Redeeming the Rogue

by Donna MacMeans

  “No,” Rafferty responded. “The man behind Guiteau is. The one who pulls his strings.” He had no doubt that Toomey would be that master manipulator.

  “Interesting theory. Can I help?” Simmons asked in acknowledgment.

  “Get me cleared from these false allegations and let me do my job.”

  ARIANNE HAD COME BACK TO THE STATION THAT NIGHT with a pillow and the several special editions of the newspaper. They told her it was too late to see him, and they wouldn’t allow the pillow, but the papers were approved. Rafferty suspected the sergeant read them before they were brought back to his cell, but it did give him something to do while he was waiting for release.

  President Garfield still lived, but the doctors were having difficulty finding the bullet, believing it to be lodged near the spine. Rafferty felt truly sorry for the man who had only been in office for four months. He’d impressed Rafferty as dedicated and appreciative of the responsibilities entrusted to him. After several hours on the railroad station floor, he’d been moved to the Executive Mansion, together with a whole host of doctors.

  In another article, Vice President Arthur was accused of being party to Guiteau’s scheme. It apparently hadn’t helped that Guiteau had proclaimed him president after shooting Garfield. That argument lacked substance. As did the accusations that Arthur conferred with a foreign diplomat who could do the deed without consequence because of diplomatic immunity. The foreign diplomat was being held for questioning. “I wish they’d get around to actually asking me something,” Rafferty muttered. All interrogations were focused on Guiteau.

  By Sunday, a few protesters remained outside of the police station. He overheard some of the policemen say that Guiteau was talking, wouldn’t stop talking, in fact. He admitted he was angry that he was passed over as a French ambassador and so shot Garfield. It didn’t seem to matter that Guiteau couldn’t speak French and had no diplomatic experience. Rafferty wondered why the man would want such a position. Being a diplomat had brought nothing but trouble to him so far, except for Arianne. He would be eternally grateful for that introduction.

  The police released Rafferty. While some grumbled that he was still a suspect, the captain had to bow to the principles of diplomatic immunity and the support of Officer Simmons, who argued there was no hard evidence against the British minister. For his own safety, he was led out a back door and placed with Simmons in a police transport to take him back to the legation.

  They arrived at the legation the same time as a messenger with a telegram. Rafferty ripped the envelope open in anticipation that Phineas had urgent news regarding Evans.

  RETURN HOME STOP TO BE CHARGED WITH TREASON STOP

  LORD HENDERSON

  Twenty-Six

  “TREASON!” ARIANNE READ AND REREAD THE TELEGRAM. “Is this some cruel jest? There’s no logic. Even the Americans couldn’t press a charge of conspiracy to murder.”

  “His diplomatic immunity will only go so far,” Bedford said. “The Americans could still deport him if they found sufficient evidence that he was a party to that crime.” He tapped the telegram. “This is coming from England.”

  “Someone in England knew I would be indicted in some sort of conspiracy regarding the attempted assassination,” Rafferty said, deceptively calm. “Their argument would be that I’ve helped to topple a political structure for one more favorable to an Irish uprising.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Bedford shook his head. “The American government is unchanged, is it not? Garfield still breathes and might survive that onerous attempt to take his life. There’s been no new Irish uprising. It’s been years since the last Fenian bombing.”

  “Precisely. My opponent has played his hand prematurely in hopes of stopping my investigation. I must be close.” Rafferty shuffled papers on his desk just to keep his hands occupied, otherwise the walls might suffer the consequences.

  “So this is a good thing?” Bedford asked, confounded.

  “No. It’s not a good thing.” Rafferty gritted his teeth. His stomach soured. “But it is an indication of the treacherous lengths they will go to stop me.” Of all the methods Barnell could have employed against him, this was the most low, the most foul. Treason! To question his loyalty, to brand him as a traitor for his dedication in finding the murderous bastards who killed innocent English citizens must be an act of desperation. Yet the consequences to his reputation could be long-lived. And Arianne didn’t deserve to suffer those consequences.

