Bedford Street Brigade 02 - Love Unbidden (5 page)

“No, Quinn. No regrets.”

Quinn held her in his arms for several long minutes. He didn’t want to let her go. Because when he did, he knew he’d be the one left with regrets.

A lifetime filled with regrets.

Nellie rose early and had breakfast waiting when Quinn came in. The tired look in his eyes told her he’d gotten as little sleep as she had.

She wanted to explain to him that she understood why he considered the risks he took too great to expect a wife to live with the possibility of losing her husband. But she loved him so much, she was convinced she could risk anything for his love.

She’d fallen in love with him months ago when he’d begun gracing every day with his smiles from across the bakery cou
nter, and these past few days—even with all the horrid ugliness that had intruded into her life—had set her heart singing.

But during the middle of the night, when the world was its blackest, and bleakest, she wasn’t sure she could survive if he was taken away from her. She loved him so much that she wasn’t sure she could live one day without him. And yet, the voice of reason inside her head told her that even one day with the man she loved was better than none.

Maybe it was because she wasn’t an immature lass of seventeen like she’d been before. Maybe it was because she’d already given her heart to one man only to have lost him in the blink of an eye. Maybe it was because the love she felt for Quinn was so much deeper than any love she’d felt before. Whatever the reason, she knew she could accept the risks that went with his job, as long as she had even one day of having his love.

“Here,” she said, setting a cup of coffee in front of him. “You look like you need this.”

He took a sip of the hot coffee, then set the cup down in front of him. “About last night—”

“Don’t, Quinn. We said what needed to be said.”

“But—”

She held out her hand to stop his words. “Like I said last night. No regrets.”

Nellie dished up the fried potatoes and eggs, then put several slices of crisp bacon on his plate. “Now eat. There’s jam for your toast if you want some.”

Nellie breathed a sigh of relief when Quinn began to eat. She was afraid things would change between them and she didn’t want them to. She couldn’t bear it if they did.

She made a plate for herself and sat down beside him. “What are our plans?” she said as they ate.

“Jack
has come ’round to give me time to go home to get fresh clothes. I’m going to change, then we are all going to Paxton Import and Export. I’m anxious to talk with Phineas Wharton. My hope is that he can shed some light on the ledger that someone is so anxious to get their hands on.”

“I’ll be ready when you are.”

“There’s no hurry, Nellie. We won’t leave until Mack comes. I don’t want the house to remain empty.”

“Do you think whoever broke in the other night will come back?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. If they didn’t find what they were after, they might.”

She sipped on her coffee. “Are all your cases this puzzling?”

He smiled. “Some of them, yes. Some not so much. Depends on what they are.”

“You enjoy it though, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He paused, then gently shook his head. “I’ve never given it much thought. I guess it’s my way of helping people. My way of ridding the world of people who want to harm others. Or protecting people from criminals who want to do them harm.”

“That’s very noble, Quinn.”

“I don’t do it because I think it makes me noble. I do it to help people who can’t protect themselves. Who can’t defend themselves.”

Nellie couldn’t stop herself. She reached over and placed her hand atop Quinn’s, then gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad I met you when you came into the bakery that day long ago.”

“So am I.”

He gave her fingers an answering squeeze, then they continued eating in silence. When they finished, Quinn rose. “I need to clean up and change clothes. I won’t be long.”

Nellie kept the smile on her face until he was out of the room, then her smile faded.

This is how it would be if she could be a part of Quinn’s life. Early morning breakfasts. Private chats before Quinn left for work. Evening
walks in the garden. Kisses shared in the moonlight. A life of loving Quinn, and being loved by him.

If she had any regrets, it was that she’d never know such a life.

. . .

Quinn helped Nellie into Mack’s carriage, then they rode to the wharf, to Paxton Import. She was good at making him feel comfortable. Even though he felt guilty as hell about last night, she understood why he regretted his actions. Kissing her was bad enough, but to carry their kiss to the point where passion controlled his reasoning was unthinkable.

What if they hadn’t stopped? What if he’d taken her like he wanted to?

