Ladies of Intrigue

by Michelle Griep

  “Are you threatening me?” His voice cracked, but it couldn’t be helped. Who in their right mind threatened a prosecuting attorney?

  Willard tented his fingertips, tapping them together in a systematic rhythm. “I prefer to think of it more like a promise.”

  “Well I have a promise for you, Craven.” The muscles in his hands shook with the force of keeping his fists at his sides. “I will find out what it is you’re hiding. There are no secrets that time will not reveal.”

  Leaning forward, Willard jabbed his fat finger onto the date of the newspaper. October 21st. Just two weeks from the election. “Too bad time isn’t on your side.”

  Chapter Seven

  Joseph stormed down the corridor until he hit a brick wall—a man-sized slab of muscle and bone. Henry Wainwright angled his head toward the alcove of a bay window, and Joseph had no choice but to retreat into the recess. Wainwright was possibly the most easygoing man he’d ever known—yet the most dogged in the rare instance an ambition overtook him. Apparently Joseph was that ambition today.

  Henry folded his arms. “You can’t run off, disappear into Craven’s office, then try to breeze past me without a word. What’s going on?”

  Glancing past Henry’s broad shoulders, Joseph scanned the hallway. Empty. Even so, he tempered his voice. “You know that Hofford case? I had nothing to do with it. Craven got the man to talk, not me.”

  “What?” Joseph’s scowl lowered his friend’s volume. Henry shuffled closer. “Why would he do that?”

  “He wants me to back off from shutting down the brothel.” Saying it aloud stoked the fire in his belly. Never. He’d never back off. Craven or not.

  Henry slowly nodded. “I think I know why. I was going to tell you at the club tonight, but now’s as good a time as any.”

  “What do you have?”

  “It’s not hard evidence, mind you, but …” This time Henry glanced over his own shoulder, waiting until a delivery man scuttled past with a stack of boxes before he spoke again. “I overheard Tam Nadder—you know, the errand boy—boasting with the other runners about his exploits at Hannah Crow’s. How he’d saved all his money for one night of pleasure … yet he’s sporting new clothes and shoes today.”

  “So a runner spent all his money and is wearing new clothes.” Joseph raked fingers through his hair, a desperate attempt to comb through Henry’s information. “Sorry, but what has this to do with Craven?”

  “I’m getting to that. Tam said some gent paid him not to mention he’d bumped into him at the brothel. The boy didn’t name any names, but he gave a pretty accurate description of your friend Craven, bragging to his friends how he could turn this into a regular payment to stay quiet.”

  Joseph’s lips twisted. How ironic. The exploiter being exploited. God certainly had a sense of humor.

  “I knew Craven was involved, but I didn’t know it was that personal.” He blew out a long breath, mind abuzz. “If I can get Tam to talk, it would expose Craven’s corruption. And if I could get him to go back to Hannah’s—document she’s still in business—it would shut her down.” Humor rumbled in his throat. “All this time I’ve been using my legal bravado to end that brothel, and God laughs at my pride by sending an errand boy.”

  Henry’s big hand landed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing encouragement. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go close that brothel. For Elizabeth.”

  His heart constricted in response, and he nodded, holding Henry’s gaze. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Yeah, well it’s on you to buy me one at the club.” Henry cuffed him on the arm then sauntered away.

  “Tonight, Wainwright,” Joseph called after him before speeding off to his own office.

  He swung through the door with a grin. “Cancel my morning appointments, Mary. I’ll be out for a bit.”

  “Yes, sir.” She held up a paper, waving it like a flag. “Want to take this telegram with you?”

  He shot forward. Indeed. This was shaping up to be a banner day. Snatching it from her grasp, he read:

  DEED TRANSFER IS A GO Stop PAPERWORK FILED ON MY END Stop ROBERT BOND

  Balling up the paper, he dashed into his office with a bounce in his step and yanked out the bottom desk drawer. He removed a stack of files and deposited the pile onto his desk, then pulled out a penknife and pried up the false bottom of the drawer. A single document lay beneath—one more piece in a puzzle finally coming together. He pulled it out as Mary peeked her head in the door.

