Kissing Comfort

by Jo Goodman

  Comfort dropped like a stone on the window bench. She stared at him. “Surely not.”

  Bode pulled out the stool under his drawing table and sat, hooking one heel on a rung. “How much are you worth, Comfort? You. Tucker. Newton. What’s an estimate of your family’s holdings?”

  “Between three and a half and four million.”

  He whistled softly. “I really didn’t know, but it makes my point for me. Bram wouldn’t understand your astonishment at the size of his debt. What he owes isn’t a small percent of your total assets. Once you were married, he’d have expected to be able to put his hands on that money very quickly.”

  Comfort’s eyes dropped to her lap, her brow furrowing as she considered what she could do. She pleated her overskirt between her fingers and then smoothed it out again.

  “Don’t say it,” Bode said, watching her. “I know what you’re getting ready to propose. Don’t.”

  Her head snapped up. “But I could pay the debt. I could sell some stocks and bonds and—”

  “No.” Bode sliced the air with his hand. “I’ve done what you’re suggesting. It only fixes the immediate problem, not the one at the root of it all. I love my brother, Comfort, but I’m no longer willing to save him from himself. Not financially, not even if I could.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that spoke to weariness and frustration. “I can’t stop you from doing it, and I know you mean well, but it’s wrong. If you help him this time, you can expect that his debt will be half again as much in the future. My mother sold heirloom jewelry the last time. I imagine that’s why she’s been so adamant that you and Bram marry. She’s looking for someone else to manage the burden of his debt.”

  “She knows?”

  “She knows Bram. I’m guessing that she suspects everything else. It was no different with my father. Alexandra’s nature is to protect her family. She can’t help herself.”

  Comfort could appreciate Alexandra’s urge to make things right. “She doesn’t have as much to do with Black Crowne as people think, does she?”

  “No.”

  “But you allow everyone to believe differently.”

  He shrugged. “It not important to me, and it’s a matter of pride for her. She and I have an arrangement regarding the business. I agreed to manage it, and she agreed not to interfere. We lost five ships during the war, Comfort. Three to capture that were never recovered and two others to damage so extensive that they were not worth saving. Black Crowne used to dominate the most important Atlantic shipping lanes. That changed when my father redirected our ships to be used for assisting other vessels running the blockades, not for trade. My father mortgaged everything. He used his influence to get credit and then extensions on the credit. My mother appealed to him to reconsider, but there was no reasoning with him, because he believed in the cause he was supporting. We only managed to save those ships that were on Pacific trade routes and didn’t arrive in time to go with the fleet that my father put together. Alexandra thinks he was reckless. I prefer to think he was passionate. Sometimes there’s not much difference between the two.”

  Comfort had no trouble recalling the power and majesty of the ship depicted in the painting in Alexandra DeLong’s parlor. She also remembered how Bode had described his artist father. “He was a romantic,” she said.

  “Yes. Romantic. The collision of passion and recklessness.”

  Her smile was faint, gently chiding. “You’re a romantic, Bode. Passionate and principled. I’m not sure that reckless has anything to do with it.”

  He wanted to thank her for that, wanted to kiss her in fact, but her comment passed without acknowledgment of any kind because of the thump and drag on the stairs. Bode pushed away from the table before Comfort could rise, and he went to the hatch.

  “Ahoy!” Sam called up as the door opened. He clutched the rope railing tightly with one hand and held up the bundle he was carrying in the other. “Got everything you wanted.”

  “Good. Do you need help?” Bode didn’t know why he bothered asking. Sam’s reply was a snort and a sneer. “I’ll just hold the door,” he said.

  Sam handed over the bundle when he reached the top and made it through the opening without assistance. He grinned at Comfort. “You’re going to want some help if this is where you and Master Bode are going to live, and even if it’s not, you’re going to need someone to manage your household.”

  “Are you applying for the job, Mr. Travers?” asked Comfort.

  “Could be that I am.” He smoothed his jacket and stood at attention, presenting himself for inspection.

