The Cautious Maiden

by Dawn Crandall

  I moved toward the house, and he didn’t follow. So I kept walking until I came to the back porch, then the steps, and the door, anxiously wondering if he simply planned to follow me into the house.

  But then I tried the knob, jiggling it and pulling against the door. It was locked.

  I turned around, looked toward the street where a line of trees created a barrier for privacy. Then I looked at the alleyway and saw a horse hitched to an open-topped surrey, resting near the back gate.

  “It seems Mrs. Jeffries has locked you out,” Rowen Steele observed.

  “How do you know Mrs. Jeffries?”

  “How do I know a great many people?” he asked snidely. “I have connections and know plenty of people who either owe me dearly, or at least have a loved one who does. Such as your brother.”

  “He has no right to promise you anything concerning me.”

  “I don’t care.” Rowen came up the steps slowly, one hand now in the pocket of his jacket.

  “But I’m married now.”

  “Again, I don’t care. And anyhow, Mrs. Jeffries had some interesting things to tell me this morning. That you slept in your own room alone and that your new husband didn’t stay at Everthorne at all last night.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, shocked he knew so much, but there was nothing to say in response. It was the horrid truth.

  “Doesn’t sound like a very fulfilling wedding night to me.”

  I looked in the direction of both ends of the garden again and realized I’d trapped myself by heading to that locked door first. There was nowhere for me to go, and Rowen had begun to ascend the stone porch steps.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “You’re going to come with me, and I’m going to take you home to Bangor, where you belong.”

  “Vance will hunt you down,” I said with more assurance than I felt.

  “Hardly. If Vance knows what’s good for him, and you, he’ll tell the few people who know about the secret wedding last night, that you’d had a change of heart and had the marriage annulled. And with Mrs. Jeffries as witness to all that didn’t happen last night, it will be a likely story.” Rowen made it to the porch, and I pressed my back against the door, hoping Brubaker would hear us.

  “And when we get to Bangor, you will be my esteemed lady,” he sniggered. “Everyone will be eager to be introduced to my new wife.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I pleaded. “Why do you want me so badly?”

  “You know, I’m not certain, exactly.” He placed one hand in his pocket and leaned the other on the doorframe above my head, bringing his face close to mine. “Maybe it’s the way Ezra flaunted you, taunting us with the idea of you, your hair, your face; how he gave us other women, but kept you from us—from me—for so, so long….”

  “You’re evil,” I choked.

  “I won’t deny that. Every devil needs an angel.” He smiled wickedly. “I can spoil your perfection, though, don’t you worry.”

  That was when I realized he had more than his hand in his pocket. I could see what appeared to be the hollow end of a gun as he pushed it against the brown material of his jacket.

  “Now I just need you to get into my surrey.” He reached his hand out to me.

  The thought of touching him in any way—let alone holding his hand in mine—sent shudders down my spine.

  “Come on down now, Violet,” he said softly.

  I hated hearing my name uttered from his lips. He had no right—

  A click from his gun sounded from inside his pocket.

  “Come on, let’s go. We have places to go, and then a train to catch.” As he said this, the back door opened and Brubaker appeared.

  Disconcerted by finding me on the porch with a stranger, he asked, “Mrs. Everstone…were you looking to come in—?”

  But Rowen yanked his gun out, aimed it directly at Brubaker, and pulled the trigger, sending the butler to the ground. The thunderous echo from the gunshot pounded through my head, and I turned my eyes from the blood that spattered the porch and seeped rapidly from the prostrate butler.

  Rowen grabbed me by the elbow, pinching my arm with his big, strong fingers. He pulled me down the stairs and dragged me across the path through the garden toward the alleyway.

  I wasn’t sure what was a better option, being shot to death while I ran away or waiting to see if I could somehow escape from wherever he would take me.

