Whispers in the Reading Room (33 page)

By the time she reached the third-floor landing, she was nearly out of breath. Only habit allowed her to take the last few steps toward Mr. Marks’ door in a calm and dignified way. When she thought her face was not quite as flushed, she unlocked his suite’s main door and stepped inside.

“Mr. Marks? Are you here, sir?”

No voice replied, but she heard faint footsteps. This was not like Mr. Marks. Not at all.

She stiffened and braced herself. She needed to be ready for anything.

“Bridget,” Vincent said. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she retorted. “I came to check on Mr. Marks.” Craning her neck, she asked, “Is he sleeping?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why don’t you know? Will he not let you inside his bedroom?” She knew he was notoriously private, but surely even Mr. Marks knew when it was time to accept help.

Vincent flinched. “I’m sorry, Bridget. It seems that you have not heard.”

“I haven’t heard what?”

“Mr. Marks was taken to the police station.”

“Why? He was injured!” She was beyond incredulous. “Surely they don’t imagine that he’s tried to hurt himself?”

“Of course not. I believe it is simply to make a statement about today’s attack.”

“You’d think the police could wait for that.”

“One would think. However, we both know Mr. Marks is also a man to fear. He is also known to not always follow the law.”

“That could be said of half of Chicago.”

“Yes, but few have his past.”

While that might have been true, it still didn’t explain why he would have been hauled down to the police station. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. “Vincent, what if the police are still trying to pin Avondale’s death on Mr. Marks?”

Hunt’s expression tightened, though Bridget couldn’t decide if it was from worry that Mr. Marks was being falsely accused or fear that she was right. “You are letting your imagination run away with you,” he said after a moment’s thought.

“He was injured, yet they still took him in for questioning.”

With a weary look, he sat down on the arm of an elegant wing chair, upholstered in a fine gray brocade. “I couldn’t begin to guess what the police are thinking.” After a moment, he said quietly, “Don’t forget that he’s a legitimate suspect for Avondale’s murder. We may need to come to terms with the idea that he could have had something to do with it. Miss Bancroft was asleep. He could have left the Grotto and then slipped back inside. Or he could have paid someone to do it.”

As she stared at Vincent, she felt as if she had never known him. “You can’t think that.
Do
you think that?”

“I don’t want to,” he said slowly. “But you have to remember that
he is not a well-born, sheltered gentleman. He has grown up from the streets. It’s very likely that he’s killed before.”

She didn’t want to contemplate such a thing. But, just as strongly, she knew she had to face the fact that desperate people were capable of doing terrible things in desperate situations. She feared that she was capable of many crimes that she would not have imagined committing when she was a naïve, sheltered girl.

But that didn’t mean she was going to abandon her boss. “Vincent, we can’t simply wait for him to be released and give us further instructions. That seems like a terrible way to repay a man who has done so much for us.”

“I agree, but I don’t know what else we can do.”

“Perhaps we should go to the police station and ask to speak to him privately.” She was rather proud of how calm she sounded about that.

“Definitely not. And besides, what would we even say?”

“We could ask if he needed any help.”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Sure. He is simply going to start telling us what to do, right there in front of the policemen.”

“I’ll find a way.”

One eyebrow arched. “How?”

“I’ll think of some way when we get there.”

“Bridget—”

“Don’t brush me off, Vincent. I want to help him. And even if he can’t be helped . . . well, I want to make sure he realizes he’s not forgotten. I don’t want him to think he’s all alone.”

“Bridget, your job is to wash his shirts and look after Miss Bancroft. He won’t thank you for neglecting your duties.”

“I’ve become more than that to him. I’m his friend.” Her mind still working, she quietly added, “And you know what? I don’t think he’s completely alone right now either.”

His expression tightened as he stared hard at her. “That is exactly right. And that’s also something he needs to remember. We are there for him. But there is also someone far more able than you or I to help in his times of trouble.”

His words were everything beautiful and yet, also everything she’d forgotten about for so very long. “You’re . . . you’re speaking of God, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I think I am.” He shrugged. “I’m ashamed to admit that my faith has become quite rusty.”

Feeling stunned, Bridget sat down on the sofa. “I fear I have done much of the same thing. I’m afraid I have been shouldering my burdens like they were weights of gold.” She shook her head in wonder. “Why, it’s almost as if I’ve been afraid to realize that I don’t have to rely only on myself!”

Vincent sat on a chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We have been a sorry trio, haven’t we? All three of us have been struggling through our hardships and grasping for happiness like someone is going to pull it out from under us if we’re not careful.”

“All this time, I’ve been thanking Mr. Marks and feeling lucky that our paths crossed. Perhaps I should have taken the time to remember that our meeting hadn’t happened by coincidence.”

“I’ve given thanks that I have a job where I can garner respect, even though it’s the type of respect that’s laced with a healthy dose of fear.”

“Who knows what Mr. Marks’ prayers are?”

“Or if he’s ever prayed.”

“If he hasn’t, I wonder if he feels just as alone as each of us does half the time.”

“I hope not.” He sighed. “All I do know is that we need to pray. And we need to do what you said.”

“Go to the police station?”

He nodded. “You are right. No matter how Mr. Marks might feel about it, we are more than just two employees of his who expect a paycheck. We are his friends.”

Bridget smiled at him then. A wide, beaming smile that told tales of how pleased she was that they were about to do something—and so very pleased that she and Vincent were on the same page.

Getting to his feet, Vincent held out a hand. “Shall we go?”

“Mr. Hunt, I thought you would never ask.”

Sebastian had rarely been at a loss for words. But seeing both his assistant and maid sitting in a small room near the lobby of the police station did just that.

