Whispers in the Reading Room (11 page)

She was growing more confused. “My mother is upstairs in her room. Do you wish for her to be present?”

He shook his head. “I do not.” He walked right into their receiving room and sat down. Two seconds later, he was on his feet again, pacing.

More confused than ever, she gazed at him curiously. “Jason, whatever is wrong?”

“I need to know just how well you know Sebastian Marks.”

Mr. Marks seemed to be on everyone’s mind that evening. “He is a friend.”

“How good of one? You two seemed rather close at the hotel.”

“He was seeing to my wrist. If you will remember, I burned my hand from the tea.”

“Someone told me they saw you walking with him a few days
ago.” He stared hard at her as she lowered herself into a chair. “What were you doing?”

She was as disconcerted by his question as his demanding tone. “I fail to see why that is any of your concern. You ended our engagement, if you will remember.”

Instead of showing any reaction to that, he waved off her reminder, like it was nothing that mattered to him. Instead, he sat down across from her and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. Crowding her space.

But it was the dark, panicked look in his eyes that caught her off guard. “Lydia, do you trust him?”

“I . . . I believe I do. Why?” Was he actually concerned for her welfare . . . or for his own?

“Have you ever seen any of his business partners? Any of the men who work with him?”

“Jason, he frequents my reading room. That is all.” She had no idea what he did, and she would certainly have no idea if another gentleman would ever be one of his business partners or not.

Actually, all of this was becoming increasingly irregular. “Your manner is starting to worry me. What is wrong?”

“I feel as if I am being watched.” He shuddered. “Usually I would call such suppositions nonsense. However, I could swear I saw the same man who was lurking about at my club last night standing outside my address this morning.”

“Your club?” She knew men of his social circle frequented well-to-do gentlemen’s clubs, but she had no idea which one or ones Jason claimed as his own. “What club is that?”

He did not answer, but she saw a muscle in his jaw jump as he looked away.

“Why would someone be doing that, Jason?”

He glanced at her before staring out the window.

He was hiding something. What she didn’t know was what she wanted to do with what he was asking her. Did she care to get involved?
Should
she get involved?

She did not. She should not.

When she thought her only option for the future was Jason’s like of her, she had been determined to keep his good will. But now that their engagement was a thing of the past, she felt she could be far more opinionated.

She had choices. Not too many in life, but she definitely did as it pertained to him.

Treading carefully, she said, “Again, I do not see how your suspicions affect me. There is nothing holding us together any longer.” Just to set the record straight, she added, “And I must admit that I am no longer interested in your suit.”

With obvious impatience, he brushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. “Lydia, this has nothing to do with you. I don’t care what your feelings are.”

“If you don’t care, then perhaps you should go speak to someone else. I fail to see why you came to see me at this time of night.”

“I’m here because I want you to talk to Marks on my behalf.”

“I don’t know him that well. And what would he have to do with someone watching you?”

Did this have something to do with what had happened in the hotel? Even if it did, even if she had known Mr. Marks well, she was absolutely sure now that she wouldn’t do what Jason was asking anyway. His words were confusing and frightening. Nothing she wanted to become embroiled in.

He ignored her. “I want you to insist that he call off his watchdogs immediately. I am sure he is behind this.”

It was becoming obvious that Jason was a bit confused. Yes, Mr. Marks had come to her rescue, and yes, he had been angry about Jason’s behavior, but why would he care to have Jason followed? Mr. Marks lived in an expensive hotel and spent afternoons reading at her library. She was fairly certain he wouldn’t know the first thing about spying on men.

Whatever Jason feared from Mr. Marks, this was taking it too far.

“Jason, forgive me, but you’ve let your imagination run away with you. Mr. Marks doesn’t spy on people. Furthermore, he has no reason to do such things—not even after your despicable behavior at the hotel. Why would you think he would be behind this?”

A myriad of expressions—confusion, amusement, anger, despair—passed over Jason’s features. Now Lydia felt sure he was struggling with something dire. She wondered if he was hiding a secret about himself or about Mr. Marks.

