A Deadly Fortune

by Stacie Murphy

  Amelia swallowed. “I don’t understand. What happened? How did Sidney get involved? I thought Jonas was shot?”

  “It happened not far from our offices. Mr. White and I heard the shot, in fact, and went outside to see what had happened. The authorities arrived quickly, but the perpetrators were already gone. I’m given to understand no one saw anything, even though it’s such a busy street, you wouldn’t think it possible. I don’t know what this city is coming to. Gunfire in broad daylight, and—”

  “Jonas?” Amelia prodded.

  “Oh. Pardon me. When he realized it was Mr. Vincent who had been injured, Mr. White stepped in. Several bystanders had already come to his aid, and one of them put a tourniquet on, but—”

  “A tourniquet?”

  “Yes. Apparently the shot hit Mr. Vincent in the upper arm, and he was bleeding quite heavily. Mr. White knew he would need further attention, so he made the arrangements and sent me to fetch you.”

  “What arrangements? Where is he? Which hospital, if not Bellevue?”

  “Mr. Vincent isn’t in a hospital,” Morris said, as if speaking to a child. “Mr. White wanted to make sure his care was of the highest quality, and hospitals,” he said with a little grimace of distaste, “are nothing but pits of infection. Mr. White sent for his own physician. And he wanted Mr. Vincent to have more comfortable surroundings.”

  “How is he?”

  The young man did not immediately answer, and Amelia’s heart stuttered.

  “The doctor had only just arrived when I left to fetch you.”

  “Was he awake?”

  “No.”

  At this, Amelia fell silent. The blocks passed as they rode north. The electric streetlights in this part of town were brighter than the more familiar gas. Their harsh white light threw dark shadows over the faces of the people on the sidewalk, hollowing their eyes into the empty sockets of skulls. She turned away from the window and scrubbed at the makeup on her face. The drive was taking too long. If Jonas were at Bellevue, she would be with him by now. Damn Sidney and his high-handedness. It was so typical of men like him to—

  The cab jerked to a stop. Morris glanced out.

  “We’re here.”

  He stepped down and offered a hand up to Amelia.

  She climbed down and gaped in confusion at the massive limestone before her.

  The twelve-story Hotel Savoy had opened less than a year before to great fanfare. Amelia had not been inside, but one of the club’s wealthier patrons had rented the ballroom for his daughter’s society debut. He’d pretended to complain about the expense, but they all saw how much he relished describing the colored marble columns, the intricately painted ceilings, and the silk carpets.

  Morris took her elbow and led her up the steps to the heavy bronze-covered doors. A pair of doormen, wearing striped coats dripping with gold braid, eyed her as she approached, but they swung the doors open on noiseless hinges at a nod from Morris.

  “The firm retains a suite here for important guests, or for when one of the partners visits from another branch,” Morris explained. “It’s empty at the moment, and near the physician’s office, so Mr. White had Mr. Vincent brought here.”

  Worried as she was, Amelia still found herself wide-eyed and curious as Morris guided her through the lobby. Electric lights shone down from fixtures of filigreed silver, many dotted with gemstones. Amelia attracted no few stares herself, in her ragged urchin’s garb. She eyed the steam-powered elevator with mistrust but stepped in, too proud to admit this was the first time she’d ever ridden in such a contraption. The operator nodded to Morris as he closed the door and began the ascent. Amelia’s stomach dropped as the car rose, and she thought perhaps she preferred stairs, though this was doubtless faster. After what felt like an endless ride, the car slid to a stop. The doors opened to reveal a lushly carpeted hall.

  Morris gestured for her to step out ahead of him and led her to a wide, polished door. He fumbled with a key and opened it. Amelia stepped into a foyer larger than her apartment. A young man appeared at the other end. It took Amelia a moment to realize it was Sidney. He was in his shirtsleeves. His cuffs were bloodier than Morris’s.

  Amelia darted toward him. “What happened? Where is he? Why did you—”

  Sidney put a hand on her arm. She shook it off and all but pounced on him in her anxiety. He gave her a level look and turned to the clerk.

