into that school, I pushed almost all thoughts of my mother aside, appreciating that I could enjoy a peaceful life there, one where no one screamed at me, assaulted me, or left me riddled with guilt.”

  “It seems to me as if you’re still riddled with some measure of guilt,” Harrison said slowly.

  “Of course I am. I failed to mourn the loss of my own mother.” Gertrude shook her head. “What type of daughter does that except the most callous of creatures?”

  Harrison leaned toward her. “Have you ever considered turning this guilt over to God? From what I understand, you attend church regularly, which makes me wonder why you’ve harbored such a devastating emotion for so long.”

  Gertrude gave a dismissive flick of her wrist. “My behavior in regard to my mother would have certainly disappointed God, which explains exactly why He never bothers to answer any of my prayers. He knows I have a selfish heart, one that is not worthy of His time, grace, or love.”

  “I beg to differ. Your heart is more than worthy of love and grace. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have been so considerate of Mrs. Davenport and her unusual pastimes over the years.”

  Another flick of her wrist was her first response to that. “Don’t give me more credit than I deserve, Harrison. In all honesty, I’ve been hoping my care of Mrs. Davenport will allow me to make amends for my neglect of my mother. I thought that if I could prevent another woman who suffers from melancholy from experiencing the same sad end as my mother, God might forgive me for my transgressions, especially the one pertaining to not feeling overly burdened by her death.”

  Harrison took her hand in his. “Surely you don’t think Mrs. Davenport is intending to harm herself, do you?”

  “I’m afraid I do. I tendered my notice to her after she told me about leaving her reticule on board the Cornelia, stuffed to the gills with items that belonged to your sister.” Gertrude released a sigh. “I could tell she wasn’t expecting me to do that. Then, after Temperance told us how Mrs. Davenport reacted to the news of my arrest, I’m worried that news was too much for her to bear.” She glanced back to him. “Even if Mrs. Davenport is not intending to harm herself, I do think my abandonment of her has proven to God once and for all that I’m unworthy of His attention.”

  “Have you actually listened to any of those sermons you’ve apparently been privy to while you’ve been in Mrs. Davenport’s employ and attended services with her?”

  “I listen well enough to where I can quote Scripture with the best of them, although like most people, I don’t listen to every word of every sermon.”

  “You’ve obviously missed the sermons I’m sure have been delivered at Grace Church that center around the truth that everyone is worthy of God’s grace and forgiveness.”

  “I haven’t missed those sermons, Harrison. I simply don’t believe them, but . . .” She stopped talking and looked out the window right as the hansom cab began to slow. “We’re here.”

  As the cab came to a stop directly in front of Grace Church, Gertrude, exactly like she’d done at the Manhattan Beach Hotel, did not wait for him to get the door for her. Instead, she jumped out of the cab, then bolted toward the church, moving at a pace that would certainly earn her another painful stitch in her side and a definite bout of wheezing.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Whatever scenario Gertrude was expecting to discover in Grace Church paled in comparison to what she actually encountered. Stumbling to a stop, she felt her mouth drop open as she simply gawked at Mrs. Davenport.

  That lady, for some unknown reason, was standing on a rickety ladder, wiping the panes of a stained-glass window with what appeared to be a cleaning cloth, muttering something under her breath as she wiped.

  “Miss Cadwalader, thank the good Lord you’ve shown up,” a quiet voice said from Gertrude’s right, drawing her attention.

  Moving up the side aisle was Reverend Benjamin Perry, an associate minister at Grace Church, and a gentleman who’d often tried to engage Gertrude in conversation, although she’d done her very best to dodge his attempts over the past few years.

  The reason behind that dodging revolved around the idea that Reverend Benjamin Perry was a gentleman possessed of a good and honest heart—a man of the cloth who clearly believed God was attentive, loving, and most of all, forgiving. Because of that, she’d kept her distance from the reverend, as had Mrs. Davenport, probably because Mrs. Davenport sensed the same goodness in him Gertrude did and felt somewhat lacking in his presence.

  Pushing those uncomfortable thoughts away when Reverend Perry reached her side, Gertrude soon found her hand tucked into the crook of his arm as he nodded to where Mrs. Davenport was now applying herself more diligently than ever to her curious task.

  “Any thoughts as to why Mrs. Davenport is cleaning a window that was cleaned only this morning?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Is she perhaps one of those women who feels compelled to pick up a dustcloth when she doesn’t believe a job has been completed to her satisfaction?”

  “I’ve never seen her pick up a cleaning cloth before, and I’ve certainly never seen her apply herself so diligently to any domestic task.”

  Reverend Perry nodded. “How very curious, although her diligence in this matter must obviously have something to do with her telling me she’s decided it was time to make amends for some grievance she didn’t elaborate on.” He gestured to the ladder. “After hearing that, I offered to fetch her a cup of tea. Imagine my surprise when I returned, and instead of finding her sitting on a pew, she’d helped herself to that ladder and . . . she’s been up there ever since.” He leaned closer. “I suggested she return to the ground, but her only response to that suggestion was a sniff. Maybe you’ll have more success at getting her off the ladder.”

