“Yes, but few have his past.”
While that might have been true, it still didn’t explain why he would have been hauled down to the police station. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. “Vincent, what if the police are still trying to pin Avondale’s death on Mr. Marks?”
Hunt’s expression tightened, though Bridget couldn’t decide if it was from worry that Mr. Marks was being falsely accused or fear that she was right. “You are letting your imagination run away with you,” he said after a moment’s thought.
“He was injured, yet they still took him in for questioning.”
With a weary look, he sat down on the arm of an elegant wing chair, upholstered in a fine gray brocade. “I couldn’t begin to guess what the police are thinking.” After a moment, he said quietly, “Don’t forget that he’s a legitimate suspect for Avondale’s murder. We may need to come to terms with the idea that he could have had something to do with it. Miss Bancroft was asleep. He could have left the Grotto and then slipped back inside. Or he could have paid someone to do it.”
As she stared at Vincent, she felt as if she had never known him. “You can’t think that. Do you think that?”
“I don’t want to,” he said slowly. “But you have to remember that he is not a well-born, sheltered gentleman. He has grown up from the streets. It’s very likely that he’s killed before.”
She didn’t want to contemplate such a thing. But, just as strongly, she knew she had to face the fact that desperate people were capable of doing terrible things in desperate situations. She feared that she was capable of many crimes that she would not have imagined committing when she was a naïve, sheltered girl.
But that didn’t mean she was going to abandon her boss. “Vincent, we can’t simply wait for him to be released and give us further instructions. That seems like a terrible way to repay a man who has done so much for us.”
“I agree, but I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Perhaps we should go to the police station and ask to speak to him privately.” She was rather proud of how calm she sounded about that.
“Definitely not. And besides, what would we even say?”
“We could ask if he needed any help.”
Vincent rolled his eyes. “Sure. He is simply going to start telling us what to do, right there in front of the policemen.”
“I’ll find a way.”
One eyebrow arched. “How?”
“I’ll think of some way when we get there.”
“Bridget—”
“Don’t brush me off, Vincent. I want to help him. And even if he can’t be helped . . . well, I want to make sure he realizes he’s not forgotten. I don’t want him to think he’s all alone.”
“Bridget, your job is to wash his shirts and look after Miss Bancroft. He won’t thank you for neglecting your duties.”
“I’ve become more than that to him. I’m his friend.” Her mind still working, she quietly added, “And you know what? I don’t think he’s completely alone right now either.”
His expression tightened as he stared hard at her. “That is exactly right. And that’s also something he needs to remember. We are there for him. But there is also someone far more able than you or I to help in his times of trouble.”
His words were everything beautiful and yet, also everything she’d forgotten about for so very long. “You’re . . . you’re speaking of God, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “I think I am.” He shrugged. “I’m ashamed to admit that my faith has become quite rusty.”
Feeling stunned, Bridget sat down on the sofa. “I fear I have done much of the same thing. I’m afraid I have been shouldering my burdens like they were weights of gold.” She shook her head in wonder. “Why, it’s almost as if I’ve been afraid to realize that I don’t have to rely only on myself!”
Vincent sat on a chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We have been a sorry trio, haven’t we? All three of us have been struggling through our hardships and grasping for happiness like someone is going to pull it out from under us if we’re not careful.”
“All this time, I’ve been thanking Mr. Marks and feeling lucky that our paths crossed. Perhaps I should have taken the time to remember that our meeting hadn’t happened by coincidence.”
“I’ve given thanks that I have a job where I can garner respect, even though it’s the type of respect that’s laced with a healthy dose of fear.”
“Who knows what Mr. Marks’ prayers are?”
“Or if he’s ever prayed.”
“If he hasn’t, I wonder if he feels just as alone as each of us does half the time.”
“I hope not.” He sighed. “All I do know is that we need to pray. And we need to do what you said.”
“Go to the police station?”
He nodded. “You are right. No matter how Mr. Marks might feel about it, we are more than just two employees of his who expect a paycheck. We are his friends.”
Bridget smiled at him then. A wide, beaming smile that told tales of how pleased she was that they were about to do something—and so very pleased that she and Vincent were on the same page.
Getting to his feet, Vincent held out a hand. “Shall we go?”
“Mr. Hunt, I thought you would never ask.”
Sebastian had rarely been at a loss for words. But seeing both his assistant and maid sitting in a small room near the lobby of the police station did just that.
Their heads had popped up as he was escorted into the room by Detective Howard. And their twin expressions of worry and relief would have brought a smile to his cynical heart if he wasn’t so pleased—and relieved—to see them.
“I didn’t know we were going to meet here,” he tried to joke. Really, he was so touched to see them there, so late at night, he was torn between wanting to hug them both, give them raises, or berate them for putting themselves in this situation.
As always, Vincent took his comment seriously. “I tried to go upstairs to see you, sir, but they wouldn’t allow you to have visitors.”
