Bees in the Butterfly Garden (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  Particularly not Kate’s.

  For the merest second he considered not answering. Let her think Roscoe was here alone, since there was no hiding his scratch and cry. There was only one reason for Kate’s arrival—to remind Ian of what he already knew.

  “It’s too early in the day for a polite visit, Kate,” Ian said, opening the door to face her despite his reluctance. Delaying the inevitable rarely served him. “So I’m assuming there will be nothing polite about it.”

  She walked past him into the room, her face somber. “I came for your own sake, Ian. Keys just told me to stay away from you for a few days. You know what that means.”

  Too well. Ian brushed his chin with the back of his hand, considering the warning in Kate’s words. Brewster liked to isolate his prey and avoid much damage spilling onto others. Resent Kate though he might, Ian knew Brewster thought enough of John’s memory to want her spared any unpleasantness.

  Brewster had no doubt heard about the bank fiasco, and the natural conclusion would be the truth: Ian needed Meg now—and what she could bring to him. If they were going to work together, Brewster wanted to make sure he wasn’t cut out.

  “If you use Meg to get to that gold,” Kate said, proving she’d figured out the situation too, “you’ll shred the memory of friendship with John that you claimed so important.”

  Ian should lie to her, assure Kate he wasn’t taking that next step, no matter the truth. He did need Meg if he wanted the biggest heist of his career. But when he turned away from Kate’s accusing face, unable to hide what he intended, something filled him that he hadn’t felt in years—or if he had, he hadn’t given the room to acknowledge it. Shame.

  “Oh, Ian,” she whispered, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder. A hand he wanted to shrug away but forced himself to endure. “You wouldn’t do this to John’s daughter, would you?”

  “It’s me or Brewster, Kate. Meg won’t have it any other way.”

  “Then it’s your job to find another way.” She came around and looked at him earnestly. “And you know it.”

  Kate walked back to the door, adding quietly that she would do all she could to protect Meg. “If you know what’s best for you,” she added, “you’ll leave the city right now, before Brewster’s man shows up for you. I’ll pray you do the right thing.”

  Then she left.

  Ian looked at the closed door. To his own amazement, it was the first time one of her promises of prayer didn’t fill him with anger. If Brewster was concocting a plan to inspire the kind of fear he used in his favor, then Ian needed all the interference he could find. Heavenly or otherwise.

  With so many of the city’s elite away for the eight-week summer season, morning calls to or from the Pembertons had been rare. Even Mrs. Mason, who had reminded Claire at the dinner party some weeks ago that she was happy to fill in for Claire’s absent parents, had visited only twice. So when a card embellished with a simple, single flower and the name Lady Kate Weathersfield was delivered to Meg, Meg’s surprise that she had a visitor couldn’t have been more sincere.

  “A friend?” Claire asked after Meg’s gasp no doubt drew her attention.

  They were in the parlor waiting for Evie for their daily trip to the park. Until this moment, Meg had been eager to go. But perhaps the park wasn’t the best place to find Ian because of its vast size. Despite the unfamiliar last name, Lady Kate could only mean one person—someone most definitely connected to Ian.

  Meg wasn’t entirely sure how to answer Claire’s inquiry. “Yes. . . .” She stood, ready to receive the caller just as soon as the maid could lead her into the room. “This is a most unexpected visit, and I know you only receive callers on Tuesdays, Claire. But I’d like to see her.” Needed to see her was more truthful, even as fear over the reason for Kate’s visit started to take shape.

  Claire hardly looked rattled. “Of course! How would a friend of yours know the Pemberton schedule? Please have her come in, and I’ll gladly delay our visit to the park if you like.”

  Meg was about to insist Claire keep to her schedule and go to the park anyway, but there was Kate, so astonishing a sight in the Pemberton parlor that Meg forgot what she’d been about to say.

  “How good of you to see me,” Kate said as she swept into the room. She was lovelier than ever in a princess-line tea gown of crisp red floral damask, topped by a bonnet of lace and ribbon over tightly woven black straw. She held out her lace-gloved hand, while a small beaded reticule hung from her wrist. “I’ve only just arrived back in New York but simply couldn’t wait another moment to see you, Meg!”

