Heaving a deep breath of relief, Ethan slipped through the door to Lettie’s bedroom and closed it behind him. Then, as the panicked energy he’d felt began to subside, he wearily climbed the steps and moved across the broad expanse of floor in the middle of the garret. Lifting a hand to his brow, he winced when he saw that his fingers shook slightly.
Damn. He’d nearly been caught that time.
Impatient with his own outward show of weakness, Ethan drew the bonnet from his head and walked to the center of the room, gazing around him at the familiar domain. In the last few days, he’d grown to hate this garret, grown to hate its hot confines, its sloping ceilings, its profusion of windows.
Yet, now, he couldn’t think of any place he would rather be.
Dropping the hat onto the bed, he reached to unfasten the collar of the mantle, stripping the heavy garment from his arms and tossing it in the direction of the bonnet, until he stood once again in his black trousers and Goldsmith’s voluminous shirt.
When the door opened, Ethan jerked, his arm automatically whipping to hold his revolver at a ready aim, even though, deep down, he knew Lettie was the only person with a key.
She topped the stairs and eyed the revolver with startled concern. But her concern was tempered with the dregs of her own fear.
Something sober and just a little frightening shivered through Ethan’s system when he realized this girl cared for him. She truly cared for him. Not as a thief to be captured, not as a McGuire to be respected, but as a man.
Lettie slowly smiled, and to Ethan, her smile seemed more welcoming than the sanctuary of the garret. Somehow, though he didn’t know why, her smile represented hope. Hope that he could find a way out of this mess and make a future for himself. An honorable future.
When he didn’t speak, Lettie gestured to the revolver he still held pointed at her chest.
“Jumpy?”
“A little,” he admitted grudgingly after a slight hesitation. Taking a deep breath to still his hammering heart, he lowered the weapon to his side.
Lettie placed a pail of water at the top of the steps and gazed at him consideringly for a moment before saying, “You’ll be safe here.”
“For how long?” he inquired bitterly. “It’s only a matter of time before someone in this house discovers I’m here.”
She didn’t have any answers for him, and he finally turned away, slipping his revolver back into its holster. Outside, the sound of the manhunt had subsided somewhat. The cursing of men and thunder of hooves had become more distant, but no less disturbing.
“I think it’s time I stopped this,” Ethan muttered, turning toward the window but knowing he couldn’t even look out for fear someone outside would see him. A bubbling frustration built within him and he swore, then swore again. “Dammit! Who’s doing this to me? What have I done to deserve being hunted like a rabid dog for someone else’s crimes?”
He heard Lettie move closer in an attempt to placate him, but he spun away, striding to the opposite side of the garret. “I’ve spent enough time cooped up in this damned attic! Even now, I feel the walls closing in on me.” He turned again, stabbing the air with an outstretched finger. “I want to get even. Hell! I want the person responsible for this to pay. In spades!”
Lettie opened her mouth, then hesitated before finally saying, “I think I have a couple of ideas.”
Ethan regarded her with sudden interest, feeling the embers of hope within him beginning to take spark. “Well?” he prompted, when she didn’t speak right away.
“I could go to my brother and provide you with an alibi.”
Ethan shook his head. “They think I’m training an accomplice. Besides which, the moment the Star got wind of my whereabouts, I’d be a dead man.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s your other idea?”
Lettie smoothed her hands down her skirts. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
He waved her objections aside. “Now’s not the time to get shy on me, Lettie.”
“Someone is evidently trying to trap you, copying your methods as the Gentleman and—” She stopped when he regarded her in sudden suspicion. “I’ve known you’re the true Gentleman Bandit for some time.”
“You know?” he echoed in confusion. “How?”
“I may be young, but I’m not stupid.” She stepped toward him. “As a little girl, I remember hiding on the stairs and hearing my brother rant and rave about the Gentleman. I am not so scatterbrained that I’m unable to put two and two together. My brother has begun looking for the Gentleman, and you are going to a great deal of effort to avoid him. You are the Gentleman Bandit—or at least you were years ago. But you weren’t the man who stole that gold in Carlton two weeks ago, or in Petesville, or Dewey, or Eastbrook months before that. And you didn’t injure that deputy, or murder Jeb Clark.”
He took a deep breath, shaking his head in amazement—yet why he was so surprised by her insight, he didn’t know. From the beginning, Lettie had seemed to sense more about his past and his character than anyone else he’d ever known. He took a deep breath, and the anger and frustration within him subsided somewhat beneath a slow blossoming of purpose. “My apologies if I insulted your intelligence. So, what do you suggest I do to get out of this?”
She plucked at the edge of the pocket of her apron, staring at it as if it held the secrets of the world, then glanced up, her expression determined. “I think it’s time you went out into the community to do a little sniffing around. Since the robberies are occurring within a twenty-mile radius of Madison, I think the culprit has to be here, in this town, don’t you?”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed, realizing that he hadn’t been the only person who’d noted that fact in the recent months. He watched as a slow, mischievous smile slipped across her features and seeped into her eyes. At once, Ethan was reminded of Lettie’s youth and the impulsiveness she’d displayed more than once on his behalf.
