One of the few outings she and her father had taken after her mother died were trips to the country solely for target practice. For two days out of the year, they would spend hours together practicing. Before one such outing, Winnifred had set up discarded glass bottles on the rear fence line of her aunt’s mansion for targets to impress her father with her improvement. However, before she had time to follow through with her disastrous plan, Aunt Lillian had stepped in and stopped her, saying that a twelve-year-old girl should know better than to discharge a firearm in the middle of civilization. Winnifred supposed that some part of her thought that if she impressed her father, he would remember he had a daughter more often than once a year.
“No need to look so downcast.” Mr. Covington took her hand in his, misinterpreting her silence. “I will win for you, so you can still name my next lead character if you wish.”
Giving him a bright smile to dispel her clouded thoughts, she pulled her lace-trimmed handkerchief from her sleeve and looped it through his buttonhole. “If you are to be my champion, you will need to sport my colors, Percy.”
“This shot is for you, Winnie.” Percy bent and kissed her cheek with a tenderness that stole her breath. She blushed at his bold action, but was surprised to find it was not disagreeable. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to her guardian, but Jude had already averted his gaze to the targets.
“Are we going to shoot or talk all day?” Jude motioned for Percy to take his place.
She stepped back from Percy as he took his shot and watched the two men closely. Jude shot with a practiced hand, but Percy seemed as equally at ease with a gun in his hand as a pen, and she couldn’t help but admire his skill. The men took a pace back with every shot, and Winnifred grew more and more impressed over how well Percy was doing against a seasoned detective, until finally someone missed.
She gasped, twisting to look up at the unexpected winner.
Percy gave them a wry laugh as he set aside his weapon. “I quite enjoyed target practice as a boy, short and long range, archery, and hunting and the like, and I still shoot clays every chance I can get. Thank goodness too, else I might be at the mercy of Detective Thorpe’s choosing my character’s name.” He turned to Winnifred and kissed her hand, sending her heart into confusing flutters. “Hopefully my fair lady will be a bit more generous in naming the hero.”
Chapter Eleven
“There is love in me the likes of which you’ve never seen.
There is rage in me the likes of which should never escape.
If I am not satisfied in the one, I will indulge the other.”
~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Miss Swan?” Holmes called from the adjoining room door, bowler hat in hand. “From the looks of your desk, I’d say you have done six hours of work in half the time and deserve a cup of coffee from the café.”
Joe Owens, whom she had met before leaving on her first day, sent her a smirk as if Winnifred was already falling in love with her employer. Owens had even gone as far as to say that he and one of the other male boarders were betting to see how long it would take for her to step out with Holmes.
She looked from him to Owens, who was making himself look busy with a file she had just finished. “This is only my third day here, Mr. Holmes, and there is still so much to be done. I don’t want to postpone your hotel opening—”
“Nonsense. One should always have the time for a cup of something hot.” Mr. Holmes twirled his bowler hat before flipping it on in a single motion.
Push yourself. You are here to engage the suspect and find clues! “Yes, I’d like that very much,” she replied, thankful that she had managed to keep her voice steady. Snatching up her hat and reticule, she followed him down to the ground level and stepped outside, blinking in the afternoon light as Holmes offered her his arm.
“Since I invited you out for coffee, there will be no talk of you paying for your libations.”
“But, sir, I hardly think it proper for you to pay for me, as I am an employee.” She protested as she imagined Cordelia might, weakly, and with a hint of flirtation, as if she were only objecting because that was what a lady should do.
“Nonsense. What kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed that? Don’t look so worried.” He chuckled as she glanced over her shoulder looking for her guardian, mistaking her motive. “We are only going down one block to the coffeehouse.”
She observed a vendor pushing a cart, children with their nurse, and a couple arm-in-arm strolling by, but no Jude. Her stomach dropped, and she gripped her reticule a little tighter as she stepped inside the dark coffeehouse. It was nothing like the light, airy café near her home on Lakeshore Drive, but she acted as if she had been in many such coffeehouses. Inhaling the heavy scent of freshly ground beans, she slid into a seat near a smudged window, allowing Holmes to order for them both.
“So, how were your first few days?” he asked, turning his attention back to her as the girl placed his order of two black coffees and two pastries of the day.
She forced her fidgeting hands to still, folding them on the table as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Excellent, sir. I am grateful for the work, and I look forward to learning more about the business.”
“Good. Good. And did you get along with Auntie Ann? She seemed a bit put out with you.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
Did he overhear the housekeeper’s warning? She searched for the right words. “She certainly is, um, to the point.”
“I half asked you to coffee as an apology for her insinuations on your very first day. I hope she did not frighten you away, because I need a pretty worker like you to brighten my day.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Did she give you her little speech, warning you to remain in a professional relationship with me?”
She got the feeling that Holmes was testing her attraction to him, and she knew that if she failed to return his flattery, she would not get much out of him. Holmes seemed like a man who enjoyed being made much of. Why else would he have so much ambition to set up a hotel when he obviously had no money to pay back creditors? He was desperate for wealth and approval, and she would use that weakness against him. If Auntie Ann was worried that she might charm Holmes into her confidence, maybe Cordelia really could.
