by Renee Ryan
Bella ignored the feminine triumph in the madam’s eyes and pretended grave interest in the crown molding running along the ceiling of the hallway. “I wanted to visit some of my new patients at a more leisurely pace. Sunday morning can be a lonely time if one cannot leave the bed.”
“And yet the doctor feels the need to go to church.”
Bella made a noncommittal sound. Why start an argument when they were getting on so well?
To her credit, the madam continued the rest of their trek without speaking again. In blessed silence, she led Bella down a back stairwell, past the kitchen and inside a small parlor.
As expected, the decor was as gaudy as the rest of the brothel. Yet there was a sense of homeyness here that transcended the tacky red and gold furnishings, as though this room was meant for the madam’s private use only.
Best of all, shelves lined an entire wall and were filled with books from top to bottom.
Who would have thought Mattie Silks was a reader?
She eyed Bella with a speculative glance. “Are you an actress or a singer or both?”
Bella took immediate offense at the blunt question. “You aren’t much for small talk, are you, Miss Silks?”
With unexpected grace, Mattie lowered herself into a wingback chair and crossed her legs at the knees. “You carry yourself with great confidence, Miss O’Toole, especially for one so young. You must have trained all your life.”
Surprised by the compliment, Bella found herself unable to do more than stare at the woman as she tried to understand the odd change in Mattie’s behavior. She was different here, in this room, almost pleasant.
“I am an opera singer,” Bella said in answer.
“Are you any good?” Mattie asked, swinging her foot to some unheard beat.
No one had ever asked Bella that question outright. Oddly enough, she found Mattie’s interrogation refreshing, and thus decided to answer with complete honesty.
“The Lord has blessed me with a gift, Miss Silks. One I do not take lightly. Already I am winning lead roles from singers twice my age. If I continue to train and no damage comes to my voice, I will become the premiere opera singer of our day.”
Mattie nodded. “Then you must continue to train.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
How could Bella explain to this woman that if she continued to perform in the world she’d just escaped, she might well become some man’s mistress?
Her experience with William had opened her eyes to the only type of man she would attract. If she didn’t leave the stage, she might sacrifice her soul, her very salvation, for her dreams. When the singing was over she would be just another Lizzie, only in a more comfortable cage.
And yet, singing opera was all she knew.
“I believe God has a different plan for me now.”
Oh, Lord, please let that be true. Please, please, please.
Mattie looked at her oddly but didn’t respond. Just as the silence grew uncomfortable, the madam shook her head sadly and rose from her chair.
With a flowing gait, she ambled over to the shelves, pulled out a book and handed the thin volume to Bella.
Bella slowly opened the cover. From the worn binding and curled pages she could see the novel had been read often.
“It’s my favorite, too.” Mattie touched Bella’s hand. “I find great comfort in the happy ending.”
Bella locked gazes with the older woman and a startling sense of understanding passed between them. The connection should have been disturbing, should have been terrifying, but it wasn’t.
Had Bella found a kindred spirit in the notorious madam?
Perhaps underneath their individual professions, underneath their different life choices, Mattie Silks and Bella O’Toole were more alike than any would believe.
But did that make them objects of pity or women destined to become friends?
Chapter Nine
Just as Beau had suggested, Shane found his errant assistant hiding out in Lizzie’s bedroom. He tried not to be disappointed, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Miss O’Toole had chosen to spend Sunday morning in a brothel instead of church.
Leaning against the doorjamb, he studied the mysterious woman who seemed to surprise him at every turn. She certainly made a pretty picture, perched gracefully on a chair next to the bed. Her head was bent over a book. And as she read aloud, her soft, lilting accent imparted a whimsical mood in the otherwise austere room.
Shifting his focus to Lizzie, Shane marveled at the change in his patient. With her eyes half-closed, she looked the most peaceful he’d seen her in weeks.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flutter of material and realized there was a third occupant. Mattie Silks sat in a chair on the other side of the bed, holding herself serenely, pleasantly. Quietly!
Shane blinked.
At the sight of the three most unlikely women sitting together, an eerie sense of déjà vu whipped through him. In their own way, each reminded him of his mother.
Lizzie was the woman his mother had become in her final months. Worn out, sick, beyond all reasonable hope.
Mattie was the woman his mother might have become had she lived. A woman who had outlasted the mistakes of her youth and now did what she thought she had to do to survive the harsh world around her.
Lastly, there was Miss O’Toole. Despite the seemingly innocent picture she presented to the world, she reminded him of the mother from his youth. Beautiful, full of promise, the personification of possibilities. And just like his mother, Shane sensed Miss O’Toole was one bad choice away from a dark, dismal future.
Which was absurd, and probably a case of bad lighting. Bella O’Toole was the daughter of solid Christian parents and the sister of a dedicated preacher. She was nothing like Amanda Bartlett.
Yet…what did Shane really know about the woman he’d hired to assist him?
Was she ministering to Lizzie out of charity, as it would seem on the surface? Or had some other motive brought her here today, something less respectable? Something unthinkable.
A muscle locked in his jaw.
Pushing from the doorway, he cleared his throat and stepped into the room.
