by E. J. Dawson
But she wasn’t done.
Taking a fallen wooden pole, she grasped the end not aflame and, coughing through the smoke, set the bed that contained Lynwood’s corpse on fire. The darkness grew, a wall of malevolent intent, but it was too late as the blaze gobbled the dry straw and emaciated frame of his body.
Nothing could touch her, even as the wind gusted about her, for his presence was fading faster than the flames licking up the remains of his corpse. She stayed to be sure it all burned, but the smoke grew too thick, and with nowhere for it to go she drew a hand over her mouth, refusing to think on the foul air she breathed and made her way toward the stairs.
Letitia stumbled, barely able to hold her head up. The stairs were there in front of her—she could see them. Her arm hurt, her knee didn’t want to bend, and so she crawled, moving one aching limb after another. The fumes were choking her, but she went on, thinking of nothing but escaping as her palm landed on the first stone stair.
Her sole focus was set on pulling herself up one step at a time, but with every stair, Letitia’s energy was depleting. Her muscles shaking, bones so brittle they felt as though they might snap, she still pushed on, if for nothing else than she didn’t want to die in that cave.
“Letitia?” Alasdair was calling down the stairs. “There’s smoke! Are you still down here?”
“I’m here,” she tried to say but could barely cough the words out.
“Hold on,” Alasdair shouted, and she could feel the vibrations as he pounded down the stairs.
“Here!” She called out when she saw the glow against the staircase’s wall, and he was there, brighter than a desert sun, reaching down to wrap an arm around her waist. Alasdair held her tight to his chest as he scrambled through the narrow space, and although she must have been heavy, she felt weightless in his adrenaline-filled arms.
They spilled out into the reception area and bolted through the front door and away from the hotel.
Gentle rain cascaded around them, the sky a somber gray.
As he set her on her feet, she turned back to the old hotel.
Every window was lined with girls.
Gone was the evil specter of Robert Lynwood, and instead, sad faces stared out at her.
Letitia filled with regret as they each faded, one at a time, slipping away faster than she could track. Her eyes went to the front door of the hotel, and what might have been a shadow was nothing more than the angle of the door.
No eyes watched her, and nothing moved inside.
The hotel was still, the spirits gone.
“Let’s go home,” Alasdair said, his arm tight about her. He slid her into the passenger seat, and over her shoulder Finola slept soundly, oblivious to it all.
“I’m very tired,” Letitia announced softly.
“You were incredible.” He leaned over and kissed her temple. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
And with his touch, the darkness within was cold no more but as warm as the rising sun.
Chapter 24
Steam wafted over the train station’s platform.
In the twilight, it turned to yellow-gold clouds, and the pedestrians waiting to board became dark shadows, but Letitia was not afraid.
She stood next to her luggage, having already said her goodbyes to Mrs. Finch and Imogen. Letitia had told them she was coming back and had paid several months’ rent, but both had acted as though she’d be gone forever. Letitia wanted to return, but she’d be glad to escape Los Angeles over the next few weeks.
Letitia had returned to her apartment a few days after ridding the world—and Finola—of the specter to find photographers waiting. They badgered her for juicy details of the events at the old hotel—and of the services she offered.
Andrews had told them and been subsequently dismissed from the police force.
But it hadn’t stopped the publicity.
The police were convinced of Geoffrey Calbright’s guilt in murdering the missing girls thanks to Alasdair and Letitia’s testament and by the discoveries of human remains in the lair. What closure could be given to the victims’ families had been done, but not by Letitia.
Hundreds of letters had come to the Driscoll law office and Letitia suspected there had been some rather unsavory things written to her. There had been an entire bag of mail beside Alasdair’s desk on one visit, but he gave Letitia only a handful of letters.
Letitia’s hands tightened at the memory of his behavior.
His time with her was spent going over their stories for the police.
Letitia memorized the lie down to the finest detail.
She told the officers that Alasdair had taken her to see the hotel, they’d found the secret cave, and then they notified the police. But she’d become so frightened by the horrid display that she’d dropped her lantern, accidentally burning the remnants.
Rescuing Finola was not included in the story, since the girl herself was reclusive and disinclined to tolerate the presence of anyone except Abby, Alasdair, and Letitia. The ghastly affair was better not remembered of her person in any case.
The senior Mr. Calbright was in the hospital, having taken a bad turn, and wasn’t expected to live much longer after having discovered what his son had done.
The hotel had been scoured clean of any remains of either Calbright or Lynwood.
The police believed their story, and while Letitia had to go over it several times, it had been easy to recount with Alasdair by her side.
He had been nothing but a gentleman after what happened in the cellar, but the familiarity that had developed between them was gone. The sidelong glances, chaste kisses, and everything else that had been arrogantly charming about Alasdair had not returned.
He was her lawyer and all disposition toward her faded, and they didn’t have many private moments together.