She smiled at him, blinking her lashes like the heroines she had read about in Percy’s novels, stepped into her character, returned his smile, and leaned forward. “I’m sure you must be aware of the effect that you have on your female staff? She meant to protect you, but … you know what they say about forbidden fruit.”
He threw his head back and laughed as the coffee and eclairs were placed on the table, and Winnifred could see his pleasure in his features. “I don’t know about all of that, but there have been a few incidents that may have led her to believe that assessment.” He lifted his palms helplessly. “Who am I to turn away a maiden in distress? It’s not my fault if they mistake a comforting shoulder for that of a lover’s.”
She traced the rim of her coffee cup with her forefinger. “I heard that one girl thought she would marry you.”
His smile seemed strained before he allowed a confident light back into his eyes. “A few did, but I am a hard man to pin down.”
“Only a few?” She giggled as if he told a great joke and gently laid her hand on his arm, allowing a blush to reach her cheeks and her eyes to widen at her boldness.
A grin spread under his thick mustache as he leaned toward her, his breath on her ear. “We are going to work quite well together. Did you find accommodations elsewhere, or should I have the housekeeper prepare a room for you?”
A room? Too far! I took it much too far. She slowly withdrew her hand, hoping to assure him that she did so, not because of what he’d said, but rather her remembering to act like a lady. “Alas, the owner of the boardinghouse would not release me from our agreement. Fortunately, it is only a short grip car ride away and is a fair price.”
“If money is the issue, I can lower the pri
ce. I would hate to have you take the extra commute because of money.” His gaze lingered on her fingers curled around her coffee cup handle.
She absentmindedly twirled a curl at the base of her neck. “Oh Mr. Holmes, I couldn’t. A room like yours should go for a much higher price. I heard from one of the boarders that you charged far more than what you’re asking from me. I appreciate your generosity, but I cannot allow myself to accept such a steep discount even from the kindest and, might I add, handsomest of gentlemen.”
“Can we get closer?” Covington asked for the third time in twenty minutes. “Surely I can purchase a cup of coffee without him suspecting anything.”
Jude crossed his arms, anger bubbling in his chest. “No. As I told you before, you might destroy her cover and put her and the mission in danger.”
“You said he’s a known swindler. Maybe I can bump into him and try to invest in his so-called hotel business?” He gave the ends of his blond mustache a little curl with the waxing kit from his pocket.
Despite their time shooting, the respect Jude had gained for Percival Covington was slowly deteriorating with each obstinate suggestion that he knew better than a man who had been professionally trained as an undercover detective. “Do you really wish to risk Miss Wylde’s safety for the sake of your own curiosity?” And for your next novel?
“I think it would be perfectly natural if I went in there and threw some money around to catch his attention. Imagine the information I could glean from speaking with him as a potential investor.” He scribbled down a thought on his wretched notepad before slapping it shut and tucking it into his pocket. “Well, I guess that’s about it for me. I think I have enough to get started with my new story, but will you fill me in if something interesting comes up?”
“You got it.” Anything to keep you from scratching your pencil across the page for a minute longer.
“Thank you. I have complete confidence in your ability to protect Miss Wylde in my absence. I have to say, your job is quite exciting. If I hadn’t decided to write stories, I know I would have loved to be in the stories like you are. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to protect a beautiful young maiden from the hands of a notorious villain? And look at you. It takes quite the man to look even better with a black eye.”
Jude couldn’t help but laugh at Covington’s simple summation of his job. “It isn’t always as glamorous as this, and it’s not just a story. It’s real life with real dangers. Oftentimes, I am watching out for trouble in the worst of places. Places that you have only written about.”
Covington clapped him on the shoulder. “And that is why there are photographers, my friend. So I do not have to dance in the squalor to depict the dirt one might find there. I must simply look at a picture and paint it in my words.” He shrugged and added, “Sometimes my paint is laid on a little bit thicker than needed, but it makes for a good story, and the ladies seem to love it. They are my best customers, after all. Have a good day, Detective.” He grinned and tipped his bowler hat, swinging his walking cane as he practically pranced down the sidewalk.
Breathing a sigh in the blessed silence following Covington’s wake, Jude returned his gaze to the window where he could see Winnifred sipping on her coffee. To maintain his cover, he pulled out his newspaper and leaned against a lamppost across from the coffeehouse and pretended to read, all the while keeping one eye on the couple.
He hadn’t been able to do any more digging into Victor’s murder since the threat on his family’s lives, but the threat had only caused him to renew his vow to find the killer. Last night, after he had returned Winnifred safely home from target practice, he had sought out the inspector and told him of the incident. The inspector was reluctant to accept Jude’s lack of explanation behind the threat, but he approved the need for security. Jude’s family, though now guarded by the precinct’s men, would not truly be safe until Victor’s murderer was behind bars.