  Meg let Kate take both of her hands. What was she to say? Because no doubt every word pouring from Kate’s mouth was a lie—polished and prettied with an entirely phony English accent.

  “It’s very nice to see you . . . Lady Kate.”

  Kate turned to Claire, but only partially so. She kept one hand on Meg’s but held the other out to Claire.

  “Do permit me to introduce myself, won’t you, darling? I’m Lady Kate Weathersfield, originally of London but lately of Baltimore and visiting New York, where I knew this lovely child’s father, John Davenport, simply years and years ago. When I learned through Meg’s school that she would be spending the summer with the Pembertons, I ventured out without a single companion, I was so eager to see her. But do tell me—Claire, is it?—could you be related to Henshall Pemberton? The first Pemberton I thought of was dear, dear Henshall!”

  “I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with a Henshall Pemberton. My father is Arthur. He does have a brother, but he’s in Chicago. Hugh Pemberton?”

  Kate—Lady Kate—waved away the lack of connection, and Meg watched as she so masterfully demonstrated how to be a confident and sophisticated liar. Meg almost believed the exhibition herself.

  “Oh, never mind, then, darling.” She dropped Claire’s hand to replace her own atop Meg’s. “But it’s so lovely to see you! I’ll be staying in the city for a while and would love to spend time with you. Shall we make a date for a dinner? Or something rather longer than that? How about an excursion! Oh yes, you simply must visit me for a picnic. We have so much to talk about! How fortunate that you’re not away at that school for the summer or off to Newport like many of my other city friends.”

  “We can visit now for a while,” Meg suggested. Evie entered the parlor just then, a look of curiosity on her face as she took in Kate. Meg looked at Claire. “Perhaps you and Evie might go on to the park as scheduled, and I’ll stay behind.”

  “And who is this lovely child?” Kate exclaimed upon seeing Evie. “But you must be a Pemberton! You’ve your sister’s eyes, only in green.”

  Evie’s brows rose. “I never thought Claire and I resembled one another.”

  “Of course you do! You have only to grow into the look a bit. In a few years you’ll be every bit as captivating, just wait and see. Beauty can be learned, of course, but you’ve been given it naturally. True beauty.”

  Evie’s smile almost proved Kate’s words to be true. For the moment she possessed a look of near serenity, making the beauty Kate predicted seem a reality. But Meg knew Evie too well to believe it for long.

  “Perhaps we all ought to go—or stay,” Evie suggested.

  But Claire was already pulling her sister along. “It was very nice to meet you, Lady Weathersfield. I hope we get to see you again. But we’ll leave you with Meg for a visit so the two of you can do a little reacquainting.”

  “Thank you ever so much, darling!” Kate called after them.

  No sooner had the sound of a closing door echoed through the parlor than Meg opened her mouth to speak. But nothing came out.

  Kate put a finger atop Meg’s lips. “Don’t waste time,” she whispered. “Is there somewhere we can speak—where you’re sure we won’t be overheard?”

  Meg thought a moment, then nodded. “The garden.”

  She led Kate from the parlor, refusing an offer of tea when a servant met them in the foyer.
It was too early for tea anyway, and she didn’t want the interruption of its delivery.

  Meg closed the doors once they were outside, for a moment seeing the garden as Kate might see it. Nearly untouched, making her effort toward improving it so scant as to be embarrassing.

  But Kate didn’t appear interested in their surroundings. She faced Meg, clutching her reticule as if she needed it to steady herself. “I came to talk sense into you.”

  “I already know you never wanted me here, so why this pressing visit all of a sudden?”

  One of Kate’s hands lifted from the reticule to curl into a small, tight fist, which she pushed against her lips as if to stifle what she’d been about to say.

  Her obvious worry renewed the fear inside Meg. “Tell me, Kate. Has something happened? To Ian? Because of how the bank job turned out?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What do you mean? Is he going to be arrested?”