  “You do realize you will be dragged through the mud over this,” Bedford said. “Most likely your name has already been sullied in the press. Your name and that of my sister by implication.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Rafferty said quietly.

  Arianne quickly glanced up, her eyes wide. “No, Rafferty.”

  “What?” Bedford asked, wary. “Why doesn’t it have to be that way?”

  “Lady Arianne can always return to London after an extended holiday abroad in America,” he said, focusing on Arianne. “Her reputation would be untainted by association to me, and she still has Sanctuary.”

  “Good Lord, man. What are you saying?” Bedford retorted, aghast. “She’s your wife!”

  “No.” He wished he could say otherwise. “She isn’t.”

  He supposed had he not been watching Arianne so intently, he would have seen Bedford lunge for his throat. The two wrestled on the floor, Bedford attempting to pummel him, Rafferty trying to stop him. Finally, Rafferty trapped Bedford facedown on the floor. The struggle hurt his recently bruised ribs like the devil. Thus Rafferty was content to just hold him still awhile.

  “Get off of me, you lying son of a whore!” Bedford yelled.

  “William, leave him alone!” Arianne cried. “It’s not his fault.”

  “Not his fault!” Bedford shouted. “He’s slept with you. I’ve seen him go to your room every night.” He struggled unsuccessfully to shake Rafferty off. “Good Lord, I even heard you three nights ago. How can you say it’s not his fault? He took advantage of you.”

  “I was ruined before, William.” She stooped down close to him. “Ruined before I ever boarded the ship to come here, and not by Rafferty. I was running away from London, but Rafferty gave me something to run toward.”

  “You will marry my sister, you Irish bastard. Then she’ll be a respectable widow once I’m through with you.” His face turned red from his exertions.

  “I’ve asked her twice,” Rafferty said. “She keeps refusing me. The last time I asked for her hand was three days ago when you told me to have my way with her without benefit of marriage.”

  “I did no such thing,” Bedford protested.

  “Ah, but you did. I wanted marriage first, but you said to apologize and give your sister what she wanted.” He smiled over at Arianne. “And I did.”

  His lack of attention gave Bedford an opportunity. He managed to shake Rafferty off his back and go for his throat. They rolled on the floor again until Rafferty gained his feet and allowed Bedford to find his.

  “William, stop this!” Arianne yelled. “This isn’t helping.”

  “It’s making me feel a lot better.” Bedford threw a punch that just missed.

  “Bedford, I love your sister. I truly do. I’ll marry her whenever you like, wherever you like.” Rafferty put a hand to his bandaged ribs, breathing hard. “But she’ll be marrying a traitor if I don’t solve this puzzle.”

  That seemed to penetrate Bedford’s thick skull. He lowered his fists, and Rafferty followed. He kept his focus on Bedford. “Or you can take her back to London and pretend none of this happened.”

  “No!” Arianne gasped.

  Rafferty refused to look at her. If he did, he couldn’t say what needed to be said to free her from a life tied to a no-account Irishman. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “No one would need to know what transpired here. I’m certain her charms would appeal to someone more worthy than me.”

  Bedford straightened, considering. “Until th
is is resolved, she sleeps alone.”

  “Agreed.” He nodded. “I’ll take Phineas’s room.”

  “No,” Bedford said. “You’ll share mine. There’re two beds. I won’t trust you otherwise.”

  “Fine. I’ll only stay tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be gone,” Rafferty said, determined.

  “Then you’re returning to London.” Bedford nodded. “I’ll engage an excellent solicitor for you. It’s the least we can do.”

  “I’m not going back to London until I’ve found the one responsible for all this,” Rafferty said.

  “But Lord Henderson—”

  “Lord Henderson’s cable was a warning to find the guilty party and unravel the mystery. He knows I won’t go back to England until I find the one responsible. That’s why he chose me for this position.”