  “The mayor wants to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

  A sigh deflated his chest. Now of all times? He set down the document and faced his secretary. “I’m on it. See that no one enters this office while I’m out.”

  Amanda forced dignity into each step as she exited the Ladies’ Aide Society meeting, smiling goodbyes and see-you-soons. But the instant she set foot in the hallway, she fled from the building and hailed a cab, huddling on the seat until Maggie caught up. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them spill. Not even one. Not on account of that she-devil in a dress, Lillian Warnbrough.

  The carriage lilted to the side as Maggie climbed up. She gathered one of Amanda’s hands in hers and patted it as the cab jerked into motion. “That was horrible. Simply awful. Lillian had no right to question your competency with such scathing remarks. She’s jealous that you got elected chair and she didn’t.” Her patting stalled, and she leaned close, peering at her with a puckered brow. “Are you all right, dearest?”

  For a moment, the compassion in Maggie’s green gaze almost unstopped her tears. She sucked in a shaky breath. “I admit it has been quite a day. First my father, then Lillian.”

  “Poor pet. How to make this afternoon better?” Maggie released her hand and leaned back against the cushion. Grinding wheels and street sellers competed for attention, until Maggie shot forward and turned toward her. “I know! How about we stop by Delia’s Delights for a pastry? That ought to set you to rights.”

  Just then the cab lurched around a corner, swaying back and forth. Back and forth. Like the tea in her stomach. Amanda pressed her fingers against her stomach. “Nice try, but I don’t think so.”

  “All right. Then let’s drive to Lake Como and feed what geese remain.” Maggie nudged her shoulder. “That always makes you smile.”

  “Not in the mood.” She sighed.

  “I see. This calls for something drastic.” Grasping the edge of the cab door, Maggie craned her neck out the window. “Driver, city hall, please.”

  “City hall!” Amanda grabbed a handful of her friend’s cape and tugged her back. “You know my father doesn’t want me seen there.”

  A Cheshire cat couldn’t have grinned with more teeth. “Then we shan’t be seen, darling.”

  “For once, I think you’re the one with a terrible idea. Even if we’re not seen, Joseph told me in no uncertain terms that he’s too busy to help with the Grigg project.”

  “He told you that. He never told me.” Lacing her fingers, Maggie perched her chin upon them like a practiced coquette. “With two of us batting our eyelashes, he can’t help but spare ten minutes to escort us to the deeds office, hmm? I’m certain this will work.”

  Despite the awful day, a half smile lifted her lips. “Since when did you get so devious?”

  “La!” Maggie rolled her eyes. “Years of being your friend have taught me a trick or two.”

  The cab pulled up to city hall, and Maggie climbed out first, making sure no one they knew strolled about. Before they attempted a dash to the door, a small group of dignitaries and their wives departed from a line of carriages behind them.

  “Here’s our chance,” Maggie whispered. “I told you this would work.”

  As the group passed by, they matched pace at the rear, blending in. By the time they cleared the foyer and gained the stairs, Amanda breathed easier. Perhaps this day truly was improving. They swung into Joseph’s office as if a guardian angel had ushered them all the way.

  Mary looke
d up from her desk, her little nose twitching. “Good afternoon, Miss Carston, Miss Turner.”

  “Good afternoon, Mary.” Amanda pushed the door shut behind them and advanced. “Is Mr. Blake in?”

  “I’m afraid he’s not here, though he said he’d be gone only the morning.” She glanced at the big clock on the wall. “I expect he’ll return shortly, but I can’t promise anything.”

  Outside in the hall, men’s voices grew louder. Amanda edged toward Joseph’s office door as the footsteps stopped in the corridor. Suit shadows blocked the frosted window, and panic hitched her breath. What if those men came in here? What if one of them knew her—or worse—her father?

  “We shall wait in Mr. Blake’s office, Mary.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, but Mr. Blake said no one was to enter his office until he returned.”

  “Surely I’m not no one.” She grabbed Maggie’s sleeve and fled to the safety of Joseph’s sanctuary before Mary objected any further. The smell of him lingered in the room, sandalwood and ink, all masculine and strength, which did much to calm her nerves.

