Whispers in the Reading Room (20 page)

“I daresay you are right. But what I think matters even more is that he didn’t send me back up to sit with Miss Bancroft.”

“He probably is feeling sorry for you.”

“Mr. Marks doesn’t feel sorry for his workers. He pays them to do a good job.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Listen to what I am saying, Vincent. Mr. Marks is upstairs himself keeping her company. He wants to be with her. He cares about her.”

“Don’t know why. Or do you think there’s more to her than meets the eye?” He waggled his eyebrows.

She deliberately chose to misunderstand. “Miss Bancroft is not stuffy at all. She’s actually really very kind. And she has quite a nice sense of humor. You would like her, if you ever decided to unbend enough to give her half a chance.” After a pause, she warned, “And you should really give her a chance. Mr. Marks is not going to take kindly to you being disrespectful to her.”

“That is not what I was talking about.” He smirked. “Maybe she’s more of a light skirt than she lets on?”

Bridget glared at him, slightly shocked that he was determined to think poorly of Miss Bancroft. “Of course not. She is a lady, Mr. Hunt.”

“Ladies don’t always act like ladies. Surely you’ve seen enough at the hotel to know that.”

“What do you know?” she taunted.

“I know more than you might think.”

Her cheeks heated as she began to get the idea he was implying that he was experienced. Very experienced. Suddenly, she thought less of him.

And, in doing so, she thought less of herself for ever imagining that he could be something special to her. She stepped a bit away
from him, needing that physical distance to remind her of why the two of them ever having a relationship of the romantic kind would be so very wrong. “Whatever you are insinuating, you would be wrong. I promise you that Miss Bancroft is everything proper. And you have got yourself an attitude about her that you should consider readjusting.”

“You and Mr. Marks,” he scoffed. “He practically bit my head off just now when I didn’t act like she caused the sun to shine.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing that wasn’t the truth.”

She shook her head. “And here I thought you were a smart man.”

“I am smart. And in this instance, I’m smarter than our boss. He’s blinded by her tomfoolery, and he’s going to pay for it, he is. She’s going to get him hurt or killed.”

“I fear that is your fault, Vincent,” she replied, realizing they had both been using Christian names. “You are blinded by a prejudice against a woman who has done nothing to you.”

“But—”

“Furthermore, we are not Mr. Marks’ friends. Or his equals. We are his employees.”

“We are just as worthy as he is.”

“I know that. You know that. He knows that. But
that
is not the point. The point is he didn’t hire you to be his conscience. He hired you to do what he wants you to do. When you start forgetting, that is when you are going to get into trouble.”

“Maybe I already have.”

Fear burned inside her. “What if that is the case? Have you saved so much money that you want to get fired? And how will you get rehired without a reference? No one is going to hire a man whose employment
was terminated because he disapproved of his employer’s romantic interests.”

Bridget held her breath, certain that she had been so disapproving that he would never forgive her.

Or that he would never, at the very least, feel he could confide in her again.

She watched him gather himself, take a deep breath, then at last stare at her blankly.

“Excuse me, Miss O’Connell. I have some business I need to take care of. Mr. Marks wanted you to go down to the kitchens and get something to drink and eat and rest a bit. I trust you can see to yourself without my assistance? You are, of course, just the maid.”

Though it was completely true, each word felt like a slap in the face. Instead of arguing, Bridget stared directly at him until he flashed her yet another cool look and turned away.

As the next few hours passed, she at first tried to help out the bartender, but that proved to be a mistake when the men surrounding the bar either ceaselessly cajoled her to keep them company or questioned her presence.

She ended up going to the small storage area in the back of the first floor, underneath the staircase. She found a small chair there, as well as a table, a lamp, and an old deck of cards. Obviously, this was some employee’s secret area to relax and while away his break time.

After thumbing the cards for a while, she attempted to shuffle them, failed helplessly, picked them all up from the floor, and at last neatly rearranged them according to suit and number.

When she finished that small project, Bridget leaned her head back against the rough wall behind her head and closed her eyes. While
doing so, she firmly resolved to think about everything and anything instead of replaying the awful conversation she’d had with Vincent.

