After spying Sebastian leaning on the railing, Vincent started walking up the back staircase. Bridget following behind.
He met them at the landing. “Good evening, Bridget,” he said quietly before facing Hunt. “Took you long enough. I expected you to arrive fifteen minutes ago.”
Bridget blanched. “I’m sorry, sir. It was my fault.”
He was rather surprised to see that she looked scared to death. Gentling his voice, he said, “No worries, Bridget. You, of all people, know my bark is worse than my bite.” At least with her, it was. “Wait in my office, will you?”
Looking rather relieved to be allowed out of sight, Bridget scurried off down the hall. Only when he heard his office door open and shut did Sebastian raise a brow toward Vincent. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry you were waiting, sir. She was asleep when I knocked on her door. I had to wait for her to get dressed.”
She’d been asleep? He pulled out his pocket watch, then inwardly winced. It was now half past one in the morning. Action barely began at the Silver Grotto before eleven. But he should have recalled that the real world kept a far different schedule.
And that most people required far more sleep than his usual four hours. Still contemplating Bridget’s odd behavior, he asked, “Did something untoward happen on the way here? She seems out of sorts.”
“No, sir. Though she did seem taken aback by your request to see her here.”
He was at a loss. “Where would we have met if not here?”
“I could not say, sir.”
Sebastian should have known better than to ask such a thing. It was obvious that the whims of women were just as foreign to his assistant as himself. “Thank you for fetching her. Go downstairs and check in with the floor managers. Tables were running high an hour ago.”
“Yes, sir.” Hunt nodded, then headed back down the stairs. After walking toward the railing and watching a few of the executives from one of the packing companies head down to the basement level, obviously in search of a poker game, Marks strode to his office.
There he found Bridget nervously standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands. “Bridget, why are you standing there looking scared to death?”
She paled. “Sir?”
“You should have sat down. Sit.”
“If you don’t mind, I, um, don’t much feel like sitting, sir.”
Her words hit him as he was about to sit down behind his desk. Her tone was just agitated enough that he decided to sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs that flanked the front of his desk instead. “Join me over here. If you please.” He kept his voice firm and his request a command.
“Yes, sir.” Not looking at him, she sat, then plucked at her skirts.
He supposed some kind of explanation was in order. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.”
“It’s all right.”
It wasn’t, really. He had no boundaries, but even he knew that. “It isn’t all right. I should have been more considerate. I fear these hours I keep sometimes make me forget how the rest of the world lives.”
“Don’t worry about it, sir.”
He scanned her face, noticing the strain around her eyes. Her pursed lips. And decided that no good was going to come from delaying the inevitable. “Bridget, I asked you to come here this evening because I want to talk to you about your job.”
She seemed to brace herself. “Yes, sir?”
Thinking about what he wanted her to do, he decided the best course of action would be to speak bluntly. “Starting tomorrow, you will no longer be working for me at the hotel.”
She bit her lip. Then, to his dismay, he realized she was actively struggling to hold back her tears.
This was absolutely something he could not bear. While he usually had no patience for women’s weaknesses, he felt a wave of tenderness for his reclusive employee. “Bridget, please do not say you are crying.”
After swiping at her eyes with the side of her hand, she shook her head. “Of course not, sir.”
“As much as I would like to believe you, I’m fairly certain those are tears.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll be all right.”
“Your reaction astounds me. I wasn’t aware you enjoyed laundering my shirts so much.”
“It’s not that,” she said quickly. “It’s, um . . . I’m, uh . . . apprehensive about working in the club.” Suddenly looking determined, she straightened her spine. “I’ll get over it though.”
“The club?” He struggled to understand. “Are you under the assumption that I want you to spend time here? At the Silver Grotto?”
“Well, yes, sir.”
He would never understand a woman’s mind. “Why on earth would you think I would want that?”
“Um. Well, I assumed . . . if you don’t want me at the hotel, where else would I be?”
Cutting her off, he glowered at her. “I never have a shortage of women to serve, so how could you think . . . Bridget, do you think I want you to whore for me?”
The skin around her mouth turned white, causing him to recall that while she might not be a society lady, she certainly was a far cry from the girls he’d grown up beside. They’d all grown up talking about things in the coarsest of ways. Very little shocked them.
But Bridget was from a middle-class background, raised in church—so he’d overheard her say one day—and no doubt unused to such language. She’d been a ladies’ maid before being released from service.
“Forgive me. At times I fear I revert to my baser self.” He didn’t mention that he usually only slipped when he was ill at ease. She no doubt had surmised that.
Sitting ramrod straight, Bridget stared at him, wide eyed.
Which made him even more ill at ease. Trying again, he decided to simply tell her how he felt. “I can see that is exactly what you thought. The fact is I am rather shocked that you’d think I would ask such a thing of you. I thought you knew me better.”
“Sir?”
Restless, he stood. “Bridget, later on this morning, I would like you to accompany me to Miss Lydia Bancroft’s home. She’s a woman of good character who, I’m afraid, has fallen on some hard times.”