  Leaning back against the door, she shot a glance at Maggie. “What if someone comes in and sees us before Joseph arrives?”

  Maggie whirled toward the desk, her skirts coiling around her ankles. “Have a little faith, my friend.” She grinned. “Is that not what you always tell me? Oh! Look here. How sweet.”

  Sweeping up a silver frame perched on the corner of Joseph’s desk, Maggie handed over a photograph—and all Amanda’s angst melted away. How could it not? Joseph, smiling down at her, their fingers entwined. Tenderness in his gaze. Love in hers. Marking them as one though it was but an engagement photo. How sweet that he’d taken the time to frame and keep it where he could see it at all times. The man was positively romantic.

  The first genuine smile of the day bloomed on her face, and she crossed the small office to set it back on his desk. Her sleeve riffled the top paper on a pile of documents next to it, and she straightened the stack. She turned to Maggie—then spun back. Surely she hadn’t seen … Joseph’s name would be on lots of documents, of course.

  She picked up the top paper, scanning the contents, and the world shifted on its axis.

  A deed. Joseph Blake’s signature on the owner’s line.

  For the Grigg house.

  Chapter Eight

  Joseph raked a hand through his hair as he strode down the corridor, then worked to straighten his necktie. Were mayors of other cities as insecure as this one? Three hours—three—of going over the past four years’ worth of cases that could be exploited for good press. If he’d known the position of city attorney involved this much hand-holding and politics, he’d have taken up horse training instead. He smirked. Maybe he ought to invest in a good horsewhip anyway to prod along the next inevitable re-election meeting.

  He breezed through his office door, counting the days until the election was over. “That took longer than I expected. Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, if you please, Mary.”

  His secretary glanced up. “I can clear all but one, sir.”

  He cocked his head, waiting for an explanation.

  Mary’s lips quirked into a smile. “Your fiancée and Miss Turner are in your office.”

  His gaze shot to the clock. Half past two. Dinner wasn’t until eight. That’s all he’d promised her for today … wasn’t it?

  He looked back at his secretary. “Am I forgetting something?”

  One of her thin shoulders twitched. “Not that I know of.”

  “Hmm. Thanks, Mary.”

  He strode into his office then froze. At his entrance, two sets of eyeballs skewered him through the heart.

  Amanda glowered, cheeks aflame. Her friend stood near the window, wringing her hands, then without a word, dashed past him. The door slammed, sharp as a gunshot.

  He stared at the paper in Amanda’s hand and then at her. Alarm ramped up his heart rate, making a whooshing sound in his ears.

  Her lips pinched. No, her whole body did. Like a gigantic, clenched fist. Ready to strike.

  “You!” Her voice tightened to a shrill point. “You lied to me!” Her hand shot out, the deed to the Grigg estate quivering in her grasp. Good thing it wasn’t a gun.

  His heart stopped. His breaths. Time and sound and life itself ground to a halt.

  “I—” He swallowed and tried again. “I never lied to you, I swear. I just never told you.”

  Amanda splayed her fingers, the document fluttering to the floor like a lost dream. “You weren’t too busy to help me. You were too deceitful.”

  He edged closer. Carefully. Walking on glass. One wrong step and they’d both shatter. “Now hold on, love. I can explain.”

  “Do not think to call me your love!” The temperature in the room plummeted, so cold, so chilling her anger.

  “Amanda, please, calm down.” He reached for her. If he could but hold her, maybe he could right this wrong.

  “No!” She shrugged off his hand, recoiling from his touch. “I cannot calm down. I will not.”

  Rage sparked in her terrible gaze. Without warning, tears sprouted. Her mouth trembled, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. A sob overflowed. Followed by more. Until shaky little cries and gasps for breath took over.

  There wasn’t one thing he could do about it.

  He was a beast. A cad. What kind of man did this to a woman?

  God, what do I do?

  Powerless, he snatched a chair and dragged it to her side. “Please, sit. You’re overwrought.”

  She didn’t look at the chair. Or at him. She stood there, staring at the floor, shaking her head. Would she ever look at him again?

