A Match of Wits (16 page)

Eliza wasn’t looking much better. Her red hair was tumbling down her back, her dress was torn in places, and she had a long scratch marring her beautiful face.

“Where’s Agatha?” he demanded, right as Matilda walked his way on three legs, tail drooping, and looking more forlorn than he’d ever seen her before, she slipped underneath his bed.

“No need to worry, she’s fine,” Drusilla said before she looked at Theodore and winced. “We, ah, ran into a little bit of trouble.”

Hamilton moved over to Eliza and helped her into the nearest available seat. “Darling, what happened? Did your carriage get attacked, and where exactly is Agatha?”

Grimacing as she settled into the seat, Eliza blew out a breath. “Our carriage didn’t get attacked, but we did, and as Drusilla said, Agatha’s fine at the moment—completely protected, since the last time we saw her she was surrounded by policemen and they were hauling her off toward a police wagon.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m sure, given the time that’s elapsed since we last saw her, that she’s safely being held behind iron bars. And, because Drusilla and I saw the ladies who attacked us make an unfortunate getaway, well, Agatha’s in no immediate danger.”

“You need to start at the beginning,” Theodore said, taking
Drusilla by the arm and helping her into a chair. “Who attacked you?”

“Mary and her girls, although I don’t think they did so because they’d been following us. It appears to have been an unusual coincidence.

“However . . . Mary did allow something of concern to slip,” Drusilla said. “Someone’s paid her to kill Agatha, which means we’re looking at a determined villain. But enough of all that. Agatha’s probably wondering where we are and why we’re not at the jail yet to bail her out, so perhaps I should tell you the entire story on the way to rescue her.”

“The safest place for Agatha at the moment is behind bars,” Theodore argued. “That means you can take five minutes to explain the basics, which will allow me to formulate a credible defense in order to get her released.”

“Besides,” Zayne said, sitting forward, “this latest disaster is no doubt a direct result of something Agatha did, so perhaps cooling her heels in jail will allow her to think her situation through to satisfaction. We can only hope she’ll come to a logical conclusion and realize that my idea of finding her a gentleman to keep her in line really wasn’t that far off the mark
and
that a gentleman who has nice teeth really shouldn’t be scoffed at.”

Silence met Zayne’s declaration. Glancing around the room, he found Hamilton wincing, Gloria shaking her head, Theodore watching him with his mouth hanging open, and Eliza wrinkling her nose back at him. Drusilla, on the other hand, looked just plain annoyed. “What?” was all Zayne could think to ask her.

“It wasn’t Agatha’s fault that we happened upon Mary and her girls in the middle of B. Altman’s.”

“She talked you into going shopping when she knows full
well how much danger she’s in!” Zayne countered, his voice rising with every word.

“
I
talked her into going to B. Altman’s,” Eliza said, speaking up. “Agatha wanted to continue walking, but it was chilly, and I knew she needed a distraction—no thanks to you, Zayne. Because of that, I suggested we go to B. Altman’s. If anyone should be held responsible, it’s me.”

“No,” Drusilla argued, “the fault resides with me. I’m the one who is supposed to be watching out for Agatha, and I should have insisted we remain in the carriage.”

“What I want to know,” Theodore said, talking over Eliza and Drusilla, who’d begun arguing back and forth, “is what Mary and her girls are doing in New York, and how did they recognize Agatha when she was disguised?”

“I think Agatha being recognized had something to do with Matilda being with her,” Drusilla admitted.

Theodore’s expression turned incredulous. “Taking Matilda into a fine department store wasn’t exactly the most effective method of keeping Agatha safe.”

“I should start from the beginning,” Drusilla muttered before she began to do just that. Five minutes later, she finished with, “So I had Mary in a headlock and was just about to take her to the ground to join her two friends, whom I’d already taken care of, when police began rushing out of B. Altman’s. To my absolute disgust, Hannah, one of Mary’s girls, suddenly sat up and began screaming for help as if I were the dastardly villain, and I knew I had no choice but to run for the carriage before I got arrested.”

“And I was trying to chase down Matilda,” Eliza added, “but then that overly dramatic manager showed up outside and began screaming and pointing toward Matilda. Since the police began to brandish their pistols, I had no choice but to
scoop the little darling up and run for both of our lives—well, at least her life. And let me tell you, she’s heavy.”

