Because it had crossed her mind.
She glanced over at the shut door, which must lead to his bedroom.
In a week she had gone from barely knowing Rafael Pinheiro to thinking terribly impure thoughts about him. That discussion he had planned for later that evening had better involve marriage, because she was certain she wanted him, even if she’d only known him a short time.
She surveyed his apartment then, trying to pick out what it could tell her about Rafael Pinheiro. It was rather plain, but the furnishings seemed to be of good quality. A sofa sat across from the hearth with a chair to one side, but those were the only places to sit. How often did he have guests? There was nothing feminine about the room, certainly—no lace, no ruffles, no flowers. There was a painting above the hearth, a rural scene with a young girl driving cattle along a lane. It seemed a strange choice, but she thought it was lovely. The style reminded her of the work of Carvalho de Silva Porto.
And beneath that stood a phonograph player, one of the newer design that played discs rather than cylinders. She smiled. Rafael must love music if he’d bought one of these. They were quite expensive.
The bedroom door opened and Rafael stepped back into the front room, now fully dressed. He wore a black frock coat and held a top hat in his hand. And she was right. Splendidly garbed as he was, he was more attractive when unclothed.
“You look very fine,” she said anyway, her cheeks warming.
“Thank you,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”
He held out one arm. When he opened his apartment door, they both stopped at the threshold.
“What happened?” she whispered, aghast.
Right before the door there was a rough oval of missing floorboards. They could see straight down to the framing of the floor. A narrow table stood in the hallway—she’d not noticed it in her panic before—but it looked as if a bite had been taken out of it. And when Rafael checked, the end of the door latch was gone as well. “That is bad,” he said.
One thing he’d noted early about Genoveva Jardim was that she’d been well trained to handle social difficulties. When he’d mentioned his intentions earlier that afternoon, she’d been flustered only for a second.
Not nearly as flustered as she’d been when he ran into the front room to confront her pursuer. He’d been taking as much of a bath as he could without keeping her waiting forever. When he heard his door slam, he acted purely out of instinct, running to confront the intruder. And then he heard the man’s crude diatribe and everything flew out of his head but fury. He’d wanted to twist the man’s neck off.
Given the state of the floorboards, he was glad she’d stopped him.
Gaspar had been right in saying the man might take more than just a layer of skin with him when he’d disappeared. And if the man had taken part of the floor—and the table and the door latch—it could have been his entire hand. Or Genoveva’s. Even though this man had been little more than a nuisance so far, he was a dangerous nuisance, one with a potential to kill.
This case would take top priority tomorrow.
Tonight he had a mission, though. So he escorted Genoveva to her boarding house and waited outside while she changed into dinner wear. She came down half an hour later with her hair repaired and wearing a lovely gown in pale green silk with ivory beading about the low neckline. “I haven’t worn anything like this since . . .”
Since she left her family’s home. He didn’t need her to finish that. He knew she’d sold most of her fine clothing to pay her rent. That she’d kept this dress hinted that it was her favorite. She carried a small portmanteau, so he took that. “About time you wore it, then. That cab over there is waiting for us.”
A few minutes later they were headed down to the Street of Flowers.
The balcony at the Stock Exchange Palace looked out in the direction of the river, and a cool breeze came up from that direction. Rafael led Genoveva out onto it, one of her hands in his. “I wanted to talk about money, which I understand is one of those topics that men don’t think should be discussed with women, but I do think it’s important.”
Most men in society would prefer to discuss this with her father. As she didn’t have one, it was a moot point. “Thank you. I prefer to know.”
“First, I don’t want you to think I’m going to inherit any of the Ferreira money,” he said. “I didn’t bring you here to suggest that, but . . .”
“That doesn’t matter,” she told him. “Between the two of us we make enough to get by, even if we adopt a child or two.”
“Are you going to listen to me?” he asked crossly.
She could tell he wasn’t serious in his annoyance. “Very well, say what you have to say.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve been working on this speech, and I don’t want all my effort to go to waste. Let’s see. Where was I? I actually have a decent inheritance of my own, from my mother’s side, the Pinheiro family. It doesn’t compare to the wealth the Ferreira family has, but it’s enough to assure that you would be taken care of should something happen to me. I have a house and quinta in Guimarães, along with all the Pinheiro family lands and holdings there. I have part interest in four fabric mills, and I will also inherit my father’s house on Pinto Bessa Street eventually.”
That was a surprising recitation. A house and farm in Guimarães? Genoveva kept her mouth shut, hands folded meekly.
“None of that tempts me to leave the police,” he warned. “I intend to stay at my work for the foreseeable future. I only wanted you to know that you would be financially secure should you agree to marry me.”
So he was going to ask her to marry him . . . eventually.
“I also think,” he added, “we should marry as soon as possible. I’d like to wait until my cousin Joaquim returns to the city, although that might be as soon as tonight.”
She laid one hand on either side of his face and rose on her toes to kiss his lips. Then she stepped back. “Yes. As soon as possible.”
“I’m not going to ask Lord Carvalho’s permission,” he warned.
“He’s not my father,” she said firmly.
“Then would you mind going tomorrow afternoon to file for a license?”
