Chapter 7
His investigation into the whereabouts of Ester Woods led him to Boston. Inside his Boston hotel room, he tried to figure out the best approach to ferret out information on the woman. He had learned she had opened some sort of school for young girls—the Woods Academy for Proper Young Ladies. Something about this case seemed wrong. If the woman had stolen those shares from the Warren family, he would expect her to run and hide, not open a school. It didn't seem the kind of behavior one would see with a thief. However, past history taught him a hard lesson when it came to women—they never did what one would expect. Maybe she was that smug about her crime and truly thought she had gotten away with it. He should inform his client where she was and head back to Chicago. However, something about this case nagged at him, so no harm in sticking around and asking some questions.
He decided to start with the neighbors near the school. If there was anything to find out, the neighbors would be the best place to start. Neighbors were nosey people—always a wealth of information they sometimes didn't even know they possessed. It was all about asking the right questions to the right person to unlock those tiny pieces of information that when put together, give the bigger picture. Eager to start, he left his hotel room and began to walk toward the Woods Academy for Proper Young Ladies.
Not far from the academy was the neighborhood's butcher shop. Ducking inside, he pretended to be interested in the various cuts of meat. His mouth watered as he looked at a nice cut of lamb. On the rare occasion there was a bit extra money, his mother prepared a lamb stew. His brothers and himself never failed to dig in with gusto on those occasions. After a few minutes of perusing the meats on display and he turned to the butcher. "What can you tell me about the girls’ school down the road?"
"You mean the Woods Academy? Yes, such a lovely young woman owns it," the butcher replied.
"Does she come in here often?"
"About once a week. Her and her chaperone come together."
"What can you say about the kind of woman she is?" he asked. A strange look passed across the butcher's face. "I only ask because I am actually wanting to enroll my niece. I don't want to hand her over to just anyone who might be of poor moral character."
"Of course, of course. I can assure you from all I have seen and heard, Ms. Woods and those she employs are of high moral character. True proper ladies they are." The butcher beamed at John. "Your niece would be in great hands at the academy."
He made his way out of the butcher shop and had similar conversations with several neighbors. Everyone he spoke to said the same things about the proper Ms. Woods. There were, however, some mistruths he had uncovered. Those living or working in the neighborhood believed Ms. Woods was from a proper family in New York. It seemed she went out of her way to sell the made-up story to people. He couldn't blame her for not wanting people to know she was actually the daughter of a Chicago woman who had run a whorehouse. Information like that would ruin her reputation. No family would allow their daughters to attend any school run by a woman of such birth. However, if she lied about her past, what else was she lying about? He learned a long time ago that most people did not stop with one lie. No, people who lied tended to tell many lies. But did lying about her past really make her a thief?
When he finished speaking with the neighbors, he headed to meet Ms. Woods herself. He knew exactly how to get her to talk to him and with his plan in place, he gave the door a few raps with the heavy brass knocker. It did not take long for an Oriental woman to lead him to an office where she left him alone. Taking advantage of being left alone, he quickly snooped through some papers on her desk. Nothing out of the ordinary—applications from parents for their daughters and an appointment calendar. He did not see any financial ledger or journal. Not knowing how long it would take for the woman to join him, he decided not to risk getting caught looking for one.
Ms. Woods entered the office appearing a bit impatient. John reached up and used his index finger to loosen his collar that was instantly too tight against his neck. She was even lovelier in person. Her dark hair pulled into a bun at the crown of her head and loose curls framed her face, and blue eyes shined bright in her oval face. A woman like her could charm a man into almost anything. A man had to be careful with this one.
"Ms. Woods, thank you for meeting with me. I know I should have sent you a request first, but to be honest, I am desperate." He let the words rush out.
"I am sorry, mister . . .. What did you say your name was?" She eyed him coolly.
"Mr. O'Brian, ma'am." He reached out his hand, and she stared at it but never took it.
"What is of such urgency that you came unannounced?"
Her tiny hands were fisted the sides of her skirt. She reminded him of a skittish kitten.
"It is my niece, ma'am. My brother-in-law is insisting on sending her here." He paused and watched as she silently regarded him. "I had to come in person to make sure he was not making a mistake in sending young Agnes here to your school." On the spot, he let his mother's name slip free. Well, he couldn't keep saying his niece. The girl would obviously have to have a name and his mother's name was as good as any.
"You care that much about what happens to your niece?" Her voice warmed slightly, not completely but slightly.
"Yes, ma'am. I don't want her somewhere that will cause her any harm."
"Harm? I can assure you that the young ladies who attend this academy are never harmed. However, they are pushed to become proper young ladies." Indignation laced her every word.
"My apologies. I meant no disrespect to you. I am just concerned for Agnes."
"If you would like, I can arrange for you to meet the rest of the staff here at a later date. Say, end of this week?"
