An Honest Heart (16 page)

This had become their daily habit: Neal greeting the cat at the chicken coop and then the cat going up and eating the scraps Neal put out for him.

He was about to go inside and get some dinner for himself when a rattle at the gate made him stop. Johnny Longrieve slipped into the garden and was about to run up the stairs when he noticed Neal standing at the chicken coop. The lanky young man bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, his breath coming in short pants. “You have to come quick, Doc. There’s been an accident at the ironworks. Lots of people hurt.”

Neal took the stairs to his flat three at a time, stepping over Rascal when he reached the landing and flinging open the door. For the second time today, his heart pounded in alarm. But this time, he was certain the case would not turn out to be as benign as his visit to see Miss Bainbridge.

He wished he could have gotten some rest before being called out again. He knew his limits; three days with no sleep was the extent of his stamina, and he was going on two days now. Skipping dinner wouldn’t help matters. But if people’s lives were at stake, his stomach could wait.

He got his horse from the livery, hauled Johnny up behind him, and galloped off.

Upon arriving at the mill, Neal learned that one of the boilers had exploded. Half of it went through the roof and landed several hundred yards to the north; the other half went a similar distance in the opposite direction. Since the incident occurred during a shift change, most of the workers had been crowded near the doors, putting them at a relatively safe distance. Neal shuddered to think of the carnage he would have encountered otherwise.

After tending to a number of broken bones, bruises, burns, and lacerations that would all heal with time and proper follow-up care, Neal finally left at nearly midnight, famished and barely able to keep upright in the saddle.

After returning his horse to the livery, Neal exited into the alley in back. He was about to round the corner and head home for some much-needed sleep when a figure in a dark cloak slipped through a gate halfway down the alley. Unlike three nights ago, the man came toward Neal’s direction.

He was not going to get away this time.

Caddy sat bolt upright in bed, heart throbbing wildly in her chest. She was not certain what had awakened her—until she heard it again. The clattering sound came unmistakably from the shop below.

Not again. She had no money in the shop now, but she was not going to allow anyone to trespass on her property. She picked up the narrow, square piece of lumber Neal had brought to patch the door. Its yard-long length gave it enough weight that if it were well swung it would be a good weapon. And this time, Caddy had surprise on her side.

She edged down the stairs, keeping her back pressed to the wall, the lumber held before her like a cricket bat. She’d played the game quite a bit as a child with the boys who attended her father’s day school, and by the time she gave it up at fourteen years old to go off to school herself, she could out-strike any of them. It had been quite some time since she had done so, but she knew she could if she must.

At the bottom of the stairwell, she eased the door open and slipped as silently as possible into the shop.

Caddy regulated her breathing and tried to still her trembling hands. She swept her eyes to and fro among the cabinets, cases, and shelves, trying to make out a shape that should not be there.

A scratching sound. A howl. A crash. And then—something bumped into Caddy’s ankle.

Moving her makeshift weapon into her left hand, Caddy bent and felt around in the darkness about a foot from the floor. She gasped and jerked back when she touched something warm and furry. How had an animal gotten into her shop? Setting the piece of lumber on the counter, she reached for the lamp and lit it, then turned and found herself looking at the most beautiful gray tabby cat she had ever seen.

“Where did you come from?” Caddy reached her hand out to allow the feline to familiarize itself with her scent. It took two steps, then bumped its head against her palm. “You haven’t seen anyone else skulking about in here, have you?”

The cat jumped up on the counter, landing with grace despite its large size. It mewed several times as if trying to answer her. It let her scratch it behind the ears for a moment, then it jumped off the counter and dashed out of sight. Caddy grabbed the lamp and set off after it. The last thing she needed was for the animal to get in its mind that bolts of fabric would make good scratching posts. She hissed softly through her teeth, trying to catch the cat’s attention and get it to come back to her. Instead, it released a howling meow. She lifted the lumber and lamp and followed the cat’s calls through the storeroom to the back door.

“Is this how you got in?” Caddy set the lamp on a shelf and reached to open the door, surprised and quite upset to discover it was not locked. She was not certain which of the girls had been last to leave, but apparently she needed to have another conversation with all of them about making sure the doors were locked at night. She pulled the door open, and the cat dashed out.

The way he swerved going through the door made Caddy look down.

She gasped. Her strongbox sat on the narrow door landing.

Caddy glanced around the small back garden, but other than the gray cat disappearing over the fence, she saw no movement. She snatched up the box and closed and locked the door. Unable to carry both the heavy box and the lamp, Caddy doused the light and left the lamp on the shelf in the storeroom. She would put it back where it belonged tomorrow. With both arms wrapped around the chest, she climbed the stairs, winded from the additional weight. Her legs felt weak when she reached the top.

In the kitchen, she set the strongbox on the table and lit the lamp that hung over it. She was about to return to her room for the key when she realized the lock had been broken. She slid the latch and the lid swung up, revealing the contents of the box.

She sank into the nearest chair, eyes filling with tears. Though no longer in the neat bundles she’d sorted it into in preparation for making her deposit, it looked as if most if not all of her money was there.

A folded piece of paper sat on top, and once she could breathe again, Caddy lifted it out. It looked like a page torn from a journal, old and worn, brown around the edges with what looked like water damage. The note was scrawled in rough hand, almost illegible.

When Caddy read it, a new raft of tears filled her eyes. The apology was brief and simple, the plea for forgiveness touching. With no name signed to the note, Caddy was uncertain whom she needed to forgive. But whoever it was, he had her forgiveness and her gratitude.

