Since she didn’t have Jude with her today, she couldn’t go to the Wilmette house, so she tucked her book under her arm, grabbed a picnic blanket, a parasol, her box of emergency chocolates from behind a line of books on the top shelf, and her reticule with the muff pistol. She scribbled down a note to her father, who was working as always, saying that she would be at the park. It made her nervous to know she was alone, but as Holmes’s Englewood residence was far from the park, she figured she would be safe enough.
Hat in hand to allow the sunshine to bathe her face, she glanced over her shoulder out of habit before once again remembering that it was Sunday. Jude, of course, had the day off, yet she couldn’t help the swell of disappointment in her chest.
The afternoon heat pressed down on her after the coolness of the parlor, and by the time she reached her favorite reading spot, the back and sleeves of her comely pale yellow dress stuck to her skin. Waving her hat in front of her face, she patted her handkerchief over her flaming face before selecting a level spot for spreading her blanket under her favorite black cherry tree, heavy laden with ripening fruit overhead. She opened her box of chocolates and, reclining with her back to the tree, dove into her book to find out what happened to Maid Morwenna and Lord Winston.
Atop the castle, Lord Winston knelt beside the candlelit table and grasped his maiden’s hand in his own. “My darling. I think you know what I must ask. With every breath, I think of you. With every sigh, I long for you. With every—”
Winnifred couldn’t concentrate. Percy’s books always drew her in and made her surroundings and thoughts fade into the background, but not even the chocolates were tempting her today. Her father’s forbidding a relationship with Jude disheartened her. She had tried to ignore her anger, but it kept bubbling to the surface.
How could her father, who was constantly away working, know her well enough to tell her who she did or did not love? She admitted that he may know what was best for her, but Winnifred ached for him to see beyond a suitor’s vocation to his heart and to her own heart. But, that would require him to leave his precious office for more than a hurried, late dinner at home, she thought, trying to keep the bitterness of years of lonely meals from bleeding into her rationality. It was difficult to remember why her father worked so diligently in the moments when she desperately needed to take comfort in his arms after Mother’s death and in the heartaches since then.
She was tired of following his rules blindly. She wanted something more than staying home and eating a box of bonbons while reading about adventures. She wanted to have adventures … well, for longer than a mere six weeks. Winnifred laid her head on the crackled bark of the trunk and sighed as she stared up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. She knew her anger would fade as it always did and she would have to obey, but the thought of giving up Jude once and for all felt like someone had reached inside her and was squeezing her heart, attempting to burst it.
Blinking back her tears, she snapped her book closed and settled back to watch as people passed by, imagining what their lives were like and making up their conversations in her head to distract herself from her emotions. She felt quite hidden from the world under the branches as she observed a gentleman present his lady friend with a flower. She imagined him commenting on the secret language of the flower with its hidden meanings of love.
Then, behind them, she spied Jude and his sister strolling toward her. Her heart beat faster at the sight of him, and she was about to rise and greet them when she heard his words.
“I’m only saying that I don’t think I’m meant to marry. My line of work is far too volatile to take a wife and have a family.”
Winnifred pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling ill, and watched as Mary frowned. “But what about Father? He had the exact same occupation as you.”
“Exactly.” He paused and took her by the shoulders. “As did your husband. Great men as they were, they each left behind widows and families, and I see the pain it has caused.” He bowed his head. “As hard as it may be to spend my life without a wife, I cannot, in good conscience, do that to any woman. God has called me to this work, but unless He presses on my heart that He wishes me to marry, I will not seek a wife out.”
“Oh Jude.” Winnifred nearly whimpered, tears stinging her eyes and wetting her lashes as the dreams hidden in her heart slipped further out of her reach.
Mary stroked his cheek with the back of a gloved hand. “Are you certain that’s what the Lord intended when He called you to this job? Or is it fear that is keeping you from pursuing—”
“I have the Lord, you, Mother, and little Georgie. Who else do I need in life?” He threaded his arm through hers, pulling her close as they strolled away, their words fading with their departure.
The thrumming in her head banished all sound as her hopes burned to ash. Winnifred fought back her sobs that threatened to take over her. Heartbreak was one thing her novels portrayed correctly. Her chest ached with an enduring pain that pulsed through her. He never proclaimed his love for me. Any affection Jude has shown has always been a farce for the sake of Holmes. It was all me and this stupid book, making me believe Jude could secretly desire me when he’s never once told me he has feelings for me. That’s what I get for reading between the lines. She slammed her book down as if it were the culprit, determining to do something she had never done before. She would not be finishing the novel.
Gathering her things, she marched blindly through the park. Passing a vagrant man in a threadbare, grimy shirt, she handed him the box of chocolates, and at his unabashed gratefulness, draped her picnic blanket over his shoulders before continuing her journey to the one place besides the church pew that brought her solace. Banning’s Bookshop.
