Whispers in the Reading Room (21 page)

Her blush deepened. Looking as if she was intent to avoid Sebastian’s eye at all costs, she murmured, “I don’t. I mean, he and I are friends. I mean . . .” She pressed both hands to her face. “Oh, but this is awful.”

Sebastian stepped to her side, effectively blocking the other men’s view of Lydia. Though it did nothing to shield her from their insinuations or her embarrassment, he was willing to do whatever he could to attempt to salvage her reputation, though it was surely a moot point now.

“Easy, Lydia. You have done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I beg to differ. I am currently sitting in a private room in a gentlemen’s club.”

“You have done nothing wrong.”

“Oh, Sebastian,” she whispered. Her eyes, so luminescent under the hint of tears, looked back at him.

He saw a trust there that knocked him deep in his soul. How he had earned such a gift from her, he would never know. He wished they were alone. He wished he could wrap his arms around her and hold her protectively against his side twenty-four hours a day. He would like nothing better than to be the person who shielded her from harm.

Ryan cleared his throat. “Mr. Marks, care to tell us why Miss Bancroft is here this evening?”

He did not. “Would you care to tell me why my private life is a concern of yours?” he shot back.

Ryan exchanged a look with Howard, then said, “Jason Avondale was just found stabbed to death outside the silver doors of your club.”

Behind him, Lydia gasped once more. “Jason?”

Sebastian forced himself to ignore her cries, knowing he needed to keep his emotions firmly in check. “Avondale, you say?”

“Yes, sir,” Ryan said, keeping his expression blank. And firmly fixated on Sebastian’s face. His look was so intent, Sebastian felt that his every thought was being perceived. “From what we can surmise, he was attacked just outside the Silver Grotto. He was either left on the front steps or that is as far as he was able to get before collapsing. By the time he was discovered by a man and woman about to leave your establishment, he was already dead.”

Lieutenant Howard leaned forward slightly. “Am I to understand that Avondale’s murder comes as a surprise?”

“It is a shock,” Sebastian corrected. Lydia sniffed and swiped at her cheek with the side of her hand.

Before Sebastian could reach for a handkerchief, Howard stepped forward and handed his to Lydia. “Please, take mine, Miss Bancroft,”
he offered before eyeing Sebastian again. “Yes, sir. I imagine this news about Avondale is coming as quite a shock.”

Sebastian turned to Lydia, who was looking on the verge of collapsing into a dead faint. “Give us a moment,” he barked to the two officers before rushing to her side and pressing one palm on the middle of her back. “Please, do sit back down, dear.”

“I-I can’t.” Her face was white, her body completely stiff.

He realized then that she was so distraught she was holding her breath. “Breathe,” he ordered, giving her a good pat on the back to encourage the motion.

When she gasped, he felt the tension he didn’t even know he carried release.

“Now, breathe in. Out,” he whispered, wishing with all his might that she would regain her composure so she wouldn’t have to suffer the further injustice of his reaching for her corset stays.

Both of her hands gripped his arms. “Sebastian, this is so terrible!”

“I know.” Impatiently, he turned to the two policemen. “Surely your questions could wait for another time? It is obvious that Miss Bancroft is in severe emotional distress.”

Captain Ryan looked compassionate but unaffected. “Take your time.”

Sebastian’s temper flared. “I don’t need to take my time. I need to see her home.”

“I’m afraid that will not be possible,” Ryan returned.

“What will not?”

“You and Miss Bancroft need to stay and answer some questions.”

“Whatever questions you have for Miss Bancroft can wait until tomorrow.”

“Definitely not.”

“At least until later this morning.” Sebastian honestly couldn’t
remember the last time he’d been treated like he was nothing. No better than the lowliest street sweeper.

“I think not,” Ryan said. “You see, we need to know where each of you was this evening.” He pulled out a worn-looking notebook and the stub of a pencil. “If you could recount things to the best of your memory, it would be most helpful.”

“Are you seeking our alibis?” He didn’t even attempt to hide his incredulousness.