“She’s the librarian you helped in the lobby of the Hartman, isn’t she?”
“Actually, yes, she is.” Sebastian was surprised Bridget remembered, even though she obviously had overheard enough to know Lydia worked in a reading room. But he supposed he shouldn’t have been. She didn’t gossip, but it would be naïve of him to imagine that everything he did wasn’t of notice—and perhaps of interest—to much of the staff at the hotel.
“Bridget, I would like you to become her ladies’ maid and be . . . well, my eyes and ears, if you would.”
“Sir?”
“If you recall me tending to her hand, you no doubt will recall Avondale’s rough treatment. I fear this gentleman hasn’t been convinced yet to leave her alone. In fact, I have learned he visited her earlier this evening. I can’t have that. If you see him near her, I’ll want to know about it.”
“I understand.”
He doubted that. Because he didn’t even understand what he was seeing when he looked at Lydia. By all accounts, she should be nothing more than a spectacle-wearing, quiet librarian, possessing a beautiful pair of blue eyes and a rather beguiling figure.
Who was well read, quick thinking, and so sweet and naïve he was constantly tempted to be at his best around her to save her from herself.
Yes, that is all she is to me, he mocked himself. Nearly everything. Nothing more, nothing less.
“In addition, Bridget, you are going to need to make sure she has food in her house. I’ll give you money for that, of course.” After she nodded her understanding, he added, “Next, make sure her mother doesn’t take too much advantage of her.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, Bridget’s posture relaxed. “And how would you like me to do that?”
“I couldn’t begin to imagine.” He waved a hand
in the air. “You’re a woman. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
“Yes, sir. I expect I shall.”
Her voice was everything respectful and obedient. But he did happen to notice that she seemed to be hiding a smile.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Only one.”
“Yes?”
“Um, who will see to your laundry now?”
He hadn’t thought that far. Actually, he had a feeling he was going to miss Bridget’s competent ways. To cover up this lack of foresight, he said, “My shirts are no longer your concern. All you will need to do is appear on the sidewalk outside the Hartman at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Very well.” She stood up. “All right, Mr. Marks. I’ll be ready at nine in the morning.”
“Thank you, Bridget.” Now that he had his way, he smiled slightly. “Who knows? Perhaps you might even like this job better. Working with two ladies has got to be better than looking after a reprobate such as myself.”
“It hasn’t been so bad,” she replied with a small smile. “After all, I’m used to you.”
He walked her out, staying by her side as they descended the back staircase. When they reached the ground floor, they parted ways.
Hunt was waiting for him when he entered the club. “I checked with all the floor managers. All is running smoothly, sir.”
“Good. You may go home now. You need an early night once in a while.”
“Yes, Mr. Marks. Thank you.” He turned his head slightly and looked down the hall. “Um, sir, if I may? Where is Miss O’Connell now?”
“I sent her on her way.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.” He almost smiled. “Don’t worry, man. Everyone knows she’s under my protection.”
“I will still offer my escort.”
“If you intend to do that, then you’d best catch her.”
Only after Vincent tore out of the club did Sebastian allow himself to smile.
Just in time to see Avondale enter the club with Jeffrey Galvin. Though Sebastian was tempted to throw them both out, he edged closer to the shadows and decided to watch them for a while. He could always make his intentions clear to Galvin later. And at least if Avondale was here, he wouldn’t have to wonder what he was up to.
The devil you knew and all that.
Bridget had barely gone half a block when she heard Vincent call her name.
With a feeling of dread, she turned and waited for him to approach.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I was afraid I wouldn’t.”
“Why were you searching for me? Does Mr. Marks need to speak with me again?” She was so tired, but she would do whatever he needed.
“No, of course not.”
“Oh.” She glanced around apprehensively. The streets were beginning to thin, and the people left were looking at her far too intently. “Well, then, I wish you a good evening.”
“I wanted to walk you home.”
“That is so kind of you. Thank you. But I’ll be fine.”
His light-blue eyes softened in the dim light. “I’m sure you will. But still, things happen. Things no one ever imagines.”
He was right. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. I will appreciate your escort.” She was so relieved that, like Mr. Marks, he did have respect and concern for her.
He smiled. As they crossed an intersection, he stayed close, even grasped her elbow when she slipped on a patch of slick mud. “Easy now,” he murmured. “There’s no hurry.”
His kindness soothed her enough to share her news. “I’m going to be Miss Bancroft’s new maid. That is why he summoned me tonight. I start in the morning.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “That will be quite the change.”
Bridget shivered dramatically. “Indeed. I’ll go from ironing Mr. Marks’ shirts in the morning and making sure the chef sends up his coffee to being at the beck and call of a lady.”
He laughed. “At least from what we’ve seen of Miss Bancroft, she doesn’t seem to be a difficult person.”
“That may be how she is. Or how she wants the world to see her. Don’t forget, I have been a ladies’ maid before.”
“I hope you will find her to be an agreeable mistress.”
“I hope so too.” His words were just the balm she needed. After smiling briefly at him, she glanced around again. “We’re almost at the Hartman.”
