Whispers in the Reading Room

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  It was as if he couldn’t wait to leave her side. It was as if everything that had occurred between them had never happened.

  “Miss Bancroft, I almost forgot to give you this,” Mr. Hunt said as he handed her a thick envelope. “Please accept this with, uh, Mr. Marks’ regards.”

  “What is it?”

  Looking pained, Mr. Hunt said, “It’s several thousand dollars.”

  She almost dropped the envelope. It was a princely sum. “Please say you jest.”

  “Mr. Marks wanted to make sure you are taken care of. Open it, miss.”

  Though she didn’t want to even hold the envelope, she did as Mr. Hunt asked. But when she lifted the envelope’s flap and looked inside, she wished she would have dropped it on the floor.

  She hoped she never would know the exact amount it represented. Because its contents were merely proof that she had not only made a bad mistake to ever reach out to Sebastian Marks, she’d made a very terrible mistake to ever think she could trust him.

  “I could never accept this,” she announced, practically shoving it back into Mr. Hunt’s hands.

  “You should keep it, miss. He is determined to make sure you are compensated for your time.”

  Her heart was crushed. “Absolutely not,” she replied, drawing out the words so that every single syllable was enunciated with force. “Please inform him that I will never take his money.”

  “This will not make Mr. Marks happy.”

  “That is none of my concern.” Feeling remarkably brave, she added, “You may tell him that too.”

  Mr. Hunt looked pained. “While it is none of your concern, I must tell you that I would rather do a great many things than relay that message.”

  “Keep it,” Sebastian bit out from the doorway. “You need it.”

  Despite his gruff tone, she thought perhaps he had returned to apologize for how badly he had treated her, but seeing the displeasure in his face, she shivered. No, he wanted to ensure she’d take the money from Hunt to make himself feel better. Then she reminded herself that she had not ended things between them. He had. He was the man who sought her friendship, led her to believe that she was worthy of his time, and then promptly tossed her to one side. “I do not.”

  “Lydia, you have nothing.”

  Oh, but his words stung.

  He was right. Now that he’d left her alone, now that her reputation was ruined, she would soon have no job. The library board members would undoubtedly let her go. Her mother was upset with her, and why wouldn’t she be? Soon they would have no home.

  Finally, most important, the one man she’d ever loved would soon be gone forever.

  She did, indeed, have practically nothing. Except for one very important thing.

  “I have my pride,” she uttered.

  He laughed.

  And because he laughed, and because she wished to hurt him as much as she was bleeding inside, she added, “How dare you even think to give me such tainted bills?”

  He stilled. “Tainted?”

  “Tainted. It means spoiled. Ruined. Polluted.”

  “Don’t you dare start defining words to me.”

  “You don’t have the right to tell me anything anymore. But you should know that the very last thing I’ll ever want from you is money made from other men’s gambling and vices.”

  His eyes lit. “What was the first thing you did want, Lydia?”

  She had wanted him. “You are right, Mr. Marks,” she said quietly. “I was better off not knowing you. Please leave.”

  His lips pursed as she felt his glare sear into her very soul before he at last turned and strode through the front door, his assistant on his heels.

  The moment the front door slammed, her mother stood up.

  “I hope you are happy,” she announced, her voice filled with barely suppressed rage. “You have now embarrassed me to no end. Not only have you been dropped by not one but two men, you have left us destitute. We are going to lose our home. I am going to lose my home.” With shaking hands, she pressed them to her face. “How can you be so cavalier? How could you do such a thing to me?”

  “You don’t understand what is happening.”

  “I understand enough.”

  Lydia rushed to her side. “Mother, please. Let me tell you what Sebastian Marks is really like. Then you’ll understand. Then you’ll understand why—”

  “Does it matter, Lydia? Does casting your airs and judgments really give you that much satisfaction?” As each word sliced into all the places where Sebastian’s hadn’t yet reached, Lydia clenched her fists at her side. “You have given up my maid and any hope we had of paying our bills. You have ruined your reputation. You have cost us everything. Everything. And yes, our pride too. You are fooling yourself even more than you usually do if you imagine that we have that. So what, then, do we have now? What in the world do we have left now?”