  Tilting her head, Gertrude considered Mrs. Davenport for a long moment, having no idea how to go about the feat of getting Mrs. Davenport off the ladder, especially when it was becoming clear the lady was in one of her determined moods. Taking a single step forward, Gertrude froze when Mrs. Davenport suddenly stretched to reach the very top of the shepherd’s head she was polishing, the stretching sending the ladder tilting to the right.

  Before Gertrude could call out a warning, Mrs. Davenport hurtled through the air, right as Harrison raced past her as the ladder began to fall.

  An umph sounded a second later when Harrison caught her in a way that seemed all but impossible. Staggering under Mrs. Davenport’s weight, he lurched out of the way as the ladder crashed to the ground, splintering into pieces.

  Gathering Mrs. Davenport against him, he turned toward Gertrude, sending her a wide-eyed look that clearly suggested he was as surprised as anyone that he’d actually been able to catch Mrs. Davenport before she’d hit the ground. Walking over to join Gertrude and Reverend Perry, who seemed to be whispering a prayer of thanksgiving, Harrison lowered Mrs. Davenport to her feet, then took her hand in his, placing a kiss on it.

  “Honestly, Mrs. Davenport,” he began when Mrs. Davenport simply stared back at him with unblinking eyes. “You just took a goo
d ten years off my life. What say you and I agree you’ll leave feats such as attending to stained-glass windows to the people who actually know how to go about it?”

  Mrs. Davenport managed a nod in response before she raised a trembling hand and pushed aside a strand of black hair that was escaping its pins. “Excellent advice, my dear Harrison, although allow me to say that there aren’t many gentlemen who’d have been up for the task of saving me from what might have been a very nasty death.” She shook her head. “I’ve always heard people say they see their entire life pass before them when hurtling toward death, and I can now attest to the fact that that is nothing less than the truth, and . . .” She stopped talking as her gaze settled on Gertrude. “Goodness, Gertrude, you’ve been released from jail. But what are you doing here, and . . . you must loathe the very sight of me after what I’ve put you through.”

  Even though she’d been beyond put out with Mrs. Davenport of late, Gertrude simply didn’t have it in her to continue holding ill thoughts for a lady she cared about more than she’d admitted. Taking a step forward, she pulled Mrs. Davenport’s hands into her own and smiled. “I’m here because I’m worried about you, and no, I could never loathe you. I certainly don’t want to ever spend time in jail again, but because Mrs. Sinclair has dropped all charges against me, I can now hope that unpleasantness is firmly behind me.”

  “There’s still the matter of the missing items from the Manhattan Beach Hotel,” Agent McParland called from somewhere in the back of the church.

  Gertrude turned, but before she could respond to that, Temperance stalked into view, marching her way to join Agent McParland, who was standing in the middle of the aisle.

  “Do be quiet, Agent McParland,” Temperance said, stopping by the man’s side. She pointed to a pew, then when he didn’t move, took him by the arm and towed him rather forcefully into that pew before she turned back to Gertrude and gave a cheery wave. “Not to worry. I’ll keep Agent McParland well in hand while you settle matters between you and Mrs. Davenport. And it’s so lovely to discover you looking so well, Mrs. Davenport. I was certain we were going to discover something dreadful had happened to you, although that tumble you took was dreadful, but thank goodness Harrison was here to save the day.” With that, she plopped down on the pew next to Agent McParland, where she began whispering furiously to him behind her hand.

  “Goodness, but what has happened to Miss Flowerdew, and . . . do not say that is a Pinkerton detective with her, the one who I believe was hired a few months back to assist Asher Rutherford when he ran into some trouble,” Mrs. Davenport said in a voice that was no louder than a whisper.

  Gertrude pulled her attention away from where Temperance was now arguing with Agent McParland and found that while she’d been distracted, Harrison had taken Mrs. Davenport’s arm and was helping her into a pew.

  “Temperance has apparently decided to come out of her wallflower shell,” Harrison explained, taking a seat right next to Mrs. Davenport and pulling her hand into his. “As for Agent McParland, there’s no need for us to delve into what he’s doing here quite yet. You’re still looking a little peaked, a direct result of that nasty plunge you took from the ladder. Because I’ve some experience with ladies who’ve landed in all sorts of nerve-wracking adventures, I know just the remedy to set you to rights again.” He smiled a charming smile. “Stories are the best ways to recover one’s composure, and luckily for you, I’ve been told I have a flair for storytelling, especially those concerning pirates.”

  Mrs. Davenport reached up and patted Harrison’s cheek. “I do love a good pirate tale, but I’m afraid I have no idea why you’d offer to help me regain my composure with a story. I’m certain you’re aware by now that I treated myself to possessions that didn’t belong to me on board your Cornelia, abusing the hospitality you extended me in the process. Why, I’m surprised you didn’t simply allow me to drop to the ground instead of catching me. At my age, such a fall would have been almost guaranteed to do me in, but . . . you saved me, and at great personal risk. That ladder could have cracked you right over the head, rendering you senseless.”