The copper bell rang overhead, and she smiled to the owner, who was on a ladder behind the counter. “Hello, Mr. Banning.”
“Miss Wylde, it’s been far too long.” The shopkeeper gave her a little bow from the middle step of his ladder before scrambling down to her. “I set aside a stack of new novels for you I thought you’d enjoy, but since you haven’t been here in a few weeks, I was about to restock them with the rest.”
She pressed her hand to her lace jabot at his thoughtful gesture. “I’d love to see them. I’m sorry for not coming by sooner to see what you’ve selected for me. I’ve been unusually busy of late.”
“That’s a relief to hear, miss.” He stooped and rummaged under the counter where he usually kept the books she requested. “I have to admit, I was a mite bit worried about you, as I don’t think there’s ever been a week when you haven’t come to my shop. Even when you were recovering from pneumonia, you snuck out to come for a new Valentine book. You sure got into a lot of trouble for that little antic.” He lifted a stack of books and set them on the counter, giving the top one an affectionate pat. “Now, I’ll let you see if anything here sparks your interest.” He nodded to the ladder behind him. “I have to reshelve some books, so please take all the time you need.”
She cracked open the top book and inhaled. Nothing smelled quite like a new book waiting to be devoured. She felt comforted already, stroking the gold lettering on the spine.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any new Valentine books for you. I’ve heard that his next one will be releasing in a few months,” Mr. Banning commented from his ladder, placing the last of his stack into its place. “There was some kind of gossip about him not turning in his book on time and having to get an extension from his publisher.” He shook his head as he descended, chuckling. “The ladies are not happy with the delay. You would not believe how many petticoats I have had to turn away. Now, would you like me to wrap up a few of these for you?”
“All of them, please.”
Without even a blink of astonishment, he gathered them up as she counted out the correct amount from her reticule.
“All?” Jude’s unmistakable voice came from behind her.
Winnifred felt her cheeks warm as her heart began to race, making her feel like
a schoolgirl with a crush on the instructor who didn’t know of her attraction to him. After what she had overheard, he never would. She would act as if she thought of him as a chum even though everything in her longed to be his. “Detective Thorpe, what a pleasant surprise.”
Jude ran his hands over the brim of his hat. He hadn’t meant to follow her into the bookshop, only to monitor her from afar until she made it safely home, but seeing the pile of books on the counter through the storefront window, he figured he should come to her aid. “Such formality.” He grinned and gave her a bow, pressing his hat over his heart.
“You come to the bookshop often?” she continued in her odd tone as she kept her gaze on the shopkeeper, who appeared to be finishing up wrapping her purchases.
“I saw you leaving the park and, well, I wanted to be sure you returned home safely, but I figured out where you were heading and sent Mary in a hired carriage to where Detective Holt is awaiting her. I thought you might need assistance after such a long dry spell of not going to the bookstore.” Jude watched as the man piled the books, one by one, onto the counter, individually wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He lifted his brow. “You didn’t want these bundled together?”
A smile escaped the corner of her pressed lips as if she were embarrassed. “Mr. Banning wraps them individually for me because he knows that I enjoy opening them separately, as if each book is a gift to myself.”
He held out his arms. “May I?”
She nodded and stacked the books into his hands as if entrusting him with delicate china rather than sturdy books when she spied a title behind the counter. “Oh! Mr. Banning, could you wrap that one for me too? I’ve been meaning to read Lorna Doone again, but Miss Montgomery never returned my copy.”
Mr. Banning rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I should tell you to stop lending to that book thief, but it’s good for my business. Give me a moment and I’ll have it ready for you.”
Jude cleared his throat as Mr. Banning went to the back of the shop. “So, do you think you’ll have time to finish these between your investigation and your courtship?” He hated mentioning Percival Covington, but he knew that if he heard Covington’s name often enough, he would eventually remember that Winnifred, the only woman he ever desired, was not available.
She laughed and patted his arm. “Never fear, Jude. I should be able to finish these in a few weeks. Besides, Percy is always cancelling, so I need to have plenty of books on hand to fill my long afternoons.”
“How did your Saturday morning at Englewood go? I didn’t get a chance to ask, since your father called me in to see him.” How he wished he could forget his conversation with her father, especially with her looking so pretty in her white hat bedecked with yellow silk flowers matching her gown. His gaze fell on her long lashes and blooming cheeks. Stop this. It will only hurt more when she weds Covington. “I need to record anything you found,” he added. He set the books back on the counter and reached into his coat pocket for his small notebook.
“I’ve been anxious to tell you.” She turned those bright eyes to him. “I thought I would have to wait until Monday to follow up on my findings, but since you are here … I do have a lead.” She handed him a scrap of paper from her reticule. “He had the deed for a home on 38 North John Street in Wilmette.”
“Wilmette. Isn’t that where he is always taking business trips?” Jude memorized the address and handed it back to her.
