“Who bought the hotel?” Palmer asked.
“I wasn’t privy to the entire conversation,” Will said in his best businessman’s tone of voice.
Palmer looked a bit panicky. “But you’re certain your information is correct?”
Will nodded. “There was no doubt about that.”
“What about me?” Palmer demanded. “Did you hear whether they were discussing changes in management?”
Will shook his head. “But I’m sure you’ll be notified in due course. In the meantime, you might consider the effect your current actions could have on those of us unfortunate enough to witness them.”
Palmer’s florid face turned redder. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Keegan?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Will replied in a deceptively calm tone of voice. “I’m simply pointing out the fact that the gentlemen I overheard discussing business this morning are frequent visitors to my establishment and often ask my opinion of the characters and behavior of local businessmen.” His look and his voice hardened. “Now, if you would be so kind as to let go of the girl . . .”
“I would do it if I were you.” Seth Hammond moved to stand beside him. He was an inch or so shorter than Will, but was equally broad of shoulder and well muscled, and gave the appearance of being quite capable of handling himself in any scrape.
Palmer let go of the laundry girl’s arm.
Will smiled at her, hoping to reassure her, then watched as she rubbed her arm where Palmer had gripped it. The expression on her face told him she was frightened and leery of foreign white devils—especially when she was surrounded by three big ones. Speaking to her in a low voice and in Cantonese, Will sought to keep her from running at the first opportunity. “Are you Jie Li’s good friend Zhing Wu?”
“You speak that heathen gibberish?” Palmer was too arrogant or too shocked to guard his tongue.
Zhing moved as far away from the hotel manager as the width of the hall would allow.
Hammond shook his head. “Mister, you don’t seem to know when your presence is no longer required.” He stared at Palmer until the hotel manager heeded his suggestion and stormed down the stairs to his office.
Zhing gave Will a shy smile before replying in her native tongue. “I come here looking for Jie Li. I haven’t seen her in days. I was worried.”
“No need to worry,” Will assured her. “My name is Will Keegan. Jie Li is staying with me.”
“Keegan?” Zhing stared up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “You’re Keegan?”
Will watched the play of emotions that crossed her face. She was clearly familiar with his name, if not his history with Julie. “I am.”
“What is Jie Li doing at your saloon?” She narrowed her gaze at him. “Why did you let her stay after she broke your window?”
Will smiled. “You know about that?”
“Everybody in Chinatown knows about that. Why would you let Jie Li stay at your business when she smashed it?”
“Jie Li was injured. She came to me for help. I let her stay at my place of business, where she’d be safe,” Will answered honestly.
“Is Jie Li hurt badly?” Zhing asked.
Will nodded. “But she’s going to be all right. She asked me to find you for her,” he added. “She wants to see you. Would you like to come with me and see for yourself?”
Zhing nodded. “I’ll go to see Jie Li with my own eyes, to see if what Will Keegan says is true.”
“Fair enough,” Will agreed.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Forget injuries; never forget kindnesses.”
—CHINESE PROVERB
Zhing Wu cried when Will opened the door to his bedroom and she got her first look at Julie’s face. He didn’t know whether she cried in relief at seeing Julie alive and reasonably well when the word in Chinatown was that the “Bringing in the Sheaves” missionary girl was no more, or from the shock of seeing Julie’s battered face. Maybe it was a little of both.
“Zhing!” Julie lit up like the footlights on Sir Humphrey’s stage at the Empire Playhouse on opening night. “Thank you for coming.”
“Oh, Jie Li, he hurt you too much,” she cried in a mixture of Cantonese and English often heard on the streets of Chinatown. She ran to Julie and tried to hug her, but was mindful of what Will had explained was a stab wound in her shoulder, and of her bruised ribs, and settled for a series of awkward pats on her shoulders and arms.
“Jie Li, I so worried about you.” Zhing couldn’t stop touching her. She touched a finger to the stitches above Julie’s eyebrow, then skimmed her hand over Julie’s sleeve, up and down several times, as if to make sure her arm was still inside it. Zhing patted Julie’s hands and smoothed her hand over Julie’s hair. “Oh, Jie Li, your poor face . . .” And she began to cry again.