  “Well, I am very interested.” She stood and took the bundle that Bode held out to her without looking at it or him. “I will have to check your references, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Now Comfort glanced at Bode. He was trying to look as if he were merely resigned to the inevitable, but she glimpsed approval and something like relief in his eyes. She smiled at Samuel Travers. “Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He pointed to the wrapped bundle in her arms. “I think you’ll find everything’s to your liking.”

  Comfort finally looked at what she held. The shape of what she’d been handed was conical with the tip of the cone pointed toward the floor. She loosened the knot in the string that kept the fabric cover in place and then tugged the string free. She laid back the material and saw she was holding clothing that had been neatly folded and placed into a Chinese straw hat. She didn’t have to ask the purpose. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  Comfort could hear Bode and Sam talking as she changed clothes in the bedroom. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was reasonable to suppose they were discussing getting her safely to the bank. When she finished dressing in the tunic, pants, and slippers, she scraped back her hair and plaited it, tying it off with a black band that Sam had provided for just that purpose. She set the dou lì on her head and slipped the black silk strap under her chin.

  Comfort tried to match Suey Tsin’s small, careful steps and slightly bowed head when she walked back into the other room. She only looked up when neither man spoke. Sam Travers gaped at her, but Bode was studying her critically.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked. “I thought I was Suey Tsin.”

  “So did I until you thrust your chin out and dressed me down.”

  “Oh.” She dutifully lowered her eyes, tucked her chin, and folded her hands in front of her.

  “Much better,” Bode said. “And don’t worry that I’ll expect it when you’re not wearing that hat. I know who I married.”

  Sam chuckled as Comfort raised her head just long enough to give Bode a smug and saucy smile.

  Bode took Comfort’s hands and held them. He welcomed her looking at him now. “Sam and one of my clerks will follow you to the bank. Escorting you would seem odd, and I don’t want anything to draw attention to you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Sam. “Did you get the market basket?”

  “Downstairs waiting for her.”

  “Good.” He turned back to Comfort. “You’ll have something to carry. You should arouse no comment or suspicion as long as you keep reminding yourself that you’re Suey Tsin. Go straight to the bank. If Newt and Tuck aren’t there, wait for them. I imagine your maid’s been to Jones Prescott before.”

  “Yes. Not often, but the tellers know her. She’d be allowed to go upstairs without question. Everyone will assume her visit has something to do with me.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on. You’ll leave with your uncles in a carriage. Once you’re at home, stay there until I come for you. I have to speak to John Farwell first, then to Bram and Alexandra, but I’ll see you tonight.”

  She nodded. “You’ll be careful?”

  “I don’t think anyone but my mother’s particularly interested in me.” He saw immediately that she wasn’t satisfied with his answer. “Yes, I’ll be careful.”

  She took off the dou lì and used it to shield their parting ki
ss from Sam. She thought she heard his light laughter, but she and Bode ignored it. They separated after Sam was through the hatch. Bode took the hat from her and set it properly on her head.

  “Tonight,” he promised.

  Comfort hurried off before she thought better of it.

  Tucker Jones leaned forward in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been feeling unsettled and edgy since he woke. Newton hadn’t helped by being alert to every one of his fidgets and commenting on it. Now was no exception.

  “Is that a prickle?” asked Newt. “Looks as if it might be.”

  “It’s a pain in my neck,” Tuck said. “Same as you.”

  “Never known you to be bothered quite so much.” He checked his pocket watch. “It’s not even noon.”

  Tucker swept aside the documents on his desk. “Too early for a drink?”

  “Probably too early to get drunk, but there’s nothing wrong with a drink.” He stood. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll get it.” He rounded both desks and headed for the Hildesheim safe. He removed two glasses and a bottle of whiskey and set them on top of the safe. “Will one finger do the trick?” He looked back at Tucker for the answer. His partner was holding up two fingers. Nodding, Newt gave each glass a generous pour and carried them back. He handed Tucker one and returned to his side of the desk with the other. “I miss her, too,” he said. “Hate it that I can’t go down the hall and count how many pencils she has in her hair. I usually win that bet.”