“We have no choice, Mr. Marks. Of all the people in the building, the two of you might have had the most reason to wish Mr. Avondale harm,” Lieutenant Howard replied. “You see, Avondale’s friend Jeffrey Galvin arrived just as the couple discovered Avondale. He says he and Avondale planned to meet here and discuss a few things with you, Marks, despite an earlier warning from you to Galvin to stay away. They believed you are the one who had Avondale beaten a few nights ago, perhaps because of the money he owed you.”

“Many people owe me money,” Sebastian said. “That doesn’t mean I beat them. And how do you know Galvin did not murder Avondale?”

Looking unfazed, Howard continued. “We already have evidence to the contrary, but that is none of your concern. And Avondale had just jilted you, Miss Bancroft. As far as we are concerned, there is a very good chance we are staring at Mr. Avondale’s murderer right at this moment.”

As the shock of the words penetrated, Sebastian suddenly felt dizzy. Only his pure irritation caused him to remain impassive.

It wasn’t so easy for Miss Bancroft, though. She collapsed in a dead faint.

Obviously she had forgotten to breathe again, and he had forgotten to make sure she did.

He had failed her yet again.

L
ydia. Come now, Lydia, it’s time. Lydia, come back to me.”

Lydia slowly opened her eyes to see Sebastian Marks’ face hovering over her own. His expression was tender, filled with worry. His mouth set in a grim line.

“Sebastian?”

He reached out and ran one callused finger along her cheek. “Easy now, sweetheart. You fainted.”

His voice was rough and his consonants were softened, giving a hint of what he must have sounded like when he was young and growing up on the city streets. Staring into his dark eyes, she wished she knew everything about him.

And hoped he’d call her sweetheart again very soon.

Then, like a splash of cold water, the reality of their situation hit her hard. She attempted to push away from him. They were sitting far too intimately together.

But instead of budging, he simply held her in place with one hand. “Easy, now,” he repeated. “Catch your bearings first.”

“What happened?” Of course, the minute she asked the inane question, she knew.

She was in Sebastian’s private office at his club. It was the middle of the night. Her ex-fiancé had been found murdered downstairs!

And the police had been there. Questioning them both.

Tensing, she scanned the room. It was empty except for the two of them. “Where are the policemen?”

“I sent them away.”

“How did you manage that? They didn’t want to leave.”

“I managed to convince them.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned with,” he soothed. “Lydia, answer me, now. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes.” She sat up farther, then gasped when she noticed that the bodice of her dress gaped open. “Did . . . did you undress me?”

He seemed amused by her outrage. “I unbuttoned your shirtwaist and loosened your corset. That is all.”

“That was certainly too much!”

“Forgive me for being crass, but surely you didn’t expect me to let your modesty take precedence over your ability to breathe?”

“I suppose not.” She moaned. “I suppose the detectives saw you undress me?” Her reputation was now completely ruined.

He scowled. “Of course not. I told them to leave before seeing to you.”

She felt flustered, both by his actions and the police officers’ accusations. Needing more time, she said, “I need to put myself back together.”

“Of course. Turn around and let me fasten your stays.”

“I couldn’t let you.”

“I can’t summon a maid right now, Lydia. Things are a little busy downstairs.” When she groaned, he continued with a thinly veiled, exaggerated impatience. “Either let me help you or remain in your current state of dishabille. It’s all the same to me.”

Thinking back to some of the heroines she’d read about, most
specifically Joan of Arc, Lydia stood up, gathered her courage, and with her back to him, lowered the top of her dress.

The moment she did, she felt him reach for the ends of her corset. “Inhale.”

When she did, she felt him expertly pull at her stays and fasten the hooks he’d earlier detached. “Finished.”

She pulled the bodice back up, fastened the six buttons in the front, and smoothed her gown. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” When she turned, she noticed that a hint of a smile played on his lips. “I’ve never thought much about it, but as it is now well past the time you would normally retire for the night, I would surmise that being in that contraption for so long can be painful.”

“You would be correct. But I will survive. It’s nothing, comparatively speaking. Joan of Arc was burned at the stake, you know.”