Letitia hadn’t wished to pry since they were both swept up in the investigation and in caring for Finola. When he didn’t speak of it, a silence had fallen between them. Letitia had no way of knowing if the entire event had made him change his mind about her.
Alasdair’s protection of Letitia hadn’t faded—he still maintained the façade that Letitia was his fiancée. At one point Letitia had believed he would do as he said. But while standing on the platform, waiting for him and the tickets to go to New York and sail to Scotland, Letitia became afraid.
It wasn’t fair of her to criticize him. He’d been working with the police on the case and defending himself against any involvement regarding the old hotel as he was the actual owner. They had believed him, but the police had been meticulous in their investigation given the public outcry over the atrocity.
When everything had settled down, he’d asked her to take Finola to Scotland.
She’d accepted.
She’d already written to Old Mother Borrows, who’d replied that she’d be delighted to help Letitia again. Alasdair had booked the fare, paying for three tickets: Letitia, Finola, and Abby.
He was going to stay behind.
She’d found out yesterday that he wasn’t coming when Abby had stopped by to give her the final itinerary.
Standing on the platform, she shifted from one foot to the other, wondering if she shouldn’t confront him.
“There you are.” The high, breathy voice of Abby turned Letitia about, who looked over her shoulder for Alasdair.
“Hullo,” Letitia said, barely letting her smile slip when she saw that it was only Abby and Finola. Letitia broadened her grin when she locked eyes with Finola, and the girl smiled shyly back.
“I’m sorry we’re a disappointment,” she said. “Uncle is busy at the office today.”
Letitia tried to hold her shoulders straight to ensure that they didn’t fall too far.
“We should get on board,” she said. “I didn’t have tickets and wasn’t sure
what you’d booked.”
“First class, of course,” Abby said, waving the tickets at a train attendant behind her with their luggage. “I thought you could have a cabin to yourself. For privacy.”
“That’s kind of you.” Letitia stepped aside as her luggage was collected. A knot was building in her stomach, a host of unspoken words stuck in her throat as the party approached the train. Letitia was directed to her cabin and sat down to stare out the window. People scurried now as the minutes before the train left dwindled, and though she searched through the crowd with little expectation, her heart fell at seeing no sign of auburn hair and a determined expression.
He truly wasn’t going to say goodbye.
Letitia was planning to come back, so it was by no means the end, but she felt as though she hadn’t told him what he meant to her.
Perhaps she’d been foolish to believe that words and actions in the heat of the moment would mean anything in the cold light of day.
Had she misjudged him so?
Her head bent as she heard the whistle of the train. Tears spilled onto her gloved hands.
“Stupid,” she whispered to herself. “You’re being stupid again.”
Angrily brushing her tears aside, her fingers caught in the veiled hat.
It was the one he’d given her.
“Damn you, Alasdair.” Letitia got to her feet, and taking her impulse for what it was, she stepped out of the cabin as the conductor was about to lock her door.
“Ma’am,” he said, “we’re leaving. You can’t disembark now.”
“I have no intention of catching this train.” She swept by to walk down the platform.
“Tisha!” Finola was shouting from the window, her hand reaching out to Letitia.
Letitia caught it. “I have to go back. I’ll catch up to you before the boat sails from New York. I won’t let you go alone.”
Finola leaned out the window to hug Letitia as hard as she could. “He’s an idiot for not coming,” she said, “but he’s worried. You’re not stupid. He’s the one being stupid, pushing you away because he thinks it’ll make you safe.”
Letitia laughed. “Then he’s very silly, isn’t he?”
“Go,” Finola said, as Abby smiled behind Finola, waving her off as Letitia stepped back and the train started to move.
“I’ll see you in New York!” she called, before turning and running for the taxi stand. A host of cars waited, and she picked the first and slid inside.
“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked.
“Driscoll’s Lawyers downtown,” she directed.
The cab crawled through the streets, the evening traffic building.
A kind of excited fear crept over her skin, sending thrills up her arms and legs, almost making her dizzy.
What if Finola was wrong? But she couldn’t be. Letitia wouldn’t think about it or she’d lose what little courage she had left. Instead, she tried to remember every smile he’d given her, every little quip of his personality shown to her, every time he’d kissed her.
“Here you are, ma’am.” The cab pulled up to the curb, and she took money out of her purse to give to him, not waiting for her change. Rushing to the door, she saw the office was mostly empty. There was only a young clerk at the desk filing paperwork.
“Is Mr. Driscoll in?” Letitia asked.
“He went out for dinner a few moments ago,” he said, coming around to take Letitia’s coat.
“No, thank you,” Letitia said. “Did he go somewhere in particular?”
He shrugged, and Letitia didn’t wait but turned to leave the office. If he had gone for dinner, he would have headed along to the restaurants further down the street. She vaguely remembered him talking of a favorite place. She ran to catch him up, hurrying between people heading in the same direction. The crowd was thickening, and she couldn’t see his broad shoulders anywhere.
She slowed her pace once she reached the restaurant district, checking in windows for his auburn curls.