  He couldn’t avoid her any longer. He steeled himself and turned to Arianne. Tears glistened in her eyes. He fought the urge to pull her into his arms and reassure her that everything would be all right. Because it wouldn’t, not for him. Nothing would ever be right again, now that he’d known the love of his life and had to watch her go.

  “You’re free now, darlin’. Now that your brother knows the truth, he can help find you someone more suitable.” He tried to smile for her benefit. “Someone fancy and fine. Someone who knows all the right dances and the proper names of all those forks.” He ran this thumb tenderly along her jawline, over her lower lip. “Someone worthy of Lady Arianne.”

  “What if I don’t want to be free?” she asked, her voice thin and wispy. She must suffer the same constriction in her throat as he.

  “You don’t want to be tied to someone who’s been branded a traitor.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Consider your options.”

  He left the study to drag himself upstairs and find a place to rest his aching ribs. Bedford’s voice stopped him. “What are you going to do?”

  Rafferty braced his hands on the banisters that ran on either side of the staircase. His head hung from the sheer weariness of it all. “Whatever is necessary to clear my name.”

  “Where will Phineas find you?” Arianne asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder to find her face. Clever girl. His lips lifted, but he knew it couldn’t have reached his eyes. Those days of unrestrained joy and contentment, of light and warmth—those days spent with Arianne—had all passed behind him. “I’ll be at the harbor. He’ll know how to find me.”

  WILLIAM WAITED TILL RAFFERTY HAD CLIMBED THE stairs. “There’s no reason for us to stay in Washington.” He guided his sister back to the study. “Rafferty said it himself. You’re free, Arianne. No one really knows what happened here.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Arianne said defiantly. “In deference to you, William, I’ll abide by your decision regarding sleeping arrangements, but I’m not leaving Washington. Not while Rafferty is still here.”

  William poured himself a drink from the decanter. “Who was it?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he elaborated. “You said Rafferty didn’t ruin you. Who did?”

  “Baron Von Dieter,” she replied. “I met him when I stayed at the embassy in Vienna.”

  “This is the Baron about whom Mrs. Summers wrote?”

  “Yes.” She averted her gaze.

  His eyes narrowed. “Did he force himself on you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you give yourself away like that?” William asked, perplexed.

  “I thought I loved him, and I thought he loved me.” Strange that she could now discuss this topic as if from a distance. Rafferty had done that for her. He made her face what happened and understand in a way she couldn’t before. “Karl said this would prove my devotion to him. I thought that by granting him liberties, he would be tied to me. That we would become officially engaged.” She smiled at her naïveté. She could see now that she was desperate not to be alone. “I was wrong about all of it.”

  “I’d say you were wrong.” William’s face began to flush once more. “Once we’re back in England, I’ll pay a visit to this baron. He’ll propose to you or I’ll—”

  “I don’t wish to marry him, William,” Arianne said quickly. “He’s engaged to someone else, and I’m glad of it. Looking back, I think he was only interested in me because he felt I had a superior bloodline, like the horses you breed in your stables. When I thought we were to be engaged, I told him the truth about our father, our real father. I believe he came that night to punish me, to make me unsuitable for the gentry.” It was so clear now.

  “I’ll still pay a visit to him,” William grumbled. “Then we’ll see what value he places on bloodline once he’s been gelded.”

  She smiled. “You sound like Rafferty, William. You know, in some ways you two are very much alike. It’s true what he said about marriage. He has asked me and I’ve refused. He did insist on marriage first, but I followed your advice and seduced him.” Warm heat at the memory of Rafferty in the tub flushed her cheeks. She snapped open a fan. “This weather is merciless.”

  William studied her quietly for a few minutes. “I think you were right to refuse Mr. Rafferty.”

  “You do?” Her jaw dropped.

  “A sister to a duke should be able to do much better than an Irish traitor for a husband,” William said calmly.

  “He’s not a traitor.” Anger seized her. “How can you say that? Do you not know him at all?”

  “He hasn’t a title.”

  “A title does not make a man. Look at the Baron; he had a title. He didn’t have character, but he had a title.”

