“To be sure, sir,” Mr. Hunt agreed. But he punctuated his comment with another most meaningful glance her way.
“I’ll stay by your side, Sebastian,” she said quietly.
When his eyes met hers and he smiled, she thought she’d never seen a man so handsome.
“Look who the cat dragged in,” a voice called out, sounding both drowsy and amused. “Fancy you being here.”
It was enough to divert her contemplation of Sebastian’s cheeks and jaw.
When she turned to the newcomer, Lydia was taken aback. The man who approached was like nothing she’d seen before, outside of the carnival barkers along the World’s Fair Midway. He was outfitted in a tight-fitting, shiny black suit. Almost a parody of gentlemen’s evening wear.
But instead of remaining in unrelieved black and white, he’d added a splash of color in a magnificently embroidered vest composed of turquoise, magenta, orange, and azure blue. It drew her eye in the dark recesses of the alley, then upward to a man with slicked-back hair, piercing eyes, and olive skin.
To her shame, he watched her inspection with something that looked much like pleasure. His smile turned into a broad grin.
“Now, whom do we have here?”
Mr. Marks said nothing, merely glared.
“Come now. Surely you aren’t going to ignore me, are you, Marks?” the man continued, picking up his pace to stay by Sebastian’s side. “I would think twice about that. You know I don’t give up easily. If you don’t pay attention to me now, why, who knows where I’ll show up next?”
“I’d think twice about that, Vlas,” Mr. Marks said. “The consequences could prove foolhardy.”
“Don’t you mean deadly?”
Lydia gasped.
Beside her, Bridget stiffened, then pulled Lydia close to her side.
“Hunt,” Sebastian barked, before abandoning them completely.
Worried that he was in possible danger, she called out for him. “Sebastian?”
“Probably not the best time to be calling his name, miss,” Bridget said. “Around here it’s best to not make much of a scene.”
“I see.” Though she really didn’t. She thought the four of them already stuck out like sore thumbs.
Looking even more agitated, Bridget stepped closer. “We need to get out of here. Immediately.”
The warning sounded ominous. As did the great number of men who seemed to suddenly slip through the shadows and surround Sebastian. Oh, it looked very dire, indeed. “But I fear—”
Hunt grabbed her elbow and motioned her forward. “Let’s continue, miss. Quick-like, if you please.”
His grip caused Lydia to stumble.
Immediately his grip loosened. “Beg pardon,” he murmured, but he still held on to her in a death grip.
Abandoning Mr. Marks to the angry-looking crowd.
“But he looks like he is about to be attacked! We can’t leave him alone.”
“Rest easy now, Miss Bancroft,” Bridget cautioned. “Mr. Marks will be all right. I promise, the last thing you want to do at the moment is make more of a ruckus than we already have. You’ll distract him.”
“You mean cause more of a disturbance than she already has,” Mr. Hunt said darkly as he pulled her forward.
Now they were walking too quickly. Lydia understood the motivation, but she was tempted to remind Mr. Hunt that she was wearing tightly buttoned kid boots, a very narrow-fitted long gown, and an especially snug corset. Practically running anywhere wasn’t an option. Then, of course, was the fact that the streets were narrow and dark. And there was, at times, a proliferation of debris on the ground.
That, alone, necessitated that one should tread carefully.
But because she was beginning to get the sense that Mr. Hunt didn’t like her much right now, she stuck to the one topic she was sure he would respond to. She stopped and looked up at him.
“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but wouldn’t it be wise for us to wait for Mr. Marks?”
“It would be foolhardy to stay,” Mr. Hunt muttered under his breath.
“It isn’t a good idea to stop along Camp Creek Alley,” Bridget warned. “Not if one can help it.”
“I appreciate your concern for my welfare, but isn’t Sebastian in danger? Those men looked like rather rough characters. And there were a lot of them.”
Hunt laughed then. “You really are as naïve as you look, aren’t you?”
