Authors: Jo Goodman
"I would have told you right away," she said. "I
know
I would have if it hadn't been for what Mrs. Chatham did to me. I was willing to write out a message, but she was more interested in giving me something to drink."
Christian fastened his drawers, pulling the string tight. "Why would she drug you if she knew you were here with a message for me?" He was not aware that he had spoken aloud until Jenny answered him.
"But I never had the chance to tell her who I was or who the message was for." She frowned, trying to remember. "At least I don't think I did. No, I didn't. We were interrupted and she left and then I did."
"I know," he said dryly. "You didn't like her. You made certain you told me that. Several times."
Jenny sat up on her knees, clutching the sheet in front of her. She did nothing with the clothes he tossed at her. "Please, Mr. Marshall, I swear I would have told you about Mrs. Brandywine if my head had been clear."
"Do you think I'm angry? I'm not. I believe you," he said. And he did. Her distress was genuine. He pointed to the clothes that were scattered across the bed. "Get dressed now."
Jenny hardly heard him. She was still concentrating on the sequence of events after leaving Amalie's office. "I was already feeling thick-headed and awkward when I went through her suite looking for another exit. I found a way out and got as far as the other side of her hedgerow when I remembered I was supposed to see you. I had forgotten already, you see."
"I
do
see," he said. "Now will you get dressed?"
"Turn your back."
"What?"
"Turn your back," she repeated.
"Isn't that rather like shutting the stable door after the..." He stopped, seeing that she was quite—if absurdly—serious.
"Oh, very well." Christian turned away and jammed his legs into his black evening trousers.
Jenny dropped the sheet and pulled her chemise over her head. She sighed, seeing that the wide strap had been torn where it met the scooped neckline. "My cloak and scarf are in the hall linen cupboard," she said, rolling on her stockings. "I hid them behind a stack of sheets."
"Of course you did." He held up a hand behind him, trying to forestall her explanation. "No, I do not want to hear. I'm sure you had your reasons."
"I did. I didn't want anyone on this floor to suspect I didn't belong. It worked, because when I met Maggie she thought I was one of the maids." She paused and added pointedly,
"
Not
one of the whores."
"And she still sent you to me?" Christian could not unravel that one until he remembered calling out to Jenny when Maggie was in his arms. He supposed he was fortunate Maggie hadn't scratched his eyes out for that lapse. "Never mind," he said, fastening the studs in his snowy white dress shirt. "I know why she did it. Are you ready yet?"
"Almost." She laced up her black ankle boots and then pulled on her gown. Several of the buttons were missing. The modest collar gaped just above her breasts. Jenny scooted off the bed, holding the fabric closed with one hand. "I'm dressed. We can go now."
"Wait here. I'll get your cloak."
"And scarf."
"And scarf," he repeated. "I also want to see where Amalie is. It may not be such a simple thing to get you out of here, not if she has decided you are to be one of her girls."
"You would not let her do that, would you?"
Christian's brief glance in Jenny's direction was pained. "It seems you've forgotten the circumstances of our first meeting. Do you really think I'd..." He broke off, angry with himself for even bothering to explain. "Never mind. I will not be gone long." He shrugged into his black swallow-tailed evening coat, unlocked the door, and stepped into the hallway without sparing her another look.
Dora heard the sound of a door opening and closing behind her as she was escorting Stephen to the main staircase. She prayed it was the maid leaving Maggie's room and not Christian Marshall. Dora did not want to think about the consequences of such a meeting.
As it happened, she did not have to think about it. Events simply started to unfold, and she was powerless to interfere.
Stephen gripped Dora's arm just above the elbow and squeezed her hard enough to make her wince. "It's Marshall," he said, looking down the hallway over his left shoulder.
"He
had her."
"Oh, God. Do not say anything."
"Come with me," he said under his breath. "I want to talk to him." Stephen backed up one step, pulling Dora with him. They began walking down the hall toward her room again.