  How could Rowen so easily kill Brubaker? And how could sweet Mrs. Jeffries have been a part of this? Was she desperate? Had he blackmailed her with threats against someone she loved? At least she hadn’t told him about me being at Everthorne until that morning, after I’d left for Hilldreth Manor. I wanted to believe that it had been her conscience that had held off giving him the information for so long, but I wished her conscience would have been convincing enough to keep my whereabouts a secret from him indefinitely. She had to know what kind of man Rowen Steele was to blackmail her with whatever information or debt he had in the first place. But to steal me from my new husband just after being married?

  How would I ever survive one hour with this awful man?

  Once we made it out the wrought iron gate, he stepped closer and pressed the end of his gun into my side, forcing me to climb into the surrey. I still hadn’t decided what the best option would be.

  He immediately climbed up behind me and then wrapped his free arm around my waist. And that was when I’d finally decided—I would rather run and be shot than possibly endure being the mistress of this man. But as that thought crashed through my mind, his arm buckled around me, and I was forced to sit there uncomfortably with the gun again sticking me in my ribs as the horse pulled us through the alley and out to Dartmouth Street.

  “Do try to seem a little more pleased to be in my company, darling. We’ll have to convince the couple at the boarding house that we’ve just been married. I’ve already shown them your photograph and told them all about you. You’re even more beautiful than your photograph, you know; I realized that at The Propylaeum, the first time I ever saw you.”

  I remained silent, trapped in his arms, his warm breath at the back of my neck making me cower in a constant cringe. Rowen Steele wasn’t a bad-looking man—just as the pamphlet I’d first seen his likeness in had suggested—but his heart looked uglier by the moment.

  “I wanted to take you right then and there, and I was so close—until Vance showed up.”

  I registered his assertion. “Mabel knew who you were and that you were there, didn’t she?”

  “Ah yes, your cousins. I knew about them from Ezra, and once I’d found them and made their acquaintance, it wasn’t long before I had found you too. I figured you’d try turning to them while in Boston. And they hardly suspected a thing.”

  I casually arched my neck to look about the street, in order to determine where we were, but there were no landmarks I recognized.

  “Don’t think of escaping me. You’re my Violet Steele now. Everyone you will know in Bangor will believe it, believe me. There won’t be any use in denying it, and if you happen to…well, I’ll just make sure the people you care most about pay for your disobedience.”

  “The Everstones can’t be touched by the likes of you.”

  “What about Vance’s brother, Will? I’m sure you’ve heard by now how he’d been killed not an hour after his wedding last summer, mistaken for Vance himself.”

  I’d never been told of the details from those days, but the truth was glaring. The Everstones weren’t untouchable. And poor Vance! The guilt he must have had to deal with!

  “And are you forgetting how I so easily infiltrated Everthorne? I could do so much today, if I wanted to. Vance would never know what hit him. And then there’s always Wynn, Vance’s daughter in Washington. You wouldn’t want to see anything happen to her, would you?”

  He knew too much. He was too powerful, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to do but sit there, trapped, and pray. God, find me, I whi
spered to myself. Protect those I love. Don’t let this man destroy our lives….

  26

  The Olde Ram Boarding House

  “…a girl with eyes like hers has a will and

  is not ruled by anyone but a lover.”

  —Louisa May Alcott, A Long Fatal Love Chase

  This will be quick.” Rowen let go of me just long enough for both of us to get down from the surrey to the sidewalk. Then he immediately took my hand again, pressing the gun into my side as we walked close, side by side. He hurried me up the street and then stopped in front of a ramshackle of an old wooden house in dire need of a coat of paint and any number of other repairs. The rickety sign above the front porch read, “The Olde Ram Boarding House.” I had no idea where in Boston we were, or what kind of place this “boarding house” was. It certainly didn’t look very reputable.

  “You’ll have lunch with the owner’s wife—as she’d asked about you this morning and seemed interested in entertaining you while I take care of a few things before we leave. And do try to convince her you’re happy to be mine.” His tone was light, but his meaning was unmistakable.

  “Yes, I recall.” My obedience was at the price of safety for the Everstone family.