  Before Lydia could fathom an answer, she turned and gingerly climbed the stairs, each step bringing her to the safety of her bedroom.

  Each step serving to make Lydia feel that she had never been more alone.

  Or maybe, now that so many people had left her side, she realized for the first time that for most of her life, she had always been that way.

  She had always been alone.

  CHAPTER 33

  I am certainly glad that is over,” Mr. Marks bit out as he practically pounded each step with the point of his umbrella as they descended the Bancrofts’ front steps. His expression was hard while his dark eyes looked almost black.

  Vincent glanced warily at Bridget. He was worried about her safety. Their employer was looking as rough and dangerous as any of the dockworkers on the river. Though he’d never treated his workers with anything but cool respect, Vincent also realized that Sebastian Marks had also never received such a letdown before.

  Well, at least not in Vincent’s hearing.

  “Bridget, are you all right?” he murmured.

  Before she could reply, Mr. Marks seemed to catch sight of her suitcase. “Take Bridget’s valise, Hunt.”

  Vincent took it. “Where to now?” he asked as Mr. Marks started walking down the street. “The club or the hotel?” That was about the only safe thing he could think to ask.

  Everything else running through his head was either inappropriate or would reveal too much about himself and his feelings. All he did know was that he didn’t feel good about what had just happened.

  Miss Bancroft had looked crushed. And his employer? Well, his employer was no doubt crushed on the inside.

  “I am going to take a walk.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vincent glanced warily at Bridget. She looked just as taken aback.

  “Hunt, you will see Bridget back to the hotel.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Marks? Shall I return to my duties, sir?” Bridget asked hesitantly.

  “Hmm?” Mr. Marks stopped and turned to face her. His expression was completely blank.

  “At the hotel, sir,” Bridget explained. “Would you like me to return to my duties there?”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “All right. I’ll do that.” She tried to smile, but anyone on the street could have guessed that her heart was neither happy nor at ease.

  In fact, Bridget looked as uncomfortable as Vincent was starting to feel. Not only was Mr. Marks behaving badly, he was also behaving oddly. The combination caused a foreboding knot to form in his insides.

  Therefore, he did the only thing he could think to do. Offer to be of service. “I’ll go to the club after I drop her off.”

  “The club?” Mr. Marks stared at him vacantly. “There’s no need for that.” His throat worked as if he was trying hard to speak. “You might as well simply head home.”

  “Home?” This was beyond irregular.

  Marks looked at him inquisitively. “Don’t you ever miss your child, Vincent?” he asked. “Her name is Mary, yes?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, yes, that’s her name.”
And because he sounded so flustered, he added, “Yes, I do miss her.”

  Mr. Marks made his usual impatient, waving motion with his hands. “Then go on with you. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “But it’s Friday. You mean tomorrow, yes? So we will be open for the weekend?”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean Monday. With the murder and the police around, we need to keep the club closed. The police have always known there was gambling, but something tells me that it wouldn’t be wise to push it in their faces right now.” He smiled weakly. “Spend some time with your daughter.”

  “Sir, are you heading back to the Hartman?”

  “I’ve told you before not to question me, Hunt.”

  “Forgive me.” Vincent barely had time to answer before his boss had turned away. Almost immediately, he turned down an alley and disappeared from sight.

  “Poor Mr. Marks,” Bridget said as she stared at the spot where Mr. Marks had disappeared. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

  Vincent hadn’t either. “Perhaps he simply needs some time to himself.”

  “He’s not heading to the Hartman. Where do you think he’s off to?”