  “How?” Her voice came out ragged. “How could you have let me go on about renovating the Grigg estate if you had no intention of ever letting it happen?”

  “It’s not like that. I only asked you to wait.”

  An iron rod couldn’t have stiffened any more rigid than her spine, and when she finally did lift her face, he wished she’d still stared at the floor, so dead-eyed was her gaze.

  “Why do you own that house, and why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s …” His shoulders sank. He’d talked his way past hung juries and determined judges, but this? Impossible. The jaws of a trap snapped into his very bones. He couldn’t reveal the Grigg home as a safe house, not yet. Not until Hannah Crow’s brothel was shut down, for where would the girls go who wanted to escape?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, avoiding her eyes. “It’s a secret. For now. But I promise you, all will be made clear to you soon. Very soon. You must trust me on this.”

  “Trust?” The word pinged around the room like a bullet. “Oh that’s a very pretty word coming from your mouth. How is one to trust a deceiver?”

  Deceiver? His jaw clenched from the direct hit. He’d been nothing but honest! Guarded, yes, but truthful. He stiffened. “Did you not say that I always do the right thing?”

  “The right thing is to transfer over that deed and renovate the place into a school. Immediately.”

  “I can’t. Not yet.” Each word cost him. Strength. Faith. Hope. Until he was gutted and empty.

  Her blue eyes, shimmery and red-rimmed from weeping, sought his. “Why?”

  He swallowed. Oh God, what is the lesser sin here? Breaking or keeping a promise? Either way I fail a woman I love.

  “I …” He pressed his lips tight and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amanda.”

  “So am I.” Clutching handfuls of her gown, she stormed to the door. “Don’t bother calling on me, for I won’t see you. Ever again.”

  Air. She needed air. But even that might not be enough. How was one to breathe with a heart that wouldn’t beat? Blood that refused to flow? How could she possibly face the future, her friends, her father?

  Amanda fled from the unbearable questions, tearing out of Joseph’s office, into the hallway—and crashed headlong into a big chest. And why not? The rest of her life was one bi
g train wreck.

  She bounced back a step and bumped into Maggie, who’d caught up from behind, sandwiching her between friend and possible foe. Willard Craven smiled down at her, a toothy grin, yellowed by age and cigars. Did he know her father? Would he tell that he’d seen her exiting Joseph’s office?

  Did it even matter anymore?

  “Someone’s in quite a hurry.” He leaned closer, searching her face. “Are you all right, Miss Carston?”

  “I … I …” She stammered, but it was not to be helped. Too much anger and far too much hurt choked her.

  “We are sorry, Mr. Craven.” Maggie advanced to her side. “Forgive our haste. We must be leaving.”

  “Of course.” He tipped his hat toward Maggie but then wrinkled his brow at her. “Why, you’re pale as a sheet, Miss Carston. Are you feeling faint? Perhaps you ought to sit until the spell passes. My office is just down the hall.” Stepping aside, he swept out his hand.

  “No. I am—” She was what? Devastated? Undone? Barely able to stand? She clutched Maggie’s arm for support. “We would not trouble you, Mr. Craven. Good afternoon.”

  She turned.

  But coming down the opposite end of the corridor, Lillian’s father, Mr. Warnbrough, strode toward them.

  She whirled back. “On second thought, I should like to sit.”

  “Amanda!” Maggie whispered under her breath.

  “This way, ladies.” He crooked both arms.

  Maggie shot her a sideways glance with a small shake of her head.

  Footsteps thudded on the tiles at her back, growing more distinct with each passing second.

  What to do?

  Placing her hand on Mr. Craven’s sleeve, she pled with Maggie via a gaze. Her friend had no choice but to take his other arm. The three of them moved down the hallway as one, leaving behind Mr. Warnbrough, Joseph’s office—and Joseph. The betrayer. The master of secrets …

  Oh Joseph.

  Her heart fluttered, and by the time Mr. Craven ushered them into his office and pulled out a chair, she folded into it, fighting sniffles and a fresh flood of tears. Maggie swooped in next to her, patting her back.