“Your uncle’s been ill at ease? Has that caused him to be absent from work this week?”
Phebe gave Grey a quizzical look. “No, not at all. Whyever did you think that?”
“My mistake. But he’s been acting on edge?”
“He’s always acting on edge,” Phebe said.
“Any more than usual?”
“He was a bit agitated after receiving a telegram three days ago. And rather anxious for another to arrive yesterday, but it never did.”
“Who was that telegram from?” Grey asked.
“I don’t know. Why all the concern with Euripides?”
“I’m curious about his ongoing interest in Chief Jefferson.” He tried his tea. “There was, in fact, an unexpected incident in recovering the stone. Quite unfortunate.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you all right? I noticed you walking a touch stiffly.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” he answered.
“But the man who stole it has been found out. It was that Chief Jefferson after all, wasn’t it? Has he been arrested?”
“I’m not convinced that Chief Jefferson was behind the theft.”
“Who, then?” she asked.
“That I do not know.”
“I’m surprised. I was sure it was him. So was Uncle Euripides. I’m glad to have it back,” she said as she ran her fingers over the stone once more, “but still, it’s a bit disconcerting not to have resolved the question of its theft.”
“Some questions just take longer to unravel. Speaking of the unresolved, there is one more thing. You now have the thunderstone in hand. In return you promised to tell me all you know of your sister’s current whereabouts.”
“You have a commendable persistence, Mr. Grey. But all in service of what? The dear man who wanted you to find out now rests in peace. Why can’t you let it be?”
“I was hired to discover an answer,” he said.
“If it’s the money, I’m sure we can reach some sort of arrangement.”
“It’s not that, Miss Webster.”
“Well, I can see you won’t be put off. Very well.” Phebe smoothed the ruffles on her long skirt and clasped her hands in her lap. “My sister, Maddy. What is there to say? I think she was restless here at home. She always dreamed of traveling widely. Seeing what there was to be seen in the world. The spring of last year, she up and left with no real notice.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“She was supposed to be visiting some old family friends in Connecticut for a week or two. But the two weeks passed and there was no word from her.”
“Did you contact these friends in Connecticut?” Grey asked.
“Yes, of course. We were all quite concerned about her. They said she boarded a train for New York. We were quite taken aback that we had no inkling of Maddy’s plan.”
“Was there any word from your sister after that?”
“Yes. Three letters arrived for me from New York City. The first came almost immediately. She didn’t want me to worry. The final letter was in July of last year. She was staying with friends enjoying life in the big city and all that. Another letter came from Chicago, I think two or three months later. She mentioned a plan to travel west to San Francisco. Said she would write when she could. That was the last I ever heard from her.”
“But your uncles both said she wasn’t heard from after spring of last year.”
“I didn’t mention the letters to anyone. She asked me not to. She thought my grandfather or Euripides would send someone to New York to collect her. They would have, too. I’d prefer if you didn’t mention that fact to Euripides or Jason.”
Grey nodded. “You didn’t share their concern?”
“Certainly I did. To some extent. But I also had much more faith in Maddy than they ever did. They still thought of her as a child. I knew she was capable of watching out for herself. In truth, I even envied her some. Off seeing the world—it’s terribly adventurous. I’ve taken to working for Uncle Euripides this past year, just for something to do.”
“I assume you still have those letters. I’ll need to examine them,” Grey said.
“I’m not certain I feel right about sharing Maddy’s private letters.”
“Miss Webster, you did promise that in return for the recovery of the thunderstone you would furnish me whatever information you had concerning your sister’s whereabouts. Those letters are the only clues available. They might provide some indication of where she is now or who might have last spoken with her.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure I still have them somewhere. I’ll need to look about. If you leave me your address, I could send them around as soon as I get them sorted.”
Grey rose and started slowly for the front hallway. “Thank you. So what will you do with the thunderstone?”
The question stopped Phebe in her tracks. A surprised and puzzled look came over her. “I hadn’t given it a thought until now. Honestly, it’s been with the attorneys for so long I just forgot that I’d even have to decide. Oh,” she said, and put a hand to her mouth, “you haven’t let the police see it, take a photograph, anything?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness. The last thing I need is to have Albert Dyer huffing and puffing about the terms of the old bequest and all that. Letting it be seen publicly is what got it boxed up in the lawyer’s office in the first place. I don’t suppose I can just set it out on the mantelpiece, can I?”
“Keeping it a bit more under wraps would probably be wise.” Grey put his hat on and picked up his walking stick.
“Yes, after all, someone’s already stolen it once, and a man was killed over it. Perhaps Grandfather’s old safe.”
“A reasonable solution,” Grey said.
“Well, Mr. Grey, thank you once again for all your efforts on my behalf. I’ll find those letters of Maddy’s and send them over later this week, I should think.”
Grey smiled and gave Phebe a slight bow of his head before departing. He made it as far as the sidewalk before he stopped. It had been less than three weeks ago that he’d paused in the same spot under different circumstances. The inquiry had become infinitely more convoluted and dangerous in that time. Grey still couldn’t discern the true shape of what lurked at the center of the investigation. Men at the periphery of the matter, or who didn’t even know what they were involved in, had died. His own life had been threatened on multiple occasions, by what he suspected were separate parties. Despite all that, a single thought entered his mind at that moment. He glanced back at the house to see if Phebe Webster would be in the window, as she had been on that first morning, watching him go.
