Whispers in the Reading Room (29 page)

“Why would you make a pronouncement like that?” His gaze hardened as he examined her. “Where did this come from? Are you having second thoughts?”

“I simply don’t wish to be reminded of what is proper by my fiancé.”

His dark eyes searched her face. “No, it is more than that. What is wrong?”

Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes, tears that she’d neither wanted nor expected. “Nothing. It’s simply nerves. And worries.”

“But you have nothing to worry about. I will see to your needs now, Lydia. And your mother’s. I promise you that.”

She caught the new thread of heat in his expression. And his words. It caused her to take a step away from him. She was as struck by what she saw in his eyes as much as the way she felt by his attention.

“Mr. Marks.”

“It is Sebastian. We are engaged now, and no matter what you might think or decide, that fact is not going to change. I will not be breaking off our engagement. I have no wish to do so.”

“I don’t wish to do that either.”

“Then keep that in mind.” His voice was clipped. Offended. “And don’t call me Mr. Marks again.”

His voice was controlled and concise. His expression hard. He seemed to resonate with a dangerous aura. So much so, she was having trouble locating the gentleman she’d known at the library. “Sebastian,
are you all right? You seem a bit on edge today. Are you still distressed about Jason’s murder occurring outside your club?”

“Not at all.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Forgive my lackluster manners. Now, shall we go?” he asked as he raised his arm for her to take.

She rested her gloved hand on it. “Of course. Where are we off to?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Don’t act like you don’t like surprises. Everyone does.”

“I don’t.” And that was true. Lydia liked knowing what was expected and planning for any variation of that plan. She enjoyed thinking about what was going to happen and analyzing most everything she imagined would occur. It allowed her to feel less at risk and more in control.

Which was why she was still mystified that she had gone to the Silver Grotto without first knowing exactly what she was getting into. “Tell me.”

The corners of his lips lifted. “No.”

“Sebastian.”

He chuckled, humor now lighting his face. “You are piqued.”

“No, I am affronted,” she countered, trying her best to look unaffected by his relaxed, happy expression.

His light chuckle turned to outright laughter. “That’s basically the same thing.”

“Not essentially.” Though, of course, he was right.

“Good manners prevent me from continuing our verbal disagreement. I won’t risk offending you.”

He had done nothing of the sort. Instead, she’d felt as if he’d given her something far sweeter—an insight to a portion of him that she was sure he rarely shared. “I’d say it was more of a small contretemps.”

“Of course, Miss Bancroft.”

She arched a brow, knowing he’d referred to her that way just to get a reaction. Therefore, she only smiled sweetly at him. “I am very much looking forward to our afternoon together.”

“At the risk of sounding as if I am begging for compliments, I’ll ask why.”

“Because it seems we are both ready to relax and simply enjoy a few hours together. It will be a nice change. Everything between us seems so complicated.”

The light in his eyes faded. “It is.”

As if their feelings were conjoined, she felt that same lightness evaporate from her good mood. What were they going to do if their worst fears came to light?

“Don’t,” he ordered. “Don’t think about it. Not yet.”

She nodded. He was right.

When a grip car came clanging forward, he held out a hand. “Good. It’s right on time.”

With his assistance, she easily hopped on. It wasn’t very crowded. Also, the few men and women riding seemed happy to give them a wide berth. Lydia knew why. Even dressed in his well-tailored suit and silk-covered hat, Sebastian was a man who emanated power.

She’d never felt more safe in anyone’s company.

Since he didn’t seem inclined to talk or give her the slightest hint of where they might be going, Lydia contented herself with observing the sights and sounds around them. Day workers were scurrying on errands. Women were pushing buggies, and other women were walking in pairs, holding canvas bags of produce or meat.

Faint smells drifted upward, both from the stockyards and the lake and river. There was a decided chill in the air, made more so by the faint breeze brought on by the grip car’s fast pace.

