Wherever You Go

by Tracie Peterson

  Lizzy had no feelings toward the dead queen one way or another but was instead put off by all the snobbish attitudes and wasteful spending. Jason had assured her that it was his father’s money to spend and she shouldn’t care, but she did. She was also worried about Wesley and her mother. She hadn’t had so much as a telegram to tell her he’d gotten to the ranch safely. Already she had sent two letters to her mother and three to Wes, and while she did know it would take time for them to get to America and then to Montana, she had hoped for at least some word. She had no way of knowing what was happening back at the ranch. Was everything all right? Was her mother truly healthy and well?

  “I should have gone with Wes, no matter what Jason said,” she murmured.

  Now, she was stuck in England, waiting and wondering when Wesley might join them. To add to her worry, Phillip and her uncle had taken to leaving for hours on end. She had no idea where they went or when they returned, but she knew they were both drinking. She’d asked Carson to keep watch over them, but he reported that often her uncle would simply order him to work elsewhere, and when Carson went to check on them later, Oliver and Phillip would be long gone. He had seen them both drunk on more than one occasion but found it impossible to keep them from imbibing.

  “You don’t look as if you’re enjoying yourself.”

  Lizzy looked up to find Jason watching her from only a few feet away. “I’m not. I don’t like parties and the opportunity they give my uncle to drink.”

  “Your uncle is just fine. I saw him not ten minutes ago. He wasn’t at all intoxicated,” Jason assured her.

  “That would be a first, then.” Lizzy frowned. “Jason, I want to send a telegram to Wesley. It’s not right that I haven’t heard from him.”

  “I would imagine you haven’t heard from him because he’s on his way to join you here.”

  Lizzy blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “It would have taken him at least ten days to travel to and from the ranch, and that is only if he could secure a seat on the necessary trains. Then there is the passage from New York to London. That’s another week. Under the most ideal circumstances, he needs at least three weeks to conclude all of that travel.”

  “I suppose you’re right, and that’s not even allowing for the time he’ll need to resolve the issues at the ranch.”

  “Ah . . . right. That would add to the schedule.”

  “Still, he could have sent me a note.” Lizzy sighed. “I need him here with me. To help me. I can’t keep his brother from drinking, and despite what you think about my uncle, his health is not good, and drinking only makes it worse.”

  Jason gave her a gentle smile and touched her shoulder. “Lizzy, I wish you wouldn’t worry. My heart’s desire is to keep you from such misery. I want only to give you a wonderful life here in London. I want to show you off and show you the beauty that can be had. I want you to fall in love with this town and with me.”

  She pushed him back. “I will never fall in love with you!”

  His eyes widened, but he said nothing. Lizzy stormed past him, knowing it was futile to explain it to him once again. She had mentioned his nagging interest to her uncle, but the older man had told her not to be insulted or offended. Jason was simply a young man in love.

  “Lizzy, wait.” Jason had followed her outside to the gardens.

  “I have no desire to listen to you speak of love. We’ve talked about this over and over. I think you are a very fine man, but I am in love with Wesley.”

  “But you haven’t even given me a chance.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “I don’t want to give you or anyone else a chance. I love Wes, and that’s the final word.” She could see the disappointment in his eyes. “Jason, you’re a good man, and you will find a woman one day who will love you as much as you love her, but I’m not that woman. Even if Wes were to die, God forbid, I would still not marry you.”

  “But why?” He held out his hands. “I can give you so much.”

  “I wish I could make you understand.”

  She hurried back toward the house. Uncle Oliver was standing near the open French doors with a nearly empty champagne glass in his hands. Without stopping to say a word, Lizzy yanked the glass from his hands and threw it on the cobblestones behind her. The crystal shattered.

  Lizzy knew it was wrong, but at that moment she didn’t care. She’d pay for it herself if need be, but she had to get her point across.

  “You know you aren’t to be drinking. You know what you promised my mother.” Her tone was accusatory, but she didn’t care. “If you continue to drink, Uncle Oliver, then I’m going home.” She glanced around the room. Thankfully everyone else was on the other side of the room and paid them no attention.

  Oliver recovered from his shock and laughed. “Lizzy, you darling child, you remind me of my stepmother. She could lose her temper when my father broke his promises. But honestly, you mustn’t fret so.” Oliver followed her into the hall. “It was just half a glass, and as you saw, I hadn’t even finished it.”

  “I’m tired of worrying about you. You drink to forget your sorrow at losing Father, but you still have me.” Tears came to her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

  Uncle Oliver’s brow furrowed as his expression grew concerned. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you pain. Sometimes, I . . . well, I know you don’t understand.”

  Lizzy’s heart softened. “But I want to. I want to help you overcome this. Tell me what I can do.”

  Oliver shook his head. “There’s nothing anyone can do . . . except me. I wish I were stronger. I wish I could stand up against the demons.”

  “God will give you the strength you need, Uncle Oliver. He promised He’d never leave nor forsake us. You can trust Him to help you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wished Wes was there to help encourage her uncle. Often a man wouldn’t listen to the pleas of a woman—especially one they considered little more than a child.