  Kate uttered what might have been a laugh, but it was choked into a moan. “If only it were that easy. No. It’s Brewster. He sees Ian as a wounded pup. Now is the time to either convince him of his place or be rid of him altogether. He knows Ian will work with you now.”

  Meg wanted to swallow but found she couldn’t. Her throat had turned to stone. “What does that mean? Be rid of him?”

  “Oh, he won’t kill him—if nothing goes wrong. But he’ll scare him enough to hope he leaves town for other territory. Unless he agrees to cooperate with Brewster.”

  Meg turned on her heel back toward the door, only to be caught in Kate’s firm grip on her arm. She tried breaking free, but Kate held tight.

  “We’ve got to stop him, Kate! Come with me or not, but I won’t stand by and let this happen. I’ll see Brewster myself, and—”

  “And what?” Her fingers dug into Meg’s skin. “Do you think your words will stop Brewster from doing as he pleases? This is exactly why your father never wanted you to know the kind of life he lived!”

  Meg stared at Kate as words Brewster had spoken to her came back in stark detail. “He warned me, Kate, only I didn’t know what it was.”

  “Who warned you? When?”

  “Brewster, at a charity ball. He said he had a way to convince Ian to work with him. This must be what he meant.” She tugged on the arm Kate still gripped. “Now let me go.”

  Kate loosened but did not give up her hold on Meg. “Even if you’d known it was a warning, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Brewster would still go through with whatever he has in mind, and what do you think Ian would do? Leave town? Leave you to Brewster? Do you think he’s going to be scared off?”

  Meg shrugged out of Kate’s grasp and left the garden without looking back. She wound her way through the Pemberton home and out the front door without stopping for her hat and gloves or to let anyone know she was leaving. The coach Kate must have arrived in waited at the curb. Meg jumped inside, calling to the driver the name of the St. Denis Hotel.

  Kate barely had time to join her before the carriage rolled down the street.

  Ian could have waited in his rented hotel room. Or he could have tried hiding, and in a city as vast as New York, he might have succeeded, at least for a while. He might even have caught a train back to Peekskill with the faint hope that would be enough to show capitulation. Let Brewster have Meg because Ian stepped out of the picture.

  But he did none of that. He knew he would have to get this over with, this next step toward independence. He only hoped nothing went wrong. Brewster’s thugs weren’t among the most careful when it came to enforcing an order of intimidation.

  He went to a nearby bar with the idea of administering some anesthesia but thought better of it after a single drink. There was no sense in leaving himself utterly vulnerable. He’d need a bit of wit if he hoped to defend himself—and could at least look forward to the anesthesia once it was over.

  When it was over.

  Knowing John wouldn’t have approved of Brewster’s method afforded Ian some comfort, but even so he hoped Meg wouldn’t find out. The last thing he wanted was anybody’s pity, and for some reason the thought of hers was especially distasteful.

  “It does no good to see Brewster,” Kate insisted from her seat opposite Meg.

  Her words might have been foreign for all Meg understood. She knew only one thing: she would stop this, no matter what it took.

  “If you’re really intent on getting involved . . .” Suddenly Kate threw her hands up in obvious frustration. “Oh, all right, then! Driver!” She banged on the roof of the carriage in the most unladylike manner Meg had ever seen. “Not the St. Denis!” she yelled. “Take us to Washington Square.”

  Then she settled back in her seat, eyeing Meg with something between irritation and fear. “There’s only one way to make any possible difference, and that’s to stick to Ian like two flies on a spiderweb. Brewster has just enough respect left to protect the women John loved from witnessing what he’s planning to do. I’m not sure it’ll work, but at least whatever’s going to happen won’t happen today. If we can delay it long enough, maybe we can think of a way to prevent it altogether.”

  Meg twisted out of her seat, balancing on one knee for her own turn at banging on the carriage ceiling. “Hurry, driver! Hurry!”

  “Hey, Maguire.”

  Ian heard the voice, but it was the last one he’d expected.

  Evidently this was to be Keys’s test of loyalty too.