Quinn stared out the window as if concentrating on the passing scenery could make him forget what he and Nellie had shared last night.

“What kind of man is Wharton?” he asked, both because he wanted to know, and he needed some topic to distract him.

“He’s older than Henry by several years and is quiet by nature. He’s slight in stature, and has an easygoing manner. He’s quite pleasant to be around and we all enjoy his company when he c
omes to dinner.”

“When was the last time he was at dinner?”

“Oh…” Nellie worried her bottom lip. “It was several weeks ago.”

“Do you think he could be stealing money from Paxton Import, and planted the
money the last time he was in your home?”

“Mr. Wharton? Oh, no. He’s not the type at all.”

“And what type is that?” Quinn asked.

Nellie paused. “Well, I don’t know. But the type that considers money important. I doubt Phineas Wharton has need for anything beyond what his wages at Paxton Import afford him.”

Quinn couldn’t help but smile. She was so trusting. Saw only good in everyone. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough. We’re here.”

The carriage stopped in front of Paxton Import and Export, and Quinn helped Nellie dismount. The man she’d described in the carriage looked up when they entered the office.

“Oh, Miss Sutton.” Phineas Wharton came forward with outstretched hands. “I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened. Of course, I don’t believe for a second that Henry is guilty of what he’s been accused of.” Wharton took Nellie’s hands in his and held them.

“Thank you, Phineas. We don’t either. That’s why we’re here.” Nellie turned to include Quinn. “Phineas, I’d like to present Mr. Quinn Walker. He’s an investigator with the Bedford Street Brigade.”

Wharton’s eyebrows shot upward. “Oh, Mr. Walker. I’m so glad you’ve taken an interest in Mr. Dunston’s case.”

“That’s why we’re here, Mr. Wharton. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course. Anything I can do to help.” Phineas Wharton pulled up two chairs. “Please, sit.”

Quinn led Nellie to one of the chairs, then took the other.

“What can I do to help?” Phineas said when they were seated.

“What do you know about the missing money?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Wharton scanned the room as if to make sure they were alone. “Henry and I have thought for a long time that something was amiss with the books, but nothing we could put our finger on.”

“Why do you say that?”

Wharton’s gaze lowered. “Just a feeling we had.”

“What about a missing ledger?”

Phineas Wharton’s eyes suddenly seemed too large for his very pale face. “Ledger? I’m… uh… I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. Dunston’s house was broken into two nights ago. Unfortunately, Miss
Sutton was alone at the time.”

Wharton focused his gaze on Nellie. His eyes opened wide when he
realized that the shadows on her face were bruises. “Oh, Miss Sutton. I’m so sorry. How dreadful.”

“Thank you, Phineas,” Nellie said. “Thankfully, my sister and the children are with our parents, so they weren’t at home. I hate to think what might have happened had they been there.” She paused, and leveled Phineas a steady gaze. “The men who broke in were after a ledger. They thought I had it.”

Wharton rose to his feet. He had to anchor his hand against the corner of the desk as if his legs wouldn’t support him. “The ledger…” he whispered.

“Yes, do you know where it is?” Nellie asked.

“I—”

Before Phineas Wharton could finish his sentence, the office door flew open and Carter Paxton stormed inside. “What are you doing here, Walker?”

“Exactly what I informed your father I intended to do—investigate your accusation against Mr. Dunston.”

“Well, you’re not welcome here.”

Quinn stepped between Nellie and the irate Carter Paxton. “Your father indicated otherwise, sir.”

“Well, my father isn’t here at the moment. I am.”

“Then perhaps I could ask you a few questions.”

“I’ve answered all the questions I intend to answer. Anything else you need to ask will have to go unanswered.”

“Don’t you want to find out who really took the money you found in Mr. Dunston’s home?”

“I already know who took the money. Mr. Dunston admitted to me just this morning that he is our thief.”

“No!” Nellie staggered beside him and Quinn wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. “That can’t be. Henry would never take anything that doesn’t belong to him.”

“Well, I’m afraid he did. He’s admitting his guilt right now. The authorities are taking down his admission as we speak.”

