The White City

by Grace Hitchcock

  She stiffened, not liking the sound of her suitor’s name on his lips. She didn’t wish to talk about Percy at the moment, much less with the one person she wished were courting her instead. “He is working away on his book. I haven’t seen him since before the symphony.”

  His brows raised as he dipped his french bread into the bowl, sopping up the last bit of his gumbo. “But you are still seeing him?”

  “As you know, my aunt came home,” she replied as if he should know what that meant, and hoped he would catch the hint.

  “Meaning she still wishes for you to continue the relationship,” he deduced.

  “Exactly.” She took a few more bites of her gumbo, savoring the flavor before her stomach pressed against her corset, staying her spoon as it always did before she was entirely full, which her aunt said was the point of the corset. “Well, good sir, shall we continue on our way to the next exhibit?”

  Tucking a couple of bills under the lip of his clean bowl, Jude extended his arm to her. It felt wonderful to be back with him and to have her arm securely through his as they made their way to the horticultural building. Strolling by one of the largest displays of roses that she had ever beheld, she paused to drink in their fragrance, overtaken by their beauty. “Stunning.”

  “Yes,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers.

  She blushed, uncertain if he was speaking of the roses or of her, and a shyness stole over her before she pulled him into the large horticulture building and toward the central dome where there was an artificial mountain surrounded by a mound of flora and fauna. Near the cave entrance that was roped off, there were signs promoting the grand sights they could experience for an extra fee.

  Jude dug into his pockets and fished out twenty cents, paying the gatekeeper before they took the small cave entrance down into the makeshift mountain. At the sight of the giant white crystal clusters glistening in the glow of some kind of disguised electric lighting, Winnifred’s breath caught in her throat. She threaded her hand through Jude’s, and, to her shock, his fingers wrapped protectively around hers.

  For a moment, she almost forgot they were only pretending to be lovers in the beauty surrounding them. She surveyed Jude’s strong jawline in the glimmer of the crystals, wondering why she felt so safe with him. Well, it might be because he is an excellent marksman or that he has more muscles than any one man should have. At the thought, she turned her heated cheeks away from him, absorbed in examining the white crystals before once again forgetting herself as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt him tense, and she was thankful that the darkness masked her blush. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and pulled away. “But we’re supposed to be pretending, are we not? Is this too much?”

  “No, it’s not too much.” His voice sounded hoarse as he wove his hand in hers, pulling her close again and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  Her heart stilled as she lifted her gaze to him, her fingers pressing to her parted lips.

  “Too much?”

  Winnifred knew she should say yes, but she couldn’t find it in her to whisper the lie. Instead, she gave him a gentle smile and returned her attention to the exhibit, wondering how the designer of the cave had managed to capture the beauty of the real Mammoth Crystal Cave. Jude’s arm tightened about her waist, alerting her, and before she could even look to see what had been the cause, she found herself with her back to the wall as he put himself between her and danger.

  While Jude felt a pinch of self-reproach for pretending to spot Holmes in the crowd, he knew it was the only way he could get her between his arms once again as he had that first day on the Ferris wheel. It felt so right to have her close to him even if the means were not quite innocent. The delicate floral scent of her golden tresses nearly blinded him with the desire to kiss her again, propelling him forward. Did I really kiss her on the forehead? He wished that he could repeat the act, but he would not take advantage of her for Holmes’s benefit. That is, not any more than he already was by putting his arms around her.

  She looked up to him with trust in her gaze. “Is he still watching?”

  Feeling the nudge of the Holy Spirit to end the charade, he begrudgingly dropped his arms. “False alarm.” He offered Winnifred his arm and became the picture of propriety even though his heart was riotous. “We best be getting you home. I’m sure your aunt will begin to worry if you aren’t back in time to dress for dinner.”

  “Dinner? Is it that late?” She checked her watch pin. “Goodness. Aunt Lillian is going to be livid.” She tucked a curl behind her ear and gave him that charming smile of hers. “Thank you for rescuing me once again. As much as I enjoy being my own heroine, plunging headlong into danger, I admit that being on my own when danger is near is not a feeling I wish to repeat.”