She reached out and took Hamilton’s hand, patting it absently. “Drusilla and I reached the carriage at about the same time, and as we got settled, we saw Agatha being led away. Since we’d both lost our reticules, we realized we didn’t have the means to go rescue her. We also didn’t want to take the chance of someone absconding with Matilda and serving her for dinner, so . . . we came back here to regroup.”

Theodore moved over to Drusilla and held out his hand. “I suppose, even though I think it might be a little tricky for me to get Agatha released, we should head down to the jail now.”

“Let me just get my crutches,” Zayne said, swinging his cast over the side of the bed. “And I think we should take Charlotte’s cart with us. I’ll be able to travel faster through the jail with it than hobbling along on crutches.”

“You can’t go,” Drusilla argued as she took Theodore’s hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Of course I can,” he argued right back. “I’m certainly not going to miss a prime opportunity to finally convince Agatha that she has no choice but to go along with my plan of finding her a gentleman.” He glanced to the fireplace. “It’s unfortunate she burned up my list.”

Theodore frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Zayne. Agatha, from what I gather, is extremely annoyed with you right now, and as we know, she’s unpredictable when she’s annoyed.”

“Another good point that I’ll use to convince her to go along with my plan.” Zayne snatched his crutches, rose to his feet, and headed for the door, turning his head to look over his shoulder once he reached it. “Do make sure to bring the cart, Theodore.” Ignoring the dire predictions Eliza and his
mother began to toss his way, he walked through the door and down the hall.

Thirty minutes later, Zayne sped down a long hallway at the jail, pressing the elevated pedal Hamilton had assured him was the brake, but finding, to his dismay, that the brake was a little . . . temperamental.

“You need to slow down,” Drusilla said, panting as she ran by his side.

“Use the brake,” Theodore called from behind. “And I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but that wheel’s looking a bit . . . Ah, too late.”

“The brake’s not working,” Zayne called back right before a wheel suddenly whizzed past him and the cart lurched to the right before it bounced to a stop.

“Smooth,” Theodore drawled, grinning down at him even as he held out a hand and helped Zayne to his feet.

“I swear Charlotte’s note indicated that she’d fixed that problem, but apparently not,” Zayne muttered as he grabbed his crutches from where he’d tied them to the back of the cart. Placing them under his arms, he began to struggle toward a door at the end of the hall, finally reaching it a few minutes later.

Theodore knocked on the door, and it opened almost immediately to reveal an officer on the other side, his expression resigned as he shook Theodore’s hand.

“Come to bail out that crazy lady from B. Altman’s, have you, Mr. Wilder?”

“How did you know that?” Theodore asked.

“It’s become a habit over the past few years with you. But I think you’re going to have a rough time of it with this one, Mr. Wilder. She’s refusing to tell anyone her name, argued
quite vehemently with the guards when they placed her in a single cell, because she apparently wanted to talk to the other female inmates, and has taken to praying . . . loudly, and keeps asking God to send her help.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve been in this exact situation before?” Zayne asked.

“Because you have.” Theodore nodded to the officer. “Well, lead the way. I’ll talk to her first and then go find a judge to see about getting her released.”

“The manager from B. Altman’s wants to press charges against the lady, but from what we’ve been able to gather, she wasn’t the only one involved,” the officer explained before he smiled. “He’s also insisting we send out patrols to round up some rogue pig, although, from what that crazy lady claims, her pig isn’t rogue but a pet.” He shook his head. “Just goes to show it takes all kinds in this world. You’ll find her in the last cell at the end of the hallway.”

Thanking the officer, Theodore led the way as Zayne tried to keep up. He finally reached the cell Theodore and Drusilla were standing in front of and looked through the bars, his temper edging up again when he caught sight of Agatha sitting on a lonely bench against the wall.

She was still wearing her wig, although her hat was nowhere in sight and the wig was askew, as was her gown. On closer inspection, Zayne saw that ribbons were dangling from her bodice, her hem was unraveling, and she had a scrape on an arm that was missing not only a glove but a sleeve.

What annoyed him more than anything was the fact her eyes were closed, her face peaceful, and she didn’t seem bothered at all that once again she was being held behind bars.

