As he drove it upward, toward her belly, his foot slipped on icy grass. The knife, instead of gutting her, sliced through her skirt and caught in the heavy fabric. "Verdammt!" he snarled, as he fell past her. He held onto the knife, and heard cloth rip.
The woman screamed.
"Siri!"
Jaeger let go of the knife and rolled to the side. He half-crawled, half slithered into the orchard. Once he got cleanly to his feet, he ran, dodging between the trees, until he reached the next street over.
"Verdammt!" he said again, as he ducked into a shadow and looked backward. The woman had the luck of angels. Now Lachlan would be even more vigilant.
No one followed. He could not see through the block, but neither could he hear pursuit. Lachlan was likely making sure the woman was safe, instead of following. He had Jaeger's knife, but it would tell him nothing.
The knife was not traceable. Jaeger had taken it off a sailor, not wanting to use his cherished Solingen blade on a mere peasant woman.
Disgusted with his own clumsiness, he made his way downhill, to the raw little cabin by the waterfront. Next time he would plan more carefully, not be so impatient.
Next time.
* * *
"Are you hurt?" Buff knelt beside Siri, where she lay crumpled in the street. He couldn't see worth a damn, but he could feel. She was panting, but not writhing in pain. After that first scream she'd made no sound.
"N-n-nej. I do not think so." Moving slowly, she uncurled herself, moving slowly. "Only my shoulder. There is no other pain. But he did strike me. Here." She patted her hip, ran her hand along the fabric of her skirt. Then she gasped.
"What? You're hurt?"
"Nej, but my skirt...it is cut. See!"
He didn't see a damn thing. "You're sure you're okay?"
"Ja. Only shaken."
Her quavery voice would have told him that. "Look, I can't pick you up. I'd half-kill us both. Can you stand? If I put my arm around your waist?"
"I think so." She leaned heavily on his arm, gasping once when she slipped and fell against him. Her injured shoulder struck his chest a good blow, and she squeaked.
Buff shifted his grip, took more of her weight.
Slowly she got to her feet, clinging to his arm with her free hand. "My parasoll, I had it..."
He held her a moment longer, until he felt sure she was steady. Going down on one knee, he felt around their feet, wincing as the sharp ice crystals scraped across his palm. He'd about given up when his hand struck something hard, metallic. Not an umbrella. A knife!
He picked it up and rose to his feet. "Forget the umbrella. Let's get you back to the room."
"But--"
"Siri, whoever that was could be still lurking out there." He gestured at the orchard, its shadowy depths capable of concealing half a regiment." Now let's go. Just be careful. One of us slips, and we'll both end up tail over teakettle."
Her small chuckle was shaky, but at least she had the gumption to laugh.
They reached the Chinese store eventually, after one more tumble and several frantic scrambles to stay upright. The door was still open and Mrs. Leong sat behind the counter. She nodded when they entered. "Can you wait until I get Siri settled?" Buff asked her. "We had some trouble tonight and I'm going to need your help."
"I wait," the Chinese woman agreed.
Once in the room, Buff said, "You go to bed. I'll see if I can get some help. I want to see if that bas...the man who attacked you left a trail."
"I will not sleep," she said.
He could hear the control she was exerting. Most women would have been having a hysterical fit about now.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close while he stroked her back. "Siri, I'll be back as soon as I can. But if we wait until morning, we won't have a chance to find a trail. I wish I knew what's going on. Somebody's tried to kill you. I want to know why."
"Go," she said, pushing him away. "I will be all right in a little while."
"I'll be back quick as I can." Tipping her face up, he kissed her gently. When he left the room, he locked the door behind him. He didn't want her deciding to take matters into her own hands.
Back in the store, he asked Mrs. Leong if he could see Li Ching that night.
"I ask," she said, and went upstairs.
He heard footsteps overhead, a creak, as of a door opening, then more footsteps, fading quickly. After a while, perhaps a quarter of an hour, she returned. "You go Li Ching office. Right quick."
