Cora (Southern Hearts Book 3)

by Felicia Rogers

  Chapter Seven

  Miss Beaumont's tiny apartment was three full paces from one end to the other. Frederic knew because he'd been pacing it since they arrived there earlier. He ran his hands through his hair until he was sure it stood on end. He picked up a cup and sat it back down multiple times. He couldn't be still. He needed to do something. Finding a seat across from her prone form, he cradled his head in his hands.

  He should never have let things get so far out of hand. He'd known the lad was a woman. He should have confronted her, told her what was going on. He should have done something. Instead he had told her nothing and now this.

  As he'd followed her and Jeffers along the street, he'd been winded but had forced himself to keep up. Outside the empty building, he'd waited. Protecting his identity, he'd stayed put until he heard the gunshot and Jeffers had flown through the hole. Thoughts of secrecy had fled from his mind as he burst into the darkened room. Light streamed through openings in the walls. The young man, who had eyed him in front of Miss Beaumont's apartment days earlier, stood with feet spread and stared at him. Without a second thought, Frederic punched him in the jaw and knocked him out.

  He'd proceeded to race up the unstable staircase. When he reached the top floor the gunman pointed a weapon at the young lady. He'd almost become physically ill.

  Before the shot could be fired, the lady had collapsed. By the time he reached her side, the gunman had disappeared. Now his only lead lay unconscious on a wooden cot.

  Wind blew through the open window. Pages ruffled. Two folded letters addressed to Cora Beaumont fluttered in the breeze. He picked him up, fought a twinge of guilt, and started reading. Ah, so the family was having a party and they wanted their sister to return home for the event. Perhaps this could work to his advantage. He could offer to take her home and… A moan broke the silence and Frederic laid the letters aside and knelt beside the bed.

  "Wh-where am I?" she asked, holding a shaky hand to her forehead.

  "You're at home."

  She opened her eyes wide and pulled away until she landed on the floor.

  Frederic raised his arms. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

  "How did I get here?"

  "I brought you."

  "How did you know where I live?'

  He lied. "Your friend at the warehouse told me."

  She pushed off the floor and sat on the bed. "Tommy?"

  "Yes, that was his name."

  "Oh, Tommy! Is he okay?"

  He lied again. "He's fine."

  "Praise the Lord," she said. Silence pervaded for only a moment before she asked, "Who are you?"

  Taking a risk, he said, "Frederic St. Martin at your service." She frowned and he rushed on. "You do remember the time I visited your home in Bayou Sara and your sister gave me information on a current investigation?"

  "Uh, no."

  "Oh, well, she did. Her assistance was invaluable, which I guess is why she figures I owe her."

  She cocked a brow and straightened on the bed. "I don't understand."

  He crossed his fingers behind his back and prayed his plan worked. "She asked me to escort you home in time for the party."

  Her brows knitted together and Frederic hoped he hadn't pushed his credibility too far.

  "How did you–"

  "Rescue you?"

  Hesitantly, she replied, "No. How did you find me?"

  He swallowed and rushed a story through his mind. "I tracked your previous addresses and I was waiting on you to arrive when I saw you run past, at least Mimee confirmed it was you, and I ran after you. I almost went into heart failure when that guy fell out the window."

  She lowered her gaze to the floor.

  "Did you know him?"

  She nodded.

  "What happened?"

  She lifted her chin, her lip trembled. "Someone shot him."

  "Who?" Frederic waited. If she could answer that one question he would apologize for his deception and leave her alone forever.

  She swallowed. "I don't know."

  His heart hammered against his chest. He ran his hands through his hair and paced the tiny room for the umpteenth time.

  "What do you mean you don't know?"

  "Just what I said, I don't know."

  Frederic wanted to scream and pound his fists against something. Instead he drew in a few claiming breaths. "Let's go over the information we have. How did you know Jeffers?"

  "I don't know how this will help."

  "Humor me."

  "Very well. Jeffers was my manager at the fish house."

  "And that is the only way you know him?"

  Cora massaged her temples and Frederic shoved his guilt aside. If he solved this case he would be set for life. The mystery man would pay him and Josh a fortune, and he could settle down in a nice little house in the country and reminiscence about his glory days.

  "Cora, answer me."

  She lifted her head, her brows drew together. "There is something I don't understand."

  "Join the crowd," he muttered.

  Her frown deepened.

  "Please…ask."

  "I will. I don't get why Amelia would ask you to escort me to Bayou Sara."

  "Like I said, she helped me catch a notorious criminal and I owed her."

  Cora was silent. She lay back on the bed and covered her face with her arm. "I need to rest."

  Frederic fought his rising frustration. He needed to find Josh and tell him what had happened, but no way would he leave his only ticket to catching Mr. Opium.

  Frederic settled in a wobbly hard-backed chair. It was going to be a long day.

  ****

  Cora studied the cracks in the tenement walls. The one-room apartment wasn't enough for her and the attractive man sitting behind her sighing loudly.

  Frederic St. Martin was arguably the most handsome man she'd ever met. Long dark brown hair was tied back with a ribbon; one short strand lay across his forehead in a rakish fashion. Green eyes shone and twinkled in the candlelight. Tiny wrinkles formed at the corner of his eyes when he frowned, which was often. His attractiveness almost made her trust him. Almost.

