“Have you lost your mind? You could’ve been seen!”
“I didn’t have a choice. I have to talk to you. Tumbler found Kinch,” Eddie said, sitting on Jo’s bed.
Jo blinked. “Are you serious?” she asked. “Where is he?”
“In a boardinghouse. But Tumbler wants twenty bucks to tell me which one.”
“Twenty dollars?” Jo exclaimed. “That’s a ridiculous amount of money!”
“If Fay finds out, she’ll kick his backside for him,” Eddie said. “If the Tailor finds out, he’s done for. Needless to say, I don’t have it. I’m hoping you do.”
Jo walked to her closet, fuming. She pulled a wad of notes out of the boot in which she’d hidden them and gave Eddie what he needed. She had no choice but to pay Tumbler his fee. They couldn’t let Kinch slip away.
“Thanks. I’ve got to go. Tumbler’s waiting for me by a bar on Irving Place,” he said, starting for the door.
“Wait!” she said. “Do you know how to get back out?”
“Um, yeah. At least, I think so,” he said.
Jo could not imagine how he would explain his presence in her house to her mother or Theakston if one of them found him wandering around.
“I’ll show you,” she said.
She opened the door, looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was in it, then slipped out of her room, motioning for Eddie to follow her.
“You’ll have to go out the way you came,” she whispered. “The front door’s closer, but we’d need to take the main stairs to get to it, and they’re near my mother’s room. She might hear us.”
Eddie nodded. They made their way quietly down the back stairs, Jo hoping all the while that she could sneak him out of the servants’ entrance, but they didn’t even get as far as the kitchen. As they rounded the last curve of the narrow, spiraling staircase, she saw that instead of being dark and empty, the kitchen was lit up.
“Theakston, blast him!” she whispered. From their vantage point by the supply closet, she and Eddie could see the butler. He was at the sink, soaking stale pieces of bread with rat poison and setting mousetraps with them.
“I’ve more bait than traps,” he suddenly said, then started toward the supply closet. Jo grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him into the stairwell. Neither dared to breathe until Theakston returned to the sink. Then they dashed back up the stairs.
“When does he go to bed?” Eddie asked, when they were safely back in Jo’s room.
“I don’t know. He goes on these missions sometimes when he can’t sleep,” Jo said worriedly. “Tonight he’s trapping mice, thanks to you. Other nights he polishes doorknobs or refills every fountain pen in the house. He’s usually at it until dawn.”
“Until dawn?” Eddie ran a hand through his hair. “That’s great. Just great. I’m totally stuck. Jeez, Jo, why’d you say it was a mouse that made you scream?”
Jo looked at him in disbelief. “You’re right, Eddie. I should have said it was a man.” She started to pace her room. “What am I going to do?”
Eddie pulled a cashmere throw off her bed. “I just want you to know—” he started to say.
Jo cut him off. “That you’re very sorry. And you’ll never do anything like this again?”
“—that you look very beautiful right now. And if I were a cad, I’d kiss you.”
His voice was teasing, but his eyes told her he meant it. Jo looked away, afraid of his desire. Afraid of her own.
By the time she worked up the courage to meet his eyes again, he was no longer looking at her. He’d kicked off his shoes and was stretching out on her chaise longue. He covered himself with her throw, laid his head on a pillow, and closed his eyes.
“Eddie? Eddie! What are you doing?” Jo asked, panic-stricken.
“Sleeping. At least, I’m trying to.”
“You’re sleeping? Here? In my room? With me?”
“You’re very fresh tonight, Miss Montfort. I’m sleeping here in your room, yes. But not with you. Let’s not rush things. I’m not that kind of boy.”
Jo blushed scarlet. “I didn’t mean that! I—I meant sleeping, not … sleeping.”
Eddie chuckled. “Go to sleep, Jo. So I can. Maybe Theakston will give up in a few hours. I’ll get a bit of sleep now, then try to sneak out again. Hopefully Tumbler will still be at the bar.”
“And if you can’t sneak out?” Jo asked anxiously.
