“Are you Mr. Ryan?” Isobel asked.
Mrs. Ryan drew herself up, proper-like. “Mr. Ryan died some years ago. This is my current husband, Eric Harrison.”
“As if I’d marry a wretch like you.” He thrust out his hand to Isobel, who eyed it, then gave a small twitch of her lips.
“What, you’re too good for the likes of me? I’m too low to shake your hand?”
“By your own words, you’re too good for Mrs. Ryan here, and it’s her I’ve come to talk to.”
“Oh, is it? Well, I pay the rent here. Not this waste.”
Isobel looked to Mrs. Ryan. “Your daughter was acquainted with a girl. Ella Spencer. Do you know her?”
“I don’t know. Madge ran away months ago.”
“Don’t tell her nothin’,” Mr. Harrison growled.
“Should I be suspicious of you?” Isobel countered. She leveled her gaze on him. He curled his fists in response.
“We don’t want no police snooping around.”
“You invited me in,” Isobel pointed out.
“And here you are. In my home. All alone.”
“And about to take my leave.” She backed up towards the door. “I’ve learned all I need from you both.”
Harrison rushed forward and slapped a hand to the door, holding it fast. “Now then, no need to hurry. I’m a gentleman. How ’bout a drink?”
Isobel was eye level with the man’s underarm. His shirt was stained and yellow and smelled like it had never been washed, like the man who wore it. “No,” Isobel said simply.
“No?”
“I don’t want a drink.” Isobel looked up at the sneering man.
“Now ain’t you feisty.”
“Your baby is crying, Mr. Harrison. You have other responsibilities.”
“And I just found a new one.”
Isobel rolled her eyes, then struck without preamble. The fist to his solar plexus caught him completely by surprise, but he was dulled by enough drink to lunge at her. Isobel ducked under his clumsy grab. She struck a quick blow to his underarm, then spun around him grabbing up and between his legs and ruthlessly twisting his testicles.
Wheezing in pain, he dropped, both hands clutching his groin. With luck, he wouldn’t father any more children.
“I’ll be taking my leave.” She looked to Mrs. Ryan. “And if I were you, I’d do the same before he recovers. He’ll likely take out his rage on you.”
Isobel opened the door into the man’s head, and slipped outside. Small wonder Madge Ryan ran away.
24
Breakthrough
“I don’t know, Tobias. I think there’s laws against that sort of thing.”
The boy frowned at Sarah. “You’re chicken.”
The two children sat on the landing of the third floor with their heads pressed against the railing slats. The view down to the entryway was dizzying.
“I think we should just observe the lodgers for now. I’ll go to dinner again, and you can bring in the trays.”
Tobias snorted. “How ’bout I sit at the table and you bring the trays in?”
“You think I should do that ’cause I’m a girl?” she said, offended.
“Depends. Are you tellin’ me to bring the trays in ’cause I’m a negro?”
Sarah opened her mouth to protest. But Tobias got a sly look in his eye and nudged her side with an elbow. “You know you turn red as a brick when you’re embarrassed?”
She huffed at him. “It’s not fair.”
“You know what’s not fair? You not helping me.”
“We could get into trouble.”
Both children eyed the lower level, looking across the stairwell to a door. It was Mr. Dougal’s door. He seemed the likeliest suspect. He didn’t like anyone. Not children, not Miss Dupree, not the White family. And he was strapped for cash.
“Jin will do it,” Tobias said.
Sarah sighed. Her sister had vanished again.
“She’ll pick that lock in no time,” Tobias said.
“Your ma has the key,” Sarah pointed out.
“You think I’m crazy?” Tobias whispered. “I’m not stealing a key from my ma.”
“But you’ll pick a lock to break into a lodger’s room?”
“That’s different. Mr. Dougal won’t catch us. My ma catches everything I do.”
“What about the maids? We could offer to help them when they come.” Miss Lily did not clean the house or do laundry. She hired outside help to clean and sent the laundry out. Once a day for light cleaning, and once a week for a more thorough one, including the lodgers’ rooms. She didn’t let the hired staff in her kitchen, though.
Tobias gave Sarah an “are you daft?” look. “Ma hires those ladies ’cause she trusts them. They’re gonna tell her I offered to help clean, and ma will be on me faster than a blink.”
Sarah thought about that. It was true. If the two of them suddenly volunteered for chores, it would raise everyone’s suspicions.
“What do you think Jin got up to?” Sarah asked instead.
Tobias shrugged. “Probably picked a fight with a mule.”
“And Grimm? Did he say anything? Did they fight with each other?”
Tobias fiddled with a splinter in the railing slat. His legs dangled over the edge, but he couldn’t fit his head through anymore. “Does he ever say anything?”
“Can’t you make him write it down?” Sarah asked.
“My ma can’t even get a thought out of him.” The boy shrugged. “We aren’t trying to find out what Jin is up to. We need to figure out who wrote that article.”
“I’m not going to break into every lodger’s room to rifle through their drawers, Tobias.”