“I just checked an Agnes Magillicuddy into room five—last door on the women’s wing, next to the back stairs landing. If anyone happened to see us return, they’ll believe it was our new… reclusive boarder.”
She lifted a key from her apron pocket and tossed it to Ethan. He caught it easily and peered at the tip, discovering that an elaborate numeral five had been engraved in the brass.
“Mrs. Magillicuddy has recently suffered the loss of a loved one and wishes to be alone,” Lettie continued. “All alone. She will not be dining with the rest of the boarders and has agreed to pay a substantial sum in order to have her meals brought to her on a tray.” The tilt of her lips lifted even more in a slow, self-satisfied smile. “A stroke of brilliance, wouldn’t you say?” she asked, referring to her attempt at subterfuge.
“I have a feeling we haven’t reached the part I’m not going to like yet.”
“Well… no.”
Ethan took a step forward. “Am I right in assuming that your plan has something to do with the mysterious Mrs. Magillicuddy?”
“Well, yes.”
A slow wave of suspicion began to seep into his mind, but Ethan pushed it away. No. Lettie couldn’t possibly think that he would… that he could…
“Lettie, I won’t do it,” he growled.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to suggest I—”
Lettie’s smile became an audacious grin and her eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “I think Mrs. Magillicuddy should be seen on occasion in town, don’t you? Just to keep people from suspecting…” Her words trailed away, and she reached into the deep pocket of her apron to remove two switches of thick black hair.
Ethan shook his head from side to side in fierce refusal. “No. I won’t do it.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve also obtained a corset and a pair of… um… false bosoms for your use.”
“I will not dress up like—”
“Your equipment was supplied by non
e other than Mrs. Silas Gruber, Grey Boardinghouse’s infamous Lady of the Manor. Be careful what you reach for when you’re with Natalie. It’s not all real.”
“Lettie.”
“Of course, we’ll have to find you a few changes of clothing, but there aren’t that many more days until wash day. I’m sure something will manage to get lost between the pot, the line, and the boarders’ armoires.”
“Lettie, I am not dressing up like a woman!” Ethan muttered fiercely, then quickly lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “I won’t.”
“Yes, you will. Just once or twice,” Lettie coaxed. “Just enough to give the ruse some credibility.”
When she advanced toward him, Ethan began to back away, wary of the spark of humor that still gleamed in her eyes.
“I won’t,” he insisted again.
“It’s the only way you’ll get into town unnoticed.”
He regarded her with stubborn refusal. “No.”
She huffed in irritation. “Then you’ll spend the rest of your life in this garret—unless Jacob finds you first.”
Ethan swore, lifting his head to glare at the ceiling as if searching for any other alternative.
Lettie dropped her teasing facade and moved across the room to lay her hand on his arm. “It’s the only way, Ethan.”
Ethan knew it was not the only way. He’d managed to slip away from the boardinghouse several times before. But Lettie was correct in the fact that he would not obtain much information that way. He needed to get into Madison proper. He needed to be free to visit the robbery site in Carlton—as well as the site of the robbery that had occurred only hours before.
He glanced down at her, his expression gradually changing from stubborn refusal, to disbelief, to acceptance. “No one is going to believe I’m a woman,” he muttered one last time.
“They’d better,” she warned. When he sighed, she pressed her point. “Tonight proved that these robberies aren’t going to stop even if you manage to leave the area. The Star Council suspects you. No matter where you go—unless we find a way to clear your name—you’ll spend the rest of your life waiting for the Star to catch up to you.”
He knew she was right, but something within him still resisted. “But … a woman?”
“In the next few days Madison will be in an uproar. With two robberies so close to one another…” Her voice trailed away as she realized just how serious Ethan’s position had become now that Jeb Clark had been killed. “With two robberies and Jeb Clark’s death, there’ll be enough strangers coming into town for the funeral services for you to slip unnoticed through the crowd.”
“Why couldn’t I dress up as an old man?”
“They’ll be looking for a man, Ethan. They’d never look for a woman.”
Ethan cringed away from the idea, trying to imagine himself cavorting around town in skirts and a bonnet.
Hell.
“It’s the only way, Ethan.”
He studied her, his brow furrowed.
“You said yourself that you’ve got to do something.”
He sighed.
“My brother’s not stupid, Ethan. He’s suspected that you’ve been hiding nearby for some time. One of these days, he’ll burst through that door without any warning and you won’t have time to get to the roof. You’ve got to do something before that happens.”
“As Mrs. Magillicuddy,” he added slowly.
“As Mrs. Magillicuddy.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. When he still hesitated, she pressed her advantage, sensing that he was weakening to the idea. “Someone on the Star Council knows who you are and probably what you look like. Even if we tried to disguise you as an old man, there’s a chance they could recognize you. But they won’t look twice at a woman. It’s the only way.”