Helpless to prevent Zhing’s tears, Julie looked at Will. “Do I look that bad?”
“Not to me,” Will said. “To me you’re as beautiful as a warrior queen. As brave and as strong as Boudicca . . .”
“Boudicca was defeated,” Julie reminded him. “And died.”
Will stared at her for a long moment, the expression on his face unreadable; then he winked at her. “And you didn’t. See how strong you are? Stronger and more beautiful than any warrior queen.”
“You are full of blarney, Will Keegan,” Julie’s voice was low and husky, still only a fraction louder than a whisper, but it had a note in it that made every cell in his body stand up and take notice.
“That I am,” Will replied in a fair imitation of Jack O’Brien’s Irish brogue, as low and as husky as Julie’s whisper, but for an entirely different reason. “Perhaps you’d like a good taste of it. . . .” He fastened his gaze on the stitches in Julie’s bottom lip. “When you’re feeling better.”
Julie blushed. And Will was able to distinguish it from the discoloration on her face.
Ignoring the rise in temperature between Will and Julie—or oblivious to it—Zhing dried her tears with the sleeve of her tunic and launched into an account of everything that had happened since Julie smashed the saloon window. “I leave laundry and go to hotel to look for you,” Zhing told her.
“Oh, no.” Julie was genuinely alarmed. “Please listen to me, Zhing: You mustn’t go into the hotel ever again. It’s not safe for you, and I don’t want you to get into trouble with the hotel manager.”
“It’s not safe for you, Jie Li,” Zhing reminded her, switching back to Cantonese. “But you’re not to worry about me. I’ll not get into trouble at the Russ House. The hotel manager will not bother Zhing anymore.”
The way she said it made the hair on the back on Julie’s neck stand on end. “Why not? You didn’t do anything to him, did you?”
“Not me,” Zhing assured her. “Mr. Will Keegan.” Zhing looked at Will as if he’d hung the moon and the stars.
Aware of Will leaning against the doorjamb watching, Julie met his gaze.
“Thank you so much for finding Zhing and bringing her here.”
“I didn’t find her,” Will said. “Zhing found me at the hotel.” Moving farther into his bedroom, Will set Julie’s suitcase on the table near the washstand. “I went there to retrieve some of your belongings. . . .”
Julie was so excited she was practically bubbling. “Thank you again.”
Will held up her parasol case and the hatbox from Evangeline Dumond’s shop. “I brought this and your new green bonnet.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you for retrieving it. I only got to wear it once. Very briefly.”
“You’ll get to wear it again.” He walked over to the massive armoire, opened the door, and set the hatbox and the parasol case on the top shelf. “They’re right here if you need them. Your reticule and your black stocking are in the hatbox, and your dresser set is in your suitcase.”
“You brought my dresser set? My comb and brush and mirror and hairpins?” Her voice was filled with awe, as if she couldn’t believe he could be so thoughtful.
Will closed the armoire door. “Yours or Jane Burke’s. I’m not sure which.” He looked at Julie.
“Doesn’t matter.” She beamed. “We’re identical.”
“The doctor will be here in a little while. If you want Zhing to help you with a bath, you’d better get started. . . .”
Julie turned to Zhing. “Do you mind? I can’t manage on my own.”
“I’ll stay and help Jie Li get ready for doctor,” Zhing replied.
Will gave Zhing a smile, then crossed the room and disappeared into the washroom. Seconds later, Julie heard him pouring water into the tub from the buckets of hot and cold water Jack had brought up for her bath. Will came out of the washroom. “I forgot to tell you that I brought a tin of chocolates from your room.” He gave Julie another meaningful look. “A slightly dented tin of chocolates from Ghirardelli.”
“I meant the chocolates as a gift for Zhing. I got a tin for her and a tin for the girls at the mission, and both were perfect when I selected them. I’m sorry I dented it.”
