She studied him. He’d likely want to distance himself now. People often feigned indifference in person but would later avoid contact. She was almost certain Walker would do the same.
“My first week on the force I was to escort a young lady to a hearing. They’d charged her under the Female Refuges Act. She was with child, twenty years old, scared out of her wits. I’d heard what they do to girls there. I couldn’t in good conscience… not…” He took a breath and lifted his gaze to Mercy. “I gave her all the money I had in my pocket, told her to kick me, and run.” He laughed at the memory of it. “My chief at the time knew what I’d done, didn’t believe me when I said she’d taken me by surprise and overpowered me. They were desperate for officers or something, because they didn’t fire me. Put me on probation, docked my wages, but I kept my job. He told me, though, if I ever put even a toe out of line, that’d be it. I’d be gone. That’s when I really started taking my job seriously. Cut off contact with my mother. Disowned my past. Everything. I couldn’t afford any more trouble for myself.” He chuckled slightly. “Not that I did myself much good.”
Mercy watched him look away, knowing he was holding back. “You’re a good man, Jeremiah Walker,” she said. “You helped someone.”
He nodded. “Our plan hasn’t changed then?” he said, his tone sombre. “You still want to continue? I understand if—”
“No, of course I want to continue. I want to see this through to the end.”
Jeremiah nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Good,” he said, “because I need you.”
Mercy burst through the door of Constance’s house and nearly ran up the stairs. “Constance!” Never before in her life had she felt so hopeful. “Constance, I have so much to tell you!”
Not only had they figured out who killed Cynthia and Clemmie, but Jeremiah Walker was most definitely falling for—
“Mercy, don’t!”
Mercy rounded the corner and stopped dead at the top of the stairs. Louis Bolton was standing in the middle of Constance’s living room, his open wound hidden beneath a free hand, blood oozing between his fingers and dripping onto the rug. In an outstretched hand he held a sizable knife, directing it toward Constance and the baby, who had been backed into a corner.
On the floor near the window lay Lottie, on her side, legs and arms bent.
“She fainted,” Louis said, nodding his head toward the body. “I ain’t done nothing to her.”
Mercy nodded calmly and took a step toward Constance and the child.
“Don’t come any closer!” he yelled, turning in place to point the knife at Mercy. “I may not have hurt her but that don’t mean I couldn’t have.”
Mercy raised her hands in surrender. “Louis, what are you doing here?” Her voice was surprisingly calm.
“I’m taking my baby back,” he growled, turning the knife handle around in his palm for a better grip. As if remembering Constance, he started switching the knife direction between her and Mercy. “You can’t stop me. She’s mine. She’s my baby.”
The baby was crying even as Constance held her to her breast and tried to protect her head and face with one hand.
“It’s over, Louis,” Mercy said. “We know you promised Maggie to the devil. Detective Walker is arresting them as we speak.” She figured a small, white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone at this point.
Louis narrowed his eyes at her.
“They killed your wife, Cynthia. Do you really want to hand your daughter over to them?”
“I don’t have a choice!” He winced against a wave of pain and looked down to the hand at his stomach. His stitches had clearly opened and he was losing blood rapidly. “I knew where she was before any of you! You and that mutt of a detective. I’ve been watching her for days. Couldn’t get to her, though, on account of all the nuns and kids about.” He released a short laugh. “Hadn’t realized your daughter had taken her ’til this morning. She’s a cunning one, ain’t she?”
“How did you know she was my daughter?”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, she looks just like you, just darker is all. Don’t take a genius to figure that one out. I knew it were her who took her. Took me all day to track yous here, but I did it. I already sent word that I found her.”
Mercy swallowed nervously, trying not to look at her sister, who cowered in the corner. “Sent word to whom?” she asked, taking a step toward him while his attention was on Constance. He was quick to bring his attention back to Mercy.
“Stay where you are!” He took a step toward her, the knife pointed directly at her.
Mercy raised her open palms as if to remind him she had surrendered. “All right. All right. I will stay over here, but I think you should calm down. You’re upsetting the baby.”
“So what if I am? She’s mine, you know.” His scowl deepened as he took in the sight of her. “You thought you could just take her from me. Thought you could separate her from her loving father.”
Mercy snorted. “A loving father wouldn’t sell her for a few dollars.”
Constance gasped but quickly clasped a hand over her mouth.
“It were a hundred dollars,” he spat.
“A hundred, is it then? The cost of a life so cheap?” Mercy felt herself growing angry at the image of the child handed over to her madman father, a man who was hell-bent on giving her to someone responsible for murdering her mother.
“’Tis enough to grant me freedom once again.”
“Freedom from what? Gambling debts? Maggie must pay for the rest of her life because of your lack of self control?”
“Mercy, what are you doing?” Constance hissed from the other side of the room.
“What do it matter? She gets a better life. The best of clothes, all the food she could ever eat, an’ a big fancy house to grow up in. Who wants more ’an that?” He adjusted his grip on the knife. “Now hand her over!”
Constance turned her body to protect the child.