"That would be perfect." He thanked her again and left the academy. Walking back to the hotel, he wondered not for the first time if he should notify his client and be done with it. However, a niggling feeling that something was wrong with his client's account of events still bothered him. It couldn't hurt to stay and gather a bit more information. After all, if he uncovered where Ms. Woods hid the shares, it would make it easier for his client to get them back. Then the law could deal with Ms. Woods.
Once back at the hotel, he notified the maid that he would be in need of a bath. A blush crept up her cheeks and her head bobbed up and down. John suspected the pretty maid had some very improper thoughts going on inside her head. He went to his room and gathered his personal items and took them down to the baths. The Tremont House was luxury at its finest, with running water and baths down on the lower level.
Chapter 8
The next day, John made his way to the local telegraph office. The operator looked about as bored as John felt today. He hated the idea of waiting around until the end of the week before meeting with Ms. Woods again. Never one to sit around, he was a man of action, and he needed some action today.
"I need to send a message."
The telegraph operator just looked at him and raised a reddish-blond eyebrow. This was not the first time he had sent a message and the operator just look at him without speaking. It was becoming such a regular occurrence that he truly wondered if the companies didn't purposely hire mutes. Or the operators were so used to dealing in beeps that perhaps they forgot how to speak in a normal way? Whatever the reason, John found it disturbing. A boyish part of him wanted to start beeping at the operator, but to give in to the urge would be childish and rude. Taking a deep breath, he tamped down the urge.
"I need the following message to go to Chicago for a Mrs. Agnes O'Brian," he said, then waited for the operator to look back up at him. "I am in Boston, stop. I will be home in two weeks' time, stop." He withdrew a few coins and laid them down for the operator. Turning, he walked out. He hoped the messaged reached its destination. He knew how much his mother worried about her sons when they were not home. She truly was a strong woman and John admired his mother. She was the only woman he could trust without reserve. Well, for the most part
. She still —tried—even though he was grown—to convince him fairies and wee folk existed.
He smiled at the memory and headed for the butcher shop near Ms. Woods' school. If he was lucky, he would see her and her companion there today. He had been a detective long enough to realize that looks could be deceiving. A devious thief could be lurking under those sharp eyes and kissable lips. However, he found himself wondering more about what her full lips would feel like than how to discover where she hid the stolen shares. Daydreaming of kissing those lush lips, he bumped into something solid. Losing his footing, he found himself landing with a hard thud. He looked up to see the object of his daydreams staring down at him. The look on her face said she was offended and none too concerned for his well-being.
"Pardon me, ma'am," he managed to say as he gained his feet under him. Dusting his clothing off, she brushed past him and continued on her way.
"Ms. Woods," he called out as he rushed to catch up with her. Breathtaking. Such a lovely creature.
"Yes?" she asked, never looking at him.
"I was curious if you would honor me with your company for dinner tonight?" He wasn't sure where the invitation came from, but now that he had asked, he liked the idea of dining with her. Something about this lady tugged at something buried deep inside him. He cursed himself a thousand times as a fool. She was a stranger; how could he feel anything for her.
"Mr. O'Brian, you can come by the academy as discussed yesterday to learn more about what we do. However, I am an engaged lady and dinner would be most improper." She twirled the parasol in her hand, the top spun above her head, drawing his attention.
"Bring your chaperone. I am not from here and would love to not dine alone." Confliction played across her face while she looked at him as she continued to twirl the parasol. He knew she was considering his offer. The fact that she was considering it spoke volumes. She may be engaged, but she is not happy. He may not know a lot about women, but he knew that happy women didn’t consider offers from other men.
"Mr. O'Brian, it would still be very improper." She cocked her head and regarded him in a way that made him struggle not to grab her and kiss her senseless right her on the street for all of Boston to see.
"Would an invite extended to you and your fiancé be considered proper enough?" He had only offered to dine with the other man because he was curious about what type of man would win the hand of the proper—not so proper—Ms. Woods.
"I shall send the invitation to him and let you know. Where are you staying?"
"The Tremont House." He watched as she nodded and then proceeded to leave him standing there on the street alone. Never once had she inquired about his physical well-being after having fallen practically at her feet.
***
Ester sent Mrs. Wong to Charles' office with the invitation to dinner. While she waited for her maid to return, she busied herself with the new applications that had arrived. Several applications indicated the families lived out west. A girl’s education was limited in itself, but it was worse out west. In some cases, no schools existed and children were limited to what their mothers taught them. She read the applications again for girls living out west and selected all six girls. These girls were in the most need of her school. Girls born just like her—disadvantaged. At least she had her grandparents to rescue her, and now these girls would have her.
She finished the final acceptance letter as Mrs. Wong entered her office. Placing the letter off to the side, she put her hands in her lap and looked at her maid. "Did Charles's accept the invitation to dinner?"
"Yes, ma'am. He says he come at six evening time."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wong. Would you please let Mr. O'Brian know that we shall arrive at a quarter to seven for dinner?"