  “Are you going to feel safe enough to return to work for that man?” He gauged her reaction.

  “No, but as you said, we cannot detain him on the grounds of him following me. It’s a free country. If I give in to my fear and don’t find something soon to prove his guilt, he is going to capture another girl. I know if I tell Father I am growing uncomfortable and about what happened today, he would put someone else on the case immediately. However, the problem with that is we would have to get another female to go undercover, and it could take days or weeks for Holmes to hire her as a secretary, when I am already in the very room with the evidence.”

  “But I don’t want to make you feel like you must go back. You have options.”

  “None of which are unselfish. I had a moment of weakness today brought on by fear.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I know the Lord will protect me. I had the feeling that since I was alone, something could happen.”

  “And who is to say that feeling wasn’t Him protecting you? You always want to have reinforcements when you are undercover. It is never safe to be completely alone. Even if it turns out he’s only a swindler, Holmes did follow you today, and strange men don’t go around following an unaccompanied lady without less-than-honorable intentions.” He guided her to the street outside the fairgrounds and hailed a cab, assisting her into the carriage. He glanced over his shoulder once more to ensure they were completely and totally alone before he gave the man her home address and climbed inside.

  “Holmes will question me about why I left. What should I tell him?” Winnifred asked, a nervous tremor in her voice.

  “Mostly the truth, that you had a headache and found yourself at a friend’s house for a cup of strong tea to take the edge off while you waited for the medicine to take effect.”

  “And while there,” she added, averting her gaze, “I met my friend’s brother who offered to take me to dinner at the fair. I think he would believe that.”

  “What if he gets jealous? Because I assure you, he will.”

  She shrugged. “Then I will tell him that once I learned of your occupation, I wanted nothing to do with you and will flirt with him until he is convinced that my affections are not with you.”

  “And if he spots me outside?”

  “I’ll say you’re stalking me.”

  He didn’t quite care for the idea of her flirting with Holmes, but agreed it was the best course of action. Jude observed Winnifred as she kept her eyes on the window, searching the waning light for any sign of danger. He longed to comfort her, to sweep her into his arms and take her away from Holmes and out of danger, but he knew that she wouldn’t respond well to him whisking her away completely. She felt called to do this job, and he must honor her calling and help her, even if it meant keeping his feelings at bay and placing the woman he cared about in harm’s way.

  They pulled up to Winnifred’s cottage and, much to Jude’s annoyance, he recognized Covington’s carriage already parked outside. Jude tapped his fingers together, not happy with the situation, wishing he himself could be one of her suitors—better still, her only suitor. He had been fighting this long enough. He would speak with Inspector Wylde tomorrow, but first he would find Baxter and give him
a tongue lashing he would not soon forget.

  Winnifred ran her fingers over her ruffled jabot, giving it a little tug before passing her hands over her hair in an attempt to smooth back any wild wisps. “Thank you, Jude. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”

  “I’ll always be here if you need me.” Jude repeated her promise from earlier and moved to open the carriage door for her before assisting her up the stairs, lingering on the bottom step, reluctant to part with her. “I hope you get some rest, Miss Wylde.”

  “Miss Wylde?” She looked up at him even though she was a step higher than him. “After what we’ve been through today, I think anyone would agree that to return to such formality is unwarranted and rather silly.” She placed her petite gloved hand in his and opened her mouth to say something when the sound of running footsteps came from behind. Jude whirled around, throwing one arm out in front of Winnifred before spying Baxter.

  “Oh Miss Wylde. Thank the good Lord in heaven. I was about to ask your father if he had seen you.” He panted, pressing his hand into his side as he bent over double.

