Whispers in the Reading Room (25 page)

She took it eagerly, then proceeded to gather up most of her flowers. “Here, sir.”

“I don’t need any flowers.”

She bit her lip. “But sir, if you don’t take them, I’ll have to stay out until they’re gone. And you’ve paid for them.”

“What would I do . . . Oh, very well. Take them, Bridget.”

She hid a smile. “Yes, sir.” She waited while the girl wrapped the bouquet in a snug amount of newspaper, then proceeded to carry the large bouquet in her arms. “Shall I give them to Miss Bancroft when I see her tomorrow evening?”

“Of course not. You keep them.”

“Thank you, sir.”

But of course, his mind had already drifted away from daisies and carnations and back to the topic at hand. “I don’t know how the police are going to solve this.”

Bridget worried that they’d take a person like her, of no money, no background, no real family, and pin it on her—simply because Avondale had caused her to be dismissed from her job. She would be helpless to defend herself.

“I hope they look for the person who really did it and not simply someone to pin it on.”

“I do too.”

They continued their stroll down the narrow street. When the next hawker came out, Mr. Marks bought them both a cup of hot coffee. She’d just taken her first sip when a shadow fell over them.

Then it was all she could do to keep her eyes averted. It was Sergio Vlas. The Russian. Though he’d never bothered her before, there was still something about him that she didn’t completely trust.

Luckily, he didn’t seem of the mind to pay her the slightest bit of attention, not even with the massive bouquet of flowers she was holding.

Instead, his lips were curved into a parody of a happy smile as he eyed her boss, his crooked teeth out on display like a jack-o’-lantern. “Marks. Heard you had some excitement last night.”

“I did at that.”

“I hope everything is all right?”

“Of course it is. I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Mr. Marks snapped.

“What on earth happened?” Sergio’s voice was bordering on compassionate.

Mr. Marks heard it too. “Stop the foolishness,” he barked. “We both know you’ve probably got a better idea of everything that happened outside the Grotto than I do.”

Sergio shrugged. After letting his gaze drift on Bridget for a moment, he said, “I do understand that the Alley now has one less gentleman caller.”

“That would be true.”

His lips curved upward again, but this time not in a full smile. This time he looked far more amused. Or, more exactly, bemused. “I also heard word that you were nowhere to be found.” He placed a palm on his chest. “Oh, forgive me. You were locked up in your office with a certain woman with auburn hair.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Obviously they’re on the force?”

“Not everyone wearing a blue uniform is working
completely
for the public’s best interest. Some are happy to keep my interests at heart as well.”

“I would deem it to be a personal favor if you kept that tidbit to yourself. The last thing I or Miss Bancroft needs is for our names to bandied about in tomorrow’s rags.”

“Why is that? Does she mean something to you?”

Mr. Marks flinched. “You know she couldn’t. Can’t.”

“Why not? She’s almost a lady. You are almost a gentleman.”

Bridget stuck her nose in the bouquet. Anything to look as if she wasn’t inadvertently eavesdropping. Anything to prevent either man from seeing just how struck she was by both Sergio’s allegations and Mr. Marks’ reaction.

After gathering himself, Mr. Marks spoke. “
Almost
is the key word,
there,
friend
,
”
he said with obvious sarcasm. “But it is not appropriate in either case. Miss Bancroft is a lady, not almost. And I never will be a gentleman.”

“If I can be of assistance in any way at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, but I doubt that will be necessary.”

“One never knows.”

“We must be going,” Mr. Marks said impatiently, just as he pulled out a coin to give to one of the newsboys selling papers.

Sergio grinned. Then, after a brief, sardonic nod Bridget’s way, he pulled a gold timepiece out of his pocket, tapped a blue button, and looked at the watch’s face.

Bridget gasped. It was the same watch she’d seen on Avondale’s person years ago, when he’d accosted her at the house party, and then again the other night when Vincent was walking her to the Grotto and she’d seen him with Galvin. It was so distinct, she doubted another man in the city had one like it.