“Well, I wasn’t brought here for a social call.” He clapped Vincent on the back. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, sir. Though, um, well, it was Bridget’s idea.”
Sebastian turned to his maid. Though she was as lovely as ever, she looked on the verge of tears. “Bridget, are you all right?”
“No, sir.”
Concerned, he took Vincent’s vacant seat. As eager as he was to see the last of this place, he wasn’t going to do anything until he saw that she was all right. “What is wrong? Do you need a physician?”
“Of course not, sir.”
Her voice was wobbly. Growing even more concerned, he looked at Vincent. His expression was serious too. “Bridget, talk to me.”
“I am fine, sir.”
Again, her words sounded as if she was forcing them through her lips. “Miss O’Connell, I fear we both know that is a lie. And as happy as I am to see you, I must relay that you look especially bad.”
“Oh, Mr. Marks,” she cried.
Then, to his horror, she threw her arms around his neck and began to weep. Bridget plastered her face to his shoulder and proceeded to dampen it.
Now thoroughly alarmed, he looked for Vincent.
His man was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. However, he didn’t look concerned. Instead, he looked rather entertained. He was also speaking quietly with Lieutenant Howard, who had just entered the room, no doubt to see what all the commotion was about.
Happy that Vincent, at least, didn’t seem to feel there was a reason to worry, Sebastian sighed and remained still as the maid clung to him a little more tightly. Like a barnacle.
Remembering that women appreciated words, he said, “There, Bridget. There, now.” When she simply continued her waterworks, he added gruffly, “Hush. That’s enough of that.”
Unfortunately, his tepid attempt to calm her did little good. She continued to cry.
As the wetness from Bridget’s tears continued to dampen his shirt, Sebastian came to the realization that stronger measures were in order. He pulled away and hardened his voice.
“Miss O’Connell, I must ask you to desist. You are now causing me great distress and, for that matter, truly soiling my shirt. It’s going to take you hours to launder it.”
He looked around the room. Instead of looking appalled, Howard seemed intrigued.
And Hunt? Well, he had gone from looking entertained to looking impressed.
Impressed? Not a bit about this visit made sense. Including the fact that Hunt and Bridget had gained admittance at all.
“Miss O’Connell, I trust you have calmed yourself?”
“I am trying.”
Sebastian looked to the men for help, but now even Howard was gone. The three of them were alone in the room. “Hunt, do you care to explain to me what just happened?”
After glancing at the door, Hunt said, “Bridget wanted to come help.”
“By dampening my shirt?”
“I’m sorry about that, sir,” Bridget said. “It was just a shock seeing you like this.”
“I was not arrested. I was only asked to make a statement about this attack.”
“So I heard,” Vincent said. “Lieutenant Howard just filled me in on the latest developments. He was rather vague, but seemed to be saying they may have some other leads in the case.”
Things were starting to make sense. “Did you two actually come here to get information?”
“We had to do what we could, sir,” Bridget said. “I didn’t want you to imagine you were alone.”
He wasn’t sure what Vincent could have found out or what was going to happen next. But an idea occurred to him. Perhaps Bridget had created a diversion so Vincent could get some answers. It was a heartwarming thought.
Surely few men could claim to have such loyal employees.
No, that wasn’t right. They were more than that. They were his friends. They were genuinely concerned for him.
“Sir, perhaps you’d like to return to the hotel?” Bridget asked hesitantly.
“I’m not sure if I can leave yet.”
“Lieutenant Howard said he was going to go sign the paperwork so you could leave as soon as possible, sir.”
Sebastian stood up. “I would like to do that. Very much.”
Five minutes later, they were allowed to walk out of the station. The cool air felt like heaven on his skin. He’d never been so thankful for freedom.
As they walked back to the Hartmann Hotel, he turned to Bridget. “Tell me about Lydia. How is she faring?”
“Right enough, I think. I left her sound asleep, sir.”
“She is all right? She wasn’t suffering any ill effects from today’s disastrous events?”
“Not that I could discern. I helped her bathe, then gave her some warm, honeyed milk to drink. Minutes later, she was sleeping like a baby.”
“At least there is that,” Sebastian said. Even though all of their lives were slowly falling apart, at least Lydia was going to be all right.
That gave him no end of comfort and almost made him happy.
Despite that he was about to break his own heart.
CHAPTER 32
The voice came again. Persistent.
“Miss Bancroft? Miss Bancroft, I’m sorry, I am. But you really must awaken.”
Lydia opened one eye, then two. Though everything was fuzzy, she knew Bridget was standing by her bedside. “Bridget?”
“Yes, miss.” She smiled. “I’m so glad you roused.”
She was not. “Thank you for waking me up, but I’m afraid I’m very tired this morning. I’m going to sleep in a bit longer.”
She closed her eyes and was just about ready to flip to her stomach and back to her cheerful, happy dreams when the maid cleared her throat. And then reached out and gave her shoulder a firm push.
“Miss Bancroft? I’m sorry, miss, but you really must get up now. You have company.”