“I’m not,” Will told her. “You can give Zhing the contents and save the tin.” He looked at Julie. “Because that one saved your life, Julia Jane.”
“I could send to Ghirardelli’s for another tin.” Julie had chosen the tin because it was decorative as well as functional, and Zhing liked useful, pretty things.
“I’ll have Jack send Ben to Ghirardelli’s for another tin,” Will said. His warm smile made Julie’s nerve endings sizzle. “Now why don’t you go enjoy your bath? I’ll entertain the doctor until you’re ready to see him.”
She returned his smile with one of her own as Zhing hurried into the washroom to prepare Julie’s bath.
* * *
THE DOCTOR ARRIVED SHORTLY AFTER JULIE FINISHED HER bath.
She had soaked in warm scented water for as long as she dared, relaxing as Zhing carefully soaped and rinsed her hair. The warm water helped soak away the aches and pains and bruises better than a sponge bath ever could.
She was clean and feeling more like herself for the first time in days. And she was grateful to Zhing for her help in assisting her in and out of the bathtub and for washing her hair, which Julie could never have managed by herself.
Once Julie was out of the tub, Zhing helped her towel off before wrapping her wrist with a strip of muslin. They emerged from the washroom to find a lovely sky blue cheongsam lying across the foot of the bed with a matching pair of slippers.
“Oh, Jie Li . . .” Zhing reached out and fingered the silk dress. “It’s very nice. Very fine silk.”
Long and straight with a fitted bodice that fastened in front, the dress offered support that didn’t bind or pinch and didn’t require a corset. It was a dress she could manage by herself, and the slit in the skirt from ankle to knee made movement easy. Julie could dress herself without Zhing’s help—even with an injured shoulder and bruised ribs. She slipped the dress over her head and sighed with relief. It fit like a dream, and gave her a measure of independence to move around the room in something other than Will’s shirts and brocade robe.
“Much better than ugly missionary dress,” Zhing pronounced as Julie stepped into the slippers.
“And the ugly black boots.” Will tapped on the door, then opened it and stuck his head inside. “May I come in?”
Her hair was still wet, and Julie put a self-conscious hand up to feel it.
“Come in, Mr. Keegan,” Zhing invited. She turned to Julie. “Jie Li, sit on chair by the fire. I comb your hair.” The little laundry girl patted the ottoman at the foot of Will’s favorite chair and motioned Julie forward. “Sit. Sit.”
Julie sat on the ottoman. Zhing stood behind her and began to drag a comb through her hair.
“Thank you for the dress.”
“You’re welcome,” Will said. “You couldn’t wear your English dresses or the tunic and trousers. It seemed a good choice. I guessed at the fit.” He’d had four nights and three days of taking care of her to memorize the contours of her body well enough to be able to select a cheongsam in her size. And seeing her in this one meant he’d be back to purchase more in every color of the rainbow.
Julie ran her hand over the fabric. “It’s lovely, and it fits perfectly.”
“It matches your eyes,” he told her. “And even then, it’s not nearly as lovely as the lady wearing it.” Will couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He’d seen lovelier women. He had been with lovelier women. But this woman made him want, made him dream, made his heart sing. He frowned. She made his heart sing? What poetic drivel was that? He would like to think it utter rot, except there were no other words to describe what she did, what he felt whenever he saw her. The romantic in him, the poet in him, had suddenly come to life, just as the dead heart that had occupied space in his chest for so many years had suddenly sprung to life. Julia Jane Parham, Jane Burke, or Jie Li, the laundry girl—whoever she was made him believe in possibilities . . . once again. . . .
“Lovely? Bah!” Zhing exclaimed, busily working the silver comb from the set he’d retrieved from Jane Burke’s hotel room through Julie’s thick, rich auburn hair. “Keegan, you no see how ugly cuts and bruises make Jie Li’s face?”
“I see the cuts and bruises, Zhing,” he said softly. “But I think she’s beautiful in spite of them.”
Zhing snorted in disbelief. “Maybe with lots of rice powder on her face,” she speculated. “Not like this.”
