by Jodi Thomas
And of course, there were myriad reasons she couldn’t be discovered in the first place.
Birdie turned around. She was so nervous. She took a deep breath, remembering her mother’s advice to always smile, no matter how nervous or frightened you were.
She smiled.
“I saw you come in,” the captain said, casting an eye around the room. “Everyone saw you come in. You’ve caused quite a stir.”
Was this a warning of some sort? She was about to ask when the captain continued.
“I’m Captain Newcastle,” he said.
Birdie’s breath caught.
Was it possible that he did not recognize her? Her hopes for the evening plummeted.
“I’m Brigid Flanagan,” Birdie said coldly, holding out her hand.
The captain kissed her hand. The thrill of his touch was just as electric as it was the day she’d arrived.
“Brigid Flanagan,” the captain said, seeming to savor her name. “Well, Brigid Flanagan, the orchestra just announced an Irish reel. May I have this dance?”
“I would think your dance card is full,” Birdie countered. She didn’t trust herself to be in his arms.
“I seem to have forgotten all about dance cards,” the captain said, leading her to the dance floor. “I blame an old war injury.”
“How convenient,” Birdie said.
Birdie and Captain Newcastle lined up with the other dancers and joined in the Irish reel. Birdie couldn’t help but be swept away by the music. Happy memories of home combined with the good fellowship of the dancers at the ball made her forget her problems. The Irish reel was a formation dance—she danced with other men as well as the captain. There was none of the passion and romance of a waltz. Maybe the evening would turn out all right after all.
I’m fairly skilled at lowering my expectations at this point, she thought.
The dancers burst into spontaneous applause at the end of the reel. Birdie loved the energy of Texans. They weren’t afraid to show they were having a good time, no matter what their social standing. The captain escorted her off the dance floor.
“Thank you, Captain Newcastle,” she said, flushed from the dance and his close proximity. She offered her hand.
He took it, but instead of a farewell kiss to the back of her hand, he gently held her wrist and smiled.
“Listen,” he said.
Birdie cocked her head to one side.
“What am I listening for?” she asked.
“You’re not listening for anything,” he said. “You’re listening to my favorite Viennese waltz. Please do me the honor?”
She knew she should politely reject this request. If Captain Newcastle couldn’t see past her red hair to recognize the woman he’d carried up the steps while she was in a dead faint and whom he’d tried to kiss in an unguarded moment, he was certainly not worthy of her. She told herself it might be better to keep those thoughts—rather than his broad shoulders—in mind.
Birdie chided herself. This was only a dance. It had been such a long time since she’d allowed herself to have a good time. If Captain Newcastle wanted to dance with her, why shouldn’t she? What harm could there be in it?
She gave a small curtsey and allowed him to lead her back to the dance floor. She reminded herself to keep her emotions in check. She could feel the eyes of the other young women on her—presumably the girls whose dance cards bore his name. She decided not to worry about them and enjoy herself.
As he put his arm around her waist and the opening measures of the waltz began, all thoughts of what she should feel drifted away. As she looked into his eyes, their fellow dancers ceased to exist. When the song ended, she realized she’d even stopped hearing the music. Somehow, he had escorted her off the dance floor again. Captain Newcastle was looking into her eyes. He pressed his lips to her ear.
“Birdie, I—”
A hand clasped the captain on the shoulder, bringing Birdie back to reality. From Captain Newcastle’s sudden change of posture, Birdie knew this was a senior officer.
“You need to stop monopolizing this young lady,” the officer said to the captain. “I’m sure she has other gentlemen just waiting to dance with her. And I know you have your own . . . obligations.”
“Yes, sir,” Captain Newcastle said.
He’d called her by name. Birdie took a seat, just in time to not lose her balance.
He knew it was me.
Birdie watched as Captain Newcastle was led away. The officer guided the captain over to the bar, where he introduced him to a young lady in a bright green dress. Would the captain be able to come back to her before the evening was out?