That forced her eyes open again. “Who has come calling?”
“Well, um, quite a few people actually.” In an apologetic voice, she continued. “Mr. Marks is here. As is Mr. Hunt.”
Surely her head must be in a fog. “Sorry?”
“Mr. Marks is determined to see you, miss. You know that he’s not a man to say no to. Please get up.”
Thinking about Sebastian in her house, about everything they’d gone through and what he must want to speak to her about, she shook away the cobwebs in her head, pulled back the covers, and jumped to her feet.
Bridget heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you, miss. You were beginning to worry me, you were.”
“What about my mother? Is she aware of this?” Please say no. Please say no.
“I’m afraid so. She is downstairs too.”
Lydia raced to her wardrobe, pulled out her blue-and-white striped shirtwaist.
Bridget neatly pulled it from her hands. “I think your lavender day dress will be more appropriate.”
Lydia shook her head. “It’s hopelessly out of fashion; I never had it updated. And there’s a tear in the hem. And, um, a stain on the bodice.”
“I cleaned the stain, mended the hem, removed the lace, and refashioned the sleeves, miss. It will be just fine for today.”
“You are a marvel. I would love to ask when you had time to see to that, but I think we had best hurry downstairs before my mother makes things worse than they already are.”
Bridget, as usual, was already two steps ahead of her. Holding up Lydia’s chemise, she said, “I think that’s a good idea, Miss Bancroft.”
Less than twenty minutes later, Lydia was walking into her small receiving room, Bridget on her heels. She was so nervous about the group assembled that she didn’t even ask why Bridget was coming downstairs as well.
The moment Sebastian saw her, he crossed the room and took her hands. “Lydia. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Confused. What are you doing here? And shouldn’t you be in bed? Sebastian, you look terrible.”
He brushed aside her concern. “I am perfectly fine.”
“But, Sebastian—”
“I am glad you didn’t keep me waiting long. Hunt and I have several matters to attend to.”
He was making it sound as if she were one item on his list of chores. “I see.” Glancing over at her mother, she said, “Good morning, Momma.”
“Lydia.” She didn’t sound especially happy. Or well.
“Sebastian, what is it?”
“I came to tell you that we mustn’t see each other anymore.”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.” His voice, like his expression, was devoid of emotion.
“You are doing this here? And now?” She wanted to add that the least he could do was speak to her privately and save her from embarrassment.
But then she remembered that Sebastian Marks did little without extreme forethought and care. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“It is for the best. I have realized that I’ve put you in grave danger. I have also been unpardonably selfish. I should have never tried to be your friend. It was wrong of me.”
“But we are engaged.” Terribly aware that Bridget, Mr. Hunt, and her mother were all listening, she said, “Can’t we discuss this later? Or at least someplace else?”
“There is no reason.” He backed up. “You may continue to have Bridget working here. I will be happy to pay her salary.”
She felt as if he’d taken his hand and slapped her across the face. She was so confused and hurt—and stunned.
“Of course I will not have Bridget here.” Feeling painfully awkward, she turned to the pretty maid. “Thank you for caring for me and my mother, but I will no longer have need of your services.”
“Yes, miss
.” Bridget nodded, her face an impassive mask. “I will get some things together immediately. I may have to send for the rest.”
“Bridget, no,” Sebastian ordered.
“This is still my house,” Lydia countered. “Now, please leave.” Without a word to her, Bridget walked out of the room and up the stairs.
Turning back to him, dozens of questions burst forth, questions that she had hoped to keep tamped down and hidden. “Why are you doing this?”
“I have already answered. Surely you haven’t already forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten one thing. I haven’t forgotten how you wanted to be friends. How you begged me to marry you. How you single-handedly convinced me that everything was going to be all right, even in the midst of so many things going badly.”
“That is why it is best if we never see each other again.” He swallowed before settling his gaze on her again, pure ice in his expression. “This is for the best,” he stated, his voice clipped and eminently formal. “Perhaps one day you will understand.”
“I understand well right now,” she replied, her throat feeling as thick as if a jar of molasses had been poured down it. She continued, barely trusting her voice, but trusting herself to be completely honest with him at a later date even less. “Don’t forget, Mr. Marks, although I have many flaws, the Lord sought to provide me with an exceptionally good brain.”
“Did he? Because you seem to be deliberately misunderstanding the situation. You must agree that I am right.”
She didn’t agree with him at all. But she also knew him well enough not to try to change his mind. “Be sure that I understand everything you are saying.”
“Lydia, you cannot allow this to happen,” her mother said. “You are going to be ruined.”
“I know,” she replied softly, just as Bridget returned downstairs, her small valise in her hands. “But Mr. Marks no longer seems to care about my reputation.”
Without sparing Lydia a glance, Bridget said, “Mr. Marks, I’ll wait for you outside.”
Still not looking directly at Lydia, he said, “There is no need to wait. I am ready to take my leave now.” He turned on his heel and walked out to the door, opening it without a second’s pause. Or looking back at her.
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