  “Uncle Oliver, I love you. You’re all I have left of Father. Please don’t leave me to face the world without you.”

  For a moment her uncle seemed stunned by her words, but after several long seconds, he gave her a weak smile and a nod. “I’ll do what I can, child. For you. For you I will try.”

  Lizzy shook her head. “You must do it for yourself, Uncle Oliver.”

  His expression grew sad, and he shook his head. “Then I don’t think it will ever happen, for I am not worth the effort.”

  Jason felt the telegram in his pocket. It had arrived precisely two weeks after they’d left Wesley behind in New York. Jason could imagine DeShazer seething when he learned that there was no emergency at the ranch. His telegram to Lizzy spoke of Jason’s deceit and warned her to stay away from him. The very nerve of that American cowboy.

  Of course, Lizzy would never see this telegram, nor the one that was sent from New York. She’d never see the letters her mother sent either, because Jason didn’t trust Rebecca Brookstone not to warn Lizzy against him. He hadn’t opened the letters because it would serve no purpose. If they were innocent, he couldn’t very well give them to Lizzy opened. And if they spoke against him, as Jason very much feared they might, then he didn’t want her to see them. Instead he had burned them in the kitchen stove. Later, after Lizzy was his and Wesley was all but forgotten, he might confess his actions, but for now it was better she didn’t know.

  “What do you mean?” Ella asked the footman.

  “Miss, I only know that I was given this missive for you.”

  Ella opened the letter and read the barely legible script.

  Need your help. Please come.

  —Phillip

  “Who brought this?”

  “A young boy. He’s waiting on the street for you.” The footman gave an exasperated sigh and turned to go.

  Ella considered calling him back, but he was already in such a snit about the matter that she felt it would do her little good. She didn’t know what had happened to Phillip, but it proba
bly involved alcohol. Perhaps he was hurt or had been arrested. Neither would bode well for him. She ran upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Mary to retrieve her cloak and purse. If he was in trouble, she’d no doubt need money.

  Without speaking to anyone, Ella slipped from the house and made her way down the front stairs. The young boy waiting for her couldn’t have been more than ten. He was hopelessly filthy but of good spirits.

  “Are you Miss Ella?”

  “I am,” she said, smiling despite the situation.

  “I’m to take you to me mum. She’s helping your friend.”

  “Very well.”

  They began walking, but after a quick clip for at least ten blocks, Ella glanced around for a taxi.

  “I’m afraid I can’t go much farther in these shoes,” she told the boy.

  He stopped and looked at her oddly, then gave a shrug. “Take ’em off. That’s what I do when they pinch.”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather hire us a cab. Can you find one?” She looked up and down the mostly residential street. The lamplight gave her some comfort, but only minimal. The feeling of being very alone washed over her, and Ella bit her lower lip.

  “You wait here.” The boy disappeared without another word, shooting down a side street as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Ella pulled her cloak close and realized the foolishness of what she’d done. She had no idea how to find her way back to the Adler house should the boy not return. She looked up and down the street and saw lights in most of the windows but no real sign of people.

  The damp air seemed to settle on her like a blanket. She remembered the terrible talk about Jack the Ripper—a man who killed women he found on the streets. That was years ago, however. She’d heard about it when her family visited England in 1895. It was still fresh in everyone’s mind then. The biggest concern was that the killer had not been caught. Had he ever been found?

  Ella backed up a few steps and nearly jumped out of her skin as her body came in contact with something hard. She shrieked and leapt forward, whirling around at the same time. It was just an iron post.

  The minutes hung like hours, and yet Ella wasn’t sure what to do. She felt frozen in place. She could see a bit of traffic about two blocks ahead where the street intersected. Perhaps that was a better place to be.

  She started to walk but hadn’t gotten even a block when she heard the sound of a horse clipping along behind her.

  “Miss Ella! Miss Ella!” She turned and saw the boy sitting up with the driver. “I found a ride, Miss Ella.”

  She wanted to cry and felt her knees start to buckle. Forcing herself to be strong, she drew a deep breath.

  The driver brought the cab to a stop, then jumped down and tipped his hat. “Miss, this lad says you need a ride. I told him I’d box his ears if he were lyin’.”

  “He’s not. I sent him. Thank you so much for coming to my rescue.”

  “Ah, you’d be from America, from the sounds of it.”

  Ella nodded and let him help her into the carriage. “I am.” She settled into the smooth leather, still feeling shaken.

  “Where would you be wanting to go?” the driver asked.

  “The boy knows. You’ll have to ask him. I’m supposed to retrieve a sick friend. I’ll need you to drive me back to the Adler house, but I’m not exactly sure where that is either. The boy hopefully can direct you.”

  The man tipped his hat and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Ella chided herself for not at least getting the address of the Adler house.

  They weren’t all that long on the road before Ella heard the boy telling the driver to pull over. When the carriage came to a stop, the driver assisted Ella from the carriage.

