Once Upon a Masquerade (Entangled Scandalous)

by Tamara Hughes

  She left the pool of light and felt her way up the flight of stairs, stepping on trash littered along its edges. At the top, dim light seeped out from under a few of the doors lining the hallway.

  With considerable relief, she found her father’s room and rapped lightly on the rough door. No one answered. She knocked again, a bit louder this time, and peered about the hallway, half-expecting one of the neighboring doors to open. In the utter silence of the corridor, she jumped at the high-pitched grating of the key turning in the lock. The door opened a crack.

  “Father?” she whispered, lowering her hood. “It’s me, Rebecca.”

  Her father pulled her into the room then hastily scanned the hallway before shutting the door and securing the lock.

  “Becca, what are you doing here?” he demanded in a hushed voice, the pungent scent of alcohol heavy on his breath.

  “You sent for me,” she reminded him, her tone incredulous.

  “Did I?”

  A kerosene lamp hung from a peg on the far wall, its glow touching her father’s tired face, his wrinkles etched deeper into his skin. He’d aged years since she’d seen him last.

  Perhaps he’d lost his mind as well. “A lad came to our door with a message from you.”

  Her father’s only response was the confusion that creased his brow.

  She shook her head and lifted the basket. “I brought you something to eat.”

  “Such a good girl, my Becca.” Patting her on the shoulder, he accepted her offering. He leaned against the wall for support as he shuffled to a roughhewn table. The single chair in the room squawked as he sat down and pulled a piece of fried chicken out of the basket, devouring the meat as if he was near starving.

  “Have you been eating? You look thinner.” She unloaded the rest of the basket onto the wobbly table.

  “I’m well enough.” He snatched up another piece of chicken and ate it so quickly she wondered if he’d stop at the bone. He tossed the remnants onto the table and used a napkin to wipe the grease from his fingers, his gaze rising to study her. “You’re looking lovely as ever. Spitting image of your dear mother.” The warmth that brightened his face faded as if he only just realized what he’d said. Would his grief ever subside?

  “I don’t suppose you’ve raised any money.” She didn’t know why she bothered to ask.

  Sure enough, he bowed his head sheepishly. “Sadly, no.” He sent her a look that begged the same question, and her stomach sank, hardened like a stone.

  He turned his attention to the table, but not before she caught the fear that flickered in his eyes. He took a long swig from a brown bottle, almost tipping it over as he set it back down.

  She dreaded the argument to come, but she could put it off no longer. “Maybe it’s time to leave the city, move far away, where no one would find you.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “And go where?”

  “Anywhere. You could start over.” Desperation constricted her lungs as his face darkened with stubbornness. “We could go together. There are so many places we haven’t seen.” After all, what did she have left to keep her here? Christopher Black’s sculpted features popped inside her head. A man whom she could never have.

  Her father took another drink from the bottle. “For five hundred dollars, these men will track me wherever I go. And you’d best not be there when they do.”

  “Nonsense. There’s a big world out there, plenty of places to hide.”

  His fingers reached for the last of the chicken, his voice soft but sure. “You know I can’t leave her, Becca.”

  Her mother had died almost ten years ago, and still he clung to her memory, visiting her grave most every day, his guilt eating away the man she once knew. “Please. It’s time to move on. Mother would want us to,” she begged. “I could get a different job…”

  He ignored her words as if the discussion had come to an end.

  “You’re just going to give up? Those men will kill you.” The silence that followed weighed on her like a chain about her neck. Lifting the bottle to her nose, she confirmed what she already knew. Her father was drunk. He couldn’t be reasoned with, not now. She replaced the bottle with a jug of water and slid the liquor into her empty basket on the floor. “At least come back with me. The Endicotts are out of town. You can stay with me until they return.”

  He grasped hold of her hands and shook them as if to underscore his words. “We’d best stay apart. That way if they find me—”

  She clasped his fingers tight. “They won’t find you. They can’t.” Tears burned the back of her eyes. She couldn’t let him die.

