Diane T. Ashley

by Jasmine

  “Thank you, Doctor.” She watched as he measured out a dose of laudanum. “It’s been awhile since I had to deal with anything more serious than cuts and bruises.”

  “I know you worked with patients during the war, and you’ve certainly not lost your touch.” He capped his bottle and left it on the dresser. “If he wakes during the night, you can give him one more spoonful.” The doctor closed his bag and moved to the door, inclining his head to indicate that Camellia should precede him. “What happened to him?”

  Camellia told the doctor about the fire.

  He shook his head. “Do you have other patients I should see?”

  “I don’t know for certain. My aunt may have suffered a fit of apoplexy by now.”

  He turned his chuckle into a cough. “Never fear, I will check on Miss Dahlia on my way out. I may have a little something to calm overwrought nerves. Why don’t you wash up? You look ready to fall over.”

  “I concur with your diagnosis.” Jonah’s voice came from the shadowy hall. Bathed and in a fresh suit, her husband looked much refreshed. “And I intend to see that my wife follows your instructions to the letter.”

  Shaking her head, Camellia watched as the doctor made his way to the first floor. “I should see to the others before—”

  Jonah put a finger over her mouth. “You heard the doctor. You will not be allowed downstairs until you make use of the warm bath waiting in our bedroom.”

  Recognizing the firm tone in her husband’s voice, Camellia nodded. Besides, the idea of washing the grime from her skin sounded blissful. “Are you sure no one else needs to be seen?”

  Instead of answering, Jonah swept her into his arms.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you follow orders.” He stopped long enough to open the door before depositing her on the edge of their bed. “Do you need help undressing?”

  Camellia could feel her cheeks heat. “I believe I can manage on my own.”

  “If you’re sure …” The look in his eyes was positively wicked.

  Fleeing to the dressing screen, Camellia began removing her clothing with racehorse speed. She heard the bedroom door close and giggled. As she climbed into the bathtub, she thanked God for bringing Jonah into her life. He was the only man in the world who could make her laugh on a day like this one.

  David was led to the cell by Constable Louis Longineaux. He was young and looked like he needed to gain some weight so he could fill out his uniform—a double-breasted frock coat of a rather garish orange hue and matching trousers. The left lapel of his coat boasted a metal badge in the shape of a star with a crescent surrounding it, the standard emblem of the Metropolitan Police Force.

  Ignoring the rude remarks of the prisoners they passed in the dreary hallway, David matched his pace to the young constable’s. His nose stung from the noxious odors of waste and filth. As a detective he’d seen the inside of many prisons, but none quite so grimy. The walls were streaked with water and green slime, and decay and hopelessness permeated the air. “Has the prisoner had any visitors?”

  “No.” The constable stumbled over a loose brick in the floor, setting his ring of keys to jingling before he regained his balance. “I reckon he’s a loner. Or maybe none of his friends know what happened to him.”

  Before he could ask more questions, they reached their destination in a dank corner of the jail. Longineaux rattled his keys and selected one to insert into the lock. “Wake up, Charlie. You got a visitor.”

  Charles “Charlie” Petrie lay on one of the two cots in the cell, his hands under his head. When he heard the door open, he sat up and swung his legs to the floor.

  Several days’ growth of a dark beard hid the shape of his chin. His hair was a mess, standing at odd angles around his head and giving him the look of a madman. His eyes reminded David of a cat—almond-shaped and so light a shade of brown they might be called yellow. They glowed in the dim light of the cell, tracking the constable’s movements even though the prisoner’s head didn’t move.

  “Whatcha’ mean? I got no friends in New Orleans.”

  David noticed the way he pronounced the city’s name. The prisoner said it as two separate words—New Orleenz. A native like Constable Longineaux would have said N’awlins.

  “No one said I was a friend.” David stepped into the cell and gestured to the constable to lock him in. “You can come back in about half an hour. I should be done by then.”

  “You sure you’ll still be alive?” Petrie’s feline gaze skewered him.

  David resisted the urge to touch his gun. His holster was empty—a rule enforced with all visitors, even Pinkerton detectives—but he felt secure in his ability to protect himself, even in such close quarters. “I’m not worried.”

  Longineaux left them alone, and David glanced around the room. It was sparsely furnished—a pair of cots, a chamber pot, and a narrow window so grimy it let in little sunlight. Deciding not to lean against the wall, David sat on the unoccupied cot.

  Charlie Petrie didn’t say anything, but his gaze bored a hole into David’s chest.

  Accustomed to anger and belligerence, David took his attitude in stride. He wasn’t here to make a new friend, after all. He took a moment to size the other man up before beginning his interrogation. “So you’re the man who planned and executed a successful robbery at Citizen’s Bank?” He put a hint of disbelief in his voice.

  Petrie sneered, his face seeming even more catlike as he wrinkled his nose. “If you say so.”

  “I’m asking.” David took a notebook from his coat pocket. “I have to complete a report. It would help me immensely if you would tell me about the robbery.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Petrie leaned against the wall behind him. “What do you want to know?”

  “I don’t know.” Chewing on the nib of a pencil, David looked up at nothing in particular. He wanted Petrie to think he was a bit of a simpleton. “Why don’t you start with the number of men involved in the robbery.”