“No rice powder,” Will said.
“It might help,” Julie told him, glancing at the mirror in the washstand she had bravely—and somewhat foolishly—uncovered to see for herself the damage to her face that he and Jack had kept hidden from her. “Zhing is brutally honest.”
“Zhing is entitled to her opinion, of course, but so am I, and you don’t need rice powder.”
“I look hideous, but I thank you all the same for the compliments and the dress, and for protecting me from the truth.”
Will eyed her sharply, then grinned. “Should I be suspicious?”
“No. Why?”
“You’re full of thanks all of a sudden,” he told her.
“Maybe I’ve just realized how lucky I am to be alive, and how fortunate I am to have friends like Zhing and Jack and you.” She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes in a flirtatious gesture he’d have labeled coy in any woman but Julia Jane.
He was silent for a moment. “Is that what you think we are? Friends?”
“Aren’t we?” she asked.
“Only if you’re willing to settle for less than what we might be . . .” Will crossed over to his favorite chair, leaned down, and gently traced the bruise on her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not.”
“Keegan . . .” She sucked in a ragged breath, suddenly aware of the look in his eyes.
“My name is Will,” he said softly. “And when these come out”—he touched the stitches on her bottom lip with the tip of his finger—“I thought we might explore the possibilities. . . .”
Julie looked up at him, her mouth forming a perfect O.
“I’ll bring Dr. Stone up in about fifteen minutes,” he said, eyeing Zhing’s progress with Julie’s hair. “Will that be enough time?”
Too bemused to formulate a reply, Julie simply nodded her head.
* * *
WILL WAS AS GOOD AS HIS WORD. HE ESCORTED DR. STONE upstairs and introduced Julie to the physician who had treated her on the night she’d run to the Silken Angel for shelter. Will averted his face while Dr. Stone conducted his examination, in order to allow Julie a measure of modesty, but neither he nor Zhing left the room.
Julie didn’t say so at the time, but although she found Will’s presence while the doctor examined her a bit disconcerting, she decided it was also reassuring. They may have begun their relationship on opposite sides of the street—on opposite sides of a tambourine, so to speak—but they had become friends . . . or associates . . . or something more. She wasn’t sure what that might be at the moment, but she was qu
ite certain she didn’t want to settle for friendship either. She wanted the chance to find out what that something else might be. . . .
“You are healing quite nicely, Miss Parham,” the doctor told her as he removed his stethoscope from inside the front of her bodice and moved to the back. “You had some infection around your stab wound, which accounts for your fever, but it’s much better. There’s no fever at present, and your lungs sound clear. No sign of pneumonia or pneumothorax.” He folded his stethoscope, put it in his jacket pocket, and fastened the frogs on Julie’s dress for her before moving on to examine her sprained wrist.
After unwrapping the fabric binding it, Dr. Stone tested her wrist, checking the swelling and moving it up and down and side to side to gauge the range of movement and her level of discomfort.
Julie winced, but didn’t cry out as he manipulated the swollen joint.
“Bearable?” Dr. Stone asked. “Or unbearable?”
“Bearable,” she answered.
He nodded. “Still using the laudanum I left for you in order to ease the pain and sleep at night?”
Julie shook her head. “No. Not since the first night. I don’t care for laudanum.”
Dr. Stone raised an eyebrow in query before glancing over at Will for confirmation.
Will nodded. “She doesn’t,” he added. “She expelled it when I gave it to her. After that, we gave up and settled for coffee and brandy.”
Julie glared at Will. “You put brandy in my coffee without my knowledge?”
“Don’t get your dander up with him, young lady,” Dr. Stone interrupted. “He gave you brandy on my orders, in case you displayed an adverse reaction to the laudanum. Some folks do. And you appear to be one of them.”
“Are you still putting brandy in my beverages?” Julie asked.
“I’m the doctor,” Dr. Stone reminded her. “I’ll ask the questions.” He stared at Will. “Well? Are you?”
A Wanted Man Page 22