When they stopped again, Sebastian assisted her off, then took her
up a flight of stairs to the landing for the elevated train. Soon they were seated in a car, traveling over rails and bridges toward the outskirts of the city.

Fifteen minutes later, they were alighting, and Lydia realized they were at Jackson Park, the sight of the World’s Fair that had closed at the end of October.

The fair had begun with all the pomp and circumstance befitting an event anticipated around the world. In contrast, it had ended with little fanfare. Chicago’s mayor had died unexpectedly, and several fires had broken out in the White City, mainly due to the nature of the plaster and wood that had made up the majority of the area.

To make matters worse, the Society Slasher had been abducting and killing women there, ending with his subsequent arrest when none other than the Illinois building had been burning down.

These events manifested a certain amount of distaste and fear, and most everyone in the city avoided the grand structures.

They were tainted now. Tainted by time and murders and fire and danger. And, perhaps, by the evidence that the structures’ beauty was on the outside only.

Lydia shivered, thinking about how everything that had stood so ethereal and grand had been ruined by a few sparks.

She was also confused. This was definitely not a place where most people decided to come on a whim. “What are we doing here?”

“I thought we might enjoy visiting Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West show. It’s closing this week. Have you been yet?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised. An inquisitive young lady like you? I would have thought you would have enjoyed the opportunity to see the real Indians.”

“I’ve been more intrigued by the stories of Annie Oakley,” she admitted.

“But?”

“But you know how the prices have been. At the peak of the fair, it cost more to see the show than to get into the fair itself.”

“Then by all means, let us rectify this omission.”

They walked to the entrance of the Midway. Lydia was struck by the faded glory that it had already become. Several of the main attractions, like the native sword dancers and the infamous Streets of Cairo were already closed. Now there were only some desperate peddlers selling Cracker Jacks, some scantily clad women offering to tell their fortunes, and, of course, the magnificent, looming Ferris Wheel.

After paying for their tickets to the show, Sebastian guided them to their seats and seemed content to simply sit quietly.

She, of course, was far too interested in everything to sit so quietly. As it had been in the grip car and on the elevated train, all manner of people gave her a passing glance, took note of Sebastian, and then kept their distance.

Because they still had some time before the show began, she turned to him. “What is it about you that alarms so many people, even men?”

“I don’t think that is the case.”

“No, it’s true. When men recognize your face, they look scared.”

“Hardly.”

“What do you do? Do you glare at everyone? Or do they know something about you that I do not?”

“Your question is indelicate.”

“I agree. But I would still like to know.”

“It is most likely both things. I grew up on the streets, Lydia. I did not grow up imagining that anyone had my best interests at heart.”

She shuddered to think how he’d learned that. She knew he had a right to his privacy, but now that they were engaged, she ached to know more about him. Even his dark secrets. “What was it like?”

“It was nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“I’d rather learn something more about you. Did your mother never shield you?”

His lips pressed together. “She had no choice. For that matter, she did more for me than many. Many young boys and girls made their living as veritable mud larks, combing the banks of the lakes and rivers for debris that could be sold.”

“Did you ever do that?”

“From time to time.” His voice sounded carefully controlled.

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said lightly. “I learned long ago that life is full of peaks and valleys. It takes both to build character. And, if the Lord is good, one has years to experience both.”

His words made sense and spurred a memory of something she’d heard long ago. “My father used to say that we are not living in heaven.”

His eyes lit up. “That is correct. We can’t expect only happiness here on earth. One must experience a bit of dirt and grime. Builds character, you see.”

She knew she shouldn’t press him. Knew it was foolhardy to ask for more than he was offering, but against her better judgment, she asked, “How do you feel about your life now? Are you in a peak or valley?”

He lifted her hand and slid his fingers in between hers. “There was a murder outside my club two nights ago.”

“Yes.” She was such a fool for asking.

“The police consider me a suspect.”

