"How long?" she repeated. "I don't know. She's welcome to stay here, of course. But you've often remarked on how these girls come and go. She may decide she doesn't like her new duties and apply elsewhere."
"It wouldn't be easy for her, not when she doesn't speak."
"No, you're right. She wouldn't find it easy. Perhaps I should ask Mrs. Davis to give it some thought. Rachael may appreciate knowing she has some choices."
Decker's eyes were caught again by the jet beading along the neckline of Jonna's gown. He followed the bodice as it cut across her bare shoulders. She was wearing the ivory piece he'd given her. It wasn't the right accent for the gown. He didn't mention it because he knew she didn't care and because he rather liked the idea that she wore his gift around her throat.
"You're staring again," Jonna said.
A smile played around his lips. "Am I?"
"You know you are." She stood and crossed in front of him to the fireplace. Sweeping her dress back, she poked at the fire to make it give up a little more heat. It wasn't until she was returning to her chair that Decker's hand snaked out and captured her. He brought her down firmly on his lap.
"You needn't look so pleased with yourself," she told him, looping her arms around his neck. "I was hoping you'd do this."
"And I was hoping you'd let me." Her gown shimmered as it settled around him. Decker bent his head and lightly kissed the curve of her neck. She arched her throat and offered herself up to his mouth. The heat of his lips circled her skin like a brand.
The centers of Decker's eyes darkened as he studied her face. Her lips parted on a breathy little sigh. He only had to look at her, she thought, for her to feel his touch. His eyes had dropped to her lips, and she could feel the heat of his mouth. When he looked at her hair it was as if his fingers were sifting through it.
Jonna's kiss whispered across his mouth. His hands slipped along her midriff and up her rib cage. They passed lightly over her breasts. She murmured something against his lips and they went back. She felt her flesh swell in response to the caress, and she leaned into him.
Mrs. Davis had to clear her throat twice to be heard above the roar in their ears. Jonna and Decker looked up simultaneously in the direction of the parted doors, both of them a little dazed. Jonna's instinct was to remove herself from Decker's lap, but he held her. She knew a small measure of relief that his hands were no longer cupping her breasts.
"Mr. Quincy's come calling," Mrs. Davis said. She moved to block Jack's entry, but he had a good view over the top of her head. The housekeeper's lips were pursed disapprovingly.
Jack's voice boomed. "And I've brought someone with me. Go on with you, Dorothea." He grinned wickedly as she blushed at his familiarity. "Step one way or the other. In or out."
"It's all right, Mrs. Davis," Decker said.
The housekeeper raised her eyes heavenward, but she moved to one side.
Jonna's whisper was harsh, and she accomplished it without moving her lips. "You have no idea who he has with him."
"You're right. I don't." He wasn't at all perturbed. "Who's with you, Jack?"
Jack walked into the room. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly greeting to Jonna, not at all discomfited by finding her on Decker's lap. He jerked his thumb behind him to indicate the shadowy figure still in the hallway. "He just arrived from Charleston on Remington Siren. He was inquiring at the harbor after you, Decker, so I brought him here."
Decker's eyes narrowed as he strained to see past Jack. Jonna's attention was also riveted in that direction.
Graham Denison stepped into the room. "Evenin', Decker," he drawled softly. "I wonder if I might have a word with you."
Chapter 13
Graham sat in one of the library's brocade wing chairs, but his body leaned stiffly toward the fire. He gratefully accepted the tumbler of whiskey that Decker thrust in his hand. The first large swallow went down smoothly and warmly. "Winter," he murmured. "Another peculiar Yankee notion."
Decker said nothing. Cold alone did not explain his friend's pale-as-salt complexion or the tense way he held his body. It was almost as if he were protecting himself from the very heat he craved.
Graham took another swallow, a smaller one this time. He glanced at Decker and wasn't at all surprised to find the other man watching him closely. "Tell me about the very lovely lady in the other room," he said. "You were remiss in making introductions. I imagine the oversight was intentional."