Their heads had popped up as he was escorted into the room by Detective Howard. And their twin expressions of worry and relief would have brought a smile to his cynical heart if he wasn’t so pleased—and relieved—to see them.

“I didn’t know we were going to meet here,” he tried to joke. Really, he was so touched to see them there, so late at night, he was torn between wanting to hug them both, give them raises, or berate them for putting themselves in this situation.

As always, Vincent took his comment seriously. “I tried to go upstairs to see you, sir, but they wouldn’t allow you to have visitors.”

“Well, I wasn’t brought here for a social call.” He clapped Vincent on the back. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, sir. Though, um, well, it was Bridget’s idea.”

Sebastian turned to his maid. Though she was as lovely as ever, she looked on the verge of tears. “Bridget, are you all right?”

“No, sir.”

Concerned, he took Vincent’s vacant seat. As eager as he was to see the last of this place, he wasn’t going to do anything until he saw that she was all right. “What is wrong? Do you need a physician?”

“Of course not, sir.”

Her voice was wobbly. Growing even more concerned, he looked at Vincent. His expression was serious too. “Bridget, talk to me.”

“I am fine, sir.”

Again, her words sounded as if she was forcing them through her lips. “Miss O’Connell, I fear we both know that is a lie. And as happy as I am to see you, I must relay that you look especially bad.”

“Oh, Mr. Marks,” she cried.

Then, to his horror, she threw her arms around his neck and began to weep. Bridget plastered her face to his shoulder and proceeded to dampen it.

Now thoroughly alarmed, he looked for Vincent.

His man was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. However, he didn’t look concerned. Instead, he looked rather entertained. He was also speaking quietly with Lieutenant Howard, who had just entered the room, no doubt to see what all the commotion was about.

Happy that Vincent, at least, didn’t seem to feel there was a reason to worry, Sebastian sighed and remained still as the maid clung to him a little more tightly. Like a barnacle.

Remembering that women appreciated words, he said, “There, Bridget. There, now.” When she simply continued her waterworks, he added gruffly, “Hush. That’s enough of that.”

Unfortunately, his tepid attempt to calm her did little good. She continued to cry.

Again, Sebastian looked helplessly toward Vincent, but his usually attentive assistant was still talking with the lieutenant. What was going on?

As the wetness from Bridget’s tears continued to dampen his shirt, Sebastian came to the realization that stronger measures were in order. He pulled away and hardened his voice.

“Miss O’Connell, I must ask you to desist. You are now causing me great distress and, for that matter, truly soiling my shirt. It’s going to take you hours to launder it.”

He looked around the room. Instead of looking appalled, Howard seemed intrigued.

And Hunt? Well, he had gone from looking entertained to looking impressed.

Impressed? Not a bit about this visit made sense. Including the fact that Hunt and Bridget had gained admittance at all.

“Miss O’Connell, I trust you have calmed yourself?”

“I am trying.”

Sebastian looked to the men for help, but now even Howard was gone. The three of them were alone in the room. “Hunt, do you care to explain to me what just happened?”

After glancing at the door, Hunt said, “Bridget wanted to come help.”

“By dampening my shirt?”

“I’m sorry about that, sir,” Bridget said. “It was just a shock seeing you like this.”

“I was not arrested. I was only asked to make a statement about this attack.”

“So I heard,” Vincent said. “Lieutenant Howard just filled me in on the latest developments. He was rather vague, but seemed to be saying they may have some other leads in the case.”

Things were starting to make sense. “Did you two actually come here to get information?”

“We had to do what we could, sir,” Bridget said. “I didn’t want you to imagine you were alone.”

He wasn’t sure what Vincent could have found out or what was going to happen next. But an idea occurred to him. Perhaps Bridget had created a diversion so Vincent could get some answers. It was a heartwarming thought.

Surely few men could claim to have such loyal employees.

No, that wasn’t right. They were more than that. They were his friends. They were genuinely concerned for him.

“Sir, perhaps you’d like to return to the hotel?” Bridget asked hesitantly.

“I’m not sure if I can leave yet.”

“Lieutenant Howard said he was going to go sign the paperwork so you could leave as soon as possible, sir.”

Sebastian stood up. “I would like to do that. Very much.”

Five minutes later, they were allowed to walk out of the station. The cool air felt like heaven on his skin. He’d never been so thankful for freedom.

As they walked back to the Hartmann Hotel, he turned to Bridget. “Tell me about Lydia. How is she faring?”

“Right enough, I think. I left her sound asleep, sir.”

“She is all right? She wasn’t suffering any ill effects from today’s disastrous events?”

“Not that I could discern. I helped her bathe, then gave her some warm, honeyed milk to drink. Minutes later, she was sleeping like a baby.”

“At least there is that,” Sebastian said. Even though all of their lives were slowly falling apart, at least Lydia was going to be all right.

That gave him no end of comfort and almost made him happy.

Despite that he was about to break his own heart.

T
he voice came again. Persistent.

“Miss Bancroft? Miss Bancroft, I’m sorry, I am. But you really must awaken.”

Lydia opened one eye, then two. Though everything was fuzzy, she knew Bridget was standing by her bedside. “Bridget?”

“Yes, miss.” She smiled. “I’m so glad you roused.”

She was not. “Thank you for waking me up, but I’m afraid I’m very tired this morning. I’m going to sleep in a bit longer.”

She closed her eyes and was just about ready to flip to her stomach and back to her cheerful, happy dreams when the maid cleared her throat. And then reached out and gave her shoulder a firm push.

“Miss Bancroft? I’m sorry, miss, but you really must get up now. You have company.”