  “Thank you for your help this evening, Morris. You handled everything beautifully, as usual.”

  “Will you need me for anything else, sir?”

  “No, thank you. You may go.”

  “Very well. Good night.” The man nodded at Amelia and withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.

  As the latch clicked closed, Sidney slumped, and the careful neutrality of his face cracked to reveal the worry beneath. He turned and walked into an enormous sitting room, Amelia close on his heels.

  “He’s in there.” Sidney gestured to a closed door on the far wall, one of a pair. “You may as well wait out here. The doctor tossed me out. I doubt he’ll let you stay.”

  She cast a frustrated look at the closed door, then turned back to the man. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know precisely. It was already over when I got there. Apparently someone tried to rob him on the street near my office.” He sat down on the end of an enormous velvet couch and rested his head in his hands.

  “How bad is it?”

  He hesitated, then looked up at her. “I don’t know. It’s his right arm, so one would think it shouldn’t be so dangerous. But there was so much blood. Someone had tied on a tourniquet, or perhaps he did it himself somehow. When I saw him, I thought—” Sidney stopped to gather himself. “I had him brought here. Then I sent Morris to fetch you.”

  Amelia shucked off the boy’s cap and jacket and perched on the edge of the couch. “Does he know? Morris? About you and—”

  “No.”

  They sat, waiting.

  Amelia finally broke the awkward silence. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

  “Of course I did.” His voice was tight.

  The silence descended again, as strained as before.

  They both leapt up as the bedroom door opened. A silver-haired man stepped out, rolling down the cuffs of his shirt.

  “How is he?” Sidney asked.

  Amelia didn’t stay to hear the answer. She brushed past both men and into the room.

  Jonas lay unconscious on the wide bed, the linens as snowy white as the bandage on his arm and only barely whiter than his skin. He was so dreadfully pale.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed by his uninjured side and took his limp hand in both of her own.

  The doctor spoke from the doorway. “You’re the sister, I take it?”

  “Yes.” She ignored the skeptical note in his voice. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”

  “He’s alive, for now,” the physician said. “I’ve stitched him up. The bleeding’s stopped, but he’s lost as much blood as a man can and still have any chance of surviving. Bullet went right through, but it tore the muscle and nicked the big vein in his arm. Damned good thing someone got that tourniquet on when they did, or he’d never have made it this long. But it’s too bad they couldn’t have used a clean cloth while they were at it. I’ve disinfected it as well as I could, but the bullet pushed bits of his coat and shirt into the wound, and with that dirty cloth over it.…”

  “He’s strong,” Amelia said.

  “He was strong,” the doctor corrected. “If he hadn’t lost so much blood, I’d say he’d have a good chance of throwing off any infection. As it is, we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “But he might not get an infection at all,” she argued, furious with the man for his matter-of-fact tone.

  “You didn’t see that filthy rag on his arm.” At her stricken look, he softened. “You’ll need to be prepared,” he said gently.

  He turned to Sidney, who stood behind him. “I’ll come back
in the morning. He’s unlikely to wake, but if he does, he’ll be in pain.” He handed over a small bottle. “He needs to be kept still or he’ll tear that vein open again. If he does, he won’t last long enough to get it closed a second time. You can give him three drops of this in a bit of water every six hours. No more than that, mind you.” He looked between Sidney and Amelia until they both nodded. “He’s lost too much blood to tolerate a heavier dose.”

  He focused on Sidney again. “He’ll be staying here? He shouldn’t be moved in his condition.”

  “Yes,” Sidney said. “He’ll be staying here as long as he needs. Thank you for coming so quickly. Please send your bill to my attention. I’ll handle it personally.”

  They stepped out of the doorway, and their voices faded as Sidney, presumably, showed the doctor to the door. The room went quiet, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only sound.

  Amelia sat beside Jonas, her stomach knotted and her eyes locked on his still face. The doctor was wrong. He didn’t know Jonas, didn’t know how hard he was capable of fighting. She did. He would be all right. She tightened her grip on his hand. He had to be.