Another dance, this time a lively polka, began. Dozens of dancers were now between her and the captain. She could only catch a glimpse of him now and then as couples whirled between them. She did manage to catch his eye—and the apology in it. Captain Newcastle wanted to make his way back to her, she knew.
A piece of ice in her heart that she had carried for so long it felt a part of her suddenly seemed to melt away. She closed her eyes. Perhaps she could stop running after all.
She opened her eyes and looked for the captain, but he was nowhere to be seen. Might he be dancing with the girl in green? She scanned the dance floor, but didn’t see him.
What she did see brought the ice back to her heart and soul. Standing at the bar, staring right at her, staring through her, in a hotel uniform, was the man she’d been running from for two years.
Birdie ran out of the ballroom. She heard someone call “Birdie” but in her panic, she couldn’t tell if it was Captain Newcastle or Dangerous Jack.
She did not turn around to find out.
She took flight.
Chapter 12
Birdie tried to force herself to think as she ran down the steps toward the sewing room. She wanted to convince herself that she must have been mistaken. How could it be him? How could he be working at the hotel?
She knew better than to turn around and see if he was after her. In her heart, she knew that he’d been on her heels these two long years. She had not a second to lose. She needed to get her few belongings and get away from this town as quickly as possible. She hoped the labyrinth of hallways in the basement would slow him down.
As she fumbled with the doorknob to the sewing room, she prayed Miss Quigley would be out. She did not want to involve her in this mess. The door opened and a hand grabbed her and pulled her inside. Dangerous Jack had somehow beaten her to her destination. He seemed to know the hotel as well as she did.
“Stop fighting me,” he said as Birdie slapped at his arms. “It’s over, Birdie, my pet.”
Ice water ran through her veins hearing him call her his pet. She tried to find something she could use as a weapon, but she stopped struggling immediately as she saw he’d tied Miss Quigley to a chair.
“Miss Quigley, please forgive me,” Birdie sobbed. “I never meant—”
“Shut up,” Jack said, pushing Birdie to the floor.
There was a time when Birdie would have stayed on the floor and hoped Jack would have mercy. But she had not spent two years crossing America without learning a few things, one of which was not to show weakness.
She mustered all her courage and stood up.
“Let my friend go,” Birdie said to Jack. “She has nothing to do with you.”
“Well, look at you, all powerful and mighty,” Jack said in his sneering, mocking tone. “Get your things. We’re leaving. Your friend will be discovered soon enough.”
Birdie started to untie Miss Quigley from the chair.
“I said no,” Jack hissed.
Birdie’s heart was pounding but she tried to give the impression that she was not frightened. She gambled on the notion that he would not make a scene. The kitchen was right next door and any commotion would send Cook to investigate.
“You might be more trouble than you’re worth,” Jack said as Birdie helped Miss Quigley to her feet. Her hands were still bound.
&n
bsp; “Miss Quigley, I’m so sorry,” Birdie said.
“I’m all right,” Miss Quigley replied calmly.
Birdie had entertained such fanciful thoughts that Miss Quigley knew how to solve any problem. Birdie realized that was just being carried away with the magic of the season. She wanted to cry as she started to untie Miss Quigley’s hands.
Jack suddenly pulled a gun from his waistcoat.
“Leave her hands tied,” he commanded. “I’m not taking any chances.”
Birdie looked him in the eye. She saw no pity there. In her heart, she knew he would never leave her in peace. She might as well go with him quietly and save Miss Quigley from the possibility of harm.
“I’ll get my things,” Birdie said dejectedly.
“And change out of that dress!” Jack commanded. “We won’t get far with you parading yourself like that!”
Birdie noticed the frayed cuff on his shirt.
Mrs. Firestone had that shirt with her when she came to leave off the dresses to be hemmed. She must have given Jack the job. She was outraged by this betrayal, but realized Jack had probably talked his way into many a woman’s heart. She couldn’t blame her.