  “Just me.”

  David scratched his head. “Is that right? What about the others who came in with you and held guns on the staff? Are you telling me they were strangers you met on the street as you walked into the bank?”

  “Yep. I had me an idea to slip in right quick and empty out the safe. Those fellows offered to help for a cut of the money.” Petrie relaxed as he talked.

  “I see.” David wrote a couple of words down in his book.

  “You could say I’ve got one of them friendly faces. Folks walk up to me all the time and ask if they can help out.”

  David let the prisoner continue his story, inserting approving noises here and there to keep him talking.

  “Say, what are you writing down in that book about me?”

  “Hmmm.” David looked up. “Oh, it’s nothing much. Kinda boring. My boss likes for me to wrap things up in a nice package so he’ll know where to put the file after you’re dead.”

  Petrie’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

  “Armed robbery is a serious charge. I was hoping maybe we could talk about a reduced sentence if you knew something to lead me to the others who were at the bank.” David shrugged. “But since you didn’t know them, and you’re not a member of a gang, you really don’t know anything I can use.”

  A crafty look entered the man’s yellow eyes. “I might be willing to talk a little more if it would save me from the hangman’s noose.”

  Petrie was an example of the adage “There is no honor among thieves.” Few criminals possessed a high moral code. Most of them would be willing to sell their mothers for a jug of whiskey.

  “You can talk your head off all the way to the gallows, and it won’t make a bit of difference.” David closed his notebook and returned it to his pocket. “It’s a shame really.”

  Petrie pushed himself forward, leaning toward David. “You’ve got to listen to me.”

  “Why should I?” David stood. “I have enough information for
your file. Thank you for your time.”

  “Wait.” Petrie’s jaw worked, evidence of the strong emotions passing through him. “What if I was lying? What if I really did know those men? What if I could lead you to them? What if you made a big arrest and got yourself a nice promotion? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course I would.” David met Petrie’s gaze. “But if you were lying then, how can I believe anything you tell me now?”

  Petrie rocked back on the cot.

  David could practically hear the wheels of the man’s brain grinding as he considered his options.

  “I don’t know much. I ain’t been a part of the gang for long. Only since they showed up in New Orleans a few weeks ago.”

  David’s pulse spiked. He’d lost hope that Charlie Petrie might be part of the gang that had been robbing banks up and down the Mississippi River valley. Anyone dumb enough to be caught in a bar with evidence on him didn’t seem like much of a mastermind. He had decided that at best Petrie was a junior member of the gang. At worst he would have no connection at all to the robbers David was tracking. He needed to keep his interest well hidden. “So you really don’t know anything at all, do you?”

  “That’s not true.” Petrie thrust his chin up, defiance evident in every muscle of his body. Even his beard seemed to bristle with it. “I don’t know exactly where they hide out, but I can get a message to them … draw them out. Then you can spring your trap.”

  “I don’t know… .”

  The arrival of Constable Longineaux could not have been better timed. David could see the anxiety in Charlie Petrie’s yellow eyes. He would let the man sit for a day or two while he talked with the police chief. Together, they could work out a plan. Something that would stop Charlie Petrie and his gang from ever again preying on innocent people.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jumping to her feet as the final curtain fell, Jasmine brought her hands together with enthusiasm. She didn’t care that none of the others in their box stood. Lily was probably frowning, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could undermine her delight in the performance. As the applause of the audience began to die down, she returned to her front-row seat. “I wish it wasn’t over.”

  Sarah leaned toward her. “Kenneth and I are enjoying watching you enjoy the play. You’re a breath of fresh air. I had almost forgotten how much fun the theater can be.”

  Jasmine felt a bit like a brown sparrow sitting next to a peacock. When she first walked downstairs this evening, she had been more than satisfied with her navy blue frock. Six flounces edged in bias-cut lace decorated the skirt. The bodice was unadorned except for a single row of buttons, a narrow collar, and a rosette of the same silk faille as her dress. Her jewelry was a single strand of matching pearls, and her hair had been pulled back in a simple style that allowed soft ringlets to touch her shoulders.

  But Sarah’s dress put hers to shame. It might have been shipped directly from Paris. Forest green in color, the silk gown nipped in her waist and exposed her dimpled shoulders. The flounce was caught up high on the skirt and cascaded toward the floor in elegant folds. A diamond collar sparkled around her neck, complementing the glittering earbobs that dripped from her ears. She looked like a plate from a fashion magazine.

  Sarah touched Jasmine’s elbow with the tip of her fan. “Would you like to go backstage to meet Miss Barlow?”

  Jasmine’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t imagine anything any more thrilling.

  Lily leaned forward from her seat on the second row. “You’d better close your mouth before an insect flies into it.” Her whisper fell into one of those sudden silences that sometimes happens even in large crowds.

  The people in the next box glanced in Jasmine’s direction as a result of her sister’s warning. She heard a chuckle from Blake behind her and saw the smile on Kenneth’s face. A tide of hot blood stung her cheeks. Wanting to bring her hands up to hide her embarrassment, Jasmine trained her gaze on the floor. She wished Lily and Blake had stayed at the Thorntons’ house tonight. The outing would be much more pleasurable without her sister’s constant poking and prodding.