Quinn leveled a harsh glare in Paxton’s direction. “May I ask what enticement you offered to encourage Mr. Dunston to admit guilt for a crime he did not commit?”

Paxton stepped forward. “How dare you.”

“I dare because I talked with Mr. Dunston little more than twenty-four hours ago and he assured me of his innocence. Someone obviously convinced him to change his mind.”

“Get out.” Paxton stormed to the door. “Out!”

Quinn placed his hand beneath Nellie’s elbow and ushered her out of the building. He escorted her across the street to where the carriage waited for them. She was trembling nearly uncontrollably.

“In you go, lass,” he said when they reached the carriage. She stepped up, and he followed her inside. He sat beside her instead of sitting opposite her, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He knew what was to come.

“Quinn?” She tilted her head toward him and looked at him with tear-filled eyes.

“I know, lass. Everything will be all right.”

“What’s happening?” The first tear spilled down her cheek. “Why is Henry doing this?”

Quinn gathered her closer. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

Quinn made his way to Phineas Wharton’s boarding house, then waited in the modest foyer while the proprietress, a woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Bentley, reluctantly went up to tell Mr. Wharton he had a visitor. Mrs. Bentley initially informed Quinn it was too late for callers, but when he told her he was a Bedford Street investigator working on a case, she became more amenable.

Something bothered Quinn about Phineas Wharton’s reaction to his questions about a ledger. Wharton knew more than he was saying. And Quinn needed to know what that was.

Quinn didn’t sit on the single chair in the foyer while he waited, but stood in the center of the room until Wharton appeared at the top of the stairs. The look on Wharton’s face when he saw Quinn wasn’t one of surprise, but more a look of reluctance. For a moment, Quinn thought Wharton might return to his room. But the man took a deep breath, then made his way down the stairs.

“Good evening, Mr. Walker.”

“Mr. Wharton. Is there someplace we can talk?”

“Of course.” Wharton turned to Mrs. Bentley. “May we use the parlor, Mrs. Bentley?”

“Of course. But it’s too late for tea or refreshments.”

“We don’t require anything. Just a room where we can speak in private.”

Mrs. Bentley led the way down a short hall, and opened the last door on the right.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bentley,” Wharton said.

Mrs. Bentley lit enough lamps to provide adequate light, then closed the door behind her when she left. They were alone.

Phineas Wharton walked across the room and sank onto the sofa. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Then you know why I’m here.”

Wharton nodded. “The ledger.”

Quinn picked up a chair and set it down to face Wharton. “Do you have it?”

Wharton hesitated, then answered. “Yes.”

“I need to see it,” Quinn said.

Wharton hesitated, then reached into his jacket pocket. “The ledger’s hidden where no one will find it. But this is what you need.”

Wharton handed Quinn several folded sheets of paper. Quinn took them to a small writing desk beneath a window. He pulled one of the lamps closer and began reading them.

“These are the last three months’ transactions. There are more in the ledger that prove the same thing.”

“Save me time here, Wharton. Tell me what it proves.”

“These prove that Paxton Import is running more than one operation. One that’s legal. One that’s…not.”

Quinn looked up from the papers. “What were you going to do with these?”

Wharton shook his head. “I’m not sure. I wanted to find out what Paxton Import was involved in first. I was afraid what would happen to all of us if the authorities found out. I was afraid Lord Paxton would try to put the blame on either Henry or me. And I was the most likely one because I’d been there longest. I never thought it would be Henry.”

“What do you think is going on?”

Wharton lowered his gaze to the floor. “Smuggling,” he wh
ispered. “I think Paxton Import is involved in smuggling.” Wharton rose and came to the desk. “See these entries?” He pointed to several lines on the papers in front of Quinn. “They are all parts of a larger shipment that was unloaded in a separate location.”

“Do you know where that location is?”

Wharton pointed to a notation on the side of one of the papers. “I found this address. I think the smuggled goods might be there.”

Quinn recognized the address. It was on the wharfs. “Then maybe I should have a look.”

“It might be dangerous,” Wharton said softly. “I don’t think this business is legal.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Quinn answered, then rose. “I’d like to take these papers with me.”