She knew that from experience.
“You should take the money in the strongbox,” Miss Quigley said. “You’ll need it.”
Birdie looked at her. What did she mean? Miss Quigley’s eyes went to the large box near the fireplace.
The box where she keeps her gun!
Birdie looked at the box and realized it wasn’t locked. She thought back to when Miss Quigley had unlocked the box to get out the invitation to the ball. She hadn’t relocked it.
Which was strange, because Miss Quigley always relocked that box.
Miss Quigley arched an eyebrow at Birdie.
Birdie opened the box and, with a shaking hand, laid her fingertips on the gun. She prayed that Miss Quigley’s uncanny ability to be one step ahead of any situation would hold true and that the gun was loaded. She pulled the gun out and pointed it as she heard a shot ring out. Then another.
She panicked. What was happening? She knew she had not been hit. In the smoke that filled the room, she tried to find Miss Quigley.
As the smoke cleared, she saw Miss Quigley was also fine, sitting calmly with Dangerous Jack Simon at her feet, blood pooling around his shoulders. Captain Newcastle stood in the doorway, tendrils of smoke curling in the air around his gun.
“Birdie,” he said.
“I’m all right,” she said. “Help me untie Miss Quigley!”
By the time Miss Quigley was free, a crowd had gathered. Cook, Mrs. Firestone, Judge Rutherford in a dressing robe, Miss Charlotte, Detective Hilbrand, and Sheriff Holden were all there.
“What’s going on?” Sheriff Holden demanded. “Who shot this man?”
“I did,” Captain Newcastle said. “I was either saving these two ladies, or I shot him in self-defense. Both are true. Your choice.”
Birdie noticed that the sheriff seemed satisfied with the explanation. He turned to Detective Hilbrand as he pointed to the man on the floor. “Is that the man you’re looking for?”
The detective nodded.
“That’s him, all right,” the detective said.
“He’s wanted in five states, for gambling, theft, and murder,” the detective said.
“I don’t understand,” Birdie said.
Detective Hilbrand showed her his badge.
“I’m with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. I’ve been following your trail since you left New York.”
“I had no idea,” Birdie said.
“That’s why I’ve still got a job,” the detective said, and smiled. “Anyway, we knew Dangerous Jack was hell-bent on finding you. I knew if I found you first, I’d eventually get him.”
“Thank you for not giving up,” Birdie said.
“I did give up! When I got to town, I explained to the sheriff that I was making one last attempt to locate Dangerous Jack through Brigid ‘Birdie’ Flanagan,” the detective said, turning to Birdie. “I knew you’d be going to the dance across town, so I waited for you to leave the St. Nicholas. I followed you but when I got to the dance, it turned out I was following the wrong woman.”
He looked pointedly at Charlotte, who was busy avoiding her father’s eyes.
“I thought I’d played my last card,” the detective continued.
“I decided to enjoy the party and head back east on the first stagecoach.”
The sheriff bent over the body and felt for a heartbeat.
While he found no pulse, he did find a pocketful of jewels.
“Is he dead?” Birdie asked, never taking her eyes off the body.
“Yes,” Sheriff Holden said. “He’s dead.”
“You know this man?” Captain Newcastle asked Birdie.
“Her husband,” Detective Hilbrand said.
“My late husband,” Birdie said, lifting her eyes to Captain Newcastle, the man who’d saved her life.
“We can deal with the body later,” Sheriff Holden said. “We don’t want to bring any more attention to this unfortunate event than we have to. Bad for the town’s morale. Luckily those lawmen Mrs. Cockrell brought in from out of town have had their hands full upstairs. We can deal with this ourselves.”
Miss Quigley threw a sheet she’d been embroidering over Dangerous Jack’s body as the little group in the sewing room retired to the kitchen.
Cook poured shots of brandy as everyone tried to make sense of what had happened that night.
