She pulled her hands free and stared at the corner of the carriage. She hated how he spoke down to her, treated her as if she were too young or dimwitted to know how to look out for herself. Sometimes she wondered if that was how he viewed all women or if she had done something that would portray her that way. If it was the latter, she wished she knew how to rectify the problem. She was not weak or dimwitted.
Chapter 9
Still fuming a week later, he boarded the train back to Chicago. There were so many aspects of this case that puzzled him. His client claimed that Ms. Woods stole his father's shares, yet everything about her personality was the opposite of a thief. The money to open the school had come from selling her mother's brothel. Nothing indicated that she was living the kind of luxury one would live if they had that kind of money. Her fiancé, though, was a different matter. That man sat way too high on his horse. Maybe opposites did attract. Where Ester was kind and compassionate, Mr. Chesterfield was definitely not kind or compassionate. The man only saw monetary gains and power. A social climber through and through.
She had however, refused to see him since the night of the failed dinner. He was not sure what exactly the cause of the refusal. Did she in fact view him the same way as her fiancé? Or was she too embarrassed by the scene Charles had caused? Another thought hit him as he tried to mentally figure Ester Woods out. It very well could be that she was afraid to risk gossip and tarnish her newly found place amongst Boston’s polite society.
The train ride had been a long one and left him more conflicted with how to proceed with this case. One person in this world could guide him, and he needed her wisdom now.
Coming through the front door, he headed for the kitchen. His younger brother, James, sat at the kitchen table with his leg propped up on the chair next to him, a crude splint tied with white bandage cloths covered the lower section of his leg.
"Where is Ma?" he asked as he took a seat across the table.
"She is still at the market."
"What happened to you?" he asked as he pointed to his brother's leg.
"Would you believe I fell down a flight of stairs?" He arched his eyebrow.
"When you put it like that, the answer would be no."
"Well, I did fall down a flight of stairs . . .. I was also running for my life at the time." He started to laugh.
"Let me guess, jealous husband or irate father?" His brother tended to mess around with women he had no business messing around with. The family feared that James’ wicked ways would land him hurt one day.
"No. I have given up on all of that. In fact, I am courting a real nice lassie. Ma even approves of her. This time I was running from crazy Mabel." He fixed his brother with a look of mock horror and shuddered.
"So crazy Mabel has set her sights on you now?" John burst out laughing. One could consider crazy Mabel pretty if not for her wild eyes and uncombed hair. It wasn't unusual to witness her talking to herself or people that only she could see. She had a habit of getting very familiar with a man, right there on the street for all to witness. Men tried hard to avoid her.
"Don't laugh at me. You didn't think it was funny when she was trying to sink her claws into you not so long ago."
"It wasn't funny then. Now it is funny." He couldn't help himself as he started to laugh again. It hit him though that James' leg was broken and stopped laughing. "What about work? There is no way you can go into the meat packing plant like that."
"I know. I spoke with Mr. Dempsey, and he said I could return once the splint comes off. The thing is the doctor said I had to wear this contraption for several weeks." He gave a wave of his hand.
"Which doctor did the splint?" Some of the doctors in the area that were affordable were quacks. He did not want his brother being treated by some drunken quack. Hard telling what kind of permanent damage James would suffer as a result.
"The dear Dr. O'Brian. Or should I say, the soon-to-be Dr. O'Brian." He smiled when John offered him a puzzled look.
"Matthew is the one treating you?" He shouldn't be surprised. After all, it is what everyone had been working so hard for. Until this moment, it was an abstract idea. Now staring at the splint, the abstract became reality.
"It helps that we have someone in the family who is trained in these matters. So much cheaper on the purse." He grabbed the amber-colored bottle setting on the table and took a swig. His face scrunched up against the foul taste. "Laudanum. Such nasty stuff. But the pain is unbearable without it."
John helped his brother into their mother's bedroom on the main floor of the house. Someone had brought his bed downstairs and set it up against the wall. Getting James settled onto the bed, he went back to the kitchen table. He came to Chicago to speak with his mother about this case. He needed her guidance. Seeing his brother with a broken leg meant the family could not afford for him to not see this case through.
Innocent or guilty, it was not his place to decide. His job was to find her and report her location to his client. Which he would do as soon as he assured she was still in the area.
He wondered about the girl James' mentioned. With the talk about him being out of work, John forgot to ask. He just hoped his brother didn't find himself in the same situation he had been in before.
Leaving the house, he headed into the office. Several Pinkerton detectives were sitting at their desks. They waved or called out a greeting as he walked past. Sitting at his desk, he penned a letter to Mr. Warner informing him of the location of Ester Woods. Grabbing the file, he walked back out. Toby Dresden stood by his desk putting papers into his satchel.