  Sidney returned, drew a chair to the other side of the bed, and sat down across from her. He didn’t speak.

  Amelia studied him from the corner of her eye. She’d seen him from a distance at the club several times, but this was the first chance she’d had to take his measure up close.

  He was utterly ordinary.

  He was of moderate height and slight build. His hair was an indeterminate color, neither blond nor brown. His features were regular, but neither particularly handsome nor interesting.

  She caught him looking at her and had the distinct impression that he was evaluating her, even as she evaluated him. She fixed her eyes back on Jonas.

  “Thank you for looking after him,” Amelia said again. “But you don’t have to stay.”

  Something flickered behind Sidney’s eyes as he looked at her. A muscle in his jaw twitched, as if he were biting down on what he’d intended to say. “How thoughtful. But I believe I will stay.” His tone was carefully neutral.

  The clock ticked. Five seconds. Ten.

  Amelia tried again. “Really, it’s not necessary for you—”

  Sidney sat abruptly forward, his mild demeanor going fierce. “Are you truly that selfish?”

  Amelia’s jaw dropped.

  “It took me a while to realize,” he went on. “Jonas was very smooth about why you and I hadn’t met. But I finally understood. You didn’t want to meet me. You hated the very idea of me. The idea that there could be something in Jonas’s life that wasn’t you. Are you so desperate to keep him to yourself that you can’t even let me share this?”

  Amelia sucked in a quick breath. “How dare you? You don’t know anything about me.” The words were a hiss.

  “I know more than you think.” Sidney’s voice was no louder than hers but just as intense. “He’s spent his whole life taking care of you, and you’ve let him. Did it never occur to you that he deserves more?”

  “I knew it,” she said, half rising. “I knew you were the one putting those ideas in his head.”

  “What ideas? That he could do more with his life than flirt and toss drunks into the street?”

  “We like working at the club, and—”

  “ ‘We’?” Sidney’s tone was incredulous. “You haven’t been there in months. Do you have any idea what it’s been like for him? He’s worn himself ragged trying to solve this puzzle and get you out. He’s about an inch away from getting fired from the club and evicted from your apartment, and—” Sidney stopped, evidently noticing her surprise. “He didn’t tell you.”

  All Amelia could do was shake her head.

  “Of course he didn’t.” Sidney sighed, and the anger seemed to drain out of him. He leaned back in his chair, his distress and fear visible once again. He looked to Jonas, and his face softened. “He’s brilliant and charismatic, and he could do anything he wanted. But he’s never been free to try, because he’s made looking after you his whole world. I wanted to show him more of it.”

  “Like Paris?” Amelia asked. She meant to make the words sharp, but the rapid-fire shocks of the past few minutes—the past few hours, really—seemed to be catching up to her. She sank back into her chair, abruptly too tired and numb to summon further anger.

  “Yes,” Sidney said. “Like Paris. I invited him to go with me. It was only a few weeks. I thought he would enjoy it, and I wanted to spend some time with him away from New York, somewhere we wouldn’t have to be so careful. It’s hard, you know, to have to hide from everyone all the time.”

  Amelia could think of nothing to say to that, and they lapsed into heavy silence. She fidgeted in her chair. The back of her shirt felt damp. Some of the clotted wounds on her back must have opened again. Jonas didn’t stir.

  Sidney surprised her by standing and leaving the room, returning with two glasses. He handed her one and sat back down.

  Amelia sniffed at the contents. Brandy. She swallowed half of it in a gulp. The warmth pooled in her belly.

  “I don’t want to take him away from you,” Sidney said in a subdued tone. “I wouldn’t, even if I could. You’re his family. I understand that. But we both heard what the doctor said.” His voice hardened. “I’m not leaving him.”