“I got a message that a few of the ladies had missing jewelry,” the sheriff said. “I left the dance down the street and was on my way into the ballroom with Charlotte when I heard the shot. I came down here and Charlotte followed.”
Sheriff Holden turned to Judge Rutherford.
“I told her to stay upstairs, but you know how headstrong she is,” the sheriff said.
“I knocked on your door to see if you’d returned from the ball when I heard the shot and came down,” Judge Rutherford said.
“I’m sorry you had to get involved, sir,” the sheriff said miserably.
“Why was Charlotte with you?” Judge Rutherford asked the sheriff. He turned toward his daughter. “And why is Birdie wearing your dress?”
Miss Charlotte gave an impassioned version of her scheme. She professed her love for Sheriff Holden, which quieted the room.
“And are those feelings reciprocated?” the judge growled, downing his brandy and looking at Sheriff Holden.
“Yes, sir,” Sheriff Holden said. “Very much so.”
“What I want to know is,” Detective Hilbrand said, “how did Jack get into the hotel? He had a uniform! Someone was working with him.”
Birdie looked at Mrs. Firestone, who visibly paled. Birdie instantly took pity on her. Dangerous Jack had convinced Birdie to leave her family in Ireland to follow him to New York, where he made her life a living hell. How could Birdie blame Mrs. Firestone for falling for his smooth talk when she herself was a victim of the same thing? She stole a glance at Miss Quigley, who was also looking at Mrs. Firestone.
“Perhaps we’ll never know,” Miss Quigley said, letting Mrs. Firestone off the hook.
“I think I’ll take Birdie out for some air,” Captain Newcastle said, reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet.
“It’s still snowing out there,” Charlotte said, pulling off her shawl and handing it to Birdie. “You’d better take this.”
Captain Newcastle wrapped Birdie in the shawl and led her up the grand staircase to the glittering lobby and onto the front porch. The ball was winding down and couples drifted into carriages pulled by horses whose jingling sleigh bells cheered the night air with their music.
“I can’t believe I almost lost you,” Captain Newcastle said.
Birdie could hear his voice constrict with emotion.
“Why did you pretend you didn’t know who I was?” Birdie asked.
“Why did you pretend to be someone you weren�
��t?” he asked, then grinned. “Well, it’s obvious now, isn’t it? But at the time, I thought, she must have her reasons. Out here in the West, a lady is entitled to her secrets.”
“I never want to have any secrets from you. I want to be totally honest from here to . . .”
Birdie stopped herself. Was she being too forward?
Church bells rang out through the silent night.
“Midnight,” Captain Newcastle said. He took Birdie’s face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “This is our very first Christmas together.”
He kissed her. The years of weariness in her heart drifted up to join the song created by the church bells on the wind, replaced by the promise of all good things to come.
“Merry Christmas, my love,” Birdie said.
Epilogue
December 24, 1860
Dear Mam,
Christmas will be gone by the time you get this letter, but I wanted to let you know that after a year’s courtship, Captain Douglas Newcastle and I will be getting married on New Year’s Day. My friend Charlotte will also be marrying her beau who is the sheriff in our town. Her father is a judge who is going to help make Dallas a great city. He is going to marry us in a double ceremony.
I am still working at the hotel. My lovely head seamstress, Miss Quigley, whom I’ve told you so much about, has made me her successor. She is moving to Houston to work in a beautiful new hotel. I would never say this to her, but I think she needs a new challenge now that she’s straightened out my life!
In your last letter, you asked about Mrs. Firestone. Please do not worry. While we will never be the best of friends, we keep each other’s secrets, so all is well. Besides, she is very busy trying to procure a husband for her daughter. She really doesn’t have time to focus on me.
Give Da my love. I dream of Ireland and plan on making your Irish soda bread a Christmas tradition. I’ve even given our cook at the hotel a few lessons on how you make it at home.