Deception at Sable Hill

by Shelley Gray

  Katie stifled a groan of impatience. Mrs. Cameron and her best friend, Mrs. Munro, were always certain everyone’s comings and goings were their business.

  However, no good would come of being completely evasive. “Just going to have a spot of tea with my brother,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her new, smart-looking navy dress. “Which is why I need to go. I’m late, I am. I’m trying to catch the 9:14 train.”

  Mrs. Munro, the woman who all agreed was only a slightly better version of Mrs. Cameron, narrowed her eyes. “And which brother might that be? Connor, perhaps?”

  “I’ll be visiting Sean, ma’am.”

  “Him?” Mrs. Munro curved her thin lips in distaste as her partner in crime leaned a bit forward.

  Ah, yes. That was the usual response she received anytime she mentioned Sean. By turns, people in their borough were either proud of the affable Sean Ryan for raising himself out of their midst into the police force—and achieving a lieutenant’s position, no less. Or they were holding firm to their distrust of the coppers as well as anyone who ever wanted anything other than what was expected of them.

  Even their family was divided on whether to ignore or celebrate Sean’s success. Their widowed mother was grateful for Sean’s financial help, though she was always careful not to mention it in front of Connor or Billy, their eldest brothers.

  Maeve, Michael Thomas, June, and she were nothing but proud of Sean.

  And Mary Patricia? Well, it was a known fact that she didn’t think about anything but her fiancé, Patrick Kelly.

  Furthermore, mentioning Sean seemed to always lead into comments about the rest of her family, spurring speculation about what was going to happen to them all, given that their Da had been gone for some time now.

  Which was now a very good reason why she should not touch the women’s inquisitive looks and questions with a ten-foot pole. “Good day now, ladies. I really must catch the train. Otherwise I’ll have to walk.”

  She turned and scampered off before they could respond. Then dodged and darted through traffic just in time to pay her ticket and board the train for Michigan Avenue, smack-dab in the hustle and bustle of the city, surrounded by tall buildings, tourists, bankers, financiers, and elegant ladies shopping. It was also the heart of where her brother was currently assigned.

  She didn’t want to be late, though. Sean didn’t even know she was going to be there. But she didn’t want to hear about his investigation from anyone else or from anywhere else.

  Once she got off the train, she walked at a far more sedate pace to his precinct, a bit off Michigan Avenue. And while it was many, many steps away from the glamour of Prairie Avenue, it was an area most people would agree was a sight far better than hers.

  But she still didn’t feel completely safe there, most likely because there were no biddies standing guard at the edge of the street. And, of course, because according to the latest paper, the Society Slasher was still on the loose—and not even a great detective like her brother had been able to figure out how to capture him.

  She took care to keep her face averted from most passersby as she stepped up the front steps of the precinct and opened the heavy door.

  A uniformed officer at the reception desk, with a pair of graying pork-chop sideburns and a good extra thirty pounds, looked up in a harried way when she entered, then set down his pencil and smiled at her far more slowly. “Morning, miss. And what brings you here into our midst?”

  Looking first at the nameplate in front of him, Katie nodded. “Good morning, Sergeant Fuller. I am here to see my brother.”

  After a pause, he winked. “Sorry, miss, but we’ve got a lot of men here. Who might your brother be?”

  “He is Lieutenant Detective Sean Ryan.”

  Sergeant Fuller’s gaze cooled, and her cheeks heated as she realized she said her brother’s title with probably a bit too much pride.

  However, she couldn’t help it. She was so proud of him. He’d beaten so many odds, the least of which had been their brother Connor’s constant jibes that Sean was forgetting where he came from. And that he was going against everything they were by joining forces with those who many Irish saw as men who had sold out to the rich and powerful.

  And many others in the city thought were beyond corrupt.

  “I’ll go see if he is available, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  He returned five minutes later, but instead of her brother in tow, another man was at his side.