  However, when I thought of Vance, I couldn’t help but conspire for a chance to return to him. And I could just imagine him doing all he could for my safe return if he knew of the danger I was in, no matter what had happened last night. He cared for me, more than I ever dreamed he would, and he would try to save me. If he only knew how.

  And all I really needed to do was convince this woman that I was there against my will and make her care enough to do something about it. If I had the courage.

  Dear God, help me find the right words!

  Rowen practically pulled me up the steps to the front porch and threw open the door. “Mrs. Duncan, I’m here and ready to introduce you to my wife!”

  We walked into a front entry with a tall straight flight of stairs off to the right, the main room off the hall was wide open to us, but no one was there. We went through that room and into what was obviously the dining room where a few scruffy looking couples sat at tables eating what looked to be soup and bread.

  I twisted my sweaty palm against Rowen’s hold, but he didn’t let go.

  “Mrs. Duncan?” Rowen turned to the others seated in the dining room. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

  One of the men nodded. “In the kitchen.”

  Just as the words were spoken, a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked light blonde hair in a loose bun came into the room through a swinging door. She carried a towel in her hand and worked her fingers against it. She smiled when she saw me.

  “Mrs. Duncan—may I present to you my Mrs. Violet Steele?”

  I felt hollow inside at Rowen’s smooth words—that he thought he could so easily take me from my true husband and pass me off as his own by way of threats. What did he expect life to be like holding a woman against her will? Or would he simply use me for what he wished, for as long as he wished, and then dispose of me? From the way he spoke, I knew any indignity was possible.

  “So you’re the young lady we’ve heard so much about,” Mrs. Duncan gushed. “You’re even prettier in person, I’d say.” She tossed the towel over her shoulder. “I have our bread and soup ready and waiting—since Mr. Steele here thinks you need to be on your way north in such a hurry, and he’s asked that I watch over you while he attends—”

  “That’s all very well, Mrs. Duncan, I do realize you’ve been waiting to meet her, these weeks I’ve been in Boston wooing her, but my own mother in Bangor has been waiting much, much longer, I promise you.” I tried to smile through this entire exchange, but the expression on my face felt more like a grimace.

  “Violet, this is Lena Duncan. Her husband, Rufus, owns The Olde Ram.” He seemed such a talented actor; that he could somehow gain the admiration of this woman, and that she would look so forward to meeting the young woman he would choose to marry.

  “Your cousin Cal was the one to recommend the place in fact,” he added quickly. “I don’t think I told you that, did I, Violet?”

  “No, you hadn’t mentioned it.” And honestly, I was a bit surprised. It didn’t seem like a place my relatives would consider visiting, let alone board at.

  I noticed the couple at the table in the corner of the room eyeing my dress and the diamond ring on my left hand. Not that Rowen Steele was dressed shabbily, but I definitely stood out.

  “Well, I’ll see you in a bit, darling. I need to see two people in particular first, and then I’ll return to get my things around before we head to the train station.” Rowen grabbed me by the arm and pulled me close to his side. He pressed his lips to my cheek, and I swallowed, forcing myself not to react too harshly; forcing myself not to gag, or scream, or give anything about my real feelings away.

  Without waiting for a response, Rowen swiftly walked back through the front room, and out the front door, leaving me there with all of those strangers. I wiped my cheek with my sleeve, disgusted and disheartened. How was I ever supposed to get away?

  Could I simply walk out of The Olde Ram while he was gone and hope he was bluffing about harming anyone? But deep down, I knew he wasn’t—he’d killed Brubaker without a thought. And that he’d had my own calloused brother bending over backwards—that alone said quite enough.

  How I missed Vance! What had I been thinking to hold such a little thing against him? If I’d only forgiven him right away; if I’d only spent the night in his company, we likely would still be there together at Everthorne, closeted away from the world, safe in his bedroom. He likely wouldn’t have ever gone to Everstone Square, and he would have been there to protect me.