"It was, but not because I was afraid she'd succumb to your singular charm. You didn't look as if you could stand much longer."
Graham's small, self-mocking smile became more of a grimace. "You noticed that, did you?" He inched himself back in the chair so that only his long legs were extended toward the fire. His boots, usually polished to a sheen that would reflect the flames, were dull with dust. It had taken a great deal of strength to hide his injury from Jack Quincy, and he wasn't even certain how effective his efforts had been. There seemed no point in making the same effort for Decker. Still, he wasn't ready to reveal the extent of the problem. One of his dark brows lifted archly, and his smooth drawl came forth. "You still haven't told me about the lady," he said. "Would she be Miss Remington?"
"She would be Mrs. Thorne," Decker said.
Graham's flinty, blue-gray eyes sparked appreciatively at the hint of possessiveness in Decker's tone. "Congratulations. Mr. Quincy never breathed a word of your good fortune."
"I doubt he was certain what to make of you," he said. "Frankly, I'm not sure myself." Decker picked up the crystal decanter of whiskey from the serving tray and topped off Graham's glass. He sat in the opposite wing chair and placed the decanter on the floor beside him. Sipping his own drink, he regarded Graham over the rim of his glass. "Should I send someone for a doctor?" Decker expected Graham to deny there was any need, or to put him off. The first indication of how serious the problem was came when Graham simply acquiesced.
Decker rose to his feet immediately and disappeared in the hallway. He was gone less than a minute. "Mr. Quincy had already advised Jonna that a physician might be necessary. She sent for Dr. Hardy. He should be here within the hour. A room is being prepared for you. Do you want to go there now?"
Embarrassed that his weak condition was so obvious, Graham summoned a small amount of color to erase the pallor in his cheeks. It lasted only a moment. "Didn't mean to put you out," he said. "I didn't know about you and Miss Remington."
"Don't concern yourself," Decker said. "And don't waste your energy with apologies. You can't appreciate how little of a problem this is for Jonna. I'd rather hear what you're doing in Boston and who the hell it is they have in a Charleston jail."
Graham knocked back another mouthful of whiskey. It was not the anesthetic he hoped it would be. "You know about Matt Willet, then."
"Just learned of it today. Grant Sheridan took great pleasure in telling me. This was after I offered to arrange for him to meet Falconer. He thought I was trying to make a fool of him."
One of Graham's dark eyebrows lifted. "And weren't you?"
Decker permitted himself a small, sly smile. "A fool's born, not made."
Graham chuckled softly. "No love lost there, I see."
"None."
"Too bad. It doesn't seem right somehow, not with the two of you working for the same cause. Do you know, if I hadn't been able to find you, I was going to look up Sheridan. I wasn't sure where else I might apply for help."
"Boston's a sympathetic city," Decker said. "You could have gone almost anywhere."
"But not without considerable explanation. Sheridan's views are well known. He seemed a better alternative than simply choosing blindly. I thought he might offer some protection or introduce me to some friends who would."
"I think he would have done that for you," Decker said. "But only if you had refrained from using my name as a way of ingratiating yourself. Doing so wouldn't have moved him to help you."
"I take it this has something to do with the fact that Jon
na Remington is not Mrs. Sheridan."
Decker nodded. "That's part of it. Sheridan knew my brother Colin. They didn't see eye to eye much, especially where Jonna's future was concerned. After Colin established himself in London and I came here, Sheridan just shifted his animosity." Decker put his glass on the end table beside him. Withdrawing his pocket watch, he glanced at the time. "By my reckoning," he said, "you have forty minutes before the doctor arrives, perhaps even less before Jonna's curiosity gets the better of her and she invites herself in here. I won't turn her out, Graham, and you won't be able to. What you need to say in confidence needs to be said now."