He felt the full force of the wind when he went outside. The freezing rain had let up, but the thick mist still hovered. He kept expecting to come face to face with a salmon on its way upstream.
* * *
Siri removed her skirt and unbuttoned the blouse. She had to leave it on, though, for she could not get it to slide over her right shoulder. Wearily she turned back the quilt on the pallet. As she eased herself down, she felt twinges of pain in her back and thighs. Her left knee was stiff, and a dull throb, almost like a toothache, in her elbow reminded her she'd taken her whole weight on her left arm when she grabbed at the fencepost.
The door opened. Mrs. Leong entered, carrying a tray on which sat a teapot and a single cup. "I bring healing tea," she said. "You drink. Tomorrow you not hurt."
"Thank you." She took the cup and sniffed at the steam. It had a peculiar aroma, almost bitter. Hesitantly she sipped. It tasted worse than it smelled.
"Drink," Mrs. Leong said again.
Siri obeyed, trying her best not to notice the taste. When Mrs. Leong lifted the pot, she obediently held out the cup. The second helping was as nasty as the first.
Mrs. Leong left, locking the door behind her.
Did everyone think Siri was going to be so foolish as to run away from a place she felt safe and protected? She settled herself on the pallet, trying to find a comfortable position. After a while, she realized the aches and pains were less. The tea must have done some good, she thought. Soon after she noticed how each thought that drifted through her head seemed caught in a thick substance, like cold molasses. Her body felt heavy and immovable.
* * *
Buff and the three young Chinese men searched for hours, using torches and lanterns to look at the ground in the orchard. They eventually found where Siri's assailant had emerged on Washington, but could trace him no farther.
While they were still seeking a trail along the street, Buff saw two policemen approaching, carrying lanterns. He went to meet them, knowing his companions would prefer not to be seen too closely. While the Chinese were accepted in Astoria as a necessary evil, they were not universally liked or trusted.
The taller of the two was Carleen's cousin. Gillespie. Buff greeted him.
"Oh, it's you, Lachlan. What're you up to, this time of night?"
"Trying to find the trail of a man who attacked Siri earlier. We've traced him this far."
"Attacked?" the shorter policeman said. "How?"
"He had a knife. She managed to dodge so he didn't cut her, but it was a near thing. Sliced her skirt some."
The two policemen looked at each other. After a moment, Gillespie said, "Did she get a look at him?"
Buff shook his head. "It was pitch dark. All she knows is he was taller than she is. Light-haired, she thinks."
"And you said you found footprints?"
"Such as they are." He gestured toward the orchard, noticing as he half-turned that his Chinese helpers had disappeared. "In there. I'll show you."
"Don't know what good it'll do," Gillespie's companion said. "We don't have footprints from the girl's room."
"Girl? Has there been another killing?" The first time he'd met Gillespie, the policeman had been looking for a killer. One who'd used a knife. Buff paused, pointed at the clear boot print in the now-frozen mud under a leafless apple tree. "There. That's the best one we found."
"What do you know about--"
Gillespie interrupted his cohort. "I told him, Henry. After Carleen vouched for him
." Letting the other man kneel to make measurements, he said to Buff, "It was ugly. Reminded me of the first one, but it wasn't the same. This one--a young whore--well, it almost looked like he played with her a long time, maybe all night long. He'd used her, too, more than once. When he got tired of that, he started carving pieces off of her--while she was still alive."
"Great God!"
"Yeah. Poor tyke. She didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody does."
They'd moved on to the next print while Gillespie spoke. It was not as well defined. Buff pointed it out. "From the size and depth, I'd say he was a big man, close to my height and heavier."
"Looks that way. Henry," he called, "come take a look at this one too."
"I suppose you want to know where I was during the time in question--or do you know when she died?"
"Sometime yesterday or the day before." He glanced up at Buff. "You've got an alibi, I guess?"
"Siri and I went up to Daws' landing day before yesterday. We had some trouble there, and didn't get back until late yesterday."