  The entire thing made no sense. Amelia didn't even know where she was, so how could she send someone to escort her home? And the idea that he searched through her previous addresses and discovered her current whereabouts was preposterous. The postal service barely had the fortitude to keep up with her.

  Then there was his insistence that he’d followed her as she chased Jeffers. She didn't remember his presence during the chase, nor did she recall seeing him when she and Tommy entered the building. However, there was the small matter of him saving her from the gunman. At least she thought he had. Her memory of the event was fuzzy at best.

  Questions plagued her. Why did he want to know who the strange man was? Was he telling the truth about Amelia? Was it safe to let him help her?

  A more important question might be did she even want to return home. If she went back, the odds of her leaving again were slim. Admittedly, life was harder without family and friends to help. And what of her parents and their celebration? Could she really insult them by not attending? The noise behind her ceased, and she gnawed on her lip and prayed the answers would hit her like a bolt of lightning.

  ****

  Soft snores emitted from Cora. Assured she was asleep, Frederic crept out to the front stoop. Young boys littered the street corners eager to earn a penny. With a single snap of Frederic’s fingers, three willing souls appeared before him. "Anyone have time to deliver a message?"

  "How far?"

  Frederic gave the address and two boys walked away. "You can go?" he asked the one left.

  "Aye, I can go. Those two have mommies, but I'm free as a bird."

  "All right, wait here."

  The boy took a seat and Frederic rushed back upstairs. Quietly he pinned a note to Josh. He listed everything—Cora's name, address, his plans to protect her. His heart thudded against his chest. What if the note
was found? Then his lead would be exposed and others might try to horn in on his prize. He wadded the original, and laid it aside. It was a waste, but to be safe he penned another.

  Josh, following a lead. Don't wait up. Frederic

  He folded the sheet in thirds and drew his family crest, including his special mark. A quick glance at Cora revealed the steady rise and fall of her chest.

  He slipped out again and handed the note to the boy. "Do not deviate. If you arrive back here in a timely matter I'll double your pay."

  The boy grabbed the note and the penny and took off. Over his shoulder he yelled, "Thanks, mister."

  The messenger disappeared behind a line of houses. Cora's elderly neighbor clucked her tongue. "Don't know if I'd trust that one."

  He cocked his brow. "If you know something…"

  She increased the pace of her rocking chair. "Mimee knows lots of things."

  "Look I don't have–"

  The rocking ceased. "I know you've been watching Miss Beaumont and that it is likely your intentions aren't honorable."

  Frederic crossed his arms over his chest. "Why would you say that?"

  "Because Miss Beaumont spends her nights away from home, and now you're staying in her house without a chaperone."

  Frederic stood straighter, his arms dropping to his sides.

  "That's right. I figured out her profession." The rocking resumed, and she pursed her lips and nodded her head vigorously. "I guess I feel sorry for her. She ain't got a soul to look out for her."

  Frederic cringed but he did it anyway. "You're right. Cora needs someone to look after her. And since she and I have a history together…" he let the words drift off, grinned sheepishly, and shrugged one shoulder.

  Mimee gasped.

  "I would appreciate you keeping our secret."

  "Of course," she said eyeing the apartment.

  Walking backward, Frederic reentered Cora's apartment and reclaimed his seat. Sins piled upon more sins. What would be his punishment for letting Mimee believe Cora was a woman of ill repute? He sighed and reminded himself that lives would be saved as he forced the remorseful feelings away.

  Day gave way to night, and he dozed. Whack! The sound jarred him awake and he jumped and raced to the window. His young messenger lobbed small stones against the building. He checked on Cora. Amazingly, she still slept.

  Outside, a cool breeze blew. "You're late," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "I had to wait on someone to open the door."

  Frederic tensed. "Did you deliver the message?"

  "Yes sir, to Mr. Woods just like you asked."

  "Did you ask for him by name?"

  "No sir, I did just what you told me. I said I had a message and he introduced himself."

  Frederic flipped him a coin. "Thanks."

  The boy nodded and ran off.

  Back in the room, Cora had shifted. She still slept but now faced the front door. He lay on the floor beside the bed, stretched his legs out, crossed his feet at the ankles, and folded his hands under his head for a pillow. His life was looking up.

  ****

  Cora covered her mouth and coughed. She batted her lashes and struggled to open her burning eyes. Fear clenched her throat. Orange flames licked the opposite wall. Black smoke billowed and hung on the ceiling.

  Fire!

  Sending a furtive glance around the room, her hope sank. The room appeared empty. Where had Frederic gone?

  As she went to stand she leaned over. Frederic slept beside her. She reached down and shook him.

  "What? Is it day already?"

  "Wake up!" she yelled hoarsely.

  "What for?" he asked pushing her away.

  "The apartment is on fire!"

  He jumped to his feet and immediately squatted. "What happened?"

  "I don't know, but I think you should question me later."

  He nodded and crawled to the door. He grabbed the handle and released it, pulling his hand to his chest with a grimace. "We can't go that way."