  47

  Hours passed. Sidney called down for a pot of coffee, and the two of them sat without speaking. At first, the atmosphere was distinctly uncomfortable, punctuated by sharp, restrained glances and tightened lips. But it was impossible to maintain the tension as the night wore on. Amelia tilted her head back against the chair and lapsed into the kind of fuzzy, disjointed thoughts that come with extraordinary fatigue. The things Sidney had said flitted through her mind, but she refused to let them linger. They weren’t worth considering. He was wrong.

  It was well after midnight when Jonas stirred. Amelia, drowsing on the chair by the bed, jerked awake at the movement. Sidney leaned forward.

  “Jonas, I’m here,” she said. “Don’t try to move.”

  “ ’Melia,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

  She leaned in and put her hand to his forehead, relieved to find it cool and dry. “Could you take some water, some broth?”

  He made a weak pushing gesture with his uninjured arm, then dropped it back to the bed as if the movement had been too much.

  “Mmm ’ockt.”

  “What?” she said, mystified.

  “M’ pocket,” he tried again. “List. Names.”

  Understanding dawned. “You made a list? You think you found some of the women?”

  He made a sound that might have been agreement.

  “That doesn’t matter now.”

  He grunted, frowning, and shifted on the mattress.

  “Stay still,” she soothed. “I’ll look, I promise. But you need to rest. Sidney’s here,” she said after a moment, looking up at him.

  Something that might have been a smile flickered across Jonas’s mouth before fading away. Amelia stood and stepped back as Sidney slid into the chair she’d vacated and took Jonas’s hand.

  “Where are his clothes?” she asked. “The ones he was wearing when you found him?”

  Sidney gestured into the other room without turning from Jonas. “In a sack beside the table.” He seemed to forget she was there as soon as he’d stopped speaking.

  Amelia went into the other room. The sack was where he’d indicated, and Jonas’s bag sat beside it. Amelia sat and pulled each item from the sack in turn. Already sober, she went positively grim. The shirt was stiff with dried blood. The sleeve and front of the thicker jacket he’d been wearing were mostly saturated and still wet in places. Her heart lurched. How much blood could be left in Jonas’s body, with this much soaking his clothes?

  She steadied herself with a breath and felt through all the pockets. There was no list. She frowned. Perhaps he’d put it in the bag. She spread the contents out on the table. His pocke
tknife; his watch, the face cracked—it must have happened when he fell; a few coins; a magazine folded in half; his wallet, stuffed with notes and reminders; a single ragged calling card, the name illegible; a blank notepad; a stubby pencil with the marks of his teeth.

  She felt through the clothes again, making sure she hadn’t missed something. She looked at all the papers again, then scrutinized the magazine. Perhaps he’d written in the margins? She teased apart the pages, looking for Jonas’s familiar scrawl. Nothing. She stuffed the ruined clothing back into the sack, then sat back on her heels.

  There was a soft knock at the door, and Sidney came out of the bedroom. “I called for broth, and more coffee.”

  He opened the door to a uniformed waiter, who swiftly stepped inside and deposited the tray on a table. Sidney handed him what must have been a sizable tip, judging from the way the man’s eyes widened, and closed the door behind him.

  Sidney picked up the pot of broth. “Help yourself if you’d like the coffee,” he said over his shoulder as he went back to Jonas.

  Amelia poured herself a cup and sat, brooding, until he came back out.

  “He took most of the broth. I gave him the three drops of laudanum the doctor allowed. He’s out again.” Sidney sat down opposite Amelia. “The list. Did you find it?”

  “No. It’s not here.”

  He looked at the things spread across the tabletop and frowned. “But his watch and wallet are. If it was a robbery, the thief would have taken those.”

  “Yes. He would have.”

  “It wasn’t a robbery, then.”

  “No. Someone knows.”

  48

  Breakfast was being served when Andrew checked Winslow’s pulse one final time, then stood and patted the sleeping clerk on the shoulder.

  “Call me when he wakes—I’d guess it will be a few hours longer,” he told the nurse as he exited the infirmary. “He doesn’t have a fever. It could just be a case of overwork. I believe once he’s had some rest, he’ll be fine.”