Taking the strongbox into her bedroom, she emptied the contents onto her bed and began counting. She counted twice just to be sure. Only five pounds was missing. Before the return of the strongbox, five pounds had seemed a vast sum. With its return, though she wished the money had not been taken, she hoped whoever had done this had put the funds to good use.

Caddy bundled the money by like denominations, separating the coins and paper. She then removed the sham from one of her pillows, put the money into it, wrapped the cloth around the bundle, and laid it on the mattress beside her.

Several times during the night, Caddy startled awake, certain she had heard someone moving about in her room. But as soon as she came fully awake, she realized it was only her anxiety-induced dreams that made her think so.

As soon as the first rays of dawn peeked through the lace curtains covering the window over her bed, she rose and dressed. She pulled her hair out of the single long braid, brushed it as best she could around the bandage covering half of her head, and re-braided it. She twisted it into a heavy knot and covered it with a snood before tying on her broad-brimmed poke bonnet. The part of the bandage that covered her forehead was still glaringly apparent, but at least the rest of it was hidden.

In the kitchen, she picked up the basket the maid usually carried to the greengrocer.

Agnes looked at her askance from stoking the fire in the broad hearth, but Caddy offered no explanation. She slid the heavy pillow sham into the basket, tucked her reticule in alongside it, and departed for the long walk to the bank.

Once away from the shop, she realized it would have been better to call for a cab to drive her. But she wanted to make sure she was at the bank as soon as it opened to deposit the money into her account. Besides, everyone in North Parade, and probably everyone in Jericho by now, knew she had been robbed. So who, upon seeing her, would think she had anything on her worth taking?

She walked south for two miles along the main road into the northern reaches of Oxford. The longer she walked, the more signs of life she started to see. Street vendors waved or called greetings. A trickle, then a steady stream, of horses and carriage filled the streets with their clatter. Shutters, doors, and windows whooshed open as residents welcomed the new day and shopkeepers opened for business.

She was unaccustomed to walking so far, and the basket seemed to get heavier and heavier. The brightening sky glared into her eyes, making her constant headache worse. But she kept moving, one foot in front of the other, minute after minute, yard after yard, until finally she saw the bank ahead.

If the clerk thought it odd that Caddy had her money wrapped in a colorfully embroidered pillow sham, he gave no indication. Caddy kept a few coins back to pay for a cab home, but she reveled in watching the clerk write the amount of her deposit on her receipt. While there, she had him draw up checks for the bills she had been afraid she would not be able to pay.

After tucking the checks into her reticule and putting that back in the basket, she thanked the clerk, then stepped outside. She scanned the busy street to try to find Thomas Longrieve and his cab, but when she could not find him, she hailed another and climbed into the carriage with a sigh of relief.

It was with light steps and a lighter heart that she dismounted the coach minutes later in front of her shop. She paid the driver, then reached in the basket to pull out her key for the front door. But when she turned the key she realized the door was already unlocked. She knew she had locked it when she left. Eight o’clock was too early for Phyllis to have unlocked it for the day. The mystery marred Caddy’s happiness over the return of the money, but that was forgotten when she reached the kitchen and saw three men sitting at the table with Mother and Mary.

Dr. Stradbroke stood as soon as he saw her. Caddy’s smile faded when she realized how grave his expression was. She dropped her bonnet to the table and glanced at the other two men. The constable and—she grabbed hold of the back of the closest chair. “Mr. Longrieve?”

The cab driver would not look at her. Her heart sank. She did not want to believe that someone she trusted so much could have stolen from her. But his guilty countenance testified against him.

The constable kindly but firmly asked Mother, Mary, and Agnes if they could have privacy, and the three women reluctantly left the room.

The doctor pulled out a chair and motioned Caddy toward it, but she held up her hand to stop anyone from speaking before she did. “Why, Mr. Longrieve?”

Mr. Longrieve dropped his head into his hands—the chain hanging from his manacled wrists making an insulting jangle. “Ever since the baby come . . .” He fell silent.

Caddy sank into the closest chair. To her surprise, instead of regaining his seat, Neal took up position standing behind her.

“If you had but asked, I would have been happy to loan you the money.”

Longrieve’s shoulders slumped even more. “You’re so kind and generous to me already, miss, I could not bring myself to ask for more.”

Caddy considered him for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I refuse to believe it. You are not the kind of person who would do this.”

The cab driver’s back shuddered with his ragged breath.

Caddy leaned forward and touched his elbow. “Who are you covering for?”

Mr. Longrieve shot her a furtive glance, then dropped his head again. “No, miss, I did it. I broke into your shop, hit you on the head, and took your strongbox.”

Caddy took in a breath to protest once more—to use his words about hitting her in the head to prove his innocence, given what Neal had helped her remember—but a large, warm hand on her shoulder silenced her.

Did Neal Stradbroke know something he wasn’t telling?

The constable stood with a sigh. “He asked to see you before I took him in, Miss Bainbridge. Now he has, and he’s confessed, so we’d best be going.”

Caddy stood, her head still swimming enough that she reached for the back of the chair for balance. Her hand landed atop Dr. Stradbroke’s. He pulled it away only to circle his arm around her waist and cup her elbow for support.

“What will happen to him?”

The constable smoothed his hand over his bushy mustache. “Transportation to Australia, most likely. There’s a labor shortage—men are needed to build roads and bridges to the gold fields in the southeast, so the judges have been handing out sentences of seven years of penal servitude for almost any offense. Robbery, along with the grievous injury to you, miss, will earn that much at least, possibly more.”