  “Will you wait for me?” she asked, watching as the boy headed into a well-lit tavern. Several drunk customers bounded out the front door, singing at the top of their lungs. Ella shivered. “Better still, could you maybe accompany me?”

  “Of course, miss.”

  Ella nodded and headed toward the establishment.

  The boy waited at the door. “He’s upstairs. Me mum is takin’ care of him.”

  They passed into the pub, and immediately Ella was assaulted by the smell of food and drink and sweaty bodies. People around the room seemed to be working class. At least it appeared to be a decent establishment.

  The boy led the way around the side of the room and up a set of stairs that were all but hidden from view at first glance. The steps were steep and narrow and the passageway dark, but Ella was determined to continue. All she could think was that Phillip had been injured or was too drunk to get home on his own. Once they reached the top, the stairs opened onto a long dimly lit hall. Doors lined the hall at regular intervals.

  “Where is he, boy?” the driver asked.

  “Third door on the right.” The boy hurried to it and threw it open without knocking. “Mum, she’s come. She’s come to take him.”

  Ella moved to the open door and looked inside the small space. A short woman with mousy brown hair and a baby on her hip walked toward her.

  “Your friend got into a wee bit of trouble. Some fellas roughed him up a bit out back, and I managed to get him up here. I found a piece of paper in his pocket with an address, and he keeps askin’ for you. That is, if you’re Ella.”

  “I am.”

  The woman nodded. “He’s well into his cups, so he’s not feelin’ much pain, but he will soon enough.”

  Ella bit her lip. It wasn’t the first time she’d helped Phillip out after he’d been drinking. It was, however, the first time he’d suffered a beating. At least that she knew about.

  “This man is going to drive us home,” she said, gesturing to the cabbie. “I think he can help me get Phillip downstairs and loaded into the carriage.”

  “Come this way,” the woman told the driver. The baby began to fuss, and she jostled him to the opposite hip.

  The cabbie followed her, disappearing behind a small partition. “Ah, here now, gov’nah, lemme help you,” Ella heard the old man declare.

  “Where’s Ella? Ella’s gonna take me home,” Phillip slurred.

  “She’s just on the other side of the screen. Come on with ya now,” the woman commanded.

  Within a few seconds the driver reappeared with Phillip tucked under his arm. Poor Phillip. His clothes were torn and dirty, and his face was bruised and scratched. There was a cut above his right eye that had left caked blood rivulets down the side of his face. Ella’s heart went out to him.

  “Oh, Phillip. What have they done to you?”

  He smiled. “You should ask what I did to them.”

  Ella shook her head and looked to the driver. “Please take him down. I’ll be right there.”

  The man nodded. “Boy, you go before me and make sure the stairs are clear.”

  Ella turned to the woman. “Thank you for sending your son.” She fished a few coins from her purse and held them out. “Please take this for your trouble.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” the woman said, pushing the money back. The baby reached for his mother’s face. She kissed his fingers before smiling at Ella. “It was my way of bein’ a good Christian.”

  “And this is my way of thanking you, as a good Christian.” Ella smiled at the infant, then tucked the coins in the woman’s apron pocket.

  Hurrying to catch up with the driver and Phillip, Ella found they were already heading out the front door of the tavern. She followed them, glad no one seemed of a mind to stop her. She hated what had happened to Phillip and yet knew he’d brought it on himself. What would Lizzy say when she saw him? Would he be fired—sent home in disgrace? What if they fired him and didn’t even bother to send him back to America, but left him to figure out things on his own?

  She waited until the driver got Phillip in the carriage before letting him help her inside. It wasn’t until they were on their way down the street that she remembered she didn’t know where they were going. Apparently the driver did.
Hopefully the little boy had told him the Adlers’ address.

  “Phillip, whatever happened to you?”

  He had his head back and his eyes closed. She expected one of his humorous replies, but instead he sounded sadder than she had ever heard him.

  “I’m no good, Ella. No good . . . at all.”

  “That’s not true, Phillip. You are a good man. You just need to leave the bottle alone. You and drink don’t get along so well.”

  “I can’t . . . stop, Ella. I . . . I can’t stop drinking.” His head lolled to one side as the driver made a sharp turn. With what looked to be great effort, Phillip sat up and straightened. “I can’t stop.” He looked at her and shook his head. “I . . . need it.” His words were slurred and stammered. His head fell forward until his chin touched his chest, but his eyes were raised to hers.

  “But why, Phillip? Why do you need it?” She wanted to understand his pain.

  “To forget. I . . . I have to forget.”

  This time he did close his eyes, and for a second she thought maybe he had passed out. Nevertheless she pressed him for answers.

  “Forget what, Phillip? What do you need to forget?”

  The question seemed to startle him, and he jerked back with such force that Ella gasped. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes not seeming to see her.

  “I need to forget. . . .” He stopped and ran his tongue over his teeth as if his mouth had grown too dry. He licked his lips and then closed his eyes and fell back against the seat. “Forget I killed him.”

  Ella shivered and clutched her cloak close. “Killed who?” she barely whispered, but it was enough.