Graham had wedged his upper body between the back and the wing of the chair. His right elbow rested firmly against his ribs, applying steady pressure to the small puncture wound in his side. His jacket, shirt, and vest hid the bandage which was wrapped around his middle. In spite of the layers of clothing, Graham could sense that the bandage was becoming damp. He hoped it was sweat breaking from his fevered body. He was very much afraid it was blood.
"Matthew Willet is one of my Carolina neighbors," Graham said without inflection. "He owns a few thousand acres of prime cotton and tobacco land, and calls his place Spring Hill. I've never known him to free a slave or to ever mention that he was considering it. That would be true of Willet's father and grandfather, too. His family helped settle the colony, and they've used slaves ever since indentured servitude went out of fashion. That's a fairly long acquaintance with the institution. I don't think there's a more unlikely candidate to take Falconer's identity than Matt Willet."
"And yet he's the one in jail."
Graham waved his hand holding the drink dismissively. "Not for long. He'll be cleared."
"If he's not lynched first."
"Willet's not some dirt farmer or shop owner trying to do right by his conscience. A man like that would be strung up in no time. Willet's daddy and granddaddy will see that he has protection. He won't be incarcerated long." Graham's reserved smile was wry. "After all, he's innocent."
That was true enough, Decker thought. But it didn't explain anything. "So why is Willet in jail?"
"He had the misfortune to be in Michele Moreau's establishment the evening it was visited by the authorities. Apparently they had some information that Michele's whorehouse was being used as a station on the Underground. They searched the premises and found the closet in the attic."
"Empty?" Decker asked.
Graham shook his head. "There wasn't enough warning to get them all out. We were fortunate to only have to account for three. The two women were moved downstairs, but the man, a runaway from Georgia, stayed behind. I only know what Michele told me. She accompanied the authorities on their search, protesting her innocence all the time, while I was shown to one of the bedrooms. Apparently they dragged Seth out of the closet and on threat of ending his life right there, forced him to tell them how he had come to be at Michele's."
Graham finished his drink. He wanted another, but he didn't ask for more. The whiskey was only making him drunk, not numb. "I'm told he gave a good performance. His lies were convincing. They couldn't imagine that he would dare to give them anything less than the truth. He exceeded their best hopes. Seth gave them Falconer."
"Did someone tell him to do that?"
"No. It just happened. It was part of Michele's hasty plan that Seth should name someone in her house as his contact on the Railroad, but she never said he should identify the man as Falconer. She told me later that it simply spilled out of him. She was as shocked to hear him say it as the men who were escorting him."
Decker was envisioning the search of Michele's second-floor bedrooms. There would have been outraged patrons and indignant whores, and a cacophony of sputtering, squealing, and swearing. He almost wished he could have witnessed it. "I take it you were fully occupied when they came to your room."
"Cathy," Graham said with a certain fondness. "She made it look that way." The whore straddled him just moments before the door opened. When the sheriff poked his head inside, she arched provocatively and never stopped the slow undulation of her hips. Seth was given only a moment to see the same sight, but he didn't mistake the look that crossed Graham's face for passion. Unlike the sheriff, Seth recognized it as pain.
"When he didn't identify me, they moved on. All hell finally broke loose when they came to Willet's room. Not only did Seth identify Matt and call him Falconer, but he was caught in bed with two of Michele's whores. Young, black whores."
Decker's brow furrowed momentarily; then his features cleared and his quirky half-smile showed his appreciation. "The women who had been hiding in the attic," he said.
Graham nodded. "That's right. Michele stripped them down, made them up, and put them in that drunken sonofabitch's room. I suspect the first he knew they were there was when the screaming started. By all accounts he was three sheets to the wind. The sheriff recognized Willet, of course, just the same as he recognized me, but with Seth saying Willet was Falconer, and there being two lovely blackbirds in his bed, something had to be done. They couldn't lay any charges at Michele. She produced papers showing she had purchased both girls at auction and they were legally hers. As for Seth being in her attic, she swore she didn't know how Willet had managed it, but she accused him, quite effectively as it turned out, of doing it all on his own. If there was an accomplice, then it was one of her whores, she told them, and good luck to them in discovering which one it was."