He looked at her appreciatively. “She was a saint and a martyr, indeed.”

“Sebastian, what happens next?”

“I think we had better go downstairs. As much as I’d love to let you remain here where you would be able to have a modicum of privacy, I’m afraid I am more concerned about you being alone. I don’t want to alarm you, but until we know exactly what happened to Avondale, I don’t like the idea of you being anywhere alone.”

She shivered. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Looking as if it pained him, he reached out and clasped her hand. “Please know I will look after you.”

She didn’t know why he would make such a promise. Beyond the fact that he’d come to her reading room for almost a year, they had little connecting them. Only their burgeoning friendship.

It wasn’t like she’d had a lot of close friends anyway. Not close friends she could trust.

Of course, that made her think about Jason and how she’d pinned
so many hopes and dreams on a future with him. And how he hadn’t hesitated to show her his true colors the first time she’d angered him.

She didn’t regret that their engagement ended, but she never had wished him harm. “I still can’t believe Jason is dead.”

His mouth tightened. “It is unfortunate. The police will discover who did it however. He is important enough for them to care.”

“Do you think they wouldn’t care otherwise?”

“Of course not. Haven’t you been reading the latest editions of the
Chicago Courier-Times
? That rag hasn’t missed announcing a single death around here. I’m beginning to think their star reporter, Benson Gage, must live in one of the tenements down the street.”

“I have read Gage’s reports, if you can call them that. His stories and comments are so sensational, I’ve often considered them to be exaggerated.”

“They weren’t, well, not all that much. However, whether they were sensationalized or not, it didn’t matter. Nothing was ever investigated.”

“Nothing?”

“Lydia, surely even you realize that no one pays too much attention to what happens to the poor or downtrodden. Especially not the majority of the men and women living on Camp Creek Alley.”

His tone had changed. Became rougher and, she thought, threaded with a bit of disappointment. “Were you born here, Sebastian?”

“That, Miss Bancroft, is none of your concern.”

She heard the resolve in his voice, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. Everyone needed something that was just their own. Who was she to say his secrets weren’t worth guarding?

Besides, they had more important problems than his past or the specifics of their relationship. “Sebastian, what if the police don’t discover who murdered Jason?” Before he could reply, a new, terrible thought entered her mind. “I can hardly believe they think you or I
did it, even if Jason did owe you money and he did call off our engagement. But if they learn Jason manhandled me at the Hartman, they’ll consider that a motive too—for both of us.”

“Lydia, we did not harm Avondale. Remember, you were asleep and I was in here with you working. Even if either of us did do something nefarious, they couldn’t investigate. After all, we are each other’s alibi.”

“But what if the police don’t believe us?”

“They will. You are a woman of worth. Of course they would never think anything like that of you. I am sure they are merely observing protocol.”

She knew he was trying to ease her troubled mind. Unfortunately, he was failing miserably. “What if we are sent to prison?”

“That is not going to happen.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I will allow nothing to happen to you, Lydia.” As he gathered his next words, he stared hard at her. The intensity in his gaze both slightly alarming and a little endearing too. In that moment, Lydia knew she did trust him. Probably more than anyone else in her life.

“If you believe in nothing else I say, please believe that,” he added.

“I’ll try.” After all, what else could she do?

“Try harder.” He snapped his fingers. “Now, go to the basin and splash some water on your face. It is time we went downstairs. I need to see what is happening.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. She wouldn’t have thought she could summon her usual tart tongue, but she did.

As she hoped, her quip eased the fine lines of tension around his mouth and eyes. “Watch yerself, Miss Bancroft,” he retorted in a voice that sounded as if he had been living his whole life on the streets. “If you aren’t careful, you’re going to turn into quite the tartar.”

“Ah, but that was my intention. I’ve decided to live the rest of my
life as a tartar. All will fear me and give me a wide berth.” She lifted her chin in what she hoped was a haughty way. “Perhaps I’ll move to one of the lighthouses dotting the Great Lakes. I’ll spend my days watching the ships sail around.”