Christian paused beside the linen cupboard when he saw Stephen Bennington strutting toward him, his arm linked around Dora's with his typical possessiveness. Christian's acquaintance with Stephen was limited to sharing a membership at the Yacht Club, attending some of the same social functions, and the occasional horse race out on Harlem Lane.
In the main he knew only two things about Stephen Bennington. One, the man dressed like a peacock. And two, Stephen had bought his way out of the draft during the war. In the first instance Christian was prepared to be open-minded. Stephen Bennington could dress any way he wished, even if he chose checked short coats, striped trousers, and bold yellow vests, and looked more as if he were wearing an argument than following the dictates of current fashion.
It was the second thing that Christian knew about Stephen that still had the power to trip his loathing for the man. Although there were hundreds, even thousands, of others who had taken the opening the law gave them and paid someone else to fight in their place, Christian still had no stomach for them in general and Stephen Bennington in particular.
Christian's hand casually dropped away from the linen cupboard door, and he gave a brief nod as Stephen and Dora approached. "Bennington. Miss Dora. Happy New Year." He made to step forward, deciding to go in search of Amalie, but Stephen blocked his path. "Is there some problem?" he asked, looking from Stephen to Dora. Christian did not have to stretch his powers of observation to conclude that young Bennington had imbibed well beyond his tolerance and that Dora was uncharacteristically nervous. He also did not miss the beginnings of a bruise on Dora's cheek and the faint swelling below her eye.
"No," said Stephen, pinching Dora's dimpled elbow to keep her quiet. "No problem."
"Then perhaps you would move out of my way?"
Stephen wavered slightly on his feet, and it was Dora who actually steadied him. "In a moment. I was wondering about the high-stepper I saw go into Maggie's room earlier. Couldn't help but notice you just came from there, so I thought I'd ask about the girl. Is she available now?"
Dora was relieved that Stephen had had the presence of mind to lie about how he'd actually seen the girl. She relaxed a little.
"She might be," Christian said indifferently, "though you'll have to find her yourself. She left the room before I did."
Disappointed, Stephen's mouth turned down at the corners. "Damn, but she looked to be an exquisite bit of tenderloin. Did you have her and Maggie together?"
Christian saw Dora blanch at the crudeness of Stephen's expression and his question. Her presence, and the fact that Bennington was obviously drunk, kept Christian from putting Stephen face down on the carpet. "If you'll excuse me," he said. "I am looking for Amalie."
Dora gathered her courage and pulled Stephen to one side so Christian could pass. "Amalie isn't here now," she told him. "She and Mr. Todd both had to step out. Maggie's the hostess in Amalie's place."
That further explained why Maggie hadn't returned to her own room, Christian thought, and also why Dora had to put up with Bennington. John Todd would have shown him the door for striking one of Amalie's girls.
Stephen smirked, chuckling under his breath. "So you didn't have them both." He winked at Dora. "Somehow I knew that."
Christian let that comment pass, supposing that Stephen was recommending he try a
ménage a trois.
"Dora, would you like me to escort young Bennington here to the door?"
"Now see here, Marshall," Stephen said, drawing back his shoulders and throwing out his chest. "You don't have any right to—"
"It's all right, Mr. Marshall," Dora said, trying to keep the peace. "Stephen was on his way out when he saw you. He just wanted to know about the girl." She made another attempt to urge Stephen along, but he pulled away from her. Dora immediately dropped her hands to her sides and stepped backward.
"Look, Bennington," Christian said, "I already told you that if you're interested in the girl you'll have to find her. I don't know where she is. Now, if you'll both excuse me, since I can't see Amalie, I'm going to get my coat and take my leave." Christian turned to go and was stopped by Stephen laying a hand on his shoulder. "What the hell do you want now, Bennington?" he asked wearily, glancing back.
"This, you bastard." He drove his fist into Christian's jaw, sending him sprawling against the wall.