“You got a better idea?”
The front door opened downstairs, and a soft murmur of voices traveled upwards. Sound carried in the entryway, amplifying it. She saw the top of Atticus’s hat as he helped Isobel out of her coat.
“I do, actually.”
Isobel could tell by the way Riot gripped his gentleman’s walking stick that something weighed heavy on him. But then she felt the same way.
They had come from different directions on the street and she waited for him on the front porch. The closer he got, the more exhausted he looked and he climbed the stairs like a man twice his age. She doubted he’d had a wink of sleep last night.
“No luck?” he asked.
Riot could read her like an open book.
“Not really.”
He opened the door for her, and she strode into the foyer. It was warm, and she gave a sigh. “I checked at the Saddle Rock Restaurant on Taylor. No one remembers Ella or Bennett, so I went by Ella’s church. The pastor knows Ella, but he didn’t know Bennett or Madge. He promised to check on the family, at least. I decided to double back to Menke’s Grocery and discovered that a Mrs. Ryan has an unpaid tab there.”
“Not good?”
“Madge’s mother is fond of gin and living with a first-class brute.”
Riot helped her out of her coat. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for injury. “Your assessment or firsthand experience?”
“I doubt he’ll be fathering any more children.”
She turned slightly, and gave him a small smile. Riot looked amused.
“Did you see this morning’s newspaper?” she asked.
“I did.”
The Bulletin had run an exposé to remind the public of the Kingston vs. Kingston case. It included a letter attesting to Riot’s good character from Donaldina Cameron, also signed by a number of other well-connected ladies. Which was all well and good, except that the Bulletin’s reporter added that he “could personally vouch” for the goings-on at Ravenwood Manor and the chaste nature of Sarah Byrne.
Riot didn’t appreciate Mr. Fry mentioning Sarah—no matter how well-intentioned.
A lodger passed by in the foyer. At least, Isobel assumed the woman lived in their house. She vowed to endure one buffet dinner so she could meet the other lodgers. For all sh
e knew the woman could be a vagabond passing through.
Isobel started up the stairs, then stopped, turning to see Riot gazing at the long stretch of stairs. “Shall I carry you?” she asked.
“I’m wondering if I should eat before making the climb.”
Isobel smiled, and held out a hand. “I’ll bring you a tray.”
They said nothing more until they were tucked in their shared bedroom.
“Out all night with your mistress?” she asked.
“As if I have enough energy for another woman.”
She’d take the credit for that.
Isobel tossed her coat on the hook, dropped her satchel on the floor and flung herself in Ravenwood’s chair to kick off her shoes and drape her legs over the armrest. She idly watched out of the corner of her eye as Riot began divesting himself of male accoutrements: hat hung on a hook, walking stick in its holder, then the ritual shedding of his coat. The unbuckling of his shoulder holster, and the clink of metal as he wound leather around revolver to clean later. Collar and tie came next, then he dropped his cufflinks and pocket watch on a dresser, along with his billfold.
Riot fell into the chair across from her. He reached down and tugged at his shoes, then pulled up his right trouser leg to reveal a thick wad of cash tucked in his sock garter.
Isobel raised a brow.
His left leg had a similar stash. He tossed both rolls on the table between them, then at last sat back and closed his eyes with a sigh.
Isobel plucked up one of the rolls, and flicked through the bills. She whistled low. “Either you robbed a bank or Lotario coaxed you into working at the Narcissus for a night. I’m told they tip their dancers well.”
Riot cracked an eye at her. “Lotario was with me, but I’m afraid it was nothing so sensational.”
“Ah, cards then?” she said with a sigh. “Do you cheat, Riot?”
“Have you caught me cheating?”
Isobel narrowed her eyes at him. They had played a handful of games with the girls and Tobias and Grimm (something Miss Lily should never discover), and Riot had been suspiciously cleaned out of all his candy currency.
“No,” she said slowly.
“There you have it.”
Isobel snorted. And mused over the rolls of cash. “Riot, earlier this week, when I took your billfold, you told me all that you have is mine… Was that all the money you had then? What was in your billfold?”
“Would you like a drink?”
Isobel blew out a breath, and quickly got to her feet. “I don’t want you keeling over on the floor.”
She poured two brandies, and pressed a glass into his hand. He raised it in gratitude and she took the opportunity to brush the hair back from his forehead. He didn’t feel feverish. “Is this how you’ve lived most of your life?”
“Hmm?”
“With a wad of cash in your sock garter?”
Riot savored the brandy for a moment. “Old habits die hard. Though the stakes are higher now.”
“Does that thrill you?”
“Are you asking if I’m a gambling addict?”
“I am.”
“I wasn’t just fleecing the lords of their currency. Lotario was busy robbing them of their secrets.”
“He’s good at that.”
“And I need money to hold us over until Miss Lily can pull us out of the gutter.”
“It’s as bad as all that?”
Riot tipped his head at the cash. “Not anymore.”
“What did my twin discover?”
“It seems Kingston has fallen from grace.”