Quickly, Sergio glanced her way. When he saw what she was staring at, his expression turned cold, then he slid through the narrow crevice between two brick buildings on the brink of collapse.

It was obvious, to her at least, that Sergio thought he was invincible. Fear curved up Bridget’s spine as she realized he was probably right too. No one would willingly do anything to create trouble for the notorious club owner.

“Bridget?” Marks barked.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She shivered. For a moment she considered telling Mr. Marks what she saw, but she elected to keep it to herself. The last thing she wanted to do was make things more of a muddle for Mr. Marks or place him on Sergio’s bad side.

Besides, she had never seen Jason Avondale’s pocket watch up close enough to be sure Sergio’s was just like it. No doubt, her mind was playing tricks on her eyes. There was no reason for Sergio Vlas to be holding Avondale’s timepiece. Well, no reason except for one.

“Let’s go, Bridget,” he ordered, as if they’d been stopped because of her wishes.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

Less than ten minutes later, he was leaving her at the back door of the Hartman Hotel.

“Now, I want you to sleep and order anything you desire from the kitchens.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be checking. If I discover you only have a meager bowl of soup or some awful leftover concoction, I’ll hear about it. And then you will.”

“I will do my best to eat as much as possible.”

He didn’t laugh at her joke though. He was already walking away.

Leaving her to wonder where he was going. Was he going to check on Miss Bancroft?

Go back to the club?

Visit with the police?

Or, by chance, had he, too, seen what Sergio had pulled out before he slipped into the alley—and known what it could mean?

CHICAGO TIMES-COURIER

January 25, 1894—Special Mid-Morning Edition

Reported by Benson Gage

Even this intrepid reporter is shocked by this morning’s news. Jason Avondale was found murdered outside the premises of the Silver Grotto late last night, the victim of a stabbing. Currently, our city’s finest are combing the dark alleys of Camp Creek Alley looking for the usual suspects . . . as well as some not-so-usual ones.

It is certainly time the recent crime wave was taken seriously. If a man like Mr. Avondale can be murdered in cold blood, truly no one is safe.

L
ydia’s mother was waiting for her in the townhouse’s front entryway when Officer Barnaby bid her good day. Lydia had been thinking about how Officer Barnaby had been an enjoyable escort. He was chatty and prone to blushing.

She was still smiling about his unexpected kindness when she’d quietly unlocked and opened the door. She’d intended to make herself some tea and toast in the kitchen, bathe, then sleep the day away.

But her mother’s appearance surprised her.

“Lydia, at last you have returned.”

Alarmed, Lydia rushed forward. “Mother, it is very early. Is something wrong?”

“I could ask the same thing of you.”

Concerned and confused, Lydia examined her mother. But, as she noticed there was color in her mother’s cheeks and she was wearing one of her better day dresses, her concern faded. It was abruptly replaced with curiosity. “You look well. How did you manage to sweep up your hair into a chignon so neatly?”

“I didn’t do my hair. Charlotte Williams stopped by almost an hour ago. She brought along her ladies’ maid. Baker styled my hair.”

“So early?”

“Indeed, far too early to receive guests.” Her mother looked down her nose at Lydia. “Which was why when Charlotte arrived at our doorstop, I knew something highly irregular must have happened.”

Lydia bit back a comment. Charlotte Williams was known throughout her mother’s circle of friends to be a gossip. “Has something happened?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh?” She was beginning to hate the turn of conversation. In addition, her mother’s very-well-put-together self was in stark contrast to Lydia’s disheveled appearance. As each second passed, she began to feel even more bedraggled. She ached to bathe and slip on a fresh gown. “What trouble is that? I hope no one in her family is ill.”

“She came here to speak to me about you. It seems that you have been taking advantage of my infirmity.”

“Mother, there is nothing wrong with you besides an inability to choose to cope with our present financial circumstances.”

As Lydia had expected, her mother took no responsibility for her behavior. Instead, she turned the tables. “You have been keeping secrets from me.”

Of course she had. To tell her mother everything meant subjecting herself to endless hours of criticism.

