by Jen Turano
“Get away from Miss Murdock,” Arabella Wilder snarled, “or I swear I’ll see you dead.”
9
Felicia strolled down the hallway of Theodore Wilder’s investigation office, pausing for a moment to allow Arabella Wilder time to catch up with her. “Do you think it might have been a slight overreaction, threatening to shoot those poor gentlemen from the theater?”
Arabella stopped by her side, grinned, and flicked back a strand of golden hair that had evidently escaped her pins while she’d been racing around trying to shoot people. “How was I to know those gentlemen hadn’t abducted you and stolen your gowns?”
“I doubt gentlemen bent on abduction would direct their victim to park in front of a private investigator’s office.”
“A valid point,” Theodore Wilder said, striding up to join them. He moved next to his wife, placed a kiss on her forehead, and then smiled. “Although, I must admit, the fact that they were wearing your clothing was somewhat suspicious, Felicia.”
“I found that suspicious as well.”
Felicia glanced past Theodore and found Grayson walking through the door, his expression once again a bit disgruntled. He really was a moody sort of gentleman.
“You’ll be happy to learn I was finally able to flag down a carriage for hire,” he said as he joined them, “even though I was forced to pay the driver an exorbitant sum in order to convince him to cart men dressed as women back to the theater. He wasn’t convinced by my explanation for their appearance.” Grayson shook his head. “I’m not even sure I was convinced. And it didn’t help when one of the men kept crying.”
Felicia waved that comment aside with a flick of her hand. “The reason they were wearing my old gowns was because they’re about ready to begin rehearsals for a new production, a bit of a farce. They were waiting for me to return to the theater so they could express their appreciation over my donation to their cause, and they also wanted me to see how well my dresses fit them.” She blew out a breath. “As for why the one man was crying, I would think that would be obvious. Everyone knows theatrical people are a somewhat dramatic lot, and considering they’d just faced down two crazy people shoving guns their way, I’m not surprised in the least one of them dissolved into tears. I would have done exactly the same thing.”
Grayson suddenly stepped closer to her, reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and scrubbed at a smear of grime staining her sleeve. He released a grunt as he continued scrubbing. “You didn’t cry a single tear back in the pub, and believe me, you were in more danger there than those men were from Theodore and Arabella.”
“You two have gotten yourself embroiled in something concerning, haven’t you?” Theodore asked.
“You could say that,” Grayson muttered before he stopped scrubbing at Felicia’s sleeve. “I’m only making it worse. I’m afraid this new frock of yours is damaged beyond repair.”
Felicia glanced down. “It’s a pity, to be sure, but I think I knew it was headed for the ragbag the moment all that ale spilled over me.”
“Perhaps our first order of business is finding you something dry to wear,” Arabella said. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe I have a spare gown here at the office.”
Theodore smiled. “You know, I think we might just have a spare gown lying around here.” He walked down the hallway and opened a door that appeared to lead to a broom closet.
“Really, darling, I don’t think Felicia will be too keen to wear what you’re searching for in there,” Arabella said, pitching her voice a little louder when Theodore disappeared into the closet.
“Why won’t I be keen to wear it?”
“Because it’s an opera gown, one I wore when Agatha solicited my assistance in tracking down a story.”
“And a gown you should never wear again, seeing that it managed to land you in jail,” Theodore said, backing out of the closet with an overabundance of fabric clutched in his hand. He walked back to Felicia and handed it to her. “There’s a powder room at the end of the hall and to the right. We’ll be in the room right across from it when you’ve finished changing.”
Felicia shook out the gown. “It’s . . . lovely?”
“Almost reminds me of some of those gowns you gave to the theater,” Grayson muttered.
“Honestly, Grayson, my gowns weren’t this bad.” She lifted her chin. “Now, if everyone will excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She headed down the hallway, the stiffness of the skirt of her gown, now having dried just a bit, making it somewhat difficult to walk. She reached the powder room and shut the door behind her, jumping in fright at the sight that met her gaze in the mirror, until she realized it was her reflection. She peered closer and grinned.
She looked deranged.
Her hair was matted to her head, bits of dirt were clinging to her face, held there by remnants of ale, and her gown was filthy and splattered with what appeared to be specks of blood.
It was no wonder the men from the theater had insisted on accompanying her off Mott Street. She looked as if she’d suffered a traumatic experience.
It took her several minutes to wash her hands and face in the sink and then get out of her ruined garments. It took even longer to get into the monstrosity that was the opera gown. It might have helped if she had a maid, or Arabella, for that matter, to assist her, but she knew Arabella would be hard-pressed to keep a straight face in the midst of such a disaster, so she struggled to reach the buttons in the back and moved to the mirror, giving her appearance a critical look.
If anything, she now looked more frightful than when she’d first entered the room.
The opera dress billowed around her, which was perfectly fine since she’d been wearing billowing styles for years, but the bodice . . . It did not leave much to the imagination. She took a deep breath and blanched when a part of her body that was meant to be kept strictly out of sight almost spilled out of the gown.
She grabbed a pretty green hand towel by the sink and stuffed it over her exposed skin.