“Then I’ll be ruined. My honor compromised. My reputation in shreds. Turn off the light, will you? I’ve been running all over town today. Chasing Kinch. Sniffing around police stations and hospitals to see if I can spot Scarface. I’m whipped.”
Jo reluctantly did so. Then she stood in the middle of the dark room, fretting and wringing her hands. She had not counted on a man spending the night with her. She was confident her mother would not check on her again, but how was she supposed to relax enough to go to sleep with Eddie here?
Finally, seeing there was nothing she could do about it, she got into her bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t see Eddie, but she could hear him. His breathing slowed, then deepened. When she was sure he was asleep, she sat up. Katie hadn’t pulled her curtains tonight, and moonlight was spilling into her room and washing over him. She leaned forward on her hands, gazing at him, liking the fact that he was asleep and she wasn’t. She liked being able to study the planes and angles of his face uninterrupted. The line of his jaw. The bump on the bridge of his nose.
“Wish you were a cad, Eddie Gallagher,” she whispered. “Wish to God you’d kissed me.”
“Do you?”
Jo gave a startled gasp. “I thought you were asleep!”
“I was. You woke me up. Can’t you ever stop talking?”
“Sorry! I—I didn’t mean to,” she stammered. “I just … I wanted to—”
“If you want a kiss so badly, come and get one.”
Jo got out of her bed. Her heart was hammering even harder than it had when Eddie surprised her. She sat down on the chaise. Eddie’s eyes were open now. He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. She leaned over him and kissed his lips. He tasted like cigarettes and coffee. He smelled of the crisp autumn night, coal smoke, and ink. Being close to him … it wasn’t like standing on the edge of a cliff, it was as if she were running for that edge just as fast as she could.
She broke the kiss and traced the outline of his mouth. Wonderingly, she touched his cheek. His neck. The smooth V of bare skin in his open collar.
He laughed. “I’ve stumbled into a den of iniquity. I’m safer with the Tailor and Pretty Will and every thief and cutthroat in the Bend than I am with Miss Josephine Montfort of Gramercy Park,” he said. Then he pulled her down to him, kissed her forehead, and closed his eyes again.
Jo laid her head on his chest. He felt so warm, so strong, so strangely, wonderfully male. Folded into his arms, she could almost believe that the impossible was possible. She stayed awake for some time, blinking in the darkness; then finally she fell asleep, listening to the sound of his heart.
Anna Montfort smiled.
And Jo realized just how long it had been since she’d seen her mother do that.
“You look beautiful, Josephine,” Anna said, her eyes shimmering with tears. “How I wish your father could see you.”
“Oh, Mama,” Jo said, surprised by her mother’s sudden softness. She reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t. If you do, I will.”
“I mustn’t, then. If we dare to go to Grandmama’s supper with red eyes, we shall certainly hear how badly bred we are,” Anna said, squeezing back before she let go.
Jo laughed, enjoying these fond few minutes with her mother. They were in their carriage en route to Grandmama Aldrich’s birthday supper.
Jo, who’d assumed she would not be allowed to go, had been surprised
when her mother said she could, and even more surprised when her mother said she would accompany her.
“It’s only a small gathering,” she had explained. “Just family and close friends. There will be music, I’m told, but no dancing. I should hate for you to go alone, Josephine.”
Jo was surprised again when a box arrived at the house for her just that afternoon. It was from Aunt Madeleine’s dressmaker; she recognized the label. At first she thought it must’ve been delivered to the wrong Montfort residence, but her mother assured her it had not been.
“It’s for you,” she’d said. “A special present from Phillip and Maddie. Open it.”
Jo took the lid off the box, parted the clouds of tissue paper, and lifted out a gown of slate-gray silk. It had a pointed bodice, a square neckline, and long sleeves that puffed slightly near the shoulders, but only slightly, as neither Madeleine nor Anna believed in following fashion too closely. It was plain and boasted no embroidery or lace, as that was too forward for a young woman not yet out of mourning, but it was not black, and for that reason alone, Jo loved it.