“Forgive me.” She looked at the seats around them. Men and women from all walks of life were filling them. A few children were there as well, their hands holding containers of popcorn. This was neither the time nor the place.

He continued. “Your reputation is in disarray, and furthermore, you’ve been put in danger. Both of those things are my fault.”

“No, I am to—”

“But in spite of all of that, I do believe right now, at this moment, I am at the top of a mountain.”

“Sebastian? Truly?”

He looked at their surroundings, as if truly noticing the horses at the edge of the stage, the Western riders in their chaps and tall hats, the, well, the incredible grandeur of it all.

Then he stared at their joined hands and smiled. “I am engaged. To you.” His voice held a note of surprise. As if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. “And because of that, my life has never been so good. Though things might change in a day, even in an hour? For this moment, I am grateful.”

His words stole her heart. All her life she’d felt awkward and disjointed. Never good enough, never right.

Until now.

“I feel as though I am at a pinnacle as well,” she said quietly.

“That makes me happy.”

It made her happy too. Even though there was much she didn’t know about Sebastian, and some of what she did know made her rather uneasy, she completely agreed with his assessment of their situation. No matter what might happen in the future, for now, things were good. And that was something to be grateful for and to never take for granted.

Even if that moment could be gone in practically the blink of an eye.

CHICAGO TIMES-COURIER

January 26, 1894—Special Edition

Reported by Benson Gage

Aided by a new and strong police presence brought on by Jason Avondale’s murder, Camp Creek Alley is now rather safe to visit. However, as long as Sebastian Marks’ famed Silver Grotto is closed, there is little reason to go.

L
ook who the cat brought in,” Gwen said when Bridget emerged from her room at the Hartman Hotel late in the afternoon.

Once again, Gwen and Mabel were loitering outside her doorway, looking as eager as ever to chat and gossip. And, no doubt, collect some tidbits to relay to the other staff members.

“Good afternoon to you both,” Bridget said, wondering why she’d ever been such good friends with them. Was it because she’d had no one else? Now that she was spending more time with Miss
Bancroft and getting to know Vincent better, the women seemed to be nothing but trouble.

Mabel smiled. “What have you been up to? We heard you’ve been holed up in there for a solid day.”

“I was tired. That’s all.” Of course, it was so much more than that. She could only pray that Gwen and Mabel didn’t know about Mr. Avondale’s murder . . . and the fact that she was a suspect.

Seconds later, Gwen squelched that hope. “Is it true what people are saying about
him
?”

“You know I don’t gossip about Mr. Marks.”

“Well, just to let you know, people are saying he killed the gent Jason Avondale right in his own club!” Her eyes glittered with excitement. “Did you see his body? Was it awful?”

She suddenly felt faint. No doubt it was because she had seen Avondale’s body, the sight of which was more than awful. Then, of course, had come the questioning, which had been terrifying. “I didn’t see anything,” she lied. “I wasn’t even there.” She was never going to talk about that evening again if she could help it.

The girls exchanged glances. “Now, that’s where we know you are lying. The newsboys are saying that the police have found several people of interest, and one was a certain brown-haired maid.” Gwen cackled. “I told everyone in the kitchen that had to be you.”

Bridget smiled tightly. “Thank you for filling me in. However, I must be on my way.”

Mabel reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You know we’re simply teasing you, dear. Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be going.”

“Sure you do,” Gwen proclaimed as she took a step back. “We know you ain’t got time for us no more.”

Bridget felt bad. She knew she’d hurt Gwen’s and Mabel’s feelings.
Furthermore, she knew they hadn’t meant any harm, and they really had been only trying to be friendly. The right thing to do would be to stay with them a little longer and attempt to apologize.

But the truth was she was so disturbed by everything that had been going on, she hardly trusted herself any longer. It was likely that she wasn’t worthy of friendship, or even capable of it. Her past had also told her that sometimes the very worst things happen even when one has the best of intentions. There was a very good chance that she was only going to make things worse between the three of them if she lingered.