  Winnifred’s scowl turned her into a fierce feminine version of the inspector. “Officer Baxter. I don’t intend to tell my father about your lapse in your duty today, but I think Detective Thorpe would like a word with you.” She turned back to Jude and rested her hand on his shoulder for one second then two before she slid her hand down his arm to his hand and clasped it. “Thank you. Until tomorrow,” she whispered, and slipped inside.

  Winnifred rested her head on the front door, a smile on her lips. Despite her harried afternoon, she was unfathomably happy. Jude had kissed her! She could hardly wait to write Danielle and tell her that she had been given her first kiss. Well, first kiss on my forehead. She sighed with delight and looked heavenward. Lord, thank You for sending me Jude Thorpe.

  “Winnifred Rose Wylde! Where have you been?” Aunt Lillian grasped her by the shoulders, took in her plain navy gown, and scowled. She raked her fingers down her cheeks, in a rare show of her absolute annoyance with Winnifred. “You don’t have time to change.”

  Winnifred scowled in return as she removed her hat. “I know we spoke about my working until one o’clock, but I’ve returned in plenty of time to freshen up—”

  Aunt Lillian waved her hand. “We can’t discuss that now. Percival and his mother are here for dinner. They arrived unfathomably early because Percy wanted to ask you about a new scene he has written, which was terribly rude of them, especially when I wasn’t expecting Mrs. Covington, but it is what it is and they have been here for nearly an hour waiting for your appearance. It makes me look like an abysmal aunt to not even know where you are.” She tugged on Winnifred’s collar, straightening the white lace, before pulling a curl loose from the tight low coiffure. “Your hairstyle is so prudish, and yet you are entirely too flushed,” she murmured and ran her hands over the back of Winnifred’s skirt, whacking the dust clinging to her hem. “But there’s nothing we can do about that at this point.” She pulled back her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Come now. Don’t put me to shame.”

  Before Winnifred could even respond, she was pulled into the front parlor where she found herself very underdressed compared to the formal attire of Percy and his mother. Mrs. Covington’s copper silk made their parlor, which Winnifred’s mother had been so proud of, look drab. However, Aunt Lillian’s burgundy gown brought the surroundings up a notch. Father was also dressed in his formal dinner coattails, but his absentminded tugging at his cuffs betrayed his discomfort.

  Winnifred took after her father in that way. Extreme formality made her uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she rarely had a choice about what she could dress herself in as her aunt believed that in order to capture the right man, Winnifred must make sacrifices and maintain a corseted hourglass figure. If that meant sacrificing the luxury of breathing, so be it. Folding her hands, she held herself as regally as possible to keep from shaming her aunt as Percy crossed the room to greet her with a flourished bow.

  He pressed a kiss atop her hand before securing it in his and guiding her to Mrs. Covington. “Mother, I’d like you to meet someone very special to me. This is Miss Winnifred Wylde. She is the one who has finally reawakened my muse.”

  To Mrs. Covington’s credit, she bestowed a gracious smile on Winnifred and extended her hand, overlooking her informal attire. “My son speaks highly of you. I look forward to getting to know you better over dinner.”

  Taking the hint, Aunt Lillian quickly ushered them into the dining room where Winnifred was surprised to see that Aunt Lillian had used the delicate china Mother had kept for only the most auspicious occasions. The beautiful gold-trimmed plates did wonders to transform the small dining room into a place of elegance.

  Percy held the back of her chair and, as she slipped into her seat, he whispered, “Did something go wrong today? You seem a bit out of sorts and rather quiet.”

  She gave him a small nod, and glancing toward her father, she saw his concerned gaze on her as well. She couldn’t have him thinking something was amiss and remove her from her case. “It was nothing,” she whispered back. “Jude sorted it out.”

  The conversation hummed about her as she traced her finger around the gold rim of her plate. The last time she’d used these plates, she was a little girl. The day’s frightening events dulled to the background as the china pulled her to a simpler time. She remembered the soft tone of her mother’s voice when she spoke to her father paired with an adoration in her eyes as she embraced him. Her father had been so young and carefree then. Was that what love was supposed to do to a person? She smiled as she thought about Jude. He had looked at her that way today, and if she were honest with herself, she had felt a stirring in her soul that she had only read about in Percy’s novels. Even in the midst of danger, Jude’s presence calmed her. Maybe her father would relent in his decree against her wedding a lawman if she was adamant in expressing her feelings for him. After all, hadn’t Mother done the same so many years ago?