“Of course. Will they help Henry?”

“Possibly.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

Quinn walked across the room, but stopped before he opened the door. “If you were to make a guess, Mr. Wharton, who would you say was behind this illegal operation? Baron Paxton? Or his son?”

“Oh, Mr. Walker. I can’t possibly think Baron Paxton could be involved in anything illegal. He’s an exemplary person, and has always been a good employer.”

“And his son?”

“Well, young Paxton has a wild streak that seems to get him in a great deal of trouble. But for the baron’s sake, I hope he hasn’t done anything to disgrace the family. It would kill the baron to have his son arrested. Lord Paxton is blind to his son’s errors.”

Quinn nodded, then opened the door. “Thank you, Mr. Wharton.”

“Thank you for helping Henry, Mr. Walker. You have to prove he didn’t steal that money. It would kill him to be separated from his family.”

Quinn nodded, and left. Yes, he had to prove Henry Dunston was innocent of the charges leveled against him. It would devastate Nellie if he wasn’t.

. . .

Quinn stopped his carriage several streets away from the address in the ledger and walked, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. If Carter Paxton was using this warehouse to
conceal smuggled goods, the location was perfect. It was at the far end of the wharf, almost hidden from view.

When he reached the warehouse, he ducked into a narrow alleyway between two buildings and studied his surroundings. Everything looked quiet, but that didn’t mean anything. He’d seen riots explode from seemingly quiet places.

He kept in the shadows and walked down the length of the warehouse. He stopped when he reached a window near the back of the building. It was too high for Quinn to see into, so he moved a box beneath the window and stood on it.

At first he didn’t see even a hint of light and thought the warehouse was abandoned. But upon closer inspection, he saw a faint light glowing from the far corner. Quinn rubbed the smudged window glass until he’d clea
ned a small circle and could peer inside.

One sleeping guard sat on a chair propped against the wall. Other than the flickering candle on a small table near him, Quinn didn’t see anything or anyone else. The warehouse was partially filled with bundles. They were stacked several feet high in the far corner.

If Paxton Import was involved in something illegal, this was the proof he needed. The bundles no doubt contained the contraband someone at Paxton Import was smuggling into England.

Quinn pushed upward on the window. It moved a little, but not enough to allow him to get his arm through, let alone his body. He
pushed again. Little by little the window opened.

The work was slow and tedious, but Quinn couldn’t go any faster.
The window was prone to creaking and might wake the guard. He worked for what seemed an eternity, and finally, the window was raised enough for him to slip through.

He climbed over the ledge, then silently lowered himself to the warehouse floor.

The guard didn’t stir, but to make sure he still slept soundly, Quinn waited until the man’s loud snoring continued in rhythm. When he was sure it was safe, Quinn stepped across the warehouse floor.

Even though there wasn’t enough light to see the contraband clearly, Quinn recognized the shape of the bundles. His guess was that Paxton was dealing in opium.

Quinn needed to have proof of what he’d found, and couldn’t be guaranteed that the warehouse wouldn’t be empty by the time he got the authorities and returned. So he carried a bundle back across the warehouse floor to the window. Because of the height of the window, he had no choice but to toss the bundle out first, then follow.

The steady snoring proved the guard slept behind him, but Quinn knew he’d have to act quickly once he threw the bundle over the window sill. The chances of it landing softly enough not to wake the guard were slim.

Quinn took a deep breath, then tossed the bundle. He didn’t wait to see if the guard woke, but grabbed the window ledge, then pulled himself up. Before he could drop to the ground below, he heard a loud bellow, then felt a sharp sting. His arm suddenly refused to function and he had no choice but to drop to the ground and pray he had the strength to grab the bundle and run.

Quinn crumpled to a heap on the ground below the window, and after several attempts, struggled to his feet, picked up the bundle, and ran.

The guard came out the front of the warehouse and fired again.

Quinn felt a fiery sting at his side and knew he’d been hit
yet again, but not too badly. He could still move. He could still breathe.