“Mr. Hunt, mind your manners,” Bridget warned.
“I’m not going to say anything that she shouldn’t already know.”
“You leave that to Mr. Marks.”
“What is it you’re hiding?” Lydia asked, growing tired of their repartee.
“I’m not hiding a thing. At least not something that pretty much everyone in Chicago knows. Except for you, it seems.”
She was sure there was another put-down in there somewhere. “What do I not know?”
“That it isn’t those burly men you were describing who are the problem, Miss Bancroft. It’s Sebastian Marks.”
“What? I . . . I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Marks is the toughest man in these parts, and everyone knows it. He doesn’t fear a soul.”
“Of course he does.”
“Not him. You see, he’s the person everyone in the city fears, not the other way around.”
Lydia halted immediately and stared at him in shock. “Surely you jest?”
“Not about this, miss,” Hunt said with a grim look.
Just as a gang of hoodlums approached.
“Now you’ve gone and done it, Vincent,” Bridget whispered as they were surrounded. “Mr. Marks is going to be mad at you, for sure.”
As the men stepped even closer, their comments to one another growing ribald, Lydia shivered.
Under his breath, Mr. Hunt cursed. “I’m going to be lucky if he lets me live.”
“What do we have here?” one of the burly men said as he stepped so close to Lydia that she could smell his sour breath. “Slumming tonight, pet?”
Pet? Oh, she did so hate that name, almost as much as “lamb.” But instead of telling him that, for the first time in recent memory, Lydia elected to stay completely silent.
But her silence only seemed to please the men. “What’s wrong, girl? Cat got your tongue?”
Mr. Hunt cleared his throat. “I should inform you that this lady is under Mr. Marks’ protection. He will not take kindly to your interest in her.”
“But he ain’t here.” A swarthy man with a hole pierced in his ear looked around. “A woman like you? No man who owned you would be letting you out of his sight. Not around these parts, leastways . . .” His voice drifted off in a meaningful way.
Then, to Lydia’s dismay, he turned to Bridget. “Now, you are obviously in no man’s protection.”
Bridget flushed but remained silent.
Mr. Hunt cleared his throat, then said in the most aloof tone, “We really must be going. I suggest you move along.”
“You can move along with the lady here. I know my place. Her family would have me in a cell for sullying her by morning.” He wrapped his thick hand around Bridget’s upper arm. “But I’ll take this one.”
As Bridget tried to pull away, Lydia gasped.
It was then that Mr. Hunt looked positively lethal. “She is under my protection. Unhand her.”
“Or what? You might work for Marks, but you ain’t him.”
“Drop your hand.”
As Bridget struggled against the man’s grip, Lydia began to panic. She would have screamed for help except that no one around looked like he would either listen or lend a helping hand.
Just as Mr. Hunt slammed his fist into the assailant’s nose with a jarring crack, Mr. Marks and Mr. Vlas joined the fray. Within seconds, their attacker was lying on the ground, his nose bleeding, his eye swollen, and a dazed look on the rest of his face. Mr. Marks barely had a smudge of dust decorating his trousers.
“You ha
ve made a very foolish mistake,” Sebastian said with a fierce scowl. “I see you. I know your face. And I will soon know where you live.”
The man’s face went slack as he held up a hand. “Now, see here, Mr. Marks—”
Sebastian continued as if he hadn’t said a word. “You won’t have to wait long for retribution. Of that I can assure you.”
Mr. Vlas laughed in a dark way. “And if he don’t find you, never worry, I will.”
At that the man went deathly pale.
Then, before the other men in the alley could do anything more than stare at Mr. Marks and Mr. Vlas in fear, Sebastian faced Bridget. “You all right?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Turning to Lydia, he gently pressed his palm in the center of her back. His touch instantly made her feel more reassured. “Let’s go now, dear. It’s time we got you off of the streets. Past time.”
Lydia knew the opportune time to ask questions had long since passed. She was still trembling from what had happened and feeling light-headed whenever she imagined what would have happened if that man had taken Bridget.