  He was tall, slim, and elegant looking, blessed with dark-blond hair that gently curled around his collar. The collar of what had to be a very expensive suit. Judging by the fit of his suit alone, Katie knew the fine cloth had been cut and sewn to his measurements. He might be standing in the police station, but it was obvious he was a gentleman through and through.

  When he turned to her, she noticed he had a slight cowlick just above his right eyebrow. He also had brown eyes flecked with enough gold to remind her of The Republic, the famous golden statue welcoming visitors at the front of the World’s Fair.

  When the gentleman turned her way, she felt his gaze skim over her hair, her cheeks, her modest navy dress. And then, to her disconcertment, he smiled.

  “This here is Ryan’s sister, sir,” the desk sergeant said with more than a bit of dry humor.

  “Thank you, Fuller.”

  Then, at long last—though really all of it had taken mere seconds—he turned to her. “Miss Ryan?”

  She stepped forward. “Yes?”

  “I am Owen Howard, your brother’s partner.”

  Though she attempted to control her expression, she knew she undoubtedly failed to keep her shock completely hidden.

  This was Detective Owen Howard? The Owen Howard Sean had complained about for weeks when they’d first been assigned to each other? Sean had obviously forgotten to add quite a few details about his partner, the least of which was that Mr. Howard looked like one of those fallen angels she’d spied in the fair’s art galleries and possessed a voice so cultured and fluid, it sounded like rich buttercream.

  “Well, now,” she murmured to herself.

  When he raised an eyebrow, Katie belatedly realized that some kind of social nicety was no doubt in order. “It is nice to meet you, sir.”

  He inclined his head. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, Miss Ryan. However, I regret to tell you that your brother isn’t here.”

  “He’s not?” Immediately, her excitement deflated. All that rushing had been for nothing. Before she took the time to weigh her words, she blurted, “But I thought the both of you did your calls together. If he’s not here, why aren’t you with him?”

  He blinked at her impertinence, but instead of being irritated, he looked amused. “I see you have been learning all about the way things run in the police department. You are right. We do go together on calls most of the time. But not today. I’m afraid he had some private business to attend to.”

  Private business?

  Before she could question him about that, Detective Howard treated her to yet another charming smile. “His loss is my gain, however. If he were here, I would have never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

  “Oh!” she said through a gasp. Because who in her life had ever spoken to her like that?

  His friendly gaze turned piercing. “Is there something you need? Something I can help you with?”

  “Oh! Oh, I mean, no. I mean, it was nothing.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her, which wasn’t surprising, seeing as she was not good at hiding her emotions. Or lying. Or waiting. Still staring at her intently, he said, “I see. Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes. I merely had a question about the Society Slasher.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Why are you concerning yourself with the Slasher, Miss Ryan?”

  She flinched. Not from his words, but from his tone. His emphasis on that “you” told her much about how he viewed her. Obviously he wondered about her worry since a
ll the papers said the Society Slasher only targeted well-to-do ladies. And that it was apparent that she was neither well-to-do nor wellborn.

  The idea stung.

  She took a step backward. “You know, I’ll just ask my brother next time we have supper together. I’ll be going now.”

  He stepped closer, and to her dismay, took her elbow and guided her away from the sergeant’s desk and over to an alcove, where there was a modicum of privacy. “You look upset. Are you in trouble?”

  Trouble? No doubt he was sure a poor girl like her couldn’t stay out of trouble. “I am not in trouble, sir. And I am not upset.” She was pretty proud of herself. Here she was, just turned nineteen, but she was sounding almost like a grand lady.

  A curious expression passed over his features before he looked beyond her shoulder. “Miss Ryan, where is your escort?”

  Escort? She turned around and followed his gaze before completely understanding what he was implying. She shouldn’t be alone, or at least no lady should be.

  “I don’t have one.”

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Do you mean to tell me that you traveled here alone?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Allow me to escort you back home then.”