  Tucker’s smile was rueful, even a little wistful. He didn’t feel much like the soldier who had been at the battle for Monterrey or even the one who’d stood at his post drinking tequila while Newt negotiated terms with a fiery Mexican puta at the bar. “When do you suppose we stopped being the ones who found her and started being the ones who fathered her?”

  Newton knew exactly what Tuck meant, and he didn’t have to think about his reply. “For me it was the first time I braided her hair. Knew it right off. She put a slippery blue ribbon in my hand and just sort of expected that I would know what to do with it. She was real patient, too. Stood there as stoic as a Spartan and waited me out. I was all thumbs, and that ribbon wriggled in my hands like a worm on a hook. Still, she looked pretty when I was done. I remember that like it was yesterday. What about you?”

  Tucker considered his answer before he spoke. “We were living in the mining camp? Remember?”

  Newt nodded. “Too well.”

  “We were barely scratching out a living for ourselves at that point, and we had this extra mouth to feed, only it didn’t occur to me that it was an extra mouth. Having her there gave me a purpose, you know, and I sort of realized that I was doing it for her. It felt right. I wanted to do it for her, like I would my own. Guess I knew then that she was my own.”

  “Seems like it wasn’t so long ago.”

  “I know, and it’s been twenty years.”

  “Did you ever think we should’ve done more to find out if she had any family?”

  “Nope. Never once. Always thought we did enough. We’re her family.”

  Newt sipped his drink. “It’s the same for me. I never did want anyone else to braid her hair. Not even you.”

  Laughter rumbled from deep in Tucker’s chest. He just shook his head. “Some tough old soldiers we turned out to be. Guess we’d be the talk of every man in B Company if they knew.” He put a hand to the back of his neck again and rubbed. He felt Newt’s eyes on him. “What?”

  “You’re doing it again. It’s a prickle.”

  “It’s a damn sight more than that.” He rolled his shoulders. It was impossible for him to get comfortable in his own skin.

  “What does it mean?” asked Newt.

  “You know what I know. Something’s coming our way.”

  “Good fortune? Bad? Can’t you tell?”

  “It’ll be what we make of it. That’s always how it is. Twenty years ago we happened upon a massacre and found a daughter. You tell me. Good fortune or bad?”

  Newt didn’t answer. His attention was directed to the soft footfalls in the hallway. He hadn’t heard anyone on the stairs. He swiveled in his chair and faced the open door as Suey Tsin stepped into view. Setting down his drink, he started to rise. A deepening frown pushed his dark eyebrows together. “What’s happened?” he asked. “Are you all right?” He could see that she was trembling slightly. Across from him, Tuck was also getting to his feet. “Suey Tsin. Look at me. What are you doing here?”

  Comfort barely glanced at Newt before she threw herself at him. She felt him rock back on his heels and bump the desk. She simply held on. There was an infinitesimal pause, and then his arms came around her. She smiled. It had taken him no longer than a single beat of his heart to recognize her. She pressed her face into his neck and clutched him, giving up the embrace only so she could make Tuck part of it.

  “It’s you,” Newt said, his throat thick. “It’s her, Tuck. It’s our girl.”

  Comfort could hardly draw a breath for the fierceness of Newt’s hug, but the light-headed, giddy feeling that accompanied it kept her right where she was. Tucker’s hug was only marginally less enthusiastic. When they finally released her, she stepped backward and lowered herself into the nearest chair. She tilted her head up and looked them over, wondering if her smile was as drunkenly happy as theirs appeared to be.

  “Can we go home?” she asked. “I really want to go home.”

  Bode usually made it a point to knock when he visited Alexandra or his brother. It was his way of reminding them he didn’t live there any longer. He did it more for his mother’s benefit than Bram’s, because Bram had never cared, and Alexandra had cared too much. He was already halfway up the stairs when Hitchens appeared in the entrance hall.