  “I couldn’t begin to guess. The only time I’ve ever seen him dart down that alley is when he had business down in the tenements.” He shrugged. “Perhaps he has some business we are unaware of,” he added as they resumed walking.

  “Now? I doubt that.”

  “Well, then, maybe he is going to reconsider things,” Vincent offered, though he didn’t really believe that.

  “He’s not,” she said firmly. “Mr. Marks doesn’t change his mind. Ever.”

  Bridget was right about that. If there was anything Vincent knew about Sebastian Marks, it was that he stayed on course. No matter what, he didn’t look back. He didn’t have regrets, and he didn’t try to second-guess himself.

  “There isn’t any use in guessing what’s going to happen or worrying about things,” he said, attempting to interject a note of confidence in his words. “Come Monday, things will be back to how they once were.”

  “I don’t know if I can go back.”

  “You mean to the hotel? I’m sure it will be fine. You seemed happy enough there.”

  “I mean any of it. I don’t know if I can become nearly invisible again.”

  “You enjoyed being a ladies’ maid that much?”

  “No. But I enjoyed talking to Miss Bancroft. I even enjoyed listening to her mother’s stories and complaints. I was needed. Needed in a way Mr. Marks will never need another soul.”

  Vincent was surprised. Not that she felt that way but to hear her admit as much. He refrained from commenting on it however. After all, one of them had to be the voice of reason, even if it was silent.

  Vincent hadn’t expected to feel so empty inside. When he’d first witnessed Mr. Marks’ infatuation with the librarian, he’d been both relieved to see that the man was human and did have a need for relationships. Then that feeling had given way to dismay and irritation.

  Vincent hadn’t appreciated the way Lydia Bancroft had disrupted their finely organized life. She’d thrown a wrench into their wheel and in doing so had changed his boss, his boss’s priorities, and even Vincent’s friendship and relationship with Bridget.

  But now that Mr. Marks had ended things with Miss Bancroft and the three of them were a tightly woven unit again, Vincent felt empty inside. Hollow, as if someone had taken an integral part of him and thrown it away. What was missing? He wondered. Was it Miss Bancroft? Or was it that feeling that nothing mattered except work?

  He was suddenly coming to the conclusion that everything mattered, and he somehow had forgotten that over the last couple of years.

  “Here we are,” Bridget said unnecessarily as she took her valise from him. “I’ll, um, slip in through the back entrance like I always do.”

  Seeing her slim arm clutching her belongings like they were in danger of being snatched, her brown hair looking as beautiful as ever . . . and her matching brown eyes looking as desolate as their employer’s, Vincent could no longer prevent himself from asking the question on his lips. “Will you be okay, Bridget?”

  She blinked. “Yes.”

  Her affirmative answer should have been enough. “Sure?”

  “Sure enough. I, uh, decided something while we were walking.”

  “What is that?”

  Her chin lifted. “I’m going to quit. And then I’m going to find something different to do.”

  The thought of the loss of her was almost too difficult to grasp. “Like what?” he scoffed. “What are you qualified to do?”

  She flinched. “You may not think I’m good for much besides cleaning chamber pots and ironing shirts, but I have most of my money saved. I was smart enough to put it in the bank and it’s a good sum. Good enough to find a room in a boarding house for a couple of months while I figure things out.”

  “But what about Mr. Marks? You’re simply going to abandon him?” He was really thinking of himself.

  “Of course not. If he’ll let me, I’d still like to be his friend.”

  “He has no friends.”

  “He has you and me. That’s a start, don’t you think?”

  “If you want to remain his friend, then why are you leaving?”

  “When I first started working for him, I was desperate. I clung to my job like the lifeline it was. But I feel stronger now.”

  He still didn’t understand. Or, maybe more to the point, he didn’t want to understand. If he did, he would have to allow her to move on. “Bridget, think about what you are considering.”

  “I am.” Though a muscle in her jaw jumped, she spoke in an even voice. “Mr. Marks told me over a year ago that I owed him nothing, and in fact never had. I was the one who always felt that I couldn’t leave.”