  There was no way she was going to let him see where she lived. “Thank you, but as you said, I have nothing to worry about.”

  Confusion settled in his gaze. “What did I say?”

  “You know, since I’m not a lady,” she blurted before she remembered to be more refined.

  “Miss Ryan, I neither said such a thing nor insinuated it.”

  He looked so affronted, she was embarrassed. “I meant no offense.”

  “But you have offended me,” he said lightly. “Now, please tell me how you traveled here. Did you take a grip car?”

  She didn’t want to tell him. Actually, she didn’t want to have another word with him.

  Actually, she wanted to get as far away from him as she could before she completely embarrassed herself and before Sean returned and took her to task. “I took the train,” she blurted.

  “Then allow me to escort you to the station and wait with you until it arrives.”

  “I couldn’t allow you to do such a thing.”

  “Yet, I wasn’t asking, Miss Ryan.” His voice was firm. Firm like steel.

  Katie glanced around the station, noticing their conversation was being observed by Sergeant Fuller, most of his fellow officers, and even the few men and women who were sitting in chairs waiting for an audience.

  With a sinking feeling, she realized Sean was going to hear of her appearance at the station, and that he most definitely would not be happy about it. No doubt she was in for a talking-to.

  And so, because of that, she pulled away from Owen Howard, bid him good day, and darted out the door before he had the opportunity to reply. Fearing that he might attempt to catch up to her, she raced down the sidewalk, nearly running down a peddler.

  “Watch it!” the peddler called out.

  Katie ignored him and increased her pace, weaving around pedestrians, flower sellers, mothers with their children, and businessmen buying sandwiches from the street vendors.

  Only when she reached the train station did she dare look behind her. But there was no one she knew. Nowhere could she find Detective Howard staring at her in distaste.

  Making her realize that she’d done a very bad thing today. For the briefest of moments she’d imagined that they were equals. Though in heaven that might be true . . . on the streets of Chicago?

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  CHAPTER 6

  Eloisa’s hands still felt tingly from where Sean had covered them with his own. Now, a full seven hours since he had left her home, as she sat in her boudoir, supposedly writing a letter to Thomas, she kept looking at her reflection in the mirror. And, yes, still holding up her hands to stare at them.

  Just to see if her body could possibly carry any outward mark from the experience. But of course it did not. Just as she bore no outward effects of Douglass Sloane’s attack. She looked the same as ever. It seemed it was possible to conceal almost anything.

  The briefest of knocks signaled her maid’s arrival. Juliet was almost her same age—just a year younger—and had lived and worked in the house since she was sixteen. Two years ago, when Eloisa had made her debut, she’d become Eloisa’s personal maid, and they’d quickly formed a warm relationship.

  “Good afternoon, Juliet.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Carstairs,” she replied in the same friendly but deferential way she always had, refusing to ever call Eloisa by her given name.

  However, the adherence to rules didn’t prevent her from raising her eyebrows at Eloisa after she glanced at her bed. “I came in to style your hair. But that is going to be difficult to do since you haven’t selected this evening’s gown.”

  Turning in her chair, Eloisa rested the side of her body against the chair’s back. “I will. Eventually.”

  “Eventually won’t be making your mother happy, miss. We both know that to be true.”

  “I know that it’s barely six o’clock,” Eloisa said as she rose to her feet and walked to the small chamber just beyond her seating area. Inside were dozens and dozens of gowns, each artfully sorted and organized by color and occasion. Two full-length mirrors flanked the gowns. Bandboxes filled with beautiful hats lined the shelves above the gowns. Slippers and kid boots in a plethora of colors awaited her in a custom-made cubby. It was a beautiful space, symbolic of all she’d been blessed with.

  But at the moment it also served to remind her that her parents considered both Eloisa’s pleasing looks and the magnificent array of gowns ammunition in their mission to obtain her a perfect match.