She was a danger to herself, and it was time she was made to see that and correct it.

Clearing his throat loudly and ignoring the looks of warning Theodore and Drusilla were sending his way, he stepped closer to the bars. Agatha’s eyes flashed open, and for a brief second he thought he saw relief in them, but then they narrowed as she jumped to her feet and stalked his way.

“What are
you
doing here?”

“Rescuing you, of course.”

She looked past his shoulder. “What are
they
doing here, then?”

“Well, because it’s you, and you’re known to be somewhat obstinate at times, they’re my reinforcements. Although I’m supposed to tell you that Eliza really did want to come, as did Hamilton, but Viola woke up and they needed to get her home.”

Agatha’s gaze flashed back to him. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to round up some of those gentlemen you were so keen to push my way and have them help you rescue me as well. Why, since I’m apparently a fragile lady in need of a big, strong man, I just might have fallen at one of your recommendations’ feet, especially if he came to get me out of jail and had nice teeth.”

“Considering how much of a menace you are, and that’s
not
debatable,” he said when she began to argue, “it’s clear no man will ever step forward to willingly take you in hand, which means . . .”

“What?” she snapped, her blue eyes blazing with heat and her expression furious.

“I’m going to have to marry you.”

O
ver the two days since her pesky little jail encounter, Agatha had moved home to her parents’ house, but even removing herself from Zayne’s vicinity hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him. One thought she kept circling back to time and time again was that he was a complete and utter lunatic.

Another troubling idea that continued to plague her was that she was obviously a bit of a loon as well, because when he’d first declared he was going to
have
to marry her, her heart had given the tiniest lurch. The lurching had come to a rather abrupt end though when she’d realized he was offering to marry her for her own good.

She had been charmed by his damsel-in-distress rescue, until reality set in. No lady, whether or not she was residing behind bars at the time, wanted to hear that the gentleman she’d held in affection for far too long wanted to marry her for reasons other than he held her in great esteem.

As she dunked under the massive amounts of bubbles she’d created in the gigantic marble tub her mother had recently
installed in her bathroom, Agatha’s thoughts, annoyingly enough, wouldn’t stray from Zayne. It was clear he firmly believed he’d extended her a perfectly reasonable offer and that he was even willing to sacrifice his prized bachelorhood in order to see that offer through to fruition, which meant . . .

Sitting straight up in the bathtub, she swiped bubbles out of her face as her mouth gaped open. “I’ve turned into another Helena.” Grabbing the scrub brush, she began attacking her skin, pausing for a moment to let out a loud snort.

“What’s going on in there?”

Pausing in midscrub, Agatha glanced to the closed door. “I’m taking a bath, Mr. Blackheart, and there is absolutely no reason for you to lurk right outside my door at this particular moment.”

“I heard you talking to someone.”

“I was talking to myself.”

“You do realize that speaking to oneself is a cause for concern, don’t you? It’s a clear sign of overwrought nerves.”

“Perhaps if you’d leave me alone, I could relax and let the bath dissolve those, er, nerves.”

“Relaxing would be much easier for you if you’d stop talking.”

“Then go away and I will.”

Scooting down in the tub, Agatha listened as Mr. Blackheart’s footsteps stomped away.

Her life had gotten very complicated of late, and one of those complications was a direct result of once again being guarded night and day by Mr. Blackheart. Theodore, once he’d gotten her out of and then home from jail, had immediately sent one of his men to fetch Mr. Blackheart, who’d been in the depths of the slums, trying to ferret out information regarding her would-be killer.

Mr. Blackheart had not seemed thrilled to be given the honor of watching over her again, but that less-than-enthusiastic attitude might have come about due to the fact he was completely annoyed with her over her recent arrest.

That annoyance made all the time they were forced to spend together rather . . . trying.

“It’s not as if Mary and her girls are going to come after me, since they’re now wanted in the city of New York,” she said, before she snapped her mouth shut and waited to see if Mr. Blackheart would return to lecture her about talking to herself again. When nothing but the sound of popping bubbles met her ears, she sunk under the bubbles and stayed there for a while, wondering how long it would take to drown her sorrows—or at least her disappointment in Zayne.