Ethan took a deep breath, considering the plan from all sides. Although he hated the idea of flouncing through town in women’s clothing, he had to admit Lettie’s thinking was sound. By dressing in skirts, a bonnet, and veil, he could walk through Madison, listen to the theories being bandied about, visit the sites of the latest robberies. And maybe, just maybe, he could begin tracking the person responsible for putting him in this mess. But… dress as a woman?
“I won’t see you killed, Ethan McGuire.”
He looked down to find Lettie staring at him with sober eyes. Desperate eyes.
Not for the first time, Ethan realized that this woman cared about him. Perhaps just a little too much.
With a sigh of acceptance, he reached to draw her into his arms, pulling her tightly against him. She wrapped her arms about his neck, clinging to him as if she feared he could be discovered at that very moment.
And Ethan found himself wondering what it was about this woman that made him consider abandoning his masculine dignity… just so that he could prove himself honorable in her eyes.
Chapter 12
Darkness hung about Jacob’s shoulders like an inky mantle, pressing in upon him with a relentlessness he found difficult to withstand. A few moments before, he’d met Gerald Stone at the old mill. But rather than lead Jacob directly to the Star’s whereabouts, Gerald had pulled an old flour sack over Jacob’s head and led his horse into the night.
Within minutes, Jacob’s stomach had become a knot of apprehension. Within a quarter of an hour, his hands were icy, filmed with a clammy layer of sweat that even the leather of his gloves could not absorb. The horses moved at an achingly slow gait. If it weren’t for the gentle rock of the saddle, Jacob would have wondered if they were moving at all.
For a few miles, he had tried to map in his head exactly where they were going. He’d been able to trace their path back to the main road, and then south, but Gerald Stone began to lead their mounts in a tangled maze of directions, until Jacob had no idea where they were or where they were headed. His only comfort was the occasional gurgle of the creek and the lazy grup-crup of the frogs. But soon even that comfort seemed hazy and far removed.
Without warning, the gait of his horse grew even slower, then came to a complete stop. Drawing a deep breath of air that was tainted slightly with the powdery smell of flour and the stench of his own sweat, Jacob reached to lift the hood from his head but was stopped by the metal of Stone’s revolver pressing none too gently against his throat.
“No. Leave it on.”
Jacob’s hands spread wide and drifted back to his sides.
“Dismount.”
Grasping the pommel of his saddle, Jacob swung from his horse, stumbling slightly when he stepped onto rocky soil. He found himself adrift in confusion when someone led his horse away, and Jacob was left alone and defenseless in a world of black shadows and hazy imaginings. Sweat began to trickle between his shoulder blades with a prickling unease. He wondered how much longer this would go on before someone explained what this was all about.
Suddenly, his revolver was whipped from his holster. Jacob whirled, reaching out to grasp the person responsible, but his hands encountered nothing but empty air.
Gerald’s voice floated to him through the darkness. “No use reaching for ghosts,” he said. Jacob heard the crunch of footsteps against the rocky ground. Then he was taken by the elbow and led forward.
“Step up.”
Lifting his foot, Jacob hesitated a moment before his boot tip encountered the edge of a step and he climbed up.
“Again.”
Jacob complied, a little more easily this time.
“Now move forward.”
Resisting the urge to feel his way with his hands, Jacob allowed himself to be led through a splintered doorway and into what he assumed was some type of meeting room. The moment he crossed inside, something within him tightened, warning him that he was not alone but was being watched by a group of people. He sensed their gazes boring heavily into him from all sides, and Jacob felt the sweat began to bead his face and pool beneath his shirt.
The butt of Gerald’s revolver against his ribs urged him to continue walking. After a few steps, a pull upon his a
rm drew him to a stop.
“Sit.”
The scrape of a chair being dragged along the floor came from behind, and Jacob stumbled when it bumped into the back of his knees. He thumped heavily into the chair, then straightened. Unconsciously, he moved his hands to his sides, keeping them slightly away from his body should it prove necessary for him to drag the hood from his face and dodge out the door.
“Jacob Grey?”
Jacob stiffened at the sound of a deep raspy voice, one that seemed vaguely familiar—yet he couldn’t pinpoint where he had heard it before.
When he didn’t answer, the voice came again.
“You are Jacob Grey, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Marshall of Madison City?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
There was a murmur of voices, and Jacob sensed their disapproval of his lack of experience.
“And how did you obtain that position?”
A surge of fury cut through Jacob’s fear. “Now, see here!”
“Answer the question!”
The tip of a revolver was pressed none too subtly against his temple.
Stiffening, Jacob muttered, “I was appointed after the death of Morely Shipton.”
“That’s enough.”
The murmuring came again, but too softly for Jacob to hear beyond his own panting breaths.
“Jacob Grey,” the raspy voice began again, “are you familiar with the spurt of robberies that have been occurring in this vicinity for the last three months and those that occurred in this area of the state nearly five years ago?”
Jacob slowly straightened, gritting his teeth. “Yes.”
“Are you familiar with the methods used by the thief?”
“Yes.”
“You believe these methods to be the work of whom?”
Jacob hesitated.
“Do you believe these robberies to be the work of the Gentleman Bandit?”
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