He didn’t see her face beside one of the curtains in the foyer or sitting room. Instead, on the other side of the first floor, he saw a figure. In the dim evening light, it was hard to make out any details, but the shape was too large, too masculine in its movements, to be Phebe Webster. Grey paused and stared. The figure moved out of his line of sight. Phebe had said she’d given all the servants the evening off. Grey hesitated a moment and then began to walk back toward the front door.
From inside there came a crashing sound—glass shattering. He heard Phebe Webster scream. Grey covered the remaining distance in a matter of steps, ignoring the flashes of pain in his aching legs. With his metal-handled walking stick raised up and ready to strike, he eased open the front door.
[ Chapter 43 ]
GREY SLIPPED INTO THE FOYER AND TOOK IN THE SCENE instantly. Two strides and he brought his stick around with full force, slashing across his body. His target didn’t have time to react. The man had Phebe Webster in his grasp, one hand across her mouth. He was turned three-quarters away, facing the entrance to the sitting room. By the time he noticed Grey, it was too late. The metal handle of the walking stick struck home behind the man’s right knee.
He yelped, and one hand shot down to the injured leg. It was enough for Phebe to pull free from his grasp. At that instant a second man entered from the sit
ting room. He held the carrying case open and facing out from him, so as to display the thunderstone to his partner. He let the case fall from his hands and reached inside his dark brown frock coat.
Grey sprang forward, swinging his walking stick overhead once more. The man drew a revolver, but before he could aim, Grey smashed the stick down on his right hand. There was an audible crack as the metal handle met the gunman’s knuckles. A thin spray of blood shot into the air as the gun clattered onto the polished hardwood floor.
With a glance back, Grey saw that the first man was no immediate threat. He was still clutching at his right knee and leaning against the wall with all his weight on his left leg. Phebe, recovering her wits after a moment, launched a kick into the man’s left shin that sent him toppling over.
“Go on!” Grey shouted. “Get out of here!”
Phebe bolted through the open front door.
The second man cradled his broken and bleeding fingers, distracted from all else for the moment. Grey seized the opening to drive a fist into the side of the man’s face. The thunderstone had rolled out when its case was dropped. Grey started toward it. The gunman reached out from where he lay on the floor and snagged Grey by the ankle. He went sprawling but managed to yank his leg free from the man. The first intruder had risen to one knee and had the same idea as Grey; he lurched forward at the thunderstone. Before he could grasp it, Grey swiped his stick along the floor. The angled handle snagged around the stone’s curved surface, and Grey slid it away, out of the first man’s reach.
Grey rolled to his side, then scooped up the stone as he got to his feet. Behind him the second man had recovered his pistol. He raised it with his left hand to aim at Grey. As Grey dashed out the front door, he heard the gunshot shatter glass in one of the small side windows. Phebe stood on the pathway to the street. She emitted a small shriek at the gunshot, and then, seeing that Grey was out safely, she turned and ran for the sidewalk. Within half a block, Grey caught up to her. They both paused and glanced back to see the two attackers appear in front of the Webster house. A couple of neighbors who had peered out at the commotion now disappeared back into their houses.
Grey sucked in a mouthful of air, wincing at the various pains shooting through his sore legs. He was about to urge Phebe on, but she had already started running again. They turned onto Pine Street. A horse-car had just passed and was thirty yards ahead of them. They chased it, following the rails that ran down the side of the street and garnering strange looks from the late-evening pedestrians whom they passed. As they drew even with the rear step to board the car, Grey pressed the thunderstone into Phebe’s arms. With his free hand, he took hold of her elbow and swung her up onto the step. The effort left him a few yards behind the moving car, and his legs were straining as he caught up once more. He used his walking stick this time to hook the upright post at the end of the car and pull himself forward onto the step. Phebe made room and grabbed hold of his lapel, helping to get him steady on his feet. The pair of them collapsed into the two closest seats. Behind them, at the intersection, their two pursuers appeared and looked in the direction of the car but did not give chase.
“That’ll be a dime, sir. Assuming you’re paying for the lady, too.”
At the sound of the creaky voice, Grey and Phebe looked up at the conductor. The old man’s glassed-over eyes showed no hint of surprise or any real interest in their sudden arrival. To him everything was perfectly normal, all part of the routine. The absurdity of the man’s humdrum expression after she and Grey had just fled for their lives was too much for Phebe. She was seized by a spasm of nervous laughter.
Phebe watched as Grey tried to answer the conductor in the affirmative but failed, too winded to speak. This caused her to laugh even harder. Grey dug a quarter out of his pocket, and the conductor made change with a look of utter boredom.
“Thank you for the fare, Mr. Grey,” Phebe managed to say, “though, really, it’s the least you can do after all the trouble you’ve caused.”