She’d said things she shouldn’t have said. No doubt, he was feeling just as guilty. Therefore, she promised herself that before the night was over, she would make every attempt to make things right.

Just as soon as she rested her eyes. She was more tired than she’d let on to Vincent. But she would not rest for more than ten minutes’ time. Definitely no more than twenty.

But the feeling of warmth and security in that small closet was hard to ignore. As was the opportunity to completely relax. For the next couple of minutes, no one wanted her, no one needed her. She could worry only about herself.

Only herself.

She didn’t know how long she had been asleep when the scream tore through the building. Heart racing, she rushed out of the closet when another scream erupted, followed by the low rumble of men’s voices. Following the noise, she saw at least a dozen men and a few women crowded around the front doors.

Their voices were angry, concerned, in distress. She glanced around, quickly looking for Mr. Marks or Vincent.

She saw neither.

She let her natural instincts take over, pushed her way into the fray, and then had to press the edge of her palm to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

The trademark silver doors were flung wide open, and she could see policemen running toward the building. Lying on the front steps was a man, bleeding from what looked like multiple stab wounds. He was staring blankly at them all through unseeing eyes.

Bridget stifled a cry as she recognized him. It was none other than Jason Avondale. And kneeling at his side was Jeffrey Galvin.

She backed away so quickly, she wasn’t thinking about anything other than removing the sight of the bloody body from her memory.

“Hold on, miss. Don’t faint on me,” a rough voice whispered in her ear as he held her by the waist.

It seemed things had just gone from bad to worse.

A
steady pounding on the stairs jarred Sebastian from the page he’d been rereading for the last twenty minutes. As authoritative voices joined the din, along with brisk knocks on doors, Sebastian strode to his office door, barely checking on the sleeping Lydia before grasping the handle. He intended to chew out the employees responsible for letting the revelers make their way into the club’s private spaces.

But before he could throw open the door and take care of the problem, three sharp, staccato raps pounded against the wood.

The jarring noise woke Lydia, who sat upright with a cry of alarm. “Sebastian?”

He had no time to calm her.

He opened the door to two men in suits and one very agitated Vincent Hunt. Luckily, he’d had a lifetime of concealing his emotions. “Hunt, what is going on?”

“The police are here, sir. They have discovered a body.” He looked the complete opposite of his normal, unflappable self.

With effort, he tamped down his shock. “I see,” he said. Though, of course, he really didn’t see anything at all.

One of the men, his brown eyes perceptive and his blond hair
expertly groomed, spoke. “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Detective Owen Howard. I regret to inform you that a man has just been discovered murdered outside your club.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “That is sad news, indeed, though not exactly a surprise. This area is a rather violent one.”

“Yes, it is. We were investigating another report only two blocks over when we heard screams coming from the direction of the Grotto. The dead man looks to be a gentleman, sir. And his murder looks to have been a particularly violent one as well. In addition, he seems to have received a recent beating.”

Behind him, Lydia gasped.

Inwardly, Sebastian winced. Never would he have wanted her to be in the midst of this. Gripping the door’s handle, he said, “Thank you for letting me know, Detective. I’ll be downstairs shortly.”

Howard reached out and gripped the side of the door. “Not so fast, sir. I have some questions for you.”

“Which I will answer presently.”

The second man, who until that moment had been simply standing and observing, pushed his way to face Sebastian. “Our business would be best taken care of now. And out of the hall. If we may come in, sir?”

The man’s hazel eyes were piercing, his dark hair far more clumsily cut than Lieutenant Howard’s. His voice held the faint suggestion of an Irish accent. Sebastian was fairly sure who he was looking at: Sean Ryan, the luckiest cop on the face of the earth. The new husband of the elusive, beautiful Eloisa Carstairs.

“I’d rather you did not. I have company.”

“I’m afraid I must insist that we enter, sir. Immediately.”