Miss O’Toole lifted her gaze from the page. At the same moment, a rogue sunbeam kissed the top of her head, casting a thousand shades of gold in its wake.
Shane froze. All thought evaporated into a black void.
Seemingly caught in the same trance, Miss O’Toole held his glance. After a moment, however, her gaze softened, warmed. And his pulse scrambled.
How could a simple look hold such power?
Slowly, distant sounds broke through his mind, piece by piece: the rocking of a chair, the ticking of a clock, his own shattered breathing.
And still he stared.
Blushing, Miss O’Toole lowered her gaze. She stumbled over a sentence, sighed and then closed the book. “Dr. Shane, we weren’t expecting to see you this afternoon.”
When her gaze met his again he found the connection between his brain and his mouth had disappeared.
With a rustle of skirts, Mattie sprang to her feet, drawing his attention away from Miss O’Toole at last.
“What a pleasant surprise…doctor.” Her tone said otherwise.
“Mattie,” he replied on an equally flat note. From the calculating gleam in her eyes, Shane knew better than to engage the madam in further conversation.
Of course, what he did—or did not do—hardly mattered. This was Mattie Silks. Nothing on his part could deter her once she’d resolved to have a bit of fun at his expense.
Swishing her hips in a telling manner, she made her way across the room straight to him. “Dare I hope this is a social call?” she asked. “Have you admitted to your loneliness at long last?”
Shane frowned. Mattie had asked him that question often enough. He usually had a witty comeback that shut her up. But he would not play her game today, especially in front of the other women. �
�I am here to see to my patient, Miss Silks. As always.”
She seemed to accept his response, but then he made a fundamental mistake. He glanced at Miss O’Toole.
Mattie, of course, followed his gaze.
Eyes narrowed, she measured. Calculated. Then flipped him a knowing smile. “So it’s like that, is it?”
Swallowing back a hasty response, Shane forced a bland expression on his face.
“I came to fetch Miss O’Toole, as well.” His tone came out lower and deadlier than he had planned. “Her brother is worried about her.”
Smirking, Mattie placed a well-manicured hand on his arm and relaxed into a hip-thrusting pose. “Now, doctor, why the pretense? We both know you were the one worried about our lovely opera singer.”
He glared at the talons wrapped around his arm. When she didn’t release him right away, he moved out of reach. “Don’t be obvious, Mattie. It does you no credit.”
“Me?” She laughed. A short, tinkling, terrible sound of glee. “Maybe you should glance at your face in the mirror over there,” she pointed her thumb over her right shoulder, “and see what ‘obvious’ really looks like.”
Shane pressed his lips into a flat line. “I’m warning you. Don’t start. Not today.”
“And I’m warning you.” Mattie’s eyes hardened. “Remember who you’re dealing with, doctor.”
Shane opened his mouth to end the childish battle but was interrupted by Miss O’Toole’s soft sigh. “Dr. Shane. Please…” Her voice flowed into another sigh.
Shane switched his full attention to her and waited for the rest.
“I…that is…” She quickly cast her eyes to the book in her lap, chipped at the binding with her fingernail. “Please be so kind as to tell my brother there is no need to worry. As you can see, I am quite well.”
Shane saw no such thing.
Not only was Miss O’Toole keeping company with a notorious madam, he’d caught the quick slice of shame in her eyes before she’d lowered her gaze. The gesture reminded him that Bella O’Toole was more than his friend’s innocent sister, more than his competent assistant. She was a woman harboring a secret, one she refused to reveal to her brother or anyone else.
An ugly thought occurred to him. Had Miss O’Toole shared her worries with Mattie Silks or even Lizzie?
Frustration reared, and something darker, uglier, but he fought back the troubling emotions. What did it matter who Miss O’Toole shared her secret with? He had enough to worry about without adding a beautiful, wounded opera singer to the long list of people who needed him.
But, in this, Shane knew he lied to himself. He wanted this woman to turn to him. He wanted to be her confidant, her only confidant. The strength of the wish nearly knocked him to his knees. He felt the shock in his gut. In his heart.
Needing to return to familiar ground, he cleared his mind of all thought save one. “I’d like to examine Lizzie now.”
Miss O’Toole rose. “Of course. Miss Silks was on her way out when you arrived.” She shot Mattie a pleading look. “Weren’t you?”
The madam stared at her for several seconds. A silent message passed between them and then, wonder of wonders, Mattie slowly nodded. “Of course. I’ll leave you to your business.”
Without looking at Lizzie or Shane, Mattie retrieved the book from Miss O’Toole and headed for the door. Stopping at the threshold, she looked back over her shoulder. “Bella?”
“Yes?”
“You may borrow this anytime you wish.” She waved the book above her head. “You know where to find it.”
“I certainly do. And thank you. It’s a very kind offer.” A genuine smile spread across Miss O’Toole’s lips. “One I plan to accept often.”
Mattie appeared ready to say more but she snapped her head around and left the room without another word.
At this odd interaction between the unlikely pair, a jolt of alarm spread through Shane. Mattie might have a soft spot deep, deep, deep, deep in her heart, but she was also a shrewd businesswoman, ruthless to the point of cruelty when she wanted something. Or someone.