"I'd say you're clear, then." He knelt beside another print, this one blurred because the maker had slid in wet mud. "Too bad he didn't fall and break his noggin," Gillespie remarked. "Here's where he caught himself." He pointed to an ice-filled depression that was almost certainly made by an outspread hand.
"I missed that," Buff told him.
"No wonder, dark as it is. We'll come back in daylight and take another look around, but it's not likely we'll find anything helpful."
"I'll be checking along the street both ways, and will let you know if I find anything." He nodded to the other policemen and returned to the edge of the orchard.
The three Chinese men materialized out of the fog. "Let's go," Buff told them. "Mu Far and I'll take this side, your two do the other. We'll work our way up to the edge of the woods, then back down."
The three nodded.
Somewhere around three in the morning, they gave up. All four were half-frozen. They went to the Golden Lion Bar where, much as Buff had suspected, there was a back room where the Chinese congregated. Hot tea and sweet wine waited for them. He drank one cup of the strong tea to be polite, but soon departed, knowing he made the other denizens of the room uncomfortable just because of who he was.
Siri was sound asleep when he got to their room. He removed his boots and lay down beside her, telling himself to wake in two hours.
* * *
Siri woke when Buffalo called her, feeling stiff and sore, but not at all in pain. Whatever had been in the tea, it had worked well. When she looked in the small mirror, she wished she had not, for her face was indeed as colorful as Mrs. Leong had predicted and her hair hung in lank, tangled strands.
As if summoned, the Chinese woman appeared, carrying a basin. "Sit. I wash, comb." She prodded Siri toward the stool and set the basin on the floor beside it. "First, wash, then dress." She glanced over her shoulder. "You go now," she told Buffalo. "Food in store. I bring woman when clean."
Meekly Siri submitted to having her face washed, her hair combed. She bit her lip when Mrs. Leong made disapproving noises at the state of her blouse. "I could not take it off," she said, noticing for the first time how wrinkled it was. "There is a hole in my skirt, too." At least she had not caused that.
"No matter. I get better. You sit, no move." This time when she bustled out, she left the door ajar.
Siri sat waiting, clad in nothing but a thin linen shift, and hoped no one would walk past.
Mrs. Leong returned, carrying a bundle of black cloth. "You very tall. I bring man clothes." Shaking out the garments, she showed Siri a long shirt of silky fabric, decorated on the standing collar with embroidery of gold thread. In her other hand she held trousers made of something heavy, like canvas. "Very nice clothes. Long enough." She gestured for Siri to stand.
In order to satisfy Mrs. Leong's sense of style, Siri was forced to remove her shift. For a moment, as she stood naked in the small room, she wondered what had happened to her will. Somewhere yesterday it had drained away, leaving her as soft dough for Buffalo and Mrs. Leong to shape and direct.
This is indecent. Everyone will see I am naked under... She obediently stepped into the trousers and let Mrs. Leong pull them to her waist, where they tied with a wide twill ribbon.
"Now sit again. I fix arm."
Shortly Siri's right arm had been wrapped tightly against her body with a clean, soft strip of cotton. She slipped her other arm into the silken shirt when Mrs. Leong held it up. The silk slid across her shoulders and arms like cool water, soothing wherever it touched. When the frog fasteners were all closed, Mrs. Leong stepped back and said, "Now you beautiful! Lachlan will like!"
Never having been beautiful in her life, Siri merely said, "Thank you. They are very nice clothes."
She could not ignore the gleam in Buffalo's eyes when he entered. He said nothing, though, so she supposed he was merely hungry.
After they'd eaten, Siri and Buffalo walked the two blocks to the steamship docks. The food in her belly seemed to grow colder and heavier with each step. They rounded the corner of a warehouse and she saw the Kehloka, its cabin gaily painted in red and white, its smokestack gleaming black, even in the foggy dawn. The huge sternwheel was covered with an open fretwork of white-and-red painted wood and a brass rail around the main deck gleamed in the light from lanterns hanging from the side of the wheelhouse.
Her throat grew tight and her heart seemed to pound in her chest.
Buffalo led her to the small shack at the back end of the dock. "Two for Portland," he told the man inside.