Sebastian glanced Vincent’s way. His assistant had a bit of color back in his cheeks but otherwise appeared flummoxed. It was now
becoming evident that they weren’t here to go through the motions of investigating another poor sod who’d faced his end in Camp Creek Alley. No, this death seemed to matter.

Howard stepped forward. “Mr. Marks, if we may?”

Sebastian ignored him but stared at the other officer and took care to speak in his most bored tone. “With whom am I speaking?”

“Captain Sean Ryan. Please forgive my sorry manners.”

Knowing it was inevitable, Sebastian stepped backward and allowed the three men inside. Immediately, the two policemen directed their attention to Lydia, who was standing nervously next to the sofa, one hand curved around the plush velvet, the other clenching a fold in the skirt of her gown.

“Miss Bancroft.” Howard nodded.

Lydia paled.

Worried that she was on the verge of fainting, Sebastian walked to her side. “Sit down, Lydia,” he murmured. “Everything will be sorted out in no time.”

“All right.” She smiled hesitantly. “Forgive me, but my glasses? Have you seen them?”

Remembering he had slipped them into his coat pocket, he fished them out and pressed them into her palm. “Here you are. You fell asleep with them on. I took them off so they wouldn’t get broken.”

Howard and Ryan said nothing through the exchange. Actually, Sebastian was rather surprised to see that they seemed content to merely listen to them. Both men’s expressions had softened.

Hunt, on the other hand, eyed her with an ill-concealed disdain.

Hunt’s blatant disrespect made his hackles rise and his voice turn sharp. “Hunt, is there a reason you accompanied Lieutenant Howard and Captain Ryan to my offices?”

Vincent flinched. “Yes, sir. They asked me to take them to you. I . . . I thought you may need my assistance as well.”

The last thing he wanted or Lydia needed was his assistant glaring at her as if she was less than worthy. “Do you wish him to remain?” he asked the officers.

Ryan glanced from Hunt to Marks. “Not at this time. But don’t leave the premises.”

“I won’t. It would be fairly hard to leave, anyhow, what with the swarm of officers you have milling around downstairs,” Hunt reported.

Sebastian’s stomach sank. “There are more officers here?”

Howard answered. “We have a lot of folks to interview and even more to deal with the evidence. We would appreciate your staff’s assistance in this. However, we will make sure we get our answers one way or another.”

Sebastian heard the not-so-subtle warning in the lieutenant’s voice. They were in charge; he was not. Furthermore, they could make this shift in power painfully evident if he gave them any trouble. “My staff will do everything in their power to assist you.” He meant every word too. They were nothing if not loyal and trustworthy. Hardening his voice, he added, “See to it, Hunt.”

“Of course, Mr. Marks.” Hunt’s expression was respectful, the light in his eyes indicating he was pleased with both Sebastian’s authority and the job he was given to do.

At last, he and Vincent seemed back on familiar ground. His assistant smartly nodded and exited the room, both opening and shutting the door behind him in such a way that it could hardly be heard.

Only then did Sebastian turn to Lydia and perform introductions. “Miss Bancroft and Lieutenant Howard, I surmise that you already know each other?”

“That is correct,” Lieutenant Howard replied.

“In that case, Lydia, may I present Captain Sean Ryan? As you heard, there seems to have been a disturbance downstairs that they are investigating.”

She stood up. “Lieutenant Howard, Captain Ryan.”

“Miss Bancroft, I believe our paths crossed at some of the parties surrounding the fair,” Lieutenant Howard said.

“I am sure you are right.” She smiled softly, and Sebastian noticed that some of the unease in her shoulders dissipated. Sebastian had never thought much of the gentleman detective’s chosen profession, but at the moment he was thankful for Howard’s social status.

“Miss Bancroft.” Ryan inclined his head. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour.”

“I fear it is the early morning now.” She bit her bottom lip as her face turned bright red. “I, uh, fell asleep on the couch. This is, um, not my usual place.” Looking even more flustered, she added, “I really don’t know what happened. I shouldn’t have come here at all.”

Howard’s expression was carefully blank. “Oh? Where do you usually meet Mr. Marks?”