Meekly, she stayed by his side as he spurred her along. She knew Mr. Hunt and Bridget were directly behind them, could even hear them whispering to each other. However, she was too flustered to attempt to listen to what they were saying. Therefore, she kept her eyes on the ground, choosing to notice the irregular patterns of the damp brick and cobblestones under their feet.
Twenty minutes later—or it might have been only two—they arrived at a rather nondescript building built out of white limestone bricks. Nothing about it was remarkable except for the large, glistening double doors that look like silver. They were so shiny, so intricately designed, so, so enchanting, Lydia felt awed by their beauty.
Which was how she saw a fairly small silver sign embedded in the brick: The Silver Grotto.
They had arrived.
Without a word, Sebastian opened one extravagant door and waved her inside.
As Lydia looked around at the black-and-white-checkered marble floor, at the Grecian columns, at the murals of nude women on the ceiling, she knew she’d never imagined such a place existed. “Oh, my goodness, Sebastian. I have never seen the like.”
He turned to Bridget as if Lydia had never said a word. “See that she gets upstairs without any further trouble. If that is even possible.”
“Yes, sir. Come along, miss,” Bridget said quietly, positioning herself in between Lydia and the occupants in the room.
Lydia let herself be led. She let herself be guided toward a set of back steps without pausing to look around, without meeting another person’s eyes, without saying another word.
Up they went. Up a set of narrow stairs, turning down a narrow hallway whose only purpose was to look at the revelers below. She did peek over the side for the barest of seconds, only enough to view the cloud of fragrant, hazy smoke that billowed up like tangled plumes from a forgotten lady’s hat.
“Almost there, Miss Bancroft,” Bridget said. “Step lively, if you please.”
Obediently, Lydia followed up another staircase, down a rather plain hallway that looked like it would be better situated in a university building or law office instead of a gentlemen’s den.
At last, Bridget opened the door. “This is it.”
Glad to at last be someplace where she could stop for a moment and regroup, Lydia looked around eagerly.
She didn’t even try to conceal her surprise.
Bridget smiled. “It’s a far cry from the Hartman, isn’t it? One wouldn’t even imagine that the same man could be at home in so many places. But he is.”
“Except for that beautiful desk, it’s very plain. Utilitarian.”
“It is that, indeed.” Looking around, she noticed the bare floor swept clean. Across from the desk were two rather uncomfortable-looking chairs. Wooden and ladderbacked, Lydia imagined they would be more at home in a kitchen than in a gentleman’s office.
Ah, but that was the point, wasn’t it?
Mr. Marks was not actually a gentleman. From what she could discern, he was just as rough and tumble a fellow as any of the men she’d encountered in the alley.
Thinking of those terrible, scary men again, she wrapped her arms around herself and hugged tight. She’d never been embraced by a man before, but she suddenly wished to have the experience. It was doubtful that she’d ever be warm again.
“Miss Bancroft, I think you should sit down.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I believe I will.” Warily, she eyed the chairs. Hopefully they weren’t so small as to prevent her from sitting easily.
“Not there, miss. Over here.”
Lydia turned, then barely managed to stifle her gasp. There, against the back wall, was a sumptuous couch, upholstered in bronze-colored velvet. The cushions were plump, and the sheer number of them practically invited a person to relax among them.
“This is beautiful.”
“Hunt said they had a devil of a time getting it up through the windows. Rumor has it that it took at least six men between hoisting it up and pushing it behind.”
“I can only imagine,” she said as she sat down. Belatedly realizing she was sitting smack in the middle of it, she moved to one side. “Won’t you join me?”
Bridget’s expression softened before she shook her head. “Thank you, but no. That isn’t my place.”
“This place is obviously not mine either,” Lydia said. “I fear Mr. Marks will never forgive me.”
“What happened outside wasn’t your fault, miss.”