  He rose from his seat and pulled her in close for a hug she desperately needed even if he swayed on his feet. “I know I haven’t always done right by you… If I could go back, I’d do things differently. I’d be stronger, wiser, a better father.” He set his chin on her head and sagged into her. “If something happens to me, I hope you remember—”

  “Stop.” She pulled away from his embrace, but seized his arms when he wobbled. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” Wrapping his arm around her neck, she helped him to the bed, staggering the whole way. When she released him, he crumpled on top of the mattress, his bleary eyes closing. “Sober up,” she demanded. “I’ll be back tomorrow at first light with my bags packed. Be ready because we’re leaving the city together.”

  Her father stayed quiet, his breathing even.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Snores rumbled up from his sleeping form. No matter. She’d return tomorrow and force the issue again. He would listen to her. She would see to it. Sitting down on the straw mattress next to him, she searched the pockets of his wrinkled coat and found the key to the door, then let out a long sigh.

  What a sad pair they made, the once successful banker at the brink of destruction and his lowly daughter, a woman willing to lie and deceive to save him. How far they’d both fallen.

  Some might consider her a fool. Why try so hard to save a man who made her life so very difficult? She studied his tired face, and a memory of her father weeks after her mother’s death flooded her mind. He’d been sitting on his bed, curled into himself, his body shuddering with heaving sobs. Throwing her arms around him, she’d offered what comfort a ten-year-old could. His arms had squeezed her tight, and her tears had fallen with his. She’d wept for her mother, her father and herself. The father she’d known disappeared the prior weeks, replaced by a stranger with a blank stare. For that moment, with her father’s arms locked around her, she’d believed he would come back to her. And he did in some respects. He was as warm and comforting as he’d always been even if inside he was hurting. No, the pain came out in other ways. Drinking, gambling, wasting their money until they had nothing left but each other.

  Maybe she was a fool. Nevertheless, if she had the power to save his life, she would.

  A thickness in her throat, she kissed his weathered cheek and opened the door. Lifting her hood, she slipped from the room and locked up, sliding the key under the door before heading back down the hallway.

  She descended the dark staircase and heard a creak from one of the steps above. Her feet itched to run headlong out the door, but she forced herself to stand still and listen for the source of the noise, only to hear a scrape closer yet.

  Fear streaked through her. She hurried down the last of the steps, as quietly as she could, and tripped on a solid object in her path. A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, drawing her back into the darkness.

  Rebecca screamed and twisted away when a thickset arm encircled her waist and hauled her against a plump torso. The bottle thumped against the wicker as she was jostled about.

  In a panic, she jabbed her elbow into soft flesh and heard a low grunt. The hold around her waist loosened. She reached inside her basket and grasped the smooth glass, swinging the bottle at her attacker with all her strength. It broke over his head. Her assailant groaned and fell onto the stairs.

  She dropped her burden
and burst through the doorway where she collided with a solid chest, nearly falling to the ground from the impact. Muscular arms pinned her elbows to her sides.

  Her hood fell back, and she stared up into cold gray eyes. The man from the saloon.

  Frantically, she peered down the street. She struggled against his hold, wondering if anyone would come if she shouted for help, and if she’d want the kind of help she might get.

  Rebecca kicked at his shins, and his embrace cinched tighter, squeezing until she could no longer breathe. Tiny points of light blurred her vision as a man with oily hair and a stubbly beard emerged from the doorway, rubbing a gash over his left temple. She remembered him. One of the men who’d threatened her father. Staggering toward them, he let out a curse when he lowered his hand and saw blood smeared there. He narrowed his black eyes. “Give her to me, Frank. She’s mine, dammit.”

  Frank tossed her over to the man who’d first attacked her. “Sure you can handle her?”

  “Shut up.” The portly man gripped her arm and dragged her behind him as he strode across the street. In a daze, she gulped in air and stumbled behind him, spotting a grimy gun wedged into the waistband at the back of his trousers. She reached out for the weapon, but he jerked her forward and yanked her wrists behind her back. “Hey Harvey, I’ve got her.”