  “But now—”

  “Now I know I can’t stay.” Grimacing, she added, “I can’t simply live my life in fear.”

  “I didn’t know you were afraid.” Alarm coursed through him at someone even contemplating hurting her. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’ve been afraid to face facts, Vincent. For too long, I’ve been afraid to imagine what else I could do. I was even afraid to remember that I have self-worth. God didn’t make just some of us worthy and others of us good for nothing beyond being barely invisible.”

  “Will I still see you Monday?”

  She nodded. “I’ll report to Mr. Marks Monday, and then I’ll give him a few days’ notice. Plus I’m going to have to find a different place to live.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. You deserve a better life than simply staying on the sidelines and blending in.”

  “That’s what I’m good at.”

  But she never had blended in to him. From the moment Mr. Marks had hired Bridget O’Connell, Vincent had been aware of where she was, what she was wearing, and how she seemed to be feeling. He hated the thought of her disappearing from his life altogether.

  “Good-bye, Vincent.”

  “Not good-bye yet,” he corrected. “Simply good day.”

  “Yes. Good day.”

  As he walked away, Vincent knew he’d think of her smile for the rest of the day. And what the loss of it was going to feel like for the rest of his life.

  “That was a very sweet scene,” Sergio Vlas said as he stepped from the shadows of the Hartman Hotel. “Better than some of the shows that played at the fair. I’d clap, but I fear it might hurt your feelings.”

  Bridget’s mouth went dry as she stared at the man who was both Mr. Marks’ competitor in business and reluctant “friend” in life. “Ah, Mr. Vlas, hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”

  Her words seemed to amuse him. “I didn’t expect you to. I doubt Marks’ able assistant would have wanted anyone to witness your pretty speech. He’s always struck me as being quite attached to you.”

  Tilting his head to one side, Sergio slowly let his gaze slide from her eyes to her l
ips. Then lower. “So, tell me. Was your soliloquy sincere? Or was it merely something to tell Mr. Vincent Hunt to let him down easily? I wasn’t sure.”

  As usual, she felt as if the Russian was seeing too much. And was he jealous?

  “Did you need something, Mr. Vlas?”

  His eyes softened. “Though seeing you always has its benefits, I actually came here to offer you my services. And please, call me Sergio.”

  She was stunned. And a little frightened. “I am not certain what services of yours I might need . . . Sergio.”

  “We both know that you’re lying now, Bridget,” he said as he stepped closer to her. His expensive cologne wafted toward her, reminding her that he had almost as much money as Sebastian Marks.

  He had never courted society however.

  Which was just as well. No matter how many years passed, he spoke in a careful, clipped way that spoke volumes about him. She’d always wondered if he was so careful with his enunciation because English was his second language, or if that was simply the way he enjoyed speaking.

  His golden-colored eyes fastened on hers. “Bridget, with all the drama at the Silver Grotto, I suspected that you might be leaving Sebastian Marks’ employment. I came here on the off chance that you might need me now.”

  “That . . . that is very kind of you,” she said, eager to say anything to end the conversation and move away from him.

  “I am many things, Bridget. However, I am never kind.” When she shivered, he blinked slowly. “Forgive me, I misspoke. I am never kind. I never feel kindness toward anyone. Except for you.”

  Shocked by his declaration, her lips parted. “Sergio—”

  He stepped closer, then softly pressed three bare fingers against her lips. “Don’t say a word, Bridget. I know you are too good for me.”

  “Too good? Mr. Vlas, I am merely a maid.” She wasn’t even exactly that. She was almost a secret employee of Mr. Marks, doing his bidding in the shadows of his life.

  “You are more than that, dear.” He smiled then, showing off his shocking display of crooked, gleaming white teeth. “At least, you’ve been that way to me. Just remember that you are not alone. Remember that I am always available to you. No strings attached.”