  Harrison completely ignored all of that as his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Since the idea of pirates seems to have sent your thoughts dwelling on matters I was hoping to distract you from, allow me to return to my comment about Temperance abandoning her shell.” His lips curved. “Did I mention I believe she’s done so because of that unexpected encounter with Mr. Gilbert Cavendish at the Manhattan Beach Hotel? From what little Gilbert told me, he and Temperance were fast friends growing up and even spent holidays together because their parents were fast friends as well.”

  Mrs. Davenport blinked, her eyes turning suspiciously bright again. She drew in a deep breath, and then squared her shoulders and smiled somewhat wobbily. “You’re a kind man, Harrison Sinclair, which is incredibly rare in a gentleman as attractive as you. And because I’m not yet ready to discuss what I need to discuss, that being my horrible behavior of late and, well, forever, I’ll join you in a discussion of Mr. Gilbert Cavendish. Although—” she tilted her head—“isn’t he rumored to be in line for a title of the aristocratic sort, and isn’t he the gentleman Miss Clementine Flowerdew began making eyes at while we were sailing back to the city on the Cornelia?”

  “I thought Clementine only had eyes for me,” Harrison said before he released an exaggerated sigh. “Just goes to show how one can never believe all of those rumors swirling about town.”

  Mrs. Davenport, who was beginning to regain some of the color in her cheeks, grinned. “Don’t let your guard down, my boy. Clementine Flowerdew is the type of lady to pursue more than one option when it comes to what she wants for her future. She’s probably making a list right this very moment, comparing your attributes with those of Mr. Cavendish.”

  As Harrison and Mrs. Davenport launched into a discussion about the peculiar natures of women and how Harrison didn’t believe he understood the intricacies of dealing with feminine intrigues, Gertrude found herself completely mesmerized by the man. Here he was, doing his very best to distract a woman who’d caused more than her fair share of trouble as of late, and he was actually achieving success with that distraction.

  There was no longer any denying her fascination with the gentleman, especially because it was next to impossible to not be fascinated with a man capable of catching a woman in mid-air. That he’d done so with barely a grimace only added to the impressiveness of the gesture and gave additional credence to the idea that he was certainly an extraordinary gentleman. Granted, he was still far above the reach of an ordinary lady like herself, but it wasn’t a crime to dream, and in all honesty, Harrison Sinclair had been spending more than his fair share of time in her dreams of late.

  He’d been born with a face that caused ladies to swoon, but he was in possession of something much more significant than a handsome face—a caring and compassionate heart.

  He was kind, gentle, and sympathetic, and was perfectly willing to show empathy toward a woman who’d stolen from him, instead of judging her and demanding explanations about why she’d done what she’d done.

  It was as if he instinctively understood the needs of those around him, even though he made the claim time and again that he was incapable of comprehending the feminine mind.

  As she continued to watch him, Gertrude realized that while she’d admitted to falling slightly in love with Harrison Sinclair, the reality was it might be more than slightly. And even knowing there was relatively little hope he’d ever return that love, she could not, or would not, regret falling in love with him because . . .

  “And while I enjoy delving into the mysteries of the feminine mind,” Mrs. Davenport said, rising to her feet and pulling Gertrude directly back to the situation at hand, “I believe it’s time I explain myself to the one person I’ve abused most assiduously over the past few years.” She turned to Gertrude, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I know I have no right to ask you to hear me out, my dear, bu
t I’m hoping that by telling you a little about my past, it might allow you some insight regarding why I’ve subjected you to so many unusual schemes throughout the years.”

  When Harrison got to his feet and moved out of the pew to make room for her, Gertrude didn’t hesitate to take his place. Joining Mrs. Davenport, she sat on the hard pew, waiting for the older woman to get settled before she raised an expectant brow her way.

  Mrs. Davenport smoothed out the folds of her skirt. “I’m not certain where I should begin.”

  Gertrude nodded to the stained-glass window. “Why don’t you explain what significance that window holds for you, or why you’d bother cleaning it when you and I both know domestic tasks have never appealed to you.”

  Looking at the window for a long moment, Mrs. Davenport’s lips thinned. “My husband purchased that window for the church to honor the birth of our daughter. He was very particular about how it was to be cleaned, once going so far as to reprimand me when he noticed smudges on it, making the ridiculous claim those smudges were due to negligence on my part. When he then suggested I take over the care of the window, I refused, and I’ve not lifted a finger until today to so much as brush a speck of dust away from the glass.”

  With questions already crowding her thoughts, Gertrude asked the first one to pop front and center. “But why lift a finger today?”

  Mrs. Davenport bit her lip. “I’m not sure. It just seemed like something I needed to do to begin making amends for the actions of my past.”

  Reverend Perry suddenly stepped from the shadows, moving to stand directly in front of the pew they were sitting in. “Forgive me for chiming in, Mrs. Davenport, but I’ve been considering your actions with the window. It occurred to me that you may very well have been trying to dust away something unpleasant from your life, using a window you once refused to clean as a symbolic way to cleanse you of the guilt you obviously feel about that unpleasantness.”