There, one problem managed.
She tilted her head and settled her attention on her hair. Pins were sticking out at odd angles, and when she reached up to shove them back into place, she discovered that her hair was incredibly unpleasant to the touch. She picked up a brush lying on a nearby table, thought better of using it, and set it back down. She didn’t want to ruin Arabella’s brush, and besides, she doubted even the sturdiest of brushes would be up for the task of taming the disaster on her head.
There was no help for it—she would just have to leave well enough alone, and it wasn’t as if Grayson hadn’t already seen her deplorable condition.
That notion had her eyes growing wide before she backed away from the mirror and busied herself with bundling her ruined gown into a ball. She could not allow herself to dwell on thoughts of Grayson, or to wonder what the gentleman might think of her appearance. After what she’d witnessed today, it was clear she’d been right all along—he was a dangerous man.
He wasn’t simply dangerous—he was lethal—and it was clear there was much more to him than she’d imagined.
It would serve her well to remember that, and it was past time she got some answers as to exactly who he was and exactly what he might have gotten her involved in.
She straightened her spine, opened the door, and trudged across the hallway to the room Theodore had indicated, the dragging skirts of her gown impeding her progress. She edged through the door but came to an abrupt halt when she saw Grayson, Theodore, and Arabella sitting on the far side of the room, all looking her way and all looking remarkably guilty.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Were you talking about me?”
“My, don’t you look delightful.” Arabella nodded to Theodore and Grayson. “Doesn’t she look delightful?”
Theodore sent her a rather weak smile, while Grayson just looked at her with his mouth hanging open as if he had no words at his disposal to describe her appearance.
Feli
cia hitched up her skirt just a touch and made for the nearest chair, sinking into it and then taking a moment to pummel the fabric of the skirt that had puffed up around her the moment her behind hit the seat of the chair. Finally managing to beat the skirt into submission, she folded her hands in her lap and turned her attention to Arabella.
“So, what were the three of you talking about before I entered the room?”
“The weather?”
That didn’t even deserve a quirk of one of her still-sticky brows. “Did Grayson tell you I went to a pub?”
Arabella winced. “He might have mentioned it.”
“Did he explain that I only went in there because I was helping a poor elderly gentleman who’d lost his balance due to a hole in the sidewalk?”
“He wasn’t exactly clear about that.”
Felicia narrowed her eyes at Grayson before she turned back to Arabella. “Did he tell you about the whiskey?”
“Well, ah, yes.”
Felicia lifted her chin. “I know it wasn’t exactly responsible for me to try the whiskey, but there were extenuating circumstances that prodded me to act a little rashly.”
Grayson shook his head. “I think she believes I was behind those ‘extenuating circumstances,’ but I didn’t think she’d actually take a large gulp of the stuff after I insisted she doesn’t drink whiskey.”
“I did spit it out.”
“True, all over the floor,” Grayson muttered. “I must say, that did take me by surprise.”
Arabella looked at Felicia, then at Grayson, then shook her head even as she smiled. “I must admit I might have felt compelled to do the exact same thing, Felicia, especially if Grayson was sounding somewhat high-handed when he made his declaration.”
Grayson frowned. “She doesn’t need to be encouraged, Arabella. If you’re forgetting, she entered a pub, unescorted except for some elderly gentleman she’d never seen in her life, and instead of getting him settled and taking her leave, she sat down with him at a table filled with men.” He glared at Felicia. “You’re lucky I was following you, or else you might not have gotten out of there unscathed.”
“But she didn’t get out of there unscathed,” Arabella pointed out. “Look at her. She’s a mess—as are you, in case you’ve neglected to realize it.”
Felicia felt Grayson’s gaze on her once again, but when she turned her head to meet it, she didn’t find him looking at her face. He seemed to be staring at the towel she’d shoved into her bodice.
“Do you know there’s a towel stuffed right . . . er . . . well . . . there?” he asked as he waved a hand toward her bodice.
Felicia felt her cheeks heat but was spared a response when Theodore suddenly scooted his chair closer to Arabella, let out what sounded remarkably like a laugh disguised as a cough behind his hand, and then cleared his throat. “While stuffed towels are certainly a riveting topic of conversation, may I suggest we finally get around to an explanation of why the two of you are really here?”
“I’m afraid Grayson will have to answer that,” Felicia admitted. “I’m somewhat confused as to what actually happened back on Mott Street, except I believe it has something to do with two Chinese men and Grayson’s past.”
Right before her eyes, Theodore became all business as he leaned forward and settled his attention on Grayson. “You’ll need to start at the beginning.”
Grayson took the next few minutes to fill Theodore and Arabella in on what had occurred, glossing over Felicia’s singing abilities, or lack thereof, which had her feeling slightly warm and fuzzy all over. He could have easily used the singing incident to add a bit of humor to his story, but he was keeping the particulars to himself, which seemed to her to be his way of protecting her yet again, if only from an embarrassing situation.