Then again, she remembered how instantly angry Jason had become when he saw Mr. Marks at the hotel. Was his first instinct really that there was something between her and Mr. Marks, or was there something between the two men that made him so suspicious? Something Mr. Marks didn’t like but Jason actively feared.

It was time to uncover the truth, or at least move on. His pensive glares were becoming tiresome, and his accusations about Mr. Marks were giving her a headache. “Jason, I cannot help you if you are not honest with me,” she chided. “Please either tell me what is the cause of your worry about Mr. Marks or bid me good evening.”

“Honest? You want me to be honest?”

“Of course.” She was becoming impatient. “Please be honest, if you can. It means candid. Straightforward. Sincere.”

He scoffed. “You and your definitions. It’s enough to make one ache to press a hand to your mouth, just to silence your superior attitude.”

Remembering the way he’d gripped her wrist, she flinched. “Please leave.”

He didn’t budge. “Tell me, don’t you ever get tired of being the smartest person in the room?”

His words were caustic. Cool. She knew his question was rhetorical as well. However, his criticism was just painful enough that she decided to pretend ignorance. “Actually, no, I do not tire of it. I
am
usually the smartest person in the room. I certainly am this evening.”

His eyes turned cold. “One day you will wish you had minded your tongue.”

That felt as though he were threatening her, but he did not make a move toward her. He only seemed to want to make her do his bidding, and she would not. Standing up on shaking legs, she said, “I will see you to the door. I believe this conversation has run its course.”

Looking even more agitated, he got to his feet but didn’t move a single inch. “You were right about one thing. Coming here was a mistake,” he snapped as he looked around her small receiving room with disdain. “Though now that I am here, I see it. You are obviously extremely far from being a suitable bride.”

Had Mr. Marks’ warning been correct then? Jason had wanted her because he needed money? It made no sense since everyone knew his family was wealthy.

But if he had, indeed, only proposed because he’d assumed her dowry could ease his financial straits, how very disappointed he must be.

Almost as disappointed as herself.

Grabbing the top hat he’d thrown carelessly on the coffee table when he’d first sat down, he said, “I will leave you with one bit of advice. Sebastian Marks is not who you think he is. He is as far from the cream of Chicago society as one of the actors in Buffalo Bill
Cody’s Wild West show. He is from the depths of the poorest class. Keeping his company should be avoided by ladies at all costs.”

She knew he was wrong. He had to be. She recognized the fine cut of his suits and the expensive fabrics he wore. “I am sure you are mistaken.”

“I am not. You may never imagine that I know more about anything than you, but I can promise you, in this instance, you are sadly out of your depth. Don’t let your pride get in the way of common sense.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Of course he is,” he bit out. “Most men in Chicago know who he is and fear him.”

“I don’t know—”

“Furthermore, most women who have the misfortune to know who he is make sure to never even meet his gaze.”

“But—”

“Besides,” he added darkly, “he eyes you in a peculiar way. I saw it in the lobby of the hotel. I saw it when he was staring at you from across the room.”

“He is concerned for my welfare.”

“No, he wants you in his life.”

A chill inched up her spine. “We are merely friends.” Actually, they weren’t even that, no matter what she said. She didn’t have friends. The invitations received to parties and balls had no doubt been sent in deference to her father’s position and then out of pity for a widow and her daughter.

But she did know one or two afternoon’s conversations did not a friendship make.

“He is not looking for a friend, Lydia. At least, not the type of
friend
you are thinking of. And let me tell you this. If you aren’t careful, you are going to discover things about Marks that will mark you as well.”

She imagined he used the word
mark
on purpose. As a play on words. It would have been mildly amusing if his words weren’t so foreboding.

Though his warnings were scaring her, she wasn’t about to give Jason the satisfaction of seeing her afraid of him again. “You are being rather dramatic, Jason.”