“Three more blocks.”
“I hope this isn’t too far out of your way.” Looking at him in shock, she said, “Goodness, I’ve known you for years now, but I’ve yet to ask you where you live.”
“Not too far. Only about ten blocks north. I’ll be home in no time.”
“And then you will collapse.”
He laughed. “Yes. Then I will collapse at last. Luckily I can go to sleep at a moment’s notice.”
His words made her realize just how much she really didn’t know about him. Though both of their jobs revolved around the needs of one man, they’d rarely had the occasion to converse with each other.
Or, perhaps, they’d both consciously strived to keep their distance? “Your hours are so irregular. Coming home so late is your norm, isn’t it?”
“It’s the job.” He reached out and placed a hand on her arm, preventing her from stepping into the street. “Careful, Miss O’Connell. Even at night one must keep an eye out for traffic.”
She shivered as a team of four horses raced by, the carriage careening slightly before it straightened out. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. You are my savior tonight.”
“Then I will count today as a success. I rarely get to help young ladies anymore.”
His words reminded her of his past. “How old is your little daughter now?”
“Four. She is four.” He softened. “She has my heart. She is adorable.”
“I bet she is. What is her name again?” Bridget had heard the little girl’s name, but she didn’t want to sound too familiar.
“Mary.” He sighed. “I don’t get to see her all that much. My sister, Janet, is basically raising her.”
“You don’t have much choice. You must miss your wife at times like this.”
“I miss her all the time. My Irene was a good woman.”
“I’m sorry I brought her up.”
“Don’t be. I never want the day to come that I forget to thank God for my blessings. She was one of them.” He stared at her. Smiled, then shook it off. “Look at that. We’re here.”
The Hartman loomed tall behind her. Gaslights cast a gorgeous glow on its grand marble entry. “Thank you for seeing me home.”
“It was my pleasure. Sleep well, Miss O’Connell. And best of luck tomorrow.”
“Pray for me.” She teased, though it pleased her to learn he acknowledged God in his life. Perhaps he, too, had been raised to believe.
“I will,” he said in all seriousness. “I will pray for all of us.”
On that note, he turned and walked away. Moments later, he blended into the dark shadows of the streets.
When she blinked, Bridget had the strange sensation that he had practically vanished into the night. She also suddenly felt compelled to pray in earnest. It was starting to feel as if everything in their lives was about to change.
The feeling of foreboding settled in and gave her pause. Making her wonder if she suddenly had far more to fear than ever working in a gentlemen’s club.
CHAPTER 12
Lydia discovered Mr. Marks lounging in her kitchen at half past nine in the morning. Next to him was a woman about her age, holding a cloak and overnight bag, and dressed in a plain black dress. She looked far less at ease than Mr. Marks.
As for herself? Well, she was barely able to stifle her scream. “Mr. Marks? What are you doing here?”
He looked rather unperturbed as he got to his feet. “There you are. At last,” he drawled as he looked her over. “We’ve been waiting on you at least a quarter of an hour. I feared I was going to have to send B
ridget upstairs to awaken you. I must admit that I’m rather surprised to discover that you sleep so late.”
“I’ve been awake,” she retorted before remembering that she should be asking him why he had broken into her house with a woman dressed as a maid.
“Didn’t seem that way.”
Recovering, she glared at him. “How did you get inside?”
“Picked the lock.” He frowned as he sat back down. “You’ve got a poor one, I’ll tell you that.” With a scowl, he said, “You might as well have left the door open or placed a sign out front inviting everyone in.”
“The locks stood up to everyone but you.”
He had the nerve to look pleased about that. “I’ll send someone by later to install a better one.”
“Mr. Marks. Please. Do not.”
He leaned back, having the audacity to place one polished shoe on his opposite knee. “Though you haven’t asked, this is Bridget O’Connell. She works for me.”
“How do you do, Miss Bancroft,” Bridget said.
Lydia yearned to rail at Mr. Marks, but for some reason good manners prevailed. Instead, she inclined her head. “Miss O’Connell, good morning.” Suddenly, she remembered seeing her at the Hartman that day. She had assisted Mr. Marks. “You helped when I hurt my hand, didn’t you?”
“Yes, miss.”
Sebastian frowned. “You didn’t hurt your hand, Lydia. Avondale hurt you.” He cleared his throat. “In any case, Bridget here is going to be working for you from now on. I noticed you needed a maid, and I trust there is a room somewhere in the house for her.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. Feeling the weight of both Bridget’s and Mr. Marks’ stares, Lydia smoothed her hair back before realizing that she was giving herself away. She was quickly learning that it was best to never let Mr. Marks see when she was nervous or unsure. “I, uh, am afraid that is not all right with me.”
He looked nonplussed. “I’ll be paying her salary, of course. Don’t worry about that.”
“That is not exactly—”
Completely ignoring her, he motioned to a box of items on the kitchen counter. “Bridget never had cause to do much cooking for me, but she says she does know how to make a few things until we decide about a cook.”
Whispers in the Reading Room Page 10