But even though she was right, there was no reason to admit to anything. “What secrets are you referring to?”

“For one, you are responsible for your broken engagement. You angered Jason Avondale in a public place.”

“I didn’t want to shock you with the details about Jason’s behavior, Mother. I promise breaking it off was for the best.” Especially since he was, well, dead.

“He was a gentleman.”

“He owed a lot of money to disreputable people.”

“Mere rumors.”

“In addition, Jason had imagined Daddy left us a significant inheritance. He wasn’t pleased when he discovered that was not the case.”

“Still . . .”

“Plus we didn’t suit.”

“You could have made it work.” Staring at her intently, her mother added, “Women cannot break off engagements, Lydia.”

“Mother, he hurt my wrist.” He had hurt more than her wrist, of course. He’d frightened her and had made her wonder what kind of life they would have together.

“Men have tempers, Lydia. Furthermore, they never know their strength. It’s to be expected.”

Lydia wasn’t so sure about that. Sebastian was far more muscular
than Jason had been. When she’d watched him walk down Camp Creek Alley, she’d realized that he held himself tightly in check for her benefit. Not because he couldn’t help himself, but because of the very opposite. He knew his strengths and weaknesses and knew what he was capable of doing.

She’d also witnessed his reactions in several situations and was fairly certain that he didn’t do anything without weighing the consequences. He did not “lose” his temper. If he was angry, it was because he intended to let loose his wrath on his victim.

He also had never shown her anything but kindness and respect.

Her mother’s sharp tone invaded her thoughts. “Lydia, you need to discover what event he will be attending next and obtain an invitation. Then you may apologize to him in person.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Of course there is.”

“Actually—” Lydia stopped herself just in time. How could she tell her mother that Jason had been murdered without giving away that she had been in the building next to where his body had been found?

“Never mind. Mother, I hate to point out the obvious, but my matrimonial status—or lack of the fact—is no concern of Mrs. Charlotte Williams.”

“There is more you need to hear.”

Lydia wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Walking across their entryway, she took a seat in the receiving room. “I am growing bored with listening to gossip about myself.”

“This is not gossip.” Taking a chair next to her, she said, “Charlotte told me everyone knows you spent last evening in a house of ill repute.”

If Lydia had been sipping the hot tea she so desperately wanted, she would have choked. Redirecting the conversation, she stared.
“How could she know that? How does she even know where those houses are?” A new thought occurred to her. “And Mother, how do you even know about such places?”

“Never mind how I know. I do.” Leaning forward slightly, she said, “I believe this establishment is called the Silver Grotto?”

Lydia was so stunned, she didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “How did she know I was there?” she whispered.

“She didn’t tell me, but if she knows—especially so early in the morning—most of Chicago probably knows or soon will.” Her tone turned impatient. “Did you really imagine you could frequent such a place and not be noticed?”

Had she? Had she really been so naïve just twenty-four hours ago? “I am not sure.”

“That is no answer. Did you or did you not spend the night in that infamous gambling club?”

“I did.”

“Is it also true that you were in the arms of Sebastian Marks?”

“How does Mrs. Williams know all this?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or was she there at the Silver Grotto, and I neglected to see her?”

“People saw you walking with him into that seedy part of town.”

“I was not in his arms.” She didn’t bother pointing out that she had slept on his couch. Somehow she was pretty sure it wouldn’t go over very well. “Mother, I might have been somewhere I shouldn’t have been last night, but even you can admit that it was the first time I’ve ever done anything improper.” She attempted to smile. “Why, given my age, it’s a wonder I didn’t do anything worse!”

“You did enough. More than enough. Scandalous news travels fast, which is something you do not need me to tell you.” Rather dramatically, her mother pressed her hands to her temples and rubbed them, as if she was fighting off an approaching headache.

“I am beyond disappointed with you, Lydia. You have effectively ruined yourself unless, of course, Jason will accept an apology.”

“You are blowing things out of proportion. It is becoming tiresome. I am not going to discuss this with you.”