  Ian didn’t turn toward the carriage that slowed at his side, but from his peripheral vision he saw two drivers instead of just the one who normally drove Brewster’s carriage. He also saw Keys leaning out the open window. “Better get in on your own. Save us the trouble.”

  Ian stopped, and so did the carriage. Other than the two atop, Keys appeared to be alone. He wondered if Keys thought Ian a more worthy opponent than he was at fisticuffs, if he’d brought two others to hold Ian down.

  “This isn’t your normal job, Keys. Been lowered in rank?”

  “Yeah, all for the big fat nothin’ your bank job brought in. Thanks.” He opened the carriage door. “Get in.”

  Ian did so, seeing he’d been right about Keys being alone. That was good, although the man had a solid thirty pounds on Ian. His police training probably enhanced whatever natural ability he’d had for fighting. This would be no tomfoolery, particularly when one—or both—of the burly drivers participated.

  “You have someplace special in mind for this little dance of ours?” Ian asked once he settled across from Keys. He’d hoped talking instead of dwelling on the stone in the pit of his stomach would help him ignore that weight, but it didn’t.

  Keys looked out the window at his side as if he couldn’t stand the sight of Ian. “You’ll know when we get there.”

  Ian looked out the other window, surprised that his breathing was steady, his pulse even. Didn’t he believe Keys would go through with it? Maybe not. Or maybe Ian was as much an idiot as Brewster believed.

  Without another word, the carriage continued on its way to the unknown destination away from the square, in the direction of Battery Park. There were plenty of scenic spots in that neighborhood. Stinking warehouses, run-down taverns and bunkhouses offering the first welcome to the poorest of immigrants coming through the fort, piles of landfill made up of rocks and stumps and debris cleared from the rest of the city to make it suitable for building.

  A little blood sprinkled here or there would hardly be noticeable.

  Ian shot a quick glance at Keys, wondering how he felt about spilling some of Ian’s blood.

  Just then noise erupted from the street.

  “No!”

  “Stop!”

  The protests came from a confusing source. Certainly outside the carriage, but closer than expected—from empty walkways. Shouts quickly followed, calling Ian’s name. Female voices.

  At first Brewster’s carriage picked up the pace, until it was obvious another carriage, the one containing the objecting voices, was behind.
Just as Ian spied activity through the window behind Keys, Keys himself turned as well. It didn’t take long to spot the hired carriage on their tail, with two women reaching out, waving frantically from each side.

  One was Kate.

  The other Meg.

  Another man might have been hopeful, but not Ian. Far better to be beaten to a pulp than rescued by either one of them.

  Yet rescue was not to be had, at least not easily. Suddenly the carriage holding Ian stopped, and the horses behind, so close in pursuit, whinnied at the abrupt obstruction. Before Ian considered seeing himself out, Keys landed a restraining grip on one of his forearms, and Ian saw Brewster’s driver stomp toward the hired carriage behind them.

  The sound of the horses, still complaining but perhaps now in fear rather than indignation, muffled the shouts between the men. In a facile movement, Brewster’s driver leaped to the cabbie, effectively pulling him from his seat. With one soundly landed punch, the man fell past his perch all the way to the uneven Dutch bricks that paved the street below.

  Then the driver waved at the man who must have remained on Brewster’s carriage and drove off, carrying away both women squawking with dissent.

  “He told you to stay away, Kate.”

  The man Kate said was Brewster’s driver had each of them by the hand, as if they were two wayward children needing to be taught a lesson. Once the carriage had stopped from its dangerously rapid pace—in front of the familiar facade of Kate’s French flats—he’d hopped to the side so quickly, Meg couldn’t have escaped even if she’d thought of it. He’d reached in and grabbed each by a wrist, then hauled them out without delay. Meg could see Kate was nearly cooperating, perhaps in fear of being seen by one of her tenants.

  “You have no right to do this!” Meg insisted, though she saw from Kate’s face that continued protest would be fruitless.

  The man said nothing, just kicked open the door to the building before Kate had a chance to reach it. Once inside she hurried ahead in time to open her own door.