“If not mine, whose? I’m the one who begged to visit. I’m also the one who stopped even though both you and Mr. Hunt warned against it.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said again. “You didn’t know what Camp Creek Alley was like, did you?”
Lydia shook her head. “I had no idea.” To herself, she was more blunt. For all her knowledge and perceived independence, she’d had no idea that there was an area so close to her home that was filled with dangerous people.
“Mr. Marks is a very smart man. Brilliant, he is. But he wasn’t too smart tonight.” Bridget paused, as if she was weighing her words, then blurted, “He knew better than to bring you here. It was foolhardy, it was.”
“I cajoled him.”
“He could have said no. And even if he had found himself agreeing, he certainly should have never left your side.”
Lydia didn’t want to put all the blame on Sebastian’s shoulders. “I dare say he thought I would have handled things a far sight better.”
Bridget tilted her head. “Do you? How so?”
“Well, um, I am well-read, you see. I know a lot of information.”
“Beg pardon, miss, but I’m afraid I must point out that reading about something is never the same as experiencing it. Some things cannot be adequately described.” Her face looking a bit melancholy, she shrugged. “It’s the way of the world, don’t you think?” She turned the handle on the door. “I need to go find Mr. Hunt and tell him you are settled up here. I’ll be back soon.” She looked doubtful for a moment. “I trust you will be okay?”
“I won’t leave, Bridget. I promise, I’ll stay right here until you or Mr. Marks returns.”
“Thank you, miss. That will ease everyone’s mind.”
She quickly exited then, leaving Lydia alone on the top floor of a gentlemen’s club, in the private offices of a gambler. She’d almost been attacked tonight. Worse, she’d put Bridget at risk as well.
All because she’d been eager to experience life. To get to know the elusive Sebastian Marks better. To have something besides her books and her mother and the burden of making a good-enough match to pull them out of their financial struggles.
But she’d only put many people in jeopardy. Mr. Hunt was mad at her, Bridget seemed disappointed . . . and Sebastian? Well, he would likely never speak to her again.
This, she supposed, should be a good thing. After all, she’d learne
d too much about him for them to ever remain friends. Hadn’t she?
But as she sat alone in the room, tears pricked her eyes. This had been a horrible experience.
But the only thing worse was knowing that it would never—in all likelihood—be repeated.
CHAPTER 17
After throwing back a sizable amount of rye whiskey, Sebastian stepped back in the corner between the quickly filling bar and the rest of the room. When he’d first opened the Silver Grotto, before he’d learned to trust Hunt completely, he stood in this spot for hours at a time.
It afforded him an excellent view of the main room of the club but also was enough in the shadows that most never even glanced his way.
Back in those days, he’d lived his life in a haze of bitterness mixed in with paranoia that it was all going to go away within hours. He’d made friends with the cops who patrolled the area and soon learned they were understaffed and underpaid. They had no true desire to arrest a man for enjoying a few card games when so many more serious crimes occurred just outside the club. Sebastian had found that a couple of dollars, laced with a word or two of kindness, went a long way.
He’d also given generously to the widows and orphans fund.
Because of that, Sebastian had ruled the Silver Grotto with a mixture of care and disdain. He’d watched men drink themselves silly, count change to see if they had enough to venture downstairs. Or if their pockets were empty, they’d eye the infamous silver doors with a growing sense of defeat.
Sebastian had soon learned which men—even some on the police force—spent all of their paychecks on drink, forgoing the needs of their wives and children for a few hours of oblivion.
After hearing about the conditions in the various slaughter-houses, docks, and other factories, Sebastian had never blamed them. Men were maimed or died on the job every day, and no one but their family cared.
He had vowed that he would never be one of them.
That was why he’d used as much of his brain as he could to outsmart and trick any men in his way. He’d stayed up late, with only the cheapest candles for company, not only laboriously attempting to improve his reading, but practicing reciting the words he heard gentlemen saying on the streets.
Whispers in the Reading Room Page 14