  “Mr. DeLong! Sir! Can I take your—”

  Bode paused only long enough to direct the butler. “Tell my mother I’m here. I’ll be with Bram if she’d like to come up.”

  Bram couldn’t say what woke him so abruptly. He blinked several times, disoriented but aware that his heart was racing. He wondered if he’d had a nightmare, but nothing came to him. He couldn’t even recall when he fell asleep. He’d been roused for breakfast but ate very little of it. He’d allowed his new valet to tend to him, bathing him and seeing to his needs, and then he’d sent the man to Chinatown. Was he back? Was that what had wakened him?

  Bram pushed himself up on his elbows. His vision was finally clear enough to see that someone was standing in the doorway. “Bode.” His voice was pleasant if still a bit groggy. “You’re back.”

  Bode shut the door hard, jerking Bram to attention. His brother’s focus only lasted for a moment. Bode watched Bram’s shoulders slump. The rest of him followed suit until he was as inert and shapeless as warm candle wax on the white linens.

  “You look like hell, Bram.” He walked over to the bed, glanced around for the laudanum, and then began a careful search between the mattress and the headboard and under the sheets. Bram didn’t protest until Bode began patting him down, which was how Bode knew he was getting close. He found two small bottles tucked away in Bram’s splint. He pocketed them. The droopy look of alarm on his brother’s face would have been comical if it weren’t so damned pathetic.

  Swearing softly, Bode grabbed Bram by the collar of his shirt and twisted hard. Bram clawed at Bode’s wrists, but Bode held on. “Get yourself together, Bram. You find your wits, or I swear I’ll yank you right out of this bed and make you look for them.”

  Bram choked out something that Bode didn’t understand. He loosened his grip a fraction. Bram gasped and kept trying to break Bode’s hold. “You’re choking me,” he ground out.

  “Good. That’s what I want to do.”

  “Jesus! Bode!” Bram felt himself being lifted off the bed. He held on to Bode’s wrists. “Put me down. My leg. You’re—”

  “Killing you? How would you know? You can’t feel a damn thing.”

  “I can! I swear I—”

  Bode shoved Bra
m hard against the headboard and let go. The bed frame shuddered. The back of Bram’s head bounced off the dark wood, and then he was still, dazed but conscious. Disgusted, Bode stepped back. He wanted to break something, and at the moment, Bram’s head was the easy target. Turning his back on Bram, he went to the window and opened the drapes. It was satisfying to hear his brother’s pained groan as late afternoon sunlight flooded the room.

  “Are you awake yet?” Bode asked, turning around to face Bram again. “Ready to answer questions?”

  “God, Bode. What the hell—”

  “My questions, Bram. You don’t get to have any.” He took a threatening step toward the bed and stopped when Bram nodded quickly. “Good. I spoke to Samuel Travers this morning. I know what you told him, and I know what it meant. Now I want to hear the rest from you. So help me, Bram, it had better be the truth. Why did you send Sam out to get me that night?”

  “Jesus, Bode, someone delivered a message to me about Comfort. Mother told me that afternoon that Comfort had been taken away by the Rangers. I didn’t hear another thing about it until I got the message. It was a ransom demand. They wanted money. You know I don’t have any. The threat was explicit. The note was clear. They wanted me to know exactly what Comfort’s fate would be if I didn’t meet their demand.”

  “Do you still have the note?”

  Bram shook his head.

  Bode’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Why send for me? You know I don’t have any money. Why didn’t you send for Newt or Tuck?”

  “It was too late for that.”

  “Too late? Didn’t you say it was a ransom note? How could it have been too late to ask them for money?” When Bram merely stared at him, Bode said, “You can’t help yourself, can you?” He went to the foot of the bed and studied the apparatus that held Bram’s leg at the correct elevation and tension. He set his hand on the crank and began to slowly turn it. Bram flailed wildly and shouted for him to stop. After one full turn, he did. “Try again, Bram.”