“You better pray she never finds out her real father sold her to the family responsible for killing her mother!” Mercy said. “A mother who changed her mind and decided she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sell her baby. Your wife had more morals than you, it would seem.”
“Mercy, stop!” Constance pleaded. “You’ll make him angrier.”
“My wife lacked gumption!”
“Cynthia lacked sense when she married the likes of you!”
Louis came at her, only stopping when the tip of the blade was inches from Mercy’s nose.
Mercy stared at the knife tip but did not flinch. From the corner of her eye she saw Constance, with Maggie in her arms, inching for the stairs.
“You will let me have what’s mine,” he said.
“No.”
Growling, he lunged forward with the knife poised to strike. Mercy ducked out of the way and raised her leg, tripping him. As he fell she rushed to the fireplace and grabbed the iron poker. When she turned he was nearly on his feet. Louis froze when he saw the poker ready to strike.
Mercy used her free arm to add another barrier between him and the child. The baby’s cries were muffled against the pounding of her heart. Louis pulled his hand away from the wound on his stomach. The blood from his hand dripped to the floor as more stained his shirt. He stumbled back and used the edge of an upholstered chair to hold himself upright.
“Was Walker to meet you here?” Constance asked from behind Mercy.
“No.” She did not take her attention from Louis. “We were supposed to meet at the abbey.” Mercy’s heart sank. “We had a plan.”
Louis laughed, dropped the knife, and used both hands to try to control the bleeding. “They’re coming,” he said, between grunts. “I already sent word that you were here. Your little iron poker won’t stop them.”
“Go now, Constance.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Get to the station. Find MacNeal.”
“What about Walker?”
“He won’t be there. Now, go!” Mercy pushe
d forward, using the poker as a barrier between herself and Louis. She felt Constance push past and then heard her boots on the stairs, the baby’s cries growing more and more distant as she went.
Louis stood and shuffled toward Mercy, knocking the poker from her hand. He grabbed her arms and pushed her toward the stairs but she was able to shake him free. He was weak and easily overpowered. He gave her a small struggle before sliding to the floor in exhaustion. There was no more fight left in him.
Mercy fell to her knees in front of him, near tears. Four days prior, this man had come to her, begged for help, and here she was again completely helpless.
“Why did you do it, Louis?” she asked.
The look on his face conveyed utter defeat. “I thought she’d have a better life,” he said. “What’s so wrong about believing I could have one too.” He closed his eyes, wincing in obvious pain.
“You’ll have to answer for what you’ve done,” Mercy said.
He started to cry then. Softly at first, but as realization grew so did his regret. “God, what have I done?” he asked.
Mercy was afraid to touch him. He was dying. He’d never make it to the hospital in time. Touching him would render her useless.
“Go now,” he said, shallow breaths punctuating each syllable. “They are coming. You must leave.” He waved his arm in the direction of the stairs, a weak flutter of the arm, halted by the pain he was in and lack of blood.
Mercy didn’t move.
“Go!”
Reluctantly, she left him there on the floor. She rushed to the bottom of the stairs and rounded the banister.
“Hello, Ms. Eaton.”
Mercy froze at the sight of Percival Forsyth in one of the parlours. He lit a cigar, shook out the match, and pitched the charred remains into the nearby open and occupied casket.
“Remember me?”
Chapter 35
Someone was waiting on Jeremiah’s front step. As he walked closer he recognized the silhouette of his mother, who stepped forward as he approached.
“You aren’t supposed to come here,” he said, jogging up the steps and going straight for the door.
“I couldn’t risk a messenger,” she said, following him into the dark foyer.
He didn’t protest her entrance but he wasn’t about to roll out the red carpet. He tossed his key to the nearby table and shrugged his jacket from his shoulders.
“Jeremy, please stop. I have news.” His mother put out her hands to halt his jutting movements. She forced him to look at her. “It’s Ruth.”
“Mother, I don’t have time for this. I’m working a case.”
“She’s at the house. I have her under watch but… she’s in a bad way. Something’s not right.”
Jeremiah closed his eyes and released a quick breath. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, but she doesn’t look good. Her speech is slurred. It’s as if she doesn’t know where she is or who she is with.”
The pattern was typical and only recently had Jeremiah become wise to it. Ruth begged for freedom but once granted she’d get herself in trouble and beg for his help. He had been looking for her for months. She must have known as much. She enjoyed his puppy-like devotion and relied on it when things grew difficult. There was a time he would have dropped everything to be at her side, to pick up the pieces of her that were left and vow to do better for her, better than he had in the past. He had taken it upon himself to see that she had a good life. But now? Now he realized her life, and all the difficulties therein, were of her own choosing. And he could just as easily choose to not help her.
“Keep her there then.” He walked to his parlour, a mess of papers, books, and an assortment of teacups. “I have to be somewhere in an hour. I’ll come see her when I can.”
His mother kept to the archway, crossing her arms over her stomach. “You know she won’t stay. Just like last time.”
“I’m working a case. A murder case.”
“And if she dies? What then?”
Jeremiah shook his head in disbelief.
“You’ve found someone else.”
“Mother.”