Was she befriending Miss O’Toole for her own end?
Shane didn’t have time to contemplate that awful thought before the door clicked shut, and Miss O’Toole turned into his assistant once again.
“You’ll be glad to know Lizzie’s feeling much better today.” She removed the compress from their patient’s forehead and dipped it in the bowl next to the bed. “Aren’t you, dear?”
Lizzie smiled up at her. “Much.”
Recognizing Miss O’Toole’s closed expression, Shane held on to his questions—for now—and moved deeper into the room. With a flick of his wrist, he shed his coat. After rolling up his sleeves, he took Lizzie’s wrist in one hand and pulled out his watch with the other.
All business now, he counted the heartbeats, pleased to discover her pulse thumped strongly against his fingertips. Her coloring was good today, less ashy, and her face wasn’t as drawn as usual. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe she might recover. At least long enough to change the condition of her soul, if not her body.
Healing the sick was what Shane had been called to do, especially women with nowhere else to turn for medical care. But their salvation mattered more. If he could afford them enough time to resolve their relationship with God then he’d fulfilled one of his purposes in life.
Unfortunately, he’d never known his mother’s heart, or whether she’d turned to Jesus in her final moments of life. He’d been too young and too caught up in his bitterness toward his father to care enough to pursue the matter. He hadn’t even prayed for her soul. For that alone, he’d failed her.
He would not fail the others.
With that thought, he caught Miss O’Toole’s eye.
She was staring at him, her gaze full of concern, as though she could read his troubled thoughts.
A reflex to share the pain of his distress came fast. His eyes stung from the effort to form his thoughts into words. Just as he started to speak, he was hit by a wall of common sense and kept his mouth shut.
He had to remember Miss O’Toole’s presence in his life was temporary. All too soon she would leave for London or New York or some other world stage miles away from Colorado.
Unlike his mother, Shane would not fall for someone out of reach. He ignored the small whisper in his head that suggested it might be too late.
“Dr. Bartlett, you left your coat,” Bella called after his retreating back.
He turned to look at her with an absent expression on his face. “What coat?”
She waved the garment in her hand. “This one.”
“Ah.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “That one.”
With clipped steps, he returned to her side.
As she helped him shrug into his coat, a wave of fondness crashed over her and she had to resist the urge to smooth the dark fabric across his broad shoulders. Balling her hands into fists, she followed him out of Lizzie’s room and down the long hallway that led to the front stairwell.
Walking silently next to the doctor, Bella realized she had learned a few truths about the man in their week-long acquaintance. Although brilliant, he spoke to his patients in a way that made them feel accepted, and heard. He was truly a compassionate healer who also carried the burden of his patients’ pain in his heart, even if he refused to acknowledge that fact out loud.
In spite of the distance he kept between him and the rest of the world, she saw his goodness, his integrity.
And the more time she spent around Shane Bartlett, the more she wondered what it would be like to share the healthy give and take of a relationship with a godly man. She was sure it would be nothing like her involvement with William.
Lord Crawley had offered her protection and worldly luxury. But he’d never offered himself. Or his life.
How had Bella missed that?
Easy enough. She’d been dazzled by William’s dark masculine beauty, by his well-timed compliments, and
by her own love for him.
But, truly, how could she have loved such a man? When wonderful, decent men like Shane Bartlett existed in the world. She cast him a quick glance, then sighed at the truth that flashed through her mind.
She wasn’t good enough for men like Shane.
She’d accepted William’s suit because deep down she’d sensed the awful truth about herself. She had deserved nothing better than what William had offered.
Swallowing back a rising sob, she followed the doctor down the steep stairwell. Perhaps her lack of goodness explained her affinity for Mattie Silks and Lizzie. In their company she felt less sinful by comparison. Oh, she knew she was deluding herself. There was no hierarchy of sin in the Lord’s eyes. All sin was wrong and led to separation from God. But knowing a thing and believing it were two separate matters.
Drawing close to the main floor, she looked around her, desperate to rid herself of her depressing thoughts. Unfortunately, the gaudiness and sour smells matched the ugliness of her soul. Would she ever be cleansed of her sins? Was she destined to live a life as black as her soul, like the women who conducted their business here?
Her eyes filled with tears and she nearly collided into Dr. Shane as he drew to a sudden stop.
“Oh.” She stepped away too quickly and fell backward, landing on the bottom step.
“Miss O’Toole.” The concern in the doctor’s voice made her feel…worse.
He offered her his hand. “My apologies.”
For a tense moment she stared at his outstretched fingers. This competent, compassionate man was simply offering her his assistance, nothing more. Why, then, did she sense he was asking her a question? And that her answer mattered.
No, she was being overly dramatic. An unpleasant character trait she was only just discovering about herself.
Gathering her courage, she placed her hand in his, palm to palm. As his fingers closed over hers, a sense of calm rippled through her.
Staring into her eyes, he pulled her to her feet, blinked and then quickly released her hand. His gaze, however, stayed locked firmly with hers, as it had in Lizzie’s room. And just like earlier, all that intensity directed at Bella made her feel wrapped in safety.