  Harvey’s clean-shaven face and neatly parted gray hair could have belonged to any respectable gentleman, although his threadbare suit bespoke of a harder, more desperate existence.

  He stepped out of the shadows to meet them as they drew closer. “Well I’ll be damned. Good going, Otto. I was beginning to think she wouldn’t show.” Harvey seized her chin, assessing her with calculating eyes. “Just where have you been hiding? We’ve been looking for you, girl. Do you have the money Daddy owes?”

  Her heart pumping wildly in her chest, she tamped down her panic. Twisting her face out of his grip, she glared back at him. “We have two more days.”

  Otto lifted a lock of her hair and rubbed the strands between his fingers. “Well, aren’t you a sassy little thing?”

  Harvey scowled. “A few hours isn’t going make any difference, now is it, cherry?” He pointed to her father’s building. “It doesn’t look like Daddy can pay up. Lucky for you, we decided to wait before we killed him, to give you the chance to do right by him.”

  “Do you think she has the money on her?” Otto asked, leaning in and rubbing his face along her neck. “I could check her over if it would help.”

  She cringed, unable to move from him with her wrists pinned behind her. Lifting her shoulder, she nudged his face away. The stench of rotting teeth and cheap liquor turned her stomach as he slid his hand down the length of her side.

  “Leave the bitch, Otto,” Harvey commanded in a steely tone. “I need her full attention.”

  Undeterred, Otto brushed his hand over her chest, stopping to cup her breast through her thin cloak. “I’m only having a little fun. No sense in wasting such a pretty thing.”

  With a growl, Harvey grabbed Otto’s wrist, pulling it away. “I said, leave her.”

  Otto snatched his arm from Harvey’s hold. “I caught her, and I’m taking what I’m due.”

  As their argument heated, Frank ambled to a light post and leaned against the sturdy support as if bored.

  Fear prickled down her neck at the odds she now faced.

  “Awfully quiet, girl,” Harvey mocked, his attention turned back to her. “Do you have what I want?” Taking a corner of her ragged cloak, he raised the fabric wide. “Or do we need to look for ourselves?”

  Her body trembled, and her mind raced. How could she get free?

  Harvey stood so close, his face hovered inches from hers. The scent of lye soap wafted up from his clothing as he met her stare with cruel eyes.

  “I don’t have the money with me,” she stammered. “But I can get it.”

  “Sure you can,” he scoffed as he studied her worn day dress, a curious look spreading across his face. With one finger, he brushed the base of her neck and pulled the silver chain from beneath her bodice. “What do we have here?” he asked with a yank, snapping the delicate links.

  She strained against Otto’s hold. “Give it back to me.”

  The chain dangled from his fingers as he turned the etched piece over in his hand.

  “Now can I have a go at her?” Otto pressed, the eagerness in his eyes making her nausea grow.

  Harvey didn’t bother to look up. “Nah, the gent is paying us to kill her, not screw her.”

  Kill her. Now? Terror shot through her limbs like a lightning strike, and she fought Otto’s grip. He easily held her in place. His face split with a wide grin that displayed several missing and decayed teeth. “The bloke’ll never know. We’re to dispose of the body. Besides, she owes me after what she did,” he complained, pointing to the angry cut on his head.

  Swearing, Harvey almost dropped his find as he attempted to open the tiny clasp that held the locket shut. “I’m not going to risk her getting away from you just to satisfy your itch. Six hundred is a lot of money.”

  An icy chill raked over her skin. Dear Lord. Six hundred dollars to kill her. Why?

  Anger mottled Otto’s stubbled cheeks. “Who put you in charge? I thought we were partners.” He nudged her away from Harvey, his hand on her wrists steering her forward. “I want a bit of fun with her. I’ll bring her right back.”

  As they brushed past the older man, Harvey pulled a well-oiled gun from under his coat, pointing it at Otto’s wide nose. “I said leave her. Let’s do the job and get the money.”