“Yes, and this is where it gets even more strange. The deed is in a woman’s name. Minnie Williams.”
“M. Williams?” Jude clarified, his pulse hammering in his ears.
“I know. I thought of your mysterious Mr. Williams too, but Jude, there are hundreds of Williamses in Chicago, so the chances are next to none that she is related to your Mr. Williams.”
“Nonetheless, I will search under every stone until I’ve found him. Do you have any information on Miss Williams?”
“She was Holmes’s former secretary, who, according to Mr. Owens, disappeared into thin air. Now why would that be, unless Minnie is that same woman from the symphony and he is keeping her hidden away for some scheme?”
“I’m guessing you want to go to Wilmette and see for yourself instead of sending me?” he conjectured by the eager tilt of her brows and lips.
“Yes. The sooner the better. In fact, we should go now.”
“Winnie, you can’t up and take the train to Wilmette without leaving word.”
“Mr. Banning?” she called. “Could you have your shop boy deliver these to my house along with a note within the hour?”
Mr. Banning returned to the counter and slid a notepad across it to her, reaching for the pencil behind his ear. “Anything for my favorite customer.”
Jude watched as she scribbled.
Father,
It’s 2:00 now. Ran into Detective Thorpe at the bookshop and am following a lead. Will not be home for dinner. Don’t worry unless I’m not home by 8.
Love, Winnie
He grimaced as she folded it up and tucked it into the strings of the top parcel. Her father would not be happy that she was taking off with him, but it was far better that Winnifred had his protection than not. “You do know that the train will take at least two hours each way?”
“And that’s a problem?” She gave him a grin. “You aren’t tired of my company already, are you?” Without waiting for him, she stepped out the door. “We best be off to the train station if we want to be back by a reasonable hour.”
Taking in her well-tailored yellow gown that accentuated her golden curls, he felt his heart fall further. Why did she have to be so perfectly wonderful? He attempted to think of an argument to stay her, but she was determined, and if he had learned anything from being with Winnifred Rose Wylde, it was that she was true to her name. She was not like the greenhouse roses of high society. Her spirit was wild. He sighed and tugged on his hat. “Wait for me.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.”
~Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
The train to Wilmette was so crowded with fairgoers returning that she was beginning to lose hope of finding a seat together. Jude and Winnifred made their way through the cars until they finally happened upon a bench with a small child sitting on the end by the window, her parents across from her. Sitting as closely to the little girl as she possibly could without touching her, Winnifred patted the seat next to her, inviting Jude to join her.
“Sorry. I’ll try not to crush your sleeves,” he said, attempting to shift away from her as his shoulder pressed up against hers, but there was nowhere to go unless he leaned into the aisle.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, not minding his closeness. She ducked her head at the thought. A lady did not think about a gentleman’s arm against her own. She sat as straight as she could manage, shrinking herself by turning her shoulders, but at every jolt and turn of the train, he pressed against her side. The conversation flowed between them as easily and naturally as reading, and it was growing even more difficult to maintain a professional attitude with him. She couldn’t help but study his profile as he spoke. He was thoughtful, alert, handsome, and so utterly out of her reach. Her gaze fell on his lips. They seemed to being pulling her forward, calling to her.
“Winnifred?” Jude asked, a question in his gaze as if he had spoken to her before and she had not heard him until now.
“Yes?” She blinked.
“We need to go. Everyone is disembarking.”
Flustered at being caught staring, she gathered her parasol and reticule and hurried off the train.
“Have you been here before?” Jude grasped her elbow as they stood on the simple, small platform.
“I never had cause, but let’s ask the ticket agent and see if he can point us in the right direction.” Approaching the station window, she smiled to the weathered elderly man. “Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me how far it is
to North John Street? This is our first time here. Should we hire a carriage?”
“Well, I’d only do that if your legs don’t work. It’s about a five-minute walk from here, if that.” He pointed her around toward the front door. “Go down thataway for a bit and then take a right onto North John Street.” He nodded his cap to them. “You two visiting family?”
Jude grasped her by the elbow again and drew her back from the inquisitive man. “Thank you. We’re visiting for the evening. Now, what time does the last train leave? We will need to purchase passage back to Chicago.”
With their return tickets in hand, they followed the ticket agent’s directions and within minutes, they were on the right street.
“I had no idea the house was so close to the station,” Winnifred whispered, opening her lace parasol even though it was a cloudy day. “I’m afraid Holmes might be about town and see us,” she explained, and propped it over her shoulder so she could still peer through the lace while keeping their faces hidden from view. If Holmes happened to look out his window, he would merely see a couple strolling across the street. She slipped her arm through Jude’s, keeping an eye on the house numbers.
Jude tensed. “There it is,” he said under his breath as they came upon a large, maroon house. “I don’t see him anywhere, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t just inside or looking through the windows. It’s imperative we act as any other couple would and not gawk.”
The White City Page 16