“That’s why you won’t come. Because of her.”
“Mother, please.”
“You can’t hide these things from your mother,” she said. “I know every girl you’ve ever fancied.”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t you warn me about Ruth? A little motherly guidance before I was saddled to a woman who wanted to be anything but a wife.”
“I tried, if you recall. You wouldn’t listen,” she said. “So headstrong you are, and I’m just a madam, remember? You’re the celebrated police detective. You should have used your powers of detection to suss out her suitability as a wife. You knew who she was before you married her.”
“I thought she would change!”
“Then you are a fool! People don’t change, not at the heart of it. Your grandmother used to say when people show you who they are you should believe them.”
Jeremiah closed his eyes and shook his head. How many times had he heard his mother say that to him? He couldn’t look at his mother. She had been right and he had been a fool.
“You asked me to let you know when I saw her next and she came to me this morning.”
Jeremiah offered no response.
“I just thought you’d like to know.”
“What am I supposed to do? She doesn’t want to be married to me anymore. She wants her freedom. She can have it.”
“She’s been asking for you.”
His shoulders felt heavy and he struggled for breath. He had been hoping for her return, picturing their reunion since the day she left.
“Come, Jeremy, don’t let her actions change who you are.”
***
They arrived at the brothel before three in the afternoon. Business hadn’t picked up yet, allowing Jeremiah the ability to sneak in undetected. His mother led him to her office, the same room she had used throughout his entire childhood.
“I locked her in,” she said, as she pulled out the key.
At first the room looked empty until he spied movement behind his mother’s large desk.
“Ruth, get away from there.” His tone was unforgiving. He had resolved on their carriage ride over that he would show no warmth to her. He imagined her using his feelings against him to further her own ends.
At the sound of his voice she peered from behind the desk. Seconds later, they heard one of the drawers close.
“You were rummaging through my papers!” Jeremiah’s mother shooed Ruth away from her hideaway, picking her up by the arm and forcing her to stand.
She looked rough, though not as rough as Jeremiah expected with no home and very few belongings. She wore a dress he did not recognize, with a low bodice and cheap manufactured lace. Her hair was only partially pinned with wayward curls and greasy roots. Her facial expression was the worst, however. She looked ashen, almost sick.
“Jeremiah,” she said in a breathy air. Her voice was the same. Jeremiah had to steel himself against the memories he had of it. Ruth looked confused. Her gaze went between him and his mother as if unsure of the connection. Then all at once it hit her and she closed her eyes.
“She took my gold pen!” Jeremiah’s mother looked livid as the realization hit her. “And she’s jammed my letter opener into the keyhole on my top drawer.”
Ruth nearly giggled but stopped short when Jeremiah marched toward her.
“The pen,” he demanded.
She hesitated, her eyes searching his face. She’d find no sympathy; he was determined not to show any.
“Hand it over, you little trollop,” his mother said.
Ruth reached in between her breasts and pulled out the pen. “I only needed something to trade,” she said.
“Then work for it,” his mother replied, “like the rest of us.”
Ruth smiled and pressed her lips together. She looked uneasy on her feet, as if influenced by drink or worse
.
“Where have you been, Ruth?” Jeremiah asked.
Ruth took his direct question in stride. She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Here and there.”
“Why haven’t you at least sent word you were all right?”
He expected her to ask to go home. He wanted her to ask forgiveness, confess her sins, and apologize. She did none of these things. Instead, she smiled out one side of her mouth and said, “I know why you’re doing this. You still love me, don’t you?” She seemed surprised at the idea, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her until that moment.
“We are married,” he said. “Or have you forgotten?”
“I never forget anything,” she said, eyeing him from the ground up and coming toward him.
It was as if whatever she was influenced with was bringing forth her worst attributes and putting them on display for Jeremiah to be reminded. She had always been selfish and manipulative. She placed her hands on his chest and looked up to him playfully, most likely expecting him to melt to her whims. When she was met with a blank stare her expression fell. “I have to go,” she said, backing away and heading for the door. “Somebody’s expecting my return.”
“We have to talk, Ruth,” Jeremiah said before she reached the door.
She used the door frame to hold herself upright as she turned to look at him.
“About what?”
“I’m no longer waiting for you,” he said. “I’m going to petition for a divorce.”
Ruth was more amused by this than anything else he had said. “A divorce?”
He stole a glance to his mother, who seemed pleased at the prospect. In truth, it horrified him. Divorce was a last resort, a stain and a scandal. He didn’t know what was worse, the stigma of divorce or the disastrous marriage.
Ruth answered him with a flick of her wrist. “Get your divorce,” she slurred. “I’ll be just fine.”
She left the doorway and disappeared into the hall. Jeremiah followed her cautiously to the front door and watched as she struggled with the front steps.
“Walker!” MacNeal ran from the direction of the bench across the street. He waved an arm to get Jeremiah’s attention. “I had a feeling I’d find you here again,” he said, coming alongside Jeremiah. “You have to come. Mrs. Doyle arrived at the station with the child.” MacNeal followed Jeremiah’s gaze. “Was that Ruth?”
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