While she might once have dreamed of a large society wedding, her months of living on a tight budget had completely removed that desire. In her eyes, money had better uses. “Not at all.”
“Then do we have something to announce to your mother when she arrives?” he asked.
He knew everything about her that might turn away a man and yet still wanted her, even when she had no money and no social status. He wasn’t even put off by the madman chasing her who’d eaten his floorboards. “Yes, provided that you actually ask me to marry you.”
He laughed ruefully, then touched her cheek with the back of one hand. “Genoveva Jardim, would you consent to be my wife?”
She turned her face to place a kiss on his hand. “Yes, Rafael.”
Genoveva’s mother clapped her hands in pleasure when she learned of their plans, then insisted on kissing Rafael’s cheeks. It had all gone far more smoothly than he’d expected, even though he’d almost forgotten to ask his fiancé to marry him.
The restaurant was elegant, and they were given a table out of the view of other customers as he’d requested. He hoped Genoveva’s mother wouldn’t be seen by anyone who might tell her husband where she’d been. The white-aproned waiters brought them their courses, and Rafael concentrated on answering all the questions the lady had for her prospective son-in-law.
“I do have one other thing to tell you,” he said to Genoveva later over the main course. “The gentleman who managed my grandfather’s properties in Guimarães is elderly and wants to train someone to replace him so that he can go to live with his daughter outside Braga. When I talked to your butler, he told me that Tiago Coelho is both clever and hard-working, and that he could take on that manner of work. I sent a telegram
to Coelho, asking if he would be interested in learning to manage the properties for me.”
Genoveva stared at him, her mouth in an O.
“I received a telegram back from him yesterday afternoon,” Rafael added. “I didn’t tell you then because I didn’t want you to think his position was contingent on your agreeing to marry me. Are you upset with me?”
She shook her head quickly.
Rafael turned to her mother. “I’ve written to him, suggesting that he and his wife move into the main house, since I rarely plan to be there. I wanted to extend an invitation to you, ma’am, to join them. After all, I understand that your daughter Constancia is . . . in the family way. It might be a comfort for her to have you there.”
That would get Genoveva’s mother out from under her bullying husband’s thumb in a way that society would find unexceptional. Rafael was relieved when the lady, after a moment of tearful wordlessness, agreed that it would be an ideal plan.
After her mother had gone, Rafael helped Genoveva into a cab. Even though they were close to the Ferreira house, he preferred not to have her walk along a dark street. He climbed up next to her and she surprised him by taking his hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said. “My mother’s situation has been terrible.”
“It’s a solution that helps me as well,” he pointed out as the cab rattled on its way. “I need a replacement for my manager, and had no idea where to find one. When you mentioned your new brother-in-law, it occurred to me he must know something of farming and of household management. I didn’t choose him entirely for your sake, or your mother’s.”
“But we both benefited,” she said, and leaned closer to kiss him.
The inside of the cab was dark, and he doubted anyone would see them, so he set his arms around her and kept her in his embrace until the cab drew to a halt in the back court behind the Ferreira house. He let her go reluctantly, sent the cab on its way, and walked up the back steps to the kitchen with her.
“Won’t you come in?” she asked breathlessly.
Oh, that was tempting. “If I come in, I might not have the self-control to leave,” he admitted, “and I don’t want to press my aunt’s hospitality too far.”
She flushed under the dim light of the lamp on the wall. Then she pressed a final kiss to his lips and bid him a good night. Rafael waited until the door locked behind her to go on his way. He walked down the alleyway behind the Street of Flowers and up the steep streets to his own neighborhood with a smile lingering on his lips.
All in all, it had been a most satisfying evening.
Chapter 6
* * *
Monday, 4 May 1903
GASPAR FROWNED DOWN at the gaps where the floorboards were missing. “You didn’t see him do this?”
“No,” Rafael said. “Miss Jardim didn’t want me to pursue him into the hall.”
This had been their first task this morning. Rafael had gone to the Ferreira house to escort Genoveva to the police station, discussed the bizarre intrusion with Gaspar, and then the three of them returned to his apartment . . . or rather the hallway outside it.
Gaspar turned to her. “Did you see if he had anything with him? A device of some sort?”
She pursed her lips and closed her eyes as if trying to picture the man. She wore what must be her most tatty jacket today, a striped one in blue and burgundy. “I don’t think he had anything.”
“What was he wearing?” Gaspar asked.
“Brown coat,” she said, eyes still closed. “His finest, perhaps, for Sunday? Not a gentleman, though.”
Gaspar’s brows rose. “Different clothes than last time you saw him, so not a vagrant.”
Her eyes opened. “I never had that impression.”
Gaspar gently touched the truncated door latch. “A possibility that needed to be considered. His gibberish, as you both put it, suggests he’s not entirely sane.”
She nodded, her face grim. “I can’t explain this any other way.”
Rafael had to agree with that assessment. Some of the words he’d heard screamed through that door had been curses, but most of them hadn’t made sense at all.
“And yet your gift didn’t warn you?” Gaspar looked back to Rafael this time.