Decker had no difficulty imagining Michele's arrogant, self-righteous anger. She would have been perfectly believable, careful not to overplay her hand. He wondered if she had used a few of the Gallic expressions he had taught her. She seemed to have an affinity for French swear words, if no appreciation for the language. "So Willet was taken away."
"They didn't have much choice," Graham said. "It seemed odd to them that Willet would come to a whorehouse to bed those girls when he could have had any that he wanted on his own plantation. In their mind the behavior was so unusual that it lent credence to Seth's accusations."
"And Seth?"
"As far as I know he was returned to his owner in Georgia."
"The girls?"
"Still with Michele. I had arranged for Seth to use the Railroad by way of Michele's because of the girls. Michele would not release them until they had an escort north. They both came from the same slaver."
"Salamander?" Decker asked.
"No. Another reptilian ship." He paused, thinking. "I believe Michele told me it was Chameleon. In any event, the girls don't speak any English. They couldn't have made it far without help, even with papers of manumission. When it became clear that I would have to leave Charleston myself, I considered bringing them. Michele talked me out of it."
Decker shook his head slowly. There was no mistaking the regret in Graham's voice. He was still thinking he could have done otherwise. "Thank God she did, and thank God you listened."
Graham ignored that. "Michele bought the girls with my money. There was no other purpose for the purchase except to free them. Michele was right to demand an escort for them; I just should have planned it better."
Decker didn't argue. The sickly pallor of Graham's face only seemed to underscore his determination. Decker's eyes dropped surreptitiously to his pocket watch again. It was his opinion that the doctor couldn't arrive too soon. "I'll arrange for the girls' transportation the next time I'm in Charleston. It won't be difficult at all, not if they have papers. They won't have to stay in the hold, and I already know they'll be welcome here."
"I confess I was hoping you'd make that offer. I was going to ask if your wife would be agreeable. I recall that you said she hires freeborn blacks. This situation is different, but the young women are free."
Decker almost smiled. Graham would enjoy hearing his story about Jonna's secret Underground station, but it could wait until Graham himself was a more appreciative audience. Right now he looked as if it was all he could do to hold himself in the chair. "Is that why
you're here?" asked Decker. "To ask me if I'd help those girls?"
Graham's unyielding blue-gray eyes had lost a large measure of their sharpness. "I'm responsible for them," he said.
Decker waited. As an explanation, it did not go nearly far enough. It might account for Graham Denison's presence in his home, but not in Boston. There was some more pressing reason Graham had had for leaving Charleston.
Graham didn't respond to his friend's silence. He was patient in his own right. "Do you think that my room might be ready?" he asked.
The question moved Decker to his feet immediately. "I'm sure it is. Come, I'll take you there." It was less of a suggestion than a command, but Decker didn't apologize for it. He watched Graham's awkward rise from the chair and realized he had probably left it too late already. Graham's balance was unsteady at best, and the whiskey he'd taken hadn't helped. Decker held out his arm, but Graham ignored it.
"I'll be fine," he said. Then he dropped like a stone.
Falling to one knee beside Graham, Decker barked out to Jack. He wasn't at all surprised when the man responded quickly, or that Jonna was only a few steps behind him. He didn't think they were listening at the door, but they hadn't been far beyond it. "Jack, help me get Graham upstairs. Take his feet. I'll get under his shoulders. Jonna, what room—"
"My parents'," she said. "It's really the most comfortable."
Decker nodded. "Ready, Jack?" He did a three-count, and they lifted Graham between them. He had a long, lithe frame, but it was well muscled and unconsciousness made him a dead weight. Decker expected it. Jack staggered a bit. "Careful," Decker said. "Don't drop—"
Jonna's gasp cut him off. One hand immediately rose to cover her mouth, the other pointed to Graham. Where his jacket had fallen open a dark red blossom of blood was visible on his vest.
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