“Toby, I need you to deliver this to William Warner. His information is in the file,” he said as he handed the young boy the information. He took a deep breath and resolved that this was the best course of action. He was hired to find Ms. Woods and he did what he was hired to do. It was as simple as that. His desire these last few days of wanting to get to know the woman went against the ethics of his job. It was not his place to determine her guilt or innocence. His job was to do what the client paid him to do and walk away.
“Of course, Mr. O’Brian, I will have it delivered today,” he responded as he took the file and letter.
A pang of guilt tugged at his conscience. No matter how much he told himself he was just doing his job, he knew better. He was doing this to punish her for the behavior of her arrogant fiancé. He knew she couldn't control how the other man behaved, but he had expected to at least have heard from her since that night. Instead, a week had gone by and she had not reached out to him.
More so, she refused to see him each time he had gone to the academy. If he knew why she had avoided him, then he could better understand what he needed to do.
It didn't matter that he was a respected Pinkerton agent. As a man away from the badge, he was still just a shanty —mick—a shanty mick that even a bastard woman like Ms. Woods felt superior to. It stung, and a man's pride could only take so much. He would take being a shanty mick to being called a 'lace-curtain Irish' by his own people. To Americans, he was inferior and to his own people, he was seen as trying to betray his roots and curry favor with the American Protestants.
Finished with the work at hand, he headed back home. When he arrived, his mother stood at the stove stirring what would be tonight’s dinner in a large aluminum pot. He went up behind her and gently squeezed her shoulders as he placed a kiss on top her head. She was his rock. His shelter in the storm. In this house she turned into a home, all the O’Brian boys found nothing but love and acceptance. Even if the outside world shunned them. To John, no greater woman lived than this one.
“Aye, John, my dear boy, you are home.” She let go of the big spoon and turned to wrap her arms around him.
He hugged her back briefly before joining his brother, Matthew, at the table. “James said you were the one to patch him back up.”
“I did the best I could. Sadly, he is a difficult patient to work with.”
“Difficult patient? The man is a di
fficult son,” Agnes called over her shoulder.
“I won’t deny that,” Matthew said. “So, I thought you were working some big case?”
“Not a big case. Just had to find someone who may or may not want to be found.”
“And did you find this person?”
“I found her. Now the job is done.” Her lovely face replaced the image of the kitchen. He almost wished he was not so good at his job. That he had never found her. Why couldn’t she have hid herself better from her past here in Chicago?
“You do not sound so happy, son,” Agnes stated.
“It is complicated, Ma.” He turned in his chair and met his mother’s eyes—eyes that bore into him deep to his soul. His mother always had a way of staring at him that made him feel exposed down to his soul.
“Nothing is complicated. There is right and then there is wrong. The good Lord laid it all out there for us.”
“So what would the good Lord say about a case such as mine? I have a client who claims his half-sister stole shares that their father had in a company. He wants her found so he can have her arrested. I find her, and she is nothing like one would think of as a thief. Her money can be accounted for and not connected to those shares.”
“I am sure ye do the job ye were hired to do, and the law will determine if stolen or given by the father.”
“I wish it was that simple. The woman in question is the bastard child born to a whorehouse madam,” he said the unpleasant words matter-of-factly.
Agnes’s eyes grew wide and her hand went to her heart. “She’s a bastard? Oh dear. Innocent or guilty, the law will side with the legitimate son.”
“I know. I was prepared to walk away from all of it and claim I never found her. James’s broken leg changes that. We can’t afford for me to walk away from this case.”
“Do ye believe her innocent?” Agnes came to kneel beside him.
Looking down into his mother’s eyes, he was torn. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know. She has an ability to be so sweet and she is very lovely upon the eyes. That is the problem . . .. That woman can charm a man straight to the gallows.”
“Not every woman is like that Davenport woman. Son, ye must learn to let that horrible time go. I feel it clouds ye judgement where women are concerned.” She stood and towered over him.
“You might be correct, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am unsure if she is innocent or not.”
“Then go back to Boston before you turn her over to your client and do some more digging. I am sure a smart detective like yeself can figure out the truth.”
“I agree with Ma on this one, John.”
“To late, Ma. I done sent the information to my client.” He wished he had waited until he spoke with his mother before he made a decision, and now it was too late. Ester would be arrested, and her fate would lay in the hands of the judge.
“Then time is of the essence. Go and do some more digging before he gets to her. If you find that she is innocent, warn the poor girl to get out of Boston,” Matthew said as he eyed both John and their mother.
Chapter 10
Stepping off the train, John made his way to the Woods Academy for Proper Young Ladies. He raised the knocker and gave three sharp raps against the wooden door. When no one answered after some time, he grabbed the knocker and began knocking harder against the door. Again, his knocks went unanswered. Grabbing the doorknob, he yanked the door open and stormed into the foyer. Silence greeted him. He remembered the location of her office and decided to seek her out. The office was empty and not knowing where exactly he would find anyone in this big place, he started wandering down the hall.