“No,” he said. “I believe it was because the man left without directly threatening either of us. I’d asked myself if Miss Jardim would be threatened or harmed. He was on the other side of a door, and it appears that his touch is what does the harm, so neither applied.”
“Next time ask yourself better questions,” Gaspar murmured as he gazed at the floor again.
Rafael didn’t argue that point.
“How did he find you here?” Gaspar asked. “Was he following you, Miss Jardim?”
Genoveva looked to him, so Rafael answered. “Not that I was aware. But I wasn’t actively watching for him, either.”
Neither of them had expected to be followed, and they’d been paying attention to each other, not the passersby. They hadn’t been on their guard.
“So last Saturday, then Thursday, then Sunday,” Gaspar said. “Five days, then three. The time between his visits is getting shorter. This most recent event occurred during daylight, so he’s not afraid of being seen.”
Rafael had noticed the changes. “There’s not enough information to assume a pattern.”
“True.” Gaspar rubbed his chin, his eyes still surveying the hole left by the missing flooring. “I do think, however, that we can safely assume this man is after Miss Jardim. I suggest you keep her within arm’s length until we catch him. He clearly seems to be wary of you, but not her.”
“What are you suggesting? Sit at the station and wait for him?”
“No,” Gaspar said. “I want to learn how he’s finding her. I need you to go somewhere she hasn’t visited before. Take Miss Jardim and find a hiding place—a building with one main exit. I’ll watch from a distance to see if I can spot him.”
“She’s been staying at the Ferreira house.”
“Not there,” Gaspar said quickly. “Somewhere new.”
“I can’t simply be gone from the office all day,” he protested.
“Yes, you can,” Gaspar said. “You can brief Anjos on the current cases, and he can handle the officers.”
Although Rafael was nominally in charge of the men, both Anjos and Gaspar were more experienced than him. They simply preferred not to manage. “Where would you suggest?”
“A hotel would work if it’s not one of the better ones.”
Rafael licked his lips. “It would be harmful to Miss Jardim’s reputation should I take her to a place like that.”
Gaspar shrugged. “The other officers don’t have to know you’re together, although it would seem strange for Miss Jardim to be facing this man alone.”
This would cause all manner of gossip. Rafael glanced over to Genoveva. She looked pale. If there was one thing that a woman familiar with society knew, it was the power of spiteful gossip.
“We could let people know,” he said to her, “if you don’t have an objection. It will soften any gossip.”
She nodded.
“Miss Jardim and I are engaged to marry,” Rafael told Gaspar. “We hope to marry as soon as Joaquim returns from Barcelona. If any of the others press the issue, telling them that might limit the gossip.”
“Hmmm . . .” Gaspar said absently. “I wondered when that would happen.”
He shouldn’t be surprised about Gaspar’s lack of shock. Gaspar had probably figured out Rafael’s intentions long ago. The inspector could be remarkably circumspect when he ran across a secret—up to the point where he needed that secret revealed. Genoveva cast a quizzical glance at Rafael, but he just shook his head. “So let’s get back to the station and get things in motion. If that plan’s acceptable to you, Miss Jardim?”
“I can’t think of any better. We have to file papers today,” she reminded him in a whisper.
“Well, that office is one place neither of us has been before,” Rafael
said.
Genoveva sat to one side, waiting while Rafael reviewed each of the pending cases with Inspector Anjos. The inspector was Brazilian, a fact made evident every time the man spoke. It had taken Genoveva a while to become accustomed to his foreign pronunciation.
She sat wordlessly when Medeiros walked in with the news that the missing man he’d previously found had gone missing again. The man’s wife was at the station, and Medeiros planned to start hunting the man immediately.
“Why don’t you send her in here,” Rafael said, his eyes flicking toward Genoveva briefly. “I’ll talk to her.”
Genoveva didn’t know what that look meant. “Do you need me to leave?”
All their heads turned toward her. Medeiros’ eyes widened as if just noticing her there. Rafael shook his head. “No, Miss Jardim. You can stay.”
Medeiros regarded her with narrowed eyes, and then turned an appraising gaze on Rafael. Genoveva could almost see the wheels of comprehension clicking away in the man’s mind. Medeiros left to fetch the woman in question without speaking, but Genoveva had no doubt he would have something to say later.
“Is this the woman whose husband worked for the Special Police?” Anjos asked, flipping through the papers in one of the files.
“Yes,” Rafael said. “His son did as well, which is why we agreed to hunt for the father.”
“Not any longer?” Anjos asked, his eyes on the papers.
“Their son was one of the ones who died that night,” Rafael answered softly.
Anjos’ eyes lifted, and his lips pressed together in a thin line. “You didn’t tell me that.”
They didn’t have to discuss which night. Even Genoveva knew what that phrase meant.
It referred back to the night when her father had killed several members of the palace guard and a handful of officers of the Special Police in his attempt to escape. Her father, Pedro Salazar, had used his healer’s gift to steal the lives of all those men. With that stolen strength, he’d nearly killed Anjos and severely injured Gaspar as well. It had been Mrs. Anjos who’d stopped Salazar, drawing his life force—and that of all of his victims as well—from his body without touching him. She’d then used all that stolen power to heal Anjos.
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