  Fear strained Otto’s features as he looked down the unforgiving barrel. “Fine.”

  Laughter rose up from down the street over by the tavern. Harvey’s head turned toward the sound before he motioned them on with a wave of the gun. “Inside.”

  Otto pushed her down the street, grumbling. “Don’t see what it would hurt. She’s not going anywhere.”

  Her panic grew with each step until her body shook. This couldn’t be happening. She had to do something. On impulse, she twisted her body with a sudden jerk and freed one wrist. Hope sprang free as her fist connected solidly with Otto’s chin. His teeth clacked together, and surprise registered on his face, before he growled and wrestled her arm behind her. She stomped on his foot, but he pushed her on ahead, unfazed.

  When he reached Frank, the brawny man straightened and followed behind.

  Her breaths took on a frantic rhythm as they approached a deserted store where a faded wooden sign swung above the sidewalk. Harvey strode past them. When his hand touched the doorknob, the twang of a gunshot pierced the air, and the door frame over Harvey’s left shoulder splintered.

  Otto’s grip on her loosened. He whipped around and grabbed for the gun tucked behind his back. This was her chance. Rebecca let her entire body go limp. Using her full weight to drop to the ground, she broke his hold. She rolled away and hopped up, running as fast as her skirts would allow.

  Otto raced after her with more speed than she thought possible given his bulk. He ensnared her long skirt in one of his meaty fists, knocking her forward onto the ground. Kicking her legs, she hit him squarely in the kneecap. He swore and fell to one knee, but seized her hair with a hand.

  Shots rang out as Harvey exchanged bullets with the unknown gunman. From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement from the side of her father’s building and recognized the slim form of her father as he slipped down the alley, no gun in his hand. He wasn’t the one firing on Harvey. She prayed he would get away unnoticed even as her chest tightened. Although he didn’t have the strength to help her, the fact that he hadn’t tried made her ache with sadness.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as the hand on her hair yanked harder and another twisted in the fabric of her cloak, choking her. Her hands clenched the dirt, the small rocks jabbing into her palms. With a shriek, she twisted, throwing the debris at Otto’s face. His howl rent the air, and he dropped to his knees, clawing his eyes. Sh
e pulled herself to her feet and ran.

  Harvey bellowed to Frank to grab her. The crunch of her shoes and her harsh breaths almost drowned out the sound of two sets of footfalls not far behind. Her lungs burned as she fought her weighty skirts. A gunshot pierced the night, and a bullet drove into the dirt nearby. A grunt followed by a thud behind her spurred her on with a surge of hope that one of her attackers had fallen. The remaining footsteps grew louder. She didn’t dare look back.

  When a hand clasped hers, she didn’t have the breath to scream. Her eyes darted to the man gripping her hand in his, and she nearly cried out. Christopher Black ran beside her, urging her on ahead. Where had he come from, and why was he here? Bone deep relief wiped the questions from her mind. At the moment all that mattered was that he was here.

  Chapter Seven

  REBECCA’S FEET HURT SO badly they burned. “Where are we going?” she wheezed, pulling back on Christopher’s hand.

  “Just a bit further,” he assured her, his grip tightening.

  A mild saltiness seasoned the damp air. When they rounded the corner, she understood why. They’d reached the harbor. Merchant vessels towered over the wooden docks along the coastline as waves lapped against their massive hulls.

  The hollow rapping of their boots on the pier jarred her frazzled nerves as he led her down the wooden path to a merchantman. “Welcome to The Fair Maiden,” he gasped out when they reached the gangplank. “I’ve been captain of this ship for the last several years.”

  He took her elbow and assisted her up the ridged panel. A man on deck approached them from the shadows, and she tensed, ready to run, but Christopher’s step never slowed.

  “Jack, let me know immediately if anyone comes near this vessel,” he said.

  “Aye, Captain,” the sailor replied, barely sparing her a glance.

  Crossing the deck, Rebecca huddled against the chilly breeze off the waters, vaguely recalling this ship as the one Christopher had repaired with his father.