He turned to her with a piqued expression and an eyebrow arched but said nothing. Phebe felt the urge to laugh rising once more.
Fifteen minutes later they were safe inside Grey’s parlor. Mrs. Philbrick was out, so no one had seen them come in. Grey didn’t light the gas jets until after he’d closed the heavy curtains. The nervous gaiety that had beset Phebe upon their earlier escape had now evaporated, giving way to the realization of how dangerous her situation had been. She sat in one of the spare chairs. Grey turned the lights up high. He could see that her face had gone pale, and so he reached for a decanter of brandy that he reserved for shaken visitors. Phebe accepted the tumbler in both hands with a tepid smile. After observing that a couple of small sips seemed to have a positive effect on her, Grey went to his phone. He rang the operator and requested to be put through to Archie Lean’s residence.
Grey waited as he was connected and watched Phebe down the last of her brandy.
“What’s this, Grey? I thought we we’re each on his own in this thing. Need my help, don’t you?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I knew you’d come to your senses. What sort of trouble are you in now?”
“I’m not in trouble. It’s Miss Phebe Webster.” Grey glanced at Phebe, who was staring back at him with widened eyes. She marched over to the decanter and pulled out the stopper.
“Who, I should say, is no longer in any imminent danger either,” Grey announced loudly for her benefit. He continued, in a quiet tone, giving Lean a brief summary of events and listening to the deputy’s plan of action before hanging up.
“Do you feel safe going home?” Grey asked. “Deputy Lean is arranging to have men comb through your house. I suspect there’s likely an officer there already, given the gunshot that attracted your neighbors’ attention. He’s agreed to post a man outside until morning.”
“I don’t think I could sleep a wink in the house tonight. The front window is shattered. Not all the staff will even be back until morning.”
“A hotel, then. Do you have a preference?”
“I don’t feel safe going anywhere at the moment. Those men are out there somewhere.”
“I suspect they’ve been dissuaded from pursuing us further. They didn’t chase the railcar, and one has some broken fingers,” Grey said.
“But you drew the curtains as soon as we got here. That means you think they know who you are and where you live. They could be waiting outside this very minute.”
“If it would put you more at ease, I could step outside and reconnoiter the surrounding area. Make sure that no one’s lurking about in the shadows watching our every move.”
“Step out and leave me here by my lonesome, with killers just waiting to get at me?”
“Don’t take me the wrong way, and as they say, there’s no accounting for taste, but I believe it was the thunderstone, not you, they were after.”
The stone was set on his desk. Grey placed his hand on it.
“That useless piece of rock. I ought to bring it to the quarry and blast it down to bits of sand. I just want to be done with all this, feel safe again.” Phebe placed her hand on the stone as well, her fingers brushing Grey’s. “I don’t want to leave here tonight.”
Grey regarded her for a long moment. He could smell the scent of brandy on her lips, see the tension lingering in her eyes.
“Of course,” he said. “I could speak with my landlady as soon as we hear her come in. I’m certain she could accommodate you downstairs for one night.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Phebe said.
She leaned in, lifting herself up on her toes to kiss him. “I just want to feel safe, Perceval,” she whispered.
Her arms went around him. A second later his hands slid around to her back, holding her close to him. Their lips parted for an instant before Grey kissed her again. He picked her up in his arms, overcoming the ruffles and underlayers that made up her full evening dress. She put her hands around his neck as he swept h
er across the study to his bedchamber.
[ Chapter 44 ]
GREY HEARD THE DOWNSTAIRS DOOR IN THE HALLWAY close. He moved across to the tall windows that looked over High Street and watched his landlady, Mrs. Philbrick, exit and march down the street to begin her morning round of errands. The last thing he felt like dealing with at the moment were the scandalized looks, or even an audible gasp, from his landlady upon witnessing a woman leaving his rooms at this hour.
Rasmus Hansen was waiting atop the carriage to deliver Phebe Webster back to her house. Grey understood from Lean that a patrolman was still stationed there.
“All looks ready,” he said.
Phebe gave him an apprehensive smile before checking herself once more in the mirror. She’d done the best she could with the tools and materials that constituted a gentleman’s toilet, but her hair was far from perfect. Her makeup was a disaster, and, worst of all, the evening dress she was still wearing had no business putting in an appearance on a sidewalk at this time of the morning.
“Thank you, Perceval. I’m sorry for so much fuss. Not to say that I’m at all …” She waited by the door and hoped her eyes were doing a better job than her lips in explaining her awkward behavior.
He gave her a small nod. “You appreciate the discretion. And your perfectly understandable desire to avoid any potentially compromising public appearance is in no way a reflection upon your feelings or thoughts toward me and what’s happened between us. Which feelings and thoughts are yours alone and need not be subjected to the undue rigors caused by outside speculation and rumor.”
“Yes.” She smiled at him again, this time without any hint of apprehension. “Something like that.”
He escorted her down the steps to the front entryway. Phebe waited just inside the door as Grey stepped out to assess the situation along the sidewalk. Rasmus had the carriage parked directly before the stairs. From the base of the front steps, Grey gestured Phebe to come along.
A Study in Revenge: A Novel Page 28