  “I don’t even recall what this evening’s plans entail,” she murmured. Poking her head out of the room, Eloisa looked at Juliet, who was pulling out Eloisa’s silver-backed set of combs and brushes. “What am I doing, again?”

  Clucking her tongue, Juliet said, “You are dining at home this evening, miss.”

  “Am I?” She was pleased about that. Pleased and surprised, and now very confused. “Well then, surely there’s no hurry to arrange my hair or select a gown?”

  “Miss Carstairs, you are staying home because your mother is hosting a dinner party.” Looking amused, she added, “Your head must really be in the clouds today.”

  She’d forgotten. How could she have forgotten? “For what reason?” she asked hopefully. Maybe it was for her mother’s ladies guild? Or another soiree to celebrate the fair?

  “It’s in your honor, Miss Carstairs,” Juliet replied with barely concealed impatience. “Don’t you remember last week when it was all arranged?”

  “Now I do.” With a sigh, she added, “It was just after Mother read Reid Armstrong’s engagement announcement.” Oh, her mother had been disappointed that Eloisa and Reid had never reached an agreement.

  “To a housemaid.” Juliet sniffed.

  Eloisa knew Juliet had very definite ideas about not only gentlemen falling in love with domestics but also mere housemaids in general. Housemaids were only a step above kitchen maids, but below parlor maids and her own position, a lady’s maid to one lady—Eloisa. Furthermore, Juliet took her position as the personal maid to the season’s reigning debutante very seriously. She felt she was a step above most other domestics.

  But even she wouldn’t deign to step across the line and imagine herself engaged to a wealthy gentleman.

  Still staring blankly into her dressing room, Eloisa murmured, “Who was invited? Do you recall?”

  “I only remember Philippa Watson, James Nolt, Avery Kerrigan, Martin Upton, and Owen Howard.”

  Eloisa rolled her eyes. “I find Philippa tiresome. And Martin? Martin has moist lips.” She still cringed as she remembered how it had felt when he’d kissed her bare hand.

  Wisely, Juliet held her tongue as she joined Eloisa in the space. “Perhaps you’d like to wea
r your new lavender gown tonight? It’s fetching and will set off your pearls to perfection.”

  “That will be fine.” She stood in front of Juliet and let her unbutton her day gown, turning this way and that as her maid deftly helped remove the dress and its assortment of petticoats.

  Then, after quickly washing her face and arms, she inhaled as Juliet placed one silk corset around her and began to tighten the stays. Once her bustle and crinolines were fastened in place, Eloisa found herself gazing at her fingers again.

  And remembering the detective’s touch.

  “Juliet, are you even going to ask me about my caller?”

  “The detective?”

  “Of course.”

  Juliet carefully arranged the lavender gown so Eloisa could step into it. “Worthy says we’re not to speak of him,” she said as she began the process of fastening the gown’s back.

  “And why not?”

  “Because he is common. And because your parents are suspicious of his presence here.”

  The stilted way Juliet was phrasing her assessment gave Eloisa pause. “Surely they don’t think he’s dangerous? He’s a policeman on the hunt for the Slasher.”

  “I believe they’re more concerned about the way he looks at you, Miss Carstairs.”

  Now Eloisa noticed Juliet’s tone held more than a touch of humor. Once again, she gave the Lord thanks for putting Juliet in her life. Always, Juliet had her back and could be counted on to help Eloisa find humor in almost anything.

  Even things that weren’t all that humorous.

  “I don’t believe Lieutenant Ryan has done anything that could be construed as disrespectful.”

  “Worthy overheard your parents talking about him. They’re worried about you.”

  “They really should find something else to think about besides my every move.”

  “Beg pardon, miss, but we both know different. I watched the two of you stroll through the gardens. He was gazing at you like you were the stars and the heavens combined.”

  “You thought so?”

  “I know so.” Juliet chuckled. “You look pleased.”

  “I can’t help it. There’s something about him that has caught my attention, though of course I know it shouldn’t have. But yet . . . I think he’s handsome.”