"Ester!" His voice boomed in the silence of the hall.
"Ester!" Surely, someone would hear him and come out.
"Mr. O'Brian, what are you doing here?" Mary asked as she rushed into the hallway.
"I am looking for Ester." He watched as she struggled with what to tell him. "Look, Ms. Magill, just tell me where I can find her."
"Ms. Woods is busy right now. Please, it is not a good time. Come back later." Mary grabbed his arm and tried to steer him back down the hallway. He jerked free and glared at her. "Mr. O'Brian, we have sickness here. Please leave." She once again grabbed his arm and tried in vain to move him from where he stood.
"I am not leaving until I see Ester." With a fierce mental shake, he shut down the part of him that wanted to plow right through the woman and find Ester. Why was this woman trying to keep him from seeing Ester? Did they figure out who he was and why he was truly here? Nonsense, he had been very careful to keep his true intentions well hidden.
"Fine, Mr. O'Brian, if ye wish to see Ms. Woods, then roll up your sleeves and help." She turned to head back toward the room she had come out of. "Help or leave," she shot back over her shoulder.
The idea of helping in a house where people were sick, especially when he wasn't too sure how sick, did not sit well with him. Though, it seemed he had no choice if he wished to see the lovely Ms. Woods. Pushing through the door Mary had gone through, he walked into the kitchen. Standing at the large basin, Ester was scrubbing clothes on a washboard. From where he stood, he could see her red and swollen fingers.
"Ms. Woods, Mr. O'Brian is here to see you. I told him that if he stayed, he had to help," Mary chirped as she picked up the wooden spoon and stirred something in a large pot on the stove.
"Mr. O'Brian, I am extremely busy right now. Mrs. Wong and her husband are both sick. My kitchen maid is sick, along with my cook. I will send a message when I am free to visit with you about your niece." She turned back and began to scrub fabrics against the washboard once again. Her shoulders were beginning to slump. He moved across the room and took the material from her hands. "What are you doing?"
"Your hands are swollen. Sit down." He didn't give her a chance to argue. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the material she had been working on and began to scrub them against the washboard. Satisfied it was clean, he wrung the water out of the material then shook the material out. As he went to hang the material on the line stretched across the room, he noticed he was holding womens’ bloomers. He had just scrubbed a pair of women's unmentionables. A laugh sounded behind him. It was a musical sound that teased his senses.
Turning, he stared at Ester. "What is so funny?"
"The look on your face. Priceless, Mr. O'Brian." She smiled at him. "You realize that they won't hurt you, right?"
"Yes, well, one does what one must do in a time of sickness." He turned back to the basin and grabbed another garment. He refused to acknowledge her ridiculous question. He wasn't afraid of a woman's unmentionables, but he had never laundered any before. Grabbing the bar of soap, he slapped it against the garment and began to scrub it the same way he had the previous one. He continued to repeat this process until the basin was empty. Standing back, a sigh escaped him. Washing ten pairs of bloomers by hand was hard work. He had to give respect to those who washed clothes for a living. There was nothing easy about it.
As he took a seat at the table across from Ester, Mary placed two bowls of soup in front of them and left the kitchen. "Thank you for helping. The few days have been the worst with everyone sick but Mary and me."
"Is that why I haven't heard from you? Or is it because you agree with your fiancé?" He held his spoon mid-air and watched her.
"Mr. O'Brian, I can assure you that I do not hold the same views as Charles on such matters. I do apologize for the way he treated you."
"That is good. I would hate to think a lady such as yourself looked down her pretty little nose at other people." He knew he was goading her. The flash of anger in her eyes made him chuckle.
"You accuse me of such snobbery, then you dare laugh at me?" She pushed her chair back and stood.
"Sit, Ester. I will not tease you further." He watched her struggle with whether to sit or leave. "Please sit, Ester."
She took her seat and picked her spoon back up. "You do not have permission to be so familiar wi
th me. It is Ms. Woods."
"We shall see." He had the last word as they both focused on the meager soup prepared by Mary. He had to admit that while it was mostly a watery broth with scarcely any vegetables, it was still very flavorful. Mary was a genius with her ability to turn bland food into something delightful. He made a mental note to thank her.
Mary reentered the kitchen and began to set bowls on a tray. As she filled the bowls, she began to hum a little tune. Ester stood and grabbed another tray and placed bowls on the tray for Mary to fill. "The sick will need to be fed now. You will, of course, help with that as well, Mr. O'Brian," Mary said as she finished filling the last bowl. It was a statement that left no room for argument.
The Christmas Will (O'Brian Brothers Book 1) Page 5