He wasn’t sure how he made it back to his carriage, but somehow he did. He slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps and jerked backward against the cushion when the carriage moved. Damn
, but he hurt. Especially his arm. The wound to his side was nothing more than a nuisance, but he was afraid the bullet was still lodged in the flesh of his arm. And Jack was the only one at Nellie’s to help him.

Having Jack dig the bullet out of his arm wasn’t a comforting thought.

. . .

“
Shouldn’t Quinn be back by now?” Nellie checked the street in front of the house again. She couldn’t resist the pull to watch for him to return.

“Come back and sit down, Nellie,” Mack said from a chair on the other side of the room. “Watching never helps.”

Mack had arrived shortly after Quinn left. Nellie was glad. There was something settling in having him here.

Nellie left the window, then sat on the sofa. When she was seated, she lifted her gaze to Mack’s composed features. “How does your wife do it?”

Mack laughed. “Actually, Nellie, Cora handled my job and the risks I took so well she turned down my offer of marriage and left me.”

“Left you?”

“Yes. And the thought of living my life without her broke my heart.”

“But she came back,” Nellie said.

“Yes,” Mack said. “Thanks to her sister. She convinced her that there were no guarantees in this world. That knowing love for even one day is better than never knowing love at all.”

Nellie hesitated before asking her next question. “Did you ever consider giving up your work?”

Mack locked his gaze with hers and shook his head. “No.”

Nellie didn’t have time to ponder Mack’s words. The door flew open and Jack walked in with Quinn’s arm draped across his shoulders.

“Mack! I need some help here.”

Jack’s words brought them racing to the entryway.

“Take him to the kitchen,” Mack said, then went in ahead of them. By the time Jack had Quinn in a chair and his jacket and shirt off, Nellie had water and cloths ready.

“It’s not bad,” Quinn tried to say. But his blood-soaked shirt indicated the opposite.

“I’ll need to get a needle and thread,” Nellie said. She handed a cloth to Jack. “Clean the wound as well as you can.”

Jack took her place and she ran to get her sewing kit, some bandages, and the salve Eileen always kept in case of a skinned knee. When she returned, she took the cloth back from Jack.

Before she could continue cleaning Quinn’s wound, he reached for her hand. “It looks worse than it is, Nellie.”

She tried to be brave. Tried to pretend she wasn’t scared out of her mind. “The bullet’s still in there. It will have to come out.”

“Mack will take it out. He’s an expert at this. Just don’t let Jack do it. It didn’t go well the last time I took a bullet from his side. I know he’s waiting to return the favor.”

Nellie wanted to hit Quinn. How could he joke at a time like this? How could he speak so cavalierly about the risks they took? The bullets they took?

“Are you ready?” Mack asked, holding a knife and a pair of long pinchers.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Can you come over here, Nellie, so I have something pretty to look at while Mack works?”

Nellie rushed to Quinn’s other side. When she knelt at his feet, he reached for her hand.

Nellie didn’t look when Mack started digging for the bullet. Instead, she kept her gaze locked with Quinn’s and grasped his hand as if she could will her strength to him.

Huge drops of perspiration beaded on Quinn’s forehead as Mack worked. Quinn kept his teeth clenched tight, and each time Mack made another try for the bullet, Quinn sucked in a harsh breath.

Nellie tightened her hold on Quinn’s hand. She wanted to scream for Mack to hurry. She wanted Quinn’s torture to be over. But the ordeal seemed to take forever.

Finally, Mack dropped a metal bullet onto the table and stepped back. “Done.”

Quinn sagged in relief.

“I’m sorry it took so long, Quinn, but the bullet was deeper than I thought.”

Quinn tried to smile. “You were gentle as a lamb, Mack. Any pain I felt was nothing compared to what Jack would have put me through.”

“I’ll remember that, friend, the next time you get into trouble and I’m the one who gets to dig on you.”

Nellie listened to the two banter back and forth, as if bullets and almost dying were a common occurrence. She needed to be by herself. She needed to get a grasp on what Quinn went through on a daily basis. She stood, but had to reach out to steady herself. The room spun around her and the roaring inside her head grew louder.