  “Miss Wylde?”

  She blinked, and at Aunt Lillian’s pointed stare, she realized she had done it again. She had lost track of the conversation. Her cheeks tinted with the secret burning inside. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Covington. Please excuse me. I had a rather long day. What was the question, please?”

  “I asked what you did with your day,” Mrs. Covington repeated, her spoon poised above her bowl of tomato basil soup.

  Winnifred, being too tired to conjure a suitable excuse, settled on the truth. “I spent the afternoon at the fair with an associate of Father’s, Detective Jude Thorpe.”

  Percy stiffened next to her. Under his breath, he whispered, “Mother doesn’t know about you-know-what.”

  “Ah yes, Detective Thorpe. Randolph has assigned a detail to watch after Winnifred while the world’s fair is taking place,” Aunt Lillian hastened to explain. She rested her hand on Winnifred’s and gave a bright smile to cover her annoyance. “Wherever she goes, a chaperone is there to protect her and her reputation. Nothing is more important to us than Winnifred’s safety.”

  The blunder avoided, dinner passed slowly, and it took everything in her to focus on the topics at hand. When the Covingtons had finally departed, Winnifred stifled her yawns and climbed the stairs, anxious for her feather bed and novel.

  “Winnie,” her father called from the bottom of the steps.

  She covered her yawn and turned to him. “Yes, Father? I’m sorry. I must have forgotten to say good night in my exhaustion.” She returned to the first step and lightly kissed his cheek. “Sleep well.”

  He took her hand in his and placed his other hand atop. “I’m afraid that you might be getting too attached to Detective Thorpe. I noticed you mentioned him quite often at dinner.”

  “Did I?” She felt the now familiar heat rising in her cheeks.

  “You didn’t notice Percy bristling at his name? The first time, he took it in stride, but by the third or fourth, I think he realized
he has a rival in Thorpe.”

  Her ears were stinging now too, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t.

  “That’s what I thought. I’m afraid I may have to assign someone else to you.” He dug his hands into his pockets.

  “No!” She gripped his sleeve. “Please. I need to have him guarding me. I don’t feel safe without him. There is no one, besides you, that I trust more. Please.”

  He shook his head. “But you see, that’s what I worry about. Jude is not an option for you, Daughter.”

  She did not cry easily, but she felt the tears rising, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. She ducked her face and attempted to gather herself for fear her father would recognize the fact that she was already in love with his detective. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t take him away too.”

  He took her chin between his fingers, lifting her gaze. “If you continue to allow Mr. Covington to call, I won’t dismiss Thorpe from your case, but you have to promise to give Percival Covington a chance.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I delay so long, because I fear; because my whole life hangs in balance on a single word; because what I have near me now may never be more near me after, though more than all the world, or than a thousand worlds, to me.”

  ~R. D. Blackmore, Lorna Doone

  Winnifred could not believe her luck. Holmes had left last night for business and Owens was preoccupied cleaning up the basement that had, based on Auntie Ann’s account, a putrid smell that would not go away. With Owens out of the way, she neglected her stack of paperwork and went straight for Holmes’s rolltop desk. It was, of course, locked.

  Winnifred slipped a hairpin from her coiffure and set to work on the desk lock as she had so often in the past to get into her mother’s old desk in the cottage attic. Her father kept Mother’s letters and diaries there, saying that they were best left untouched. However, by the age of ten, she had mastered the art of popping the lock to read the sweet letters her mother had written to her father while they were courting. She held her breath as she turned it to the left, adjusted the pin, and…. At the click, she exhaled and lifted the rolltop, grimacing at each thunk of wood hitting wood as it slid back into place.