“Your uncle and aunt are rather more progressive than I, and they felt it was high time you had a change from black,” Anna explained. “I allowed myself to be swayed.” She held up a finger. “But just for tonight.”
Jo had hugged her mother, dashed off a thank-you note to her aunt and uncle for Katie to deliver, then gone upstairs to bathe.
She’d greatly welcomed the distraction of a new dress. She’d been dreading Grandmama’s party because it meant dealing with Grandmama, and she’d also been anxious about other things—Bram, mainly, and any lingering expectations he might have. She had to tell him that she did not wish to pursue a match with him. How could she, when she was in love with Eddie Gallagher?
Jo thought back to the night they’d spent together. The milkman rattling bottles all along Gramercy Square had woken them just before dawn. Eddie had sworn when he’d seen the time, knowing Tumbler would be gone, and with him, any chance of finding Kinch.
They’d hurried downstairs and raced through the kitchen right before Mrs. Nelson came out of her room to start the servants’ breakfast. Jo just managed to sneak Eddie out without anyone seeing him, and he managed to steal one last kiss as she did.
Mrs. Nelson had been surprised to see Jo in the kitchen, and at such an early hour, but Jo had made up a story on the spot. She claimed she’d come down for a cup of warm milk because she couldn’t sleep. Mrs. Nelson insisted on making the drink for her. Jo thanked her, took the drink to her room, and climbed back into bed, reliving every moment she’d spent with Eddie.
She remembered the sound of his breathing, the beating of his heart, the confusion on his face when he woke, and the warm smile that replaced it when he realized where he was. She remembered how deliciously strange his body felt next to hers. The sweet weight of his arm across her. His stubbled chin. She remembered how different her own body felt. For once it wasn’t a thing to be tamed and contained by laces and stays, but something wonderfully lush and yielding.
As she’d lain in his arms in the darkness, listening to him sleep, she’d wanted to wake him so she could ask him a thousand questions. She wanted to know more about his childhood. What made him angry. What made him laugh. She wanted to hear about his hopes and dreams, and she wanted to tell him hers. She wanted to tell him how exciting it was to walk the streets of the night city and meet its people. And that she wished she could write a story about them all. Eddie was the only person she could tell. The only one who understood.
Is this love? she’d wondered, in the depths of the night. A few weeks ago, she’d thought she might be falling in love. By the time the sky lightened outside her windows, she knew that she had.
What she didn’t know, though, was where things stood between her and Bram. She wanted to clear the air, to tell him the truth. She couldn’t do it at Grandmama’s party—it would be awful to create any awkwardness at what was supposed to be a happy event—but when she saw him tonight, she would ask him to call at her home tomorrow. She would tell him the truth in the privacy of her drawing room, and then she would tell her family.
Bram would be a gentleman, of course. He wouldn’t create a fuss, and he might even be relieved. After all, he did seem to be spending more time with Elizabeth Adams these days. Her mother and uncle, however, would be very upset. By saying no to Bram and confessing her feelings for a penniless reporter, she would be insulting Bram’s family and embarrassing her own. She would be breaking with her world.
It was a frightening prospect, but when she felt her nerve failing her, she remembered the words Eddie had spoken to her in his room, the day he’d been beaten up.
… stay with me today. And tomorrow. And every day after. …
She’d thought what he’d asked was impossible. But maybe it wasn’t. If only she could be bold enough, and brave enough, to claim the things she wanted: love, a purpose, a life. But could she be?
As Dolan nosed their carriage next to the sidewalk in front of the Aldriches’ imposing Fifth Avenue mansion, Jo steeled herself. For the next few hours it would be spaniels and small talk. She peered out her window and saw Mrs. Livingston and Mrs. Schuyler, both swathed in fur, walking up the mansion’s wide marble steps.
Bram, tall and handsome in a dinner jacket, stood at the top of the steps. Jo glimpsed roses in vases inside the foyer; saw Mrs. Aldrich, beautiful in satin and pearls; and heard Vivaldi being played. The scene was elegant and fine, and for a moment, Jo’s heart swelled with bittersweet emotion at the beauty of her world and the people in it. And yet, she felt as if she’d already left this beautiful world and was only glancing back at it, as if from a distance.