  He waddled like a duck to the window. They were two floors off the ground. How did he think–?

  "We'll have to jump."

  "Are you crazy?"

  "If you prefer to burn up…" He shrugged.

  "What I prefer is to get out of here without any injury."

  He grabbed the covers from the cot, knotted them together, and lowered them out the window. "You first."

  She grabbed hold and walked backward. She peeked over the sill. His arm muscles bulged as he worked to hold her. She gulped. A horrible thought raced through her mind. She asked, "How will you get out?"

  "Don't worry about me, just go."

  She walked down the warping building. Her arms jerked as the sound of ripping fabric reached her ears. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and she fought the desire to rush. When her feet touched the ground, the covers ripped in two and she fell backward on her bottom. A stranger offered his hand and helped her to her feet. She thanked him, and stood with her hands in front of her, her pulse raced. Bells rang as water wagons pulled up. Anxiously, she waited as the wagons blasted water at the inferno.

  "Is anyone in there?" asked a fireman.

  The question brought her from her stupor. "Yes! My — my, friend is still in there. Please help him."

  On tip-toe she tried to peer around those standing in front of her. No one was dragged from the building and her heart thumped loudly in her ears. She grabbed another fireman. "Did they find anyone?"

  "Afraid not, miss."

  Tears welled in her eyes and she gnawed her lip. Sobs racked her body. She felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and her jaw dropped.

  "Miss me?" asked Frederic.

  She blinked back tears and fell into his arms. He held her, and stroked her hair, murmuring, "It's all right. Everything is all right."

  She hiccupped, her tears slipping from the corner of her eyes and soaking his shirt.

  He patted her back and moved her away from the crowd. He whispered in her ear, "We need to get out of here."

  She nodded and allowed him to lead her away. She stumbled and he slowed their pace.

  "Where are we going?" she asked, studying her location and trying to get her bearings.

  "Some place safe."

  They walked until the road came to a dead end. Frederic skirted through two buildings. On the opposite side, he felt along a brick wall. A portion moved out of the way and he pulled her inside. Up a flight of wobbly stairs, they came to a one room apartment. High windows allowed intermittent light to filter in. It was the perfect residence for an artist or a sculptor.

  "Make yourself at home," he said.

  Cora dropped into a chair and rotated completely around. "Where are we?"

  "My home."

  She was seeking more description, like a hotel or a local boarding house, but she hadn't seen any sign that other people lived here. It was more like an abandoned building than a residence.

  The odor of smoke clung to her, burning her nose, and she tried to fan it away.

  Frederic disappeared behind a screen. When he returned, he wore fresh black trousers and a white shirt, his hair dripped.

  "Did you clean up?" she asked, hopefully.

  "Yes. Would you like a turn?"

  Cora didn't give an answer as she passed him on her way behind the screen. Frederic brought her a fresh bowl of water and left her alone. Cora stripped, and washed her ash covered skin. Clean, she didn't want to wear her ruined gown. A white night shirt hung over the top of the screen and she grabbed it and pulled it over her head.

  The nightshirt's hem reached her knees. Her hair cascaded along her back and she wet it with her fingers to wash out the smell.

  "Are you all right?" asked Frederic.

  She stepped around the screen. Frederic froze.

  "I hope you don't mind. My dress was ruined." Heat filled her cheeks and she tugged at the short hem.

  He stood in the middle of the room, holding a glass. Slowly, h
e moved and sat it on a table.

  "Mr. St. Martin?"

  "Frederic, please."

  "Of course."

  He turned his back to her. Moments passed and he slid toward the door. "I have to go out."

  "What?" she asked. A million reasons he shouldn't leave came to her mind. Like, what if the shooter had followed them? What about his promise to her sister? What if she got scared?

  "I'll be back."

  Fear threatened to close her throat and she rushed to his side and clutched his forearm. "Don't leave. If I've done something – just don't leave me."

  He ran a hand through his hair.

  "Please," she pleaded.

  Chapter Eight

  Frederic was going to die. If his heart beat any faster he would keel over and die.

  His nightshirt swayed against her knees, leaving her heart shaped calves exposed for his viewing. One sleeve dipped revealing a creamy white shoulder. He gulped and turned his head.

  Cora dug her nails into his forearm and begged, "Please."

  Opening his mouth to ask what she begged for, he was interrupted by a knock. Cora jumped. He placed his hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened as he placed his finger over his lips for silence and gently nudged her behind the screen.

  "Just a minute," he called. In her direction, he mouthed, "No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, don't move."

  She nodded, her lip trembling.

  Frederic straightened his shirt, and took his time opening the door.

  Josh raced in and stopped in the middle of the room. His collar open, his hair sticking up wildly, and his hands shaking, he said, "There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

  "Didn't you get my message?"

  "You mean the cryptic one you sent by the kid? Yes, I got it. What's going on? Are you hiding things from me now?"

  Frederic considered his friend. He seemed out of sorts, not himself. Be cautious, screamed in his head. "I didn't trust the kid to deliver the message so I didn't say much."

  "Ah. Well I'm here, so what do you got?"

  Frederic weighed his words carefully. "The lead fell through."