Jude brought his thoughts back to the case in front of him. Even if this Holmes fellow turned out to be nothing more than a swindler, the man would certainly try to steal a kiss at some point. Winnifred was far too beautiful to be flirting with him and not expect repercussions, and Jude couldn’t protect her from the outside.
His stomach turned as she laid a hand on Holmes’s arm, but to his relief, they stood and exited the building. Jude followed them with his gaze as Holmes walked her toward the grip line, where he paused and bowed to kiss her hand and, with a winning smile, Winnifred waved to Holmes as the car pulled away.
Chapter Twelve
“Let us be elegant or die!”
~Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
As a thank-you for allowing him to tag along on her investigation for the past week, Percy surprised Winnifred with two box tickets to the Chicago Orchestra playing in the Auditorium Theatre. Since she would be seated in the most coveted box in the house, she dressed in her finest sapphire damask evening gown, the garland of pearls woven into the tulle at the bust casting a luminous glow in the candlelight. With Aunt Lillian’s burgundy opera cloak hanging from her shoulders, she twirled before the long looking glass. I could be a heroine from one of Percy’s books. She grinned at her reflection before shaking her head at her silliness, dismissing it as overexcitement for the evening. It was a luxury for her to sit anywhere but in the general admission, where one could hardly see the face of the soloist.
The front doorbell rang, and she snatched the two tickets from atop her vanity and hurried down, unable to hide her anticipation for the night. But instead of finding Percy at the door, she was greeted by a messenger boy in a navy uniform with his cap in hand as he drew a message from his brown leather satchel.
“Miss Wylde? I have a note from Mr. Covington.” He extended the note to her and stepped down to the sidewalk to give her a moment of privacy and to await her reply.
She tore open the note, a hint of fear in her spine.
My Dear Miss Wylde,
Inspiration has struck me at long last. Please forgive me for the unfortunate timing, but I must listen to the beckoning of my muse. I am all anguish for ruining our night out at the orchestra.
Regards, Percival Valentine
She sighed, her heart aching with disappointment more from missing the symphony than from missing her suitor. “Please inform Mr. Covington that it’s quite all right,” she said to the boy, dismissing him with a wave of the wretched letter before sinking onto the step in a sapphire cloud of skirts, not caring that she might soil her ensemble.
“Winnie?” Jude called to her, awakening her out of her trance as he trotted into view and up the path toward her. “Did you have bad news? Are you unwell?” He sank onto the step beside her.
She lifted the tickets and the note. “Apparently my escort will not be able to come tonight, and my evening is spoiled.”
Jude pressed his lips into a thin line, slapped his hands on his knees and, pushing off them, rose and extended his hand to her. “No sense in letting those tickets go to waste, or your efforts of dressing up. Shall we go?”
Blinking at his hand, she looked up at him. “But you aren’t dressed for the symphony.”
“I’ll stop at my apartment on the way there. It will take me all of five minutes to change into my black coattails.”
Her heart sparked with excitement at the thought of attending the symphony with him. “Are you sure? I’d hate to put you out,” she said, before remembering his love of the violin. Surely it wouldn’t be that much of an affliction for him to escort her.
“I was going to be posted outside of the theatre all night to keep an eye on the perimeter, so it would be an unexpected pleasure to be the one enjoying it from the inside.” He wiggled his fingers, inviting her to stand with him. “Come on, it will be fun.”
He would enjoy it as much as I, and why should we let those seats go unoccupied? Winnifred’s heart tried to convince her head that it was a good idea in spite of the risk of being seen by the high society ladies who might report back to her aunt.
But after the dangers she had recently experienced, caring about society’s fair-weather opinion seemed a bit foolish. Grinning, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up. She threaded her arm through his offered arm, a thrill traveling through her at the feel of him being so close once again. “Let’s do it.”
With a cheer, he led her to the street and lifted his arm to hail a passing carriage. “No time for a grip car tonight, Miss Wylde. I have a symphony to dress for and a lady to escort. Only the best for you, my lady,” he exclaimed with a wink and a deep bow.
She laughed and enjoyed the freedom of being able to do so without feeling awkward. In a quarter of an hour that had passed far too quickly for her taste, they were parked in front of his apartment building, and while he was a bit apprehensive to leave her alone in the carriage to wait for him to change, Winnifred patted her heavy reticule, silently reassuring him that she would be quite safe. She watched his retreating figure and was once again struck with how kind he was to her. Not every young detective would willingly go to the symphony with his charge. Is it really only kindness, or is there something more behind his thoughtful gesture? She bit her lip as he disappeared.
She studied the outside of his building and found herself longing to see what his home looked like, aching to know him beyond his work persona. Did he have a small library? What songs did he play on his violin? Was his place well kept? Did he cook? She shook her head, trying to keep the questions at bay when he came trotting down the steps with a slightly faded top hat in hand.
Jude tapped the roof, signaling the driver to move on, and settled into the seat next to her, breathless. “So, you should know that I’ve never actually attended the symphony before, but I shall endeavor not to embarrass you.”
The White City Page 10