Siri tried to take a deep breath, but felt as if her chest would not expand.
Buffalo paid for the tickets and turned to her. "Ready?"
She shook her head, and the world seemed to spin around her.
"Siri, what's wrong?"
His voice came from far away. She tried to speak, but her throat was tight and her tongue immobile in her mouth. His face blurred before her.
A roaring filled her ears and the world spun faster. Siri gasped, but could find no air to breathe.
Chapter Twenty
Buff caught her as she fell. He swept her up and turned away from the ticket office.
"Hey! You didn't get your tickets!" the agent called.
"Hold 'em," Buff said over his shoulder. "I'll be back later."
Siri lay quiet in his arms. If it weren't for the trembling of her body, he would have thought she'd fainted. As he walked up the litter-strewn street toward the Chinese store, he cursed himself for not paying attention to the way she'd toyed with her food earlier, the pallor of her face.
He was starting to wonder if he'd spend the rest of his life in Astoria. First the bad food, then the deal with Li Ching. Now a sick woman.
He'd been captivated by a pair of sad blue eyes, a sweet, poignant smile, a woman in need. Then he looked down at her still, pale face and knew there was more than sympathy in his feelings for Siri.
Mrs. Leong opened the door for him. "Sick?" she said, as he edged past her.
"No, she's...yeah, she's sick. I'll take her to our room."
"I bring soup." The Chinese woman bustled behind the counter, where a big black cauldron always sat on the small stove.
Once they were in the room, he lowered Siri to the pallet. Quickly he lit the candles in the sconces, then returned to go down on one knee beside the pallet. He laid a hand on her forehead and found it cold and damp with sweat. "Siri, what is it? What happened?"
She lay there, inert, but he saw movement under her eyelids.
When he touched two fingers to the pulse under her jaw, he was startled at how rapid it was. Much too fast, much too strong. Her chest moved spasmodically as she gasped for breath.
All of a sudden, Buff was scared. He'd seen a man drop dead of heart failure on the street in Paris. Just before the fellow collapsed, practically at his feet, he'd noticed the beads of sweat on the white face, had seen the way his chest had heaved in an
effort to draw in a last breath.
Siri looked just as that man had, the instant before he'd fallen.
Not sure what to do, he laid his one hand on her chest, while with his other, he lightly stroked her cheek. "Siri," he said, "hang on. You'll be fine. Just try to relax."
He hoped she would.
Mrs. Leong came in and set a tray with a covered bowl and a teapot on the floor beside him. She touched his shoulder, then left as silently as she'd entered.
After what seemed an age, Siri's short, gasping breaths smoothed, although she still seemed to struggle to draw in enough air. Under his hand, her heart continued to beat rapidly, but with less force, he thought, and perhaps a little more slowly. He mouthed nonsense words at her, much the way his ma had to him that time he'd been so sick with the measles, caught from a wandering prospector who'd happened on Cherry Vale one spring.
Her hiccup startled him, but then he realized she had moved. Her eyes were open, staring into a distance only she could see.
"Siri," he said, finding his voice hoarse, his mouth dry. "Siri, what happened? Are you all right?"
He might as well have been talking to the wall. For a long time she lay there, eyes wide and staring, skin clammy. Her heart had slowed to a pace that worried him almost as much as the quick pounding, a light thump under his hand, a long pause, then another.
After a while she blinked. Her eyes focused on him, then closed. She huddled herself into a ball, her knees drawn up against her body. If both her hands had been free, she probably would have wrapped them around her legs and pulled even more tightly into herself.
"Siri, talk to me. What's wrong? Are you sick?"
Her head moved in a small negative motion.
"What's wrong then? You damn near fainted."
"The boat," she whispered. "I could not...my breath...my belly..." With a convulsive movement, she rolled to face the wall.
"You couldn't get on the boat? You're scared?"
"No. Not scared. I can...I will. Mina barn...if I do not go to Portland, I will lose them...I must get on the boat."
He eyed the bundle of misery on the pallet, wondering what he should do.
The Lost Baroness Page 20