  Sarah came to her rescue. “Don’t be so hard on the girl.” Her dress rustled as she stood and looped her arm through Jasmine’s. “Madame LeBlanc arranged it for you, but if you don’t wish to go, I will understand.”

  “Oh, no.” Jasmine bit her lip. “I mean, yes, please. I would like that above all things.” The very idea of meeting one of the talented people she’d just seen on the stage made her heart race. She lifted her free hand to check her hair and realized it was shaking. Hoping no one else had seen it, she allowed her arm to drop back to her side. This was the most exciting moment of her life. But she didn’t have to advertise that fact to her naysayer sister.

  “Good.” Sarah turned to Kenneth. “Why don’t you take Lily and Blake outside to the carriage? We won’t be long.”

  “Actually, Lily and I have decided to go back to the Thorntons’ alone instead of making you drive back to the French Quarter to drop us off.”

  Kenneth looked toward his wife, a frown on his normally calm face. “Aren’t we going to Bonhomie for dinner?”

  Jasmine could see her dream of visiting the backstage area slipping between her fingers. Life was so unfair. Why did Lily have to spoil things?

  “I hope you won’t change your plans because of us.” Lily hid a yawn behind her fan. “I am so tired this evening. I suppose I’m getting too old for all of this excitement.”

  “Jasmine may have a conniption if she doesn’t get to visit with that actress.” Blake smiled to remove the sting from his words.

  Dr. Cartier’s frown deepened until everyone laughed. He was so serious—an odd spouse for someone as animated as Sarah.

  Holding her breath, Jasmine looked at Sarah, who leaned toward her husband and whispered something in his ear.

  Kenneth nodded. “We insist you take the carriage home. I will arrange for a cab while the ladies are visiting.”

  “That makes no sense.” Blake settled his wife’s cloak around her shoulders. “I can get a cab for Lily and me.”

  Kenneth and Sarah exchanged a glance. She lifted her shoulders, and he nodded before turning to Blake. “I’d be most happy to take you home while the ladies are visiting the actors backstage.”

  Blake’s refusal was polite but resolute. By the time Sarah’s husband agreed, Jasmine wanted to scream her frustration. “Can we go now?”

  Laughing at Jasmine’s obvious fervor, Sarah nodded and led the way out of the box. They were immediately caught up in throngs of laughing, chattering people who were making their way toward the building exits. By the time they made it to the relative quiet of the dressing rooms located in the back of the theater, Jasmine felt bruised by the effort. But she would have turned around and done it again if necessary.

  Sarah explained to one of the workers that they were supposed to meet Miss Barlow in her dressing room. The man looked them over with a raised eyebrow before directing them down a hallway.

  Several young men crowded around one of the doorways, jostling with good-natured rivalry in their attempts to gain entry into one of the dressing rooms. As they drew closer, Jasmine realized it must be Miss Barlow’s room. She had never imagined such a throng all seeking the same goal. Would they be able to see the actress, after all?

  “May I be of service to you young ladies?” A tall figure separated from one of the shadowy corners of the hallway.

  When he came fully into view, Jasmine thought she might faint. She recognized him—the actor who portrayed the hero, Vance Hargrove. He was even more handsome up close than he’d been on the stage.

  Sarah seemed unfazed by his good looks or fame as she nodded and once again explained their objective.

  Mr. Hargrove bowed. “She is inundated for the moment, but perhaps you ladies would care to join me for dinner. We can return here in an hour or so once her admirers have cleared out. I’m certain Miss Barlow would be delighted to spend time visiti
ng with such charming ladies.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m afra—”

  The opportunity of a lifetime was within her grasp. Unable to let it slip past, Jasmine interrupted Sarah’s response. “Perhaps you could join us for dinner instead, Mr. Hargrove. I would love to ask some questions about the theater.” Fear struck as she wondered what had possessed her to be so forward. What would Mr. Hargrove think of her?

  A smile appeared on the man’s handsome face, lending him a worldly look. “Are you perhaps an aspiring actress, Miss …?” He held onto the last syllable, inviting her to offer her name.

  “Jasmine. Jasmine Anderson.” She curtsied as gracefully as possible in the narrow confines of the hallway.

  Mr. Hargrove took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. As he placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles, his soulful gaze seemed to consume her. “What a lovely name for a lovely girl.”

  He turned to Sarah. “And this gorgeous young creature must be your sister.”

  A sharp pang ate at Jasmine’s heart as Mr. Hargrove took Sarah’s hand and kissed it with the same lingering attention.

  But Sarah didn’t seem to mind. She fluttered her eyelashes at the man as he straightened. “You are quite the flatterer, are you not, Monsieur Hargrove?”

  He put a hand to his chest and staggered back a step. “You wound me, mademoiselle. If I cannot remark on beauty where I see it, what use is this tongue?”

  Sarah laughed. “How would you earn wages without it?”

  “This is very true.” He winked at her before turning his attention back to Jasmine. “If you can convince your sister to include me in your family party, I would be most delighted to join you.”