A footman in livery opened the Montforts’ carriage door and helped Jo and her mother step out. As soon as Bram saw them, he bounded down to greet them. Before he got to the sidewalk, though, old Mrs. van Rensselaer waddled up.
“Anna, my dear! So good to see you out!” she bellowed, taking Jo’s mother’s arm. “Do help me up the steps, will you? My sciatica’s troubling me terribly tonight.”
Anna did so, which left Bram to offer his arm to Jo.
“Why, Jo, you’re a picture,” he said, smiling at her.
And she was. Her new dress fit her perfectly and complemented her gray eyes Katie had done a wonderful job with her hair, coiling it on top of her head and tucking two mauve roses at the back. Jo’s mother had come into her room just as Jo was stepping into her shoes. She’d dismissed Katie and had provided the finishing touch herself: a necklace of amethysts, pale and demure, given to her by Jo’s father on their wedding day.
Jo smiled at Bram’s compliment and was about to return it, when a voice, thick with a warm Southern accent, said, “Bram Aldrich, there you are, you old hound!”
Bram turned around. “Clem!” he exclaimed. He turned to Jo. “Jo, may I present Clement Codman. He’s from Raleigh. We’re cousins, a few times removed. Clem, this is my dear friend Josephine Montfort.”
“This is Jo? Why, she’s ten times prettier than you said, you ol’ weasel, you!” Clement took Jo’s hand and kissed it. “He’s tryin’ to keep you under wraps, Miss Montfort. He doesn’t want competition!”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Codman,” Jo said, smiling at the boisterous Southerner.
Jo’s smile never slipped, but she flinched inside, unhappy to hear that Bram had spoken of her to his cousin. At least he’d only referred to her as a friend. She hoped that whatever he’d said to Clement about her was old news, and that it was Elizabeth Adams he talked about now.
Clement and Bram got into a conversation about another family member, and Jo’s attention wandered. Her hand was still resting on Bram’s arm, and to simply walk off would have been rude. As she waited for the conversation to finish, she watched the van Eycks arrive and waved to Trudy.
Just as she was beginning to wonde
r if Bram and Clement would ever stop talking, someone else came walking up the sidewalk, weaving between the couples and families. He was wearing a tweed jacket, not a tuxedo, and his dark hair curled out from under the edges of his cap—too long, as always. He had a smile on his face.
And a girl on his arm.
She was very pretty. She had dark hair, too. Blue eyes. And pink cheeks. The young man said something to her, and she dipped her head toward him. He covered her hand with his. She smiled up at him lovingly and kissed his cheek.
Jo didn’t know the girl. She’d never seen her before.
She knew the man, though.
It was Eddie Gallagher.
Voices echoed inside Jo’s head.
Her own: What was he like when he was little?
And Fay’s reply: A damn good thief. Tough. Ruthless. Like all the rest of us.
Her uncle’s: A strapping, dark-haired boy—Gleeson, or Gilligan, or some sort of Irish name. …
And finally, Eddie’s: You don’t know me. Not at all …
No, Mr. Gallagher, she said silently as she watched him and his girl turn the corner and disappear. I don’t.
“Now, don’t you forget old Clem, Miss Montfort! I’ll see you inside!”
Though Jo’s heart had just been broken, though all she wanted was to run into an empty room and weep, she smiled at Clement and said, “I look forward to that, Mr. Codman.”
“Sorry about all the family talk, Jo,” Bram said, patting her hand. “Shall we go in?” He started up the steps, then frowned. “Jo? Are you all right? You look so pale.”
“I’m fine, Bram,” Jo said, summoning all her strength. “Just a bit cold, that’s all.”
“How thoughtless of me. Come inside and warm up.”
He hurried her into the foyer, where a maid took her wrap. They walked down a long hallway to the drawing room, where Grandmama sat like a pasha, surrounded by friends, family, and half a dozen dogs.
These Shallow Graves Page 26