“It would only be seen as dramatic by the naïve.” He walked toward the door. “I promise you this, Lydia. If you don’t break all ties with Marks, something is going to happen. And it won’t be pleasant or easily removed. Actually, you might never recover from it.”

Before she could ask him to explain himself, he set the hat on his head, strode to the door, and exited.

Closing the door behind him, Lydia looked around the quiet, dim foyer.

The artwork that used to decorate the walls was gone.

The servants who used to keep floors swept and the furniture glistening were gone.

She truly was alone. Responsible to secure her mother’s future yet not knowing if she would ever marry. In the dark about what was and was not true about her new friend.

Soon, they were going to have to sell the chandelier in the dining room. After that? Her mother would be forced to give up even more of her jewelry. And how much longer could they afford even this townhouse?

Perhaps she would be forced to investigate other avenues for employment, not that she had any idea what she could do. Be a governess perhaps?

At the moment, all she had to trust were her treasured books and the stories inside that transported her to someplace far better.

Too tired to contemplate her mother’s depression, her ex-fiancé’s warnings about her new friend, the bills that needed to be paid, Lydia walked quietly up the stairs to her own bedroom. She lit her kerosene
lamp, then opened the top book on the table by her favorite reading chair.

Running a hand along the leather spine, she sighed in blessed relief. At least her books hadn’t failed her.

And for that, she took a fierce moment, closed her eyes, and gave thanks.

CHICAGO TIMES-COURIER

From December 1893

Reported by Benson Gage

It is advised that all holiday revelers visit Camp Creek Alley at their own risk. No less than five men and one woman were attacked this past week. And this is only what has been publicly reported.

T
wo raps followed by another three woke Bridget from her slumber in her bedroom, which was really little more than a rather large closet near the back stairs on the top floor of the Hartman Hotel.

Jolting to a sitting position, she gaped at her locked door. “Who is there?”

“Vincent,” the voice rasped. “I mean, Vincent Hunt.”

Alarmed, she jumped out of bed and threw on her wrapper. Only an emergency would have brought Mr. Marks’ assistant to her door at this time of night. Immediately, all the worst sorts of scenarios began to dance in her head. What if some harm had befallen Mr. Marks? What if he’d been attacked and was bleeding somewhere?

And if that was the case, if he were dead, what would become of her?

Aware that anyone could be lurking in her hallway, she paused with her hand on the door handle. If someone discovered her standing in her nightclothes while talking to a man, they would no doubt create such an outcry that Mr. Marks would be forced to release her. “Mr. Hunt, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Pure frustration flavored each of his words. “I have no idea. Marks came to my office door barely twenty minutes ago and demanded that I bring you to him.”

“He did?”

“Immediately.”

She exhaled. The relief that Mr. Marks wasn’t in danger came and went with the new knowledge that she might be. Hurriedly, she lifted the bolt on her door and opened it just enough for Vincent to see her. “You’d better come in.”

He walked inside without a moment’s hesitation, seemed to notice her state of undress, and abruptly faced the wall. “You shouldn’t have invited me in, dressed as you are. It isn’t proper.”

His snippy words acted like a splash of cold water. “I am aware of that,” she snapped. “I’m also aware that I shouldn’t be allowing any men inside, even ones who show up uninvited. But if we woke up the rest of the house with you talking at me through the door, I know I’d get sent away for sure. Frankly, I’m surprised you were able to get upstairs without anyone stopping you. What time is it?”

“It’s about one. And we both know none of the bellmen and desk clerks downstairs is going to say one word about what happens in Mr. Marks’ rooms. I daresay his weekly payments keep half of them employed.”

“You would be right about that.”

He unbent his stalwart stance enough to glower at her over his shoulder. “You’d best get dressed. You may be right about me not loitering about in the hall. But still, it isn’t proper for me to be in your bedroom.”

She knew. Oh, she most definitely knew. But social rules and modesty were for people who could afford such things. She was a working girl and glad to have her job. “It will be all right. We both know I’m in no danger of ruining my fine reputation. No one here is mistaking me as an impressionable young miss.”