Where would he go?
Uncertainty dogged her every step away from his office, and she doubled back several times before heading on, also checking side streets. People were glancing at her spinning around, but she ignored them all. She had no idea where he could be.
Letitia closed her eyes, willed her thrumming pulse to still, and reached for him with her gift.
She had needed a tie to find Finola, but Alasdair was different. She carried a part of him within her, and from the cellar so too did he have a piece of her.
She thought of the sand and the heat of the desert.
His face when she’d first seen him.
When he’d first brushed his bare skin against hers.
She opened her eyes with a snap. There.
Letitia went further along the street, tendrils pulling her along, her instinct stronger and surer than ever as she arrived at the place where he ought to be.
But when she got there the sensation was gone. She was standing outside a little bar full of cursing workmen. Memory came springing back of a disreputable pub he liked to frequent. As small as it was, she could not see him in the throng of people, nor would she guess that he’d come here.
The smell of fat and beer filled the air, and her stomach turned in flip-flops as she looked about helplessly.
“Are you lost, Ms. Hawking?” a voice said from the balcony above the pub. “The train station is entirely in the other direction.”
Letitia glanced up. Alasdair stood with his hands on the balustrade, a frown on his face and the light behind him casting harsh shadows on his countenance.
“I came to—” her voice died off, intimidated by his dark look at the glances that were being sent their way.
“To what?” he drawled down at her, and Letitia wondered if Finola was wrong.
“I-I came to see you,” she said, staring up at him, wondering for all the world if this hadn’t been a terrible decision. He might have cared for her once, but she’d saved his daughter, done what he had wanted her to. Perhaps what she believed had never been true at all.
“Stay there,” he told her and disappeared.
Letitia debated following his instruction but wasn’t sure how annoyed he might be if she left. She clutched her purse, ready to step away and back into the throng of people to let it carry her where it willed.
But then he was there, stepping through the low doorway. Alasdair didn’t say a word but simply grasped her under one arm and escorted her into the pub. He was careful not to touch her skin, but she let his personality, a swirling sandstorm, scorch her. She regretted coming, but there was no escape now.
People made way for him, nodded as he passed, and shot a few curious glances her way.
Smoke assailed her nose, the reek of Guinness thick in the moist air, the warmth of those around her beading sweat under her coat. The sudden heat compared to the cool wind outside made her shiver, and Alasdair’s hand tightened on her arm as he directed her to a narrow back stair.
At the top, there was a waiter, who merely nodded as Alasdair led her to a private dining room. It was tiny, with only space enough for two to sit at the dining table, though the place was set for one. A pair of doors opened onto the veranda where two leather chairs sat, partitioned from the other private dining rooms.
As he released her arm, Letitia stepped away from Alasdair, wanting to put as much distance between them as she could.
Her fluttering heart wouldn’t slow enough to let her breathe. He crowded the small room, leaning against the now-closed door. She couldn’t run, and so she wouldn’t be able to escape the kind of tongue lashing she was expecting. To hear she was right all along, and that this would devolve once more into a fiscal relationship, would dismay her.
“Why did you leave my daughter?” he asked, voice soft, but the nuance of wrath already denoted by his behavio
r rendered her confession mute.
“I’m not sure,” Letitia evaded, studying the room. Anywhere but at him.
“You might be able to afford tickets on first-class trains,” he said, “but I’m not in the habit of buying them for others only to have them wasted.”
“Oh!” Letitia said, whirling to face him. “It’s always about money with you, isn’t it?”
He raised a brow at her, mocking her. “What else is there in the world, Ms. Hawking?”
After all, they’d endured together, that it was coming down to the argument that they’d started with made her furious.
“How about compassion, sympathy, and kindness?” she retorted. “What about l—”
The word died on her tongue, but he was standing up straight now, gaze fixed on hers.
“I didn’t quite catch that, Ms. Hawking,” he whispered, taking a step toward her.
Letitia took one back, not sure if the dark look in his eyes was angry or predatory. She shook her head, tongue stuck behind her clenched teeth.
“Why did you leave the train?” he pressed, and she shrugged.
“Because you weren’t there,” she said, not able to lie, at least not about that—it was self-evident from the fact that she was here. Letitia would be damned if she’d say more while he bore such irritation.
“I thought I made myself plain before,” he said, moving to the table to collect his wine glass, an amused curl on his lips when she flinched a little. “I was going to stay here and trust you would safely see to Finola’s tuition in your arts.”
“They aren’t my anything,” Letitia snapped, “and that could take months!”
“And should it prove necessary,” he said, “I’d join you when things here have settled down.”
There was an undertone that wasn’t quite a threat, but Letitia sensed the fingers of something darker. She remembered how insistent he was that Letitia go with Finola. His suggestion had come about almost immediately after the investigation was over but, given Finola’s ability, Letitia had thought nothing of it. Not when they both shared concerns over Finola’s behavior after the event.