Christian realized he had either seriously overestimated Stephen's drunken state or underestimated his stupidity. He straightened and cupped his jaw, nursing it. "Before I set you on your ass," Christian said, "suppose you tell me what that was in aid of." He gestured to Dora to get out of the way as he and Stephen began to circle each another. "I don't fool myself that it is because of the girl."
"Not because of the girl," Stephen said. "At least not that one." He made a jab with his right that Christian ducked easily. "Your interference cost me a—" Stephen broke off, distracted by the sound of voices on the back stairwell, all of which he recognized. Not now, he thought, not when he was prepared to give Christian Marshall a small portion of what he deserved for ruining his life. He threw another wild punch and took a blow to his gut instead. Winded, he doubled over, backing up against the wall. Gaslight flickered as one of the glass lamps was knocked askew. "I should kill you for what you did," he said, sucking in his breath. "If it hadn't been for you, I would be—"
"That's quite enough, Stephen." William Bennington spoke in stentorian tones as he entered the hallway from the rear. "You've said more than you need to." Father and son exchanged equally hard, narrow-eyed stares before Stephen looked away. William took off his silk top hat and held it under his arm. He made a slight bow to Christian, acknowledging his presence. "My son will make a formal apology when he's sober."
"That's not necessary," said Christian. He spoke to William, but his attention was on the entourage that accompanied the elder Bennington. Mr. Todd was behind William, just off his right shoulder, and beside him were Amalie and Maggie Bryant. Everyone but Maggie was still wearing a cloak, muffler, and gloves. From the flakes of snow on their shoulders and hats, Christian could see they had only just come indoors. Amalie's cloak was damp at the bottom where it had apparently brushed through at least one drift. Christian tried to picture her tramping through the snow and couldn't.
Maggie was fidgeting with her hair, a sure sign that she was worried about something. Amalie's smile was forced. Only Mr. Todd was regarding this set piece with indifference. Christian found the entire confrontation odd rather than alarming.
"I disagree," William said. "You will have your apology." He removed his hat and scarf and handed both to Todd. "Take these, please, and then see that my son is escorted to my carriage. Send him home. I will take a cab."
John Todd nodded after glancing in Amalie's direction for approval. "Very good, sir." He broke away from the others. "Mr. Stephen? This way, please. Miss Dora? I'm certain your presence is required in the red parlor."
Stephen stumbled a little as he pushed away from the wall, but he brushed off Todd's hand when the older man offered his assistance. Mustering what dignity he could, he took Dora's arm instead.
Christian waited until the trio had disappeared down the main staircase before he spoke. "I'm certain Stephen will appreciate your timely intervention come morning. I honestly can't say that I feel the same way." He moved his lower jaw back and forth, shaking out the stiffness. "I was on the point of smashing his pretty nose."
"I saw that," William said gravely. "My son can be impulsive, but I've not known him to be so belligerent. Chalk it up to the high spirits of the holiday, youthful exuberance, and a touch more to drink than he can handle gracefully."
"My thoughts exactly," Christian said. He was not sure any of those reasons were sufficient to explain Stephen's animosity. Stephen had been on the verge of making himself clear when his father had interrupted. Christian regretted not hearing Stephen out more than he regretted missing the chance to flatten the younger Bennington's nose. "Now, if you'll excuse me, before Stephen stopped me I was going back to get my coat."
"Maggie," Amalie said sweetly, stepping around William. "Please get Mr. Marshall's coat for him."
What the hell was going on? Christian wondered. His eyes darted to all members of the trio trying to divine their purpose. "That's all right, Maggie. I can get it myself."
"It's no bother," Amalie said, speaking to Maggie.
Thinking of Jenny's safety, Christian's mind worked furiously. "Please, Amalie, I'd rather not worry that my money's being lifted. I'll get my coat myself."
The insult struck home. Amalie's cheeks flamed with color.