He was a complicated gentleman, one she didn’t understand in the least, but he’d stepped up and defended her honor in the pub, carried her out of a rat-infested alley, and before that, told her the truth about her singing. All of those things combined were enough to turn any girl’s head, but . . . she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman grown, and she needed to keep her attention on the conversation at hand, and remember she’d only recently gotten over a painful disappointment. She had no business even considering forming feelings for another gentleman, no matter that her heart sometimes ignored her head.
“If I’m going to help you,” Theodore said, dragging Felicia rapidly out of her disturbing thoughts and back to reality, “you’re going to have to explain to me—in exceeding detail, mind you—what happened in China.”
Grayson slid a glance to Felicia, then to Arabella, and finally back to Theodore. “Perhaps we should repair to your private office and leave the ladies to chat about more pleasant matters.”
Felicia pushed herself out of her chair and plopped her hands on her voluminous skirts. “You can’t leave me in the dark now, not after what happened back at the pub.”
“I can if I believe leaving you and Arabella in the dark will help keep you safe.”
“You do realize that my husband and I are now working together on cases, don’t you?” Arabella asked, rising from her chair and moving to stand beside Felicia, continuing before Grayson could reply. “If you don’t agree to allow Felicia and I to stay, I’ll just have Theodore tell me everything that was said after you leave.”
“Not if I pay him for his services and request complete confidentiality.”
Arabella’s eyes turned stormy. “Fine, be that way. Felicia, would you care for a cup of tea? I have a lovely little parlor that I call my own. We can repair there while the gentlemen discuss their manly business.”
Grayson nodded. “That might be for the best.”
“Her parlor is actually a broom closet that provides the opportunity to pick up conversations throughout the office,” Theodore said with an exasperated glance to Arabella before he turned back to Grayson. “Unless you’ve got something to tell me that really isn’t fit for delicate ears—not that I’m remotely suggesting your ears are delicate, darling,” he added with a smile to Arabella—“it might be easier to simply allow the ladies to stay so that we can get on with things.”
It almost seemed as if Grayson was going to balk, but then he shrugged and blew out a breath. “I suppose I could skim over some of the nastier aspects.”
That was hardly what Felicia had wanted to hear, but at least—given that he was gesturing toward the chairs she and Arabella had abandoned—it appeared they’d be allowed to stay, for the moment.
She resumed her seat, as did Arabella, and then Grayson settled back in his chair, took a moment where it appeared he was gathering his thoughts, and finally began to speak.
“While growing up, I was a wild and impetuous young man—your typical spoiled aristocrat, if you will. I spent my time, when I wasn’t at the university, carousing through the city and causing all sorts of mayhem. My father finally had enough of my irresponsible ways and demanded I return to our main estate after I finished my studies. I, of course, balked. All of my friends were taking their Grand Tour, and I wanted to travel with them.”
Theodore frowned. “A Grand Tour is far different from moving to China.”
“True, but my father, having no idea how to handle me, opted to limit my funds so I wasn’t financially able to take my Grand Tour. I was furious with him, and harsh words were spoken before I gathered up what little money I could scrape together and went off without another word.”
He got up from his chair, moved to the window, looked out it for a moment, and then turned, his gaze settling on Arabella. “You and Eliza have gotten remarkably close since you’ve returned to town, but I doubt she’s ever disclosed to anyone, except perhaps Hamilton, how poorly I treated her. I abandoned my own sister without a second thought and barely considered her at all the entire time I spent away.” He released a bitter laugh. “I was busy securing myself a fortune of my own, you see.”
“I’m fairly certain Eliza doesn’t hold that against yo
u,” Arabella said softly.
“She should. Because of my immaturity, she was forced to deal with the death of my father, the abandonment of her fiancé, and the loss of a good portion of our fortune on her own.”
Arabella lifted her chin. “Sometimes, Grayson, events happen for a reason. If you hadn’t gone to China, Eliza would never have been forced to come to this country. She’d never have met, nor married, my brother. She’s been given a wonderful life and has gained not only Hamilton, but Piper and Ben as well.
“You must realize how much she loves those children. I do hope I won’t make you uncomfortable with what I’m about to say, given that you and I have never discussed matters of faith before, but I believe Eliza’s life has turned out exactly how God meant it to be.” She smiled. “I honestly don’t believe Eliza holds your past against you, so perhaps it’s time for you to let it go.”
Grayson’s eyes turned hard. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible. My past has defined who I am, and I’m afraid there’s no changing that.” He moved from the window only to begin pacing around the room, seemingly unable, or unwilling, to meet anyone’s eye.
“After I left England, I traveled for a good six months, and when I landed in Spain—almost out of money, I might add—my luck changed. At the time, I thought it had changed for the better, but in hindsight, it was the worst thing that could have happened to me.”
He stopped pacing and stared at the floor. “I made the acquaintance of a young gentleman in Spain, a Mr. Francisco Coronado. He was from a prominent family and he, like me, possessed a taste for freedom. He had ample funds at his disposal and was more than willing to share, seeing as how he enjoyed my company and didn’t want to travel alone. We both agreed we were far too young to be hampered with family responsibilities. I allowed him to convince me that China was the place to make our fortune, so away we went.”
“How in the world did you get to China?” Felicia asked. “Isn’t it a long journey from Spain?”