From what she’d been able to decipher regarding his relationship with Helena, he’d only agreed to marry her because she’d been so fragile and seemed incapable of taking care of herself. And now it seemed he’d transferred that concern to her. But she was no Helena.

Granted, she did have the propensity to land in rather unusual situations, but she wasn’t helpless, and Zayne of all men should realize that.

His misguided idea that he was meant to swoop in and save her from herself was ridiculous.

She was insulted . . . and irritated . . . and completely put out with him at the moment, which was why she’d refused all of his attempts to speak with her over the past two days. Although, if she were honest with herself, her feelings had been somewhat soothed by the fact he was being so diligent in his desire to see her.

He’d taken to driving the contraption Charlotte had built for him past her house numerous times per day.

Lack of air caused her to surge upward from the bath water and gulp in a breath, even as her lips quirked as the memory of Zayne zooming past her house the previous night, seemingly unable to stop, flashed to mind.

She would have almost felt sorry for the man, considering his zooming had ended rather badly when he’d run over her neighbor Mr. Bond. But since he and Mr. Bond had been relatively unharmed, except for a few scrapes and bruises, she’d remained annoyed, not concerned.

He needed to give up and realize she was moving on with her life and that life did not have room for Mr. Zayne Beckett.

It was past time to put her foolish and girlish dreams behind her and get on with things.

If only he would stop infiltrating her thoughts at each and every turn.

A loud bang against the small window over the tub had her practically jumping out of her skin right as she swallowed a huge amount of bubbles.

Before she could catch her breath, the door to the bathroom burst open and Mr. Blackheart rushed in, his pistol drawn and his expression fierce.

“Get down,” he snarled as he raced around the room.

Scooting down into the tub so that she was covered all the way up to her neck by bubbles, she peered through still-watering eyes and drew in a ragged breath. “There’s no one in here,” she finally wheezed.

“What was that noise?”

“Something hit the window.”

“Someone was trying to get in?”

Narrowing her eyes, Agatha pulled more bubbles around her. “We are on the third floor. It would be next to impossible for someone to climb in that window—especially since it’s
so small. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m currently in the tub, and I’m not exactly properly dressed to be participating in a friendly chat right now.”

Ignoring almost everything she’d said, Mr. Blackheart moved to stand closer to the tub, which had Agatha sinking down until only her nose, ears, and eyes showed above the bubbles while he inspected the window.

“Hmm . . . it is rather small, and being that it is on the third floor, I’ll bet . . .” He moved even closer and looked as if he were about to step on the rim of the tub.

“Mr. Blackheart, what in the world are you doing?”

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Agatha watched as Drusilla rushed into the room, her brow wrinkled and holding a pistol in her hand.

“Something hit the window.”

“And you’re going to climb up and look out it while Agatha’s still in the tub, are you?”

Pausing in the midst of lifting a leg, Mr. Blackheart blinked. “Maybe it would be best if you looked out.”

“Maybe it would be best if you took your leave,” Drusilla countered.

Mr. Blackheart’s expression turned stubborn. “Not until I’m sure she’s safe.”

Drusilla lifted her chin. “I’m perfectly capable of protecting Agatha.”

Cocking a brow, Mr. Blackheart actually smiled, although he appeared less than amused. “And you consider allowing Agatha to get attacked in a department store and then carted off to jail a proper way of protecting her?”

“That could have happened even if you were the one in charge of her, as you very well know,” Drusilla said with a sniff. “Now, move out of the way and I’ll look out the window.
Although I highly doubt anyone was trying to get in through there, since we’re currently on the third floor.”

“Someone could have propelled down from the roof.”

“In the middle of the afternoon, when anyone could see them?”

Mr. Blackheart frowned. “That is a good point, but maybe someone shot at the window.”

“A bullet would have shattered that glass,” Drusilla said as she moved to the tub and sent Agatha a look that had exasperation written all over it before she stepped up on the rim and peered out the window. “I can’t see much, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say the bird that’s currently wobbling around down there on the ground is responsible. Oh, and look at that—it’s flying away.”

“It could have been Mary,” Mr. Blackheart argued.

“While this is a riveting conversation,” Agatha said. “I can’t help but notice that my bubbles are beginning to dissipate, so perhaps you, Mr. Blackheart, should leave before things turn embarrassing for both of us.”