  Would I ever see him again?

  Blinking rapidly, I turned off those panicky thoughts. I needed to be alert, not wallowing in what-ifs.

  Mrs. Duncan urged me through the kitchen, holding the door open for me to go through. “You can come to the back, deary. I have some private rooms—a private dining room we’ll dine in.”

  I followed her numbly, through the dark and crowded kitchen, and into another section of the house—a small room with another set of stairs; this one much narrower and more plain.

  It was odd that he would leave me alone with Mrs. Duncan after going to all the trouble of kidnapping me that morning. It hadn’t seemed very well-planned, his coming to Everthorne for me when he did. Perhaps he was just sick enough to think it all a game. He’d made his move, and he was now waiting with cruel amusement for my counter-move.

  Mrs. Duncan seemed to stall for a few moments, and then said, “Now, about this cousin of yours, Cal Hawthorne. Do you know why he would have come here after recommending the place to Mr. Steele, to warn me about him?”

  “What?” All of my ideas and concerns about Cal came to me at once, confusion clouding all of my past judgements. Why would he—how could he have known? What did it mean?

  “I hope I haven’t over-stepped my ground in saying…Detective Hawthorne said this Mr. Steele might eventually bring a Miss Violet Hawthorne—his cousin—here with him.”

  Detective? “Are you telling me that Cal has been trying to help me?”

  “Do you need help?”

  “Yes,” I whispered cautiously. Suddenly, I didn’t worry about what Rowen’s retaliation against anything I did was, now that I knew Cal somehow knew not to trust him, and that he’d gained the confidence of this dear woman on my behalf!

  “Your cousin never said anything about you two getting hitched—though Mr. Steele has had plenty to say about it in the last weeks.”

  “I would never marry a man like him. He just kidnapped me from my home this morning and brought me here. He killed my butler—”

  “Oh dear…but thank heavens you’ve not married him.”

  “I was just married last night actually, to someone else; my husband is Vance Everstone.”

  “My, what a last day you must have had then! Married and stolen
away in such a short time!—but don’t worry, I won’t let Mr. Steele haul you off to his mother in Bangor, if that’s really his plan. You never know with men like him.” Mrs. Duncan tilted her head to the side for a second and put a craggily old finger to her wrinkly lips. “Vance Everstone, did you say?”

  “You’ve heard of him, I’m sure. His family is—”

  “No that’s not it—I’ve met the man before. He came here last summer looking for someone. And a little girl, her name was Wynn. I’d helped the poor dear out earlier that winter when her mother died—the someone this Vance Everstone had been looking for—and it seemed Providence had put her in the way of some nice people.”

  My heart leaped at this news. “Yes, yes, you’re referring to Olivia Rosselet and her daughter, Wynn.”

  “Yes, that were their names.”

  I decided to skirt the particulars. “Is there a way we can send for help?”

  She paced about the small room, staring at the floor. “We need to get you out of here, Miss—excuse me, Mrs. Everstone; but my husband has our carriage—do you happen to know how to ride?”

  “I don’t, unfortunately.”

  Mrs. Duncan hurried to a desk along another wall of the little room. She pulled out a chair from a small desk, took a seat, and drummed her fingernails against the wood. “Now, what to do about you. We can’t have you simply waiting here for Mr. Steele to come back and take you away. How exactly did he get you here, if not willingly?”

  “By gunpoint and threats to harm Vance and his family.”

  “I suppose that’s how he plans to get you to the train station as well—and then to get you to do all sorts of things from then on. What a….” She purposefully let her sentence end there, but I could just imagine the words she would have used were she not, as she supposed, in the company of a lady of refinement.

  After rummaging through some things on her desk, she pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from the pile. “You say you married him yesterday? He needs to come right away—oh, I don’t know what we’ll do to stall Mr. Steele though. And I’m not too sure what he’s doing that he needed me to entertain you. I suppose a message will have to do—is your husband very far away?”