  “Rafferty hasn’t any property, no skills to speak of . . .” He ticked off his arguments on his fingers.

  “He has the Irish Rose. He has skills. How could you think otherwise?” She was flabbergasted. Were they talking of the same man? “Why, Lord Henderson wouldn’t have sent him if he didn’t trust Rafferty’s skills.”

  “Yes,” William mused as if her words were insignificant. “I can think of several men with nice estates who are looking for a wife to raise their brats and perhaps give them more. They’ll overlook your altered state because you come with property. You won’t mind if they’re considerably older than you, will you, Anne? Those are the least finicky of the bunch when it comes to virginal wives. It’s not as if you’re interested in love.”

  “Stop it! I know what you’re doing,” Arianne warned. “I’m not interested in marrying for titles or property or money.”

  “You weren’t interested in marrying for love or you would have accepted Rafferty’s proposal, but you didn’t,” William said, jabbing a finger in her direction. “In hindsight, I believe that was smart. I’ll have to deal with this baron, of course. Offer an incentive to keep quiet until we have you properly married. We should move quickly in case you’re carrying Rafferty’s child.”

  Rafferty’s child! She hadn’t considered that. She pressed her hands to her corset in wonder. Was that possible?

  “I failed you, Anne,” William said. “I see that now. I should have made arrangements for your marriage to someone worthy of a duke’s sister long before you met the Baron. Look at my marriage. It was an arranged affair and turned out wonderfully. But then you know that as you had a part in the arranging, didn’t you?” He smiled. “It’s ironic that you did such an excellent job at picking out the perfect spouse for me, and yet the absolute worst for yourself. Fortunately, I can fix all that. This time we’ll find someone suitable.”

  Twenty-Seven

  THE FACT THAT HE WOKE WITHOUT HIS THROAT slit was a good sign, Rafferty thought, remembering poor Rosalie. Bedford had been ready to tear him apart last night, and with good reason. Arianne deserved better; now she could have it. At least he’d taught her not to fear intimacy. Given the damage the Baron had done, that was an important lesson. She’d make a fine wife for some fortunate aristocrat. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be him.

  But enough of maudlin sentimentalities; he needed to focus on the task ahead. He would have to take comfort in the fact
that Arianne was safe and pack all those other memories away for a small whisper of warmth in a cold, lonely future.

  It was Monday, July fourth. Independence Day, they called it here. Independence from England battled for and won a little over one hundred years ago. Someday he hoped Ireland would have a similar celebration, but he hoped it would be one gained through diplomacy and not blood.

  Commerce came to a halt on this holiday. No cargo was lowered into the holds of the waiting steamers moored along the harbor. There was nothing he could do for the moment. He couldn’t talk to Briggs, as he needed to know beforehand if Briggs was involved with the smuggling operation. Best to check out the cargo first and talk to him later.

  Meanwhile he found a cheap hotel room to stay in. Give his ribs another day to heal. He spent the day thinking of Arianne, reliving her passion, remembering her face when he said good-bye. He hadn’t even had the luxury of a good-bye kiss; not with her brother standing there.

  The papers reported that President Garfield was still alive, though suffering a great deal of pain as a team of sixteen doctors poked and prodded for the bullet. In deference to his suffering, many of the planned holiday celebrations had been canceled, except for a fireworks display at the harbor. Rafferty didn’t even bother looking out the window for a glimpse of the fireworks. It wasn’t his country, it wasn’t his holiday, and it wasn’t a time for celebration. He pulled the blanket over his ears to muffle the sound and went to sleep.

  The next morning, Baltimore Harbor was bustling, loading ships, unloading others. He walked the wharf, dodging the men, ropes, and crates, searching for the Irish Rose. She was tucked in between two larger, more impressive tramp steamers. It was easy to see Captain Briggs would’ve had to fight for cargo given the Rose’s smaller holds. Much of the goods on the docks would be unsuitable for the Rose. Just as the railroads had pushed the mail coaches into obsolescence, so the larger liners were pushing the Irish Rose.