Mr. Blackheart’s face began to turn an interesting shade of red. “That might be for the best.” Turning, he headed for the door, but he spun around again when Drusilla let out a small yelp as she lost her balance and began falling backward.

Rushing to catch her, he managed to grab hold of her before she hit the floor, but then he slipped on the marble floor that was probably wet with bath water, and Agatha could only sit in the tub, at a loss for what to do as he fell. A mere second passed before he disappeared, and when Agatha pulled herself up and looked over the rim, she found the poor man lying on the floor as Drusilla stood over him, her eyes huge. “I say, Mr. Blackheart, are you all right?”

“Now that’s an interesting question, and one I can’t answer at the moment.”

“Well, you can’t stay there,” Drusilla said.

“I wasn’t planning on moving in, Drusilla,” he snapped. “I just need a moment to catch my breath and to have the stars I’m currently seeing go away.”

“Good heavens, what in the world is going on in here?”

Sinking lower in the tub, Agatha summoned up her sunniest smile. “Hello, Mother, Father. What are you two doing in here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Roger Watson said as he marched into the room, his wife, Cora, following a step behind. He moved to stand over Mr. Blackheart. “When Theodore and I hired you on to watch over my daughter, Mr. Blackheart, I certainly didn’t expect to find you watching her while she’s taking a bath.”

Cora bent over to shake a finger in Mr. Blackheart’s face. “Honestly, sir, we have two other young ladies living under this roof, and finding you in my eldest daughter’s bathroom is certainly not setting a good example for them.”

“Grace and Lily aren’t at home at the moment, Mother,” Agatha pointed out.

“So that makes this acceptable, does it?” Cora shot back.

“Well, no, but it’s really just another one of those little misunderstandings that I seem to become involved in on an alarmingly frequent basis.”

“You think that being in the tub, inappropriately dressed, with a man who is not your husband lying on the floor is a little misunderstanding?” Roger demanded.

“Since I’m in the tub, I’m really dressed—or not, as the case seems to be—appropriately, because who wears clothing while they’re taking a bath?”

It soon became evident that her father was in no mood for her odd humor. He seemed to swell on the spot right before he exchanged a look with Cora and then headed for the door. “I’m going to go fetch Reverend Fraser.”

Any hint of amusement she’d been feeling disappeared in a flash. “There’s no need to fetch Reverend Fraser, Father, because I swear to you, nothing untoward is going on at the moment. Mr. Blackheart was simply doing his job of protecting me.”

Turning, Roger arched a brow and gestured around the room. “From what?”

“Ah, well, we think a bird hit the window, but Mr. Blackheart at first thought someone was trying to break into this room.”

“We’re on the third floor.”

“True, and I do believe he finally came to the conclusion he was mistaken about the threat to me, but then he fell, you see, in the process of saving Drusilla, which is why he’s still languishing there.”

“And have other occurrences of him trying to save you or Drusilla caused him to be a frequent visitor in your bathing chambers?”

“Of course not. Mr. Blackheart has always behaved in a most gentlemanly fashion around me.”

“Wonderful,” Roger exclaimed, turning for the door again. “Then you won’t be opposed to marrying the man since you find him to be a true gentleman.”

Gripping the side of the tub, Agatha looked at her mother, hoping for a bit of support, but when Cora let out a sniff and began inspecting the ceiling, she realized she was on her own. “Really, Father,” she called after Roger’s retreating back, “I can’t marry Mr. Blackheart. Why, I don’t even know his given name.”

Roger spun on his heel and marched back to stand over Mr. Blackheart, who was lying perfectly still, as if he didn’t quite know what to do next. “That’s easily rectified. What is your name, Mr. Blackheart?”

Raising a hand, Mr. Blackheart rubbed his face. “I don’t really care to give out my name, Mr. Watson.”

“Your name,” Roger demanded between gritted teeth.

Lowering his hand, Mr. Blackheart released a sigh. “Ah, well, what everyone needs to understand is that my mother believed I was going to be a girl. She’d found the perfect name for a girl—that being Francine—and when I showed up, she wasn’t exactly keen to abandon it.”

“Your name is Francine?” Roger asked as his lips began quivering ever so slightly.