"Yes, ma'am." Mrs. Wong nodded and slightly bowed as she backed out of the room.
That evening she stood within her private quarters and paced the sitting room. She had done this for the last twenty minutes to the point where Mary had chided her. Mary never failed to chide her when she would obsessively pace. She was unsure why she had so much nervous energy bouncing around inside her. It was simply a dinner with a gentleman looking to ensure the school would be a safe place for his niece. It wasn't as if she would be dining alone with him. Her fiancé would be accompanying them, so all was proper. No risk of rumors or any hint of impropriety. She reached the wall and turned again, walking the same well-worn path.
"Ester, please, you are making me a wreck. Come sit down," Mary said patting the space next to her.
"I cannot help it. I feel like I am bubbling up inside," Ester complained as she turned and paced across the room again.
"I know it is not your Charles causing you to feel this way. Perhaps it is more your Mr. O'Brian that has you all up in a gander?" Mary asked then let loose a giggle when Ester turned and stared in horror at her.
"How dare you be so rude as to say such a thing to me? He is not my Mr. O'Brian. I am an engaged woman."
Mary simply giggled some more and then sat quietly as Ester continued to pace and wring her hands. Mrs. Wong escorted Charles in promptly at six o’clock. He greeted Mary, and she simply smiled in return. Ester stopped her pacing and went to Charles. He leaned down and chastely kissed her cheek, then inquired if she was ready to leave. Nodding in answer, she took his offered arm. He held her hand as she climbed up into the carriage. Turning, he offered a hand to help Mary into the carriage before climbing up in the seat opposite. The carriage ride to the Tremont House was one of silence. She couldn't get an idea of what Charles thought or how he felt about this dinner invitation out of her head. Nothing in his manners gave his mood away. She did hope that he would be more talkative during dinner. The last thing she wanted was to make their host feel uncomfortable.
Inside the Tremont House, Mr. O'Brian greeted them in the lobby. After a brief introduction, they headed for the hotel restaurant. Once seated, she watched as Charles eyed the establishment. She knew he dreamed of the wealth and prestige that came with the ability to stay in a hotel such as this one. Charles had financial means, but he was not the kind of wealth this hotel bespoke of. Mary sat across from Ester, wide-eyed but silent.
"I hear they actually have an indoor privy for guests," she observed, "also heated baths." She was gushing but couldn't help it. Soon with her inheritance, she could afford the occasional luxuries offered here.
"Yes, they do. The history of this hotel is fascinating," Mr. O'Brian commented.
"What I find fascinating is that you can afford to stay in a place such as this," Charles stated.
“I beg your pardon?" Mr. O'Brian asked raising one dark eyebrow.
"You are Irish. I have never met any Irish that could afford to stay in a hotel built to cater to gentlemen."
"Not all Irish are poor, Mr. Chesterfield." Mr. O'Brian waved the waitress over and ordered a carafe of coffee. When the waitress walked away, he turned back to Charles and his dark eyes blazed with anger. Ester shrank under the heat of his gaze. She knew Charles had pushed a button and hoped he apologized before the situation turned unpleasant.
"Poor or not, there is no place in polite society for your kind. Mark my word that once married, I will put an end to my fiancée's penchant for taking in the wrong kinds and trying to make them into ladies." Standing, he held his hand out for Ester. "We are leaving. There is no place at the Woods Academy for Proper Young Ladies for your niece."
Ester struggled to keep from falling as Charles drug her by her hand behind him. He forcefully shoved her up and into the carriage. She screamed out in shock as she sprawled across the bench, her garments bunched around her hindering her ability to get seated. Shoving down on her skirts and crinoline, she managed after several attempts to get herself straightened on the bench. Once settled, she moved over for Mary to climb in beside her. She was fuming mad as she waited for Charles to climb in and settle himself.
"Charles, what was that all about? You were very rude to Mr. O'Brian." His rudeness toward the other
man set her nerves on end.
"Rude? Surely, dear, you can see that his kind has no place amongst ours. He is nothing more than a shanty mick, and no amount of money, manners, or suit is going to change that." He gave her a boyish smile that infuriated her more.
"Mary is Irish, and I have never seen you rude to her before. So why was it different with Mr. O'Brian?" Poor Mary. She wondered how Charles' words affected her companion. So far Mary had been silent through the whole unpleasant ordeal.
"Mary is a companion. She knows her place and is not trying to pass herself off as something she isn't, unlike Mr. O'Brian." He leaned forward and took her hands in his. "You must trust me, Ester, to look after you and keep you from unsavory people. Even establishments around the city have signs saying INNA which means Irish Need Not Apply. They place those signs right next to the ‘No Dogs Allowed’ signs. Ester, that should tell you not to involve yourself with these kinds of people."
The Christmas Will (O'Brian Brothers Book 1) Page 4