She perked up at this. “Has he?”
“He was ousted from the Pacific Union Club, and lost a significant number of wealthy clients who’ve been keeping him on retainer.”
“In any other circumstance, I’d be pleased out of my mind, but… this makes him even more dangerous.”
Riot pulled out his deck of cards. His collar was undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his suspenders hung from his waist. She liked Riot disheveled, and admired him as he told her about his conversation with the hired drunk ruffian.
He shuffled as he related the details. Smooth and sure, like the man himself. Riot didn’t shuffle cards like a normal person. He arched them from hand to hand, creating a blurring bridge. She had only ever seen him drop his cards once. Thanks to her efforts.
But she had no intention of distracting him today. Shuffling was a testament to his mind at work.
“You were right,” he said at last. “I didn’t want to believe it. Monty might be rough around the edges, but we’ve been through… things together.”
“I’m sorry, Riot. Do you know where he is?”
Riot shook his head. “I tried a few places, but I’m spent for the day.”
A part of her was glad for that.
A knock sounded at the door. Isobel rose to answer before Riot could. It was Sarah. “Do you know what Jin is up to?” Isobel asked as Sarah entered.
Sarah shook her head.
“I suppose I should go check in with her.”
“She wasn’t at school today. Neither was Grimm.”
Isobel rubbed her temples.
Sarah glanced at Riot, then back to Isobel and hesitated. Isobel sensed she wanted to speak with Riot alone. “I’ll get us a tray.”
Sarah perched on Riot’s armrest. He smiled up at her. “How was your day?”
“It was fine. We’re reading Hamlet.”
“Ah.”
“Did you see the newspaper article in the Bulletin?”
“I did.”
“Do you think it will help?”
“Time will tell.”
Sarah fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. She generally had a pencil at hand. He noticed that she tended to chew the tops of them, leaving bite marks on all her pencils.
“So… erm,” she trailed off.
Riot squared his deck and tucked it away. “What’s on your mind?”
“About that article…the one before, in the Call.” Sarah blushed. “Is it true? About you and Miss Dupree?” She was so red that her freckles had faded.
He sighed. “Do you think it’s true?”
“This isn’t some… house of ill repute. And we’re not mistreated at all. So, no. I don’t. But… Atticus, she is pretty. Even Tobias makes moon eyes at her during class and he thinks girls are gross.”
“Miss Dupree is very handsome,” he agreed, “And she has accompanied me to the theater on a number of occasions. I was trying to present a certain image while investigating Alex Kingston.”
“Oh, so it is true. You kissed her, then?”
“A gentleman doesn’t discuss such things, especially with young ladies.”
“You’d best not tell Isobel.”
The edge of his lip quirked. “Bel knows all my secrets.”
“And Isobel didn’t kick her out?”
“What does that tell you?”
Sarah thought a moment. Then brightened. “So you didn’t kiss Miss Dupree.”
He spread his hands. “There you have it.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes, but didn’t push the subject. “Me and Tobias are trying to figure out who wrote that article.”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does! We can’t have a gossiper in our home. What if I kiss someone and it ends up all over the newspapers?”
“Like Mr. Cameron Fry?”
Sarah flushed, not in embarrassment but anger. “I’m going to brain that boy.”
He was glad to hear that. Although on second thought… Isobel had threatened him often enough.
“Who do you think wrote it?” she asked.
Thoroughly disconcerted, Riot answered with a distracted air. “Lotario believes Mr. Hughes is our culprit.” Surely Sarah wasn’t interested in young men yet? She was only twelve, nearly thirteen, he corrected.
The edges of Sarah’s lips twitched in triumph, but fortunately Riot didn’t notice. He was busy staring into the c
old hearth with concern.
“Mr. Hughes?” she asked. “Why would Mr. Lotario think that?”
Riot started. “I beg your pardon?”
She repeated the question.
“I don’t know, Sarah. I haven’t even met all the lodgers under our roof.”
Sarah proceeded to list them, including the rooms they occupied, and their occupations or lack thereof. At least, he thought, she was occupying herself with a puzzle instead of boys.
Isobel itched to do something. To be out knocking on doors, demanding to search every lodging house, brothel, hotel in the city. But that would be futile.
In a city of strangers, how did one go about finding a girl who for all intents and purposes, doesn’t want to be found? Isobel couldn’t even find her own daughter. Jin wasn’t in her room. Again. And Grimm was nowhere to be found. She could only hope they were together.
As she carried a tray upstairs, her mind returned to a plaguing question: Why?
Isobel refused to believe that some random person had snatched Ella between the cable car and the Western Union. That meant this John Bennett was involved, but why post a wanted ad in a newspaper? Why didn’t Ella meet him inside the Popular? She had dined with him before. If she had been in danger, why hadn’t she told her brother on the telephone?
Isobel returned to their rooms to find Sarah and Riot discussing Hamlet.
“But he did love her. He had to act crazy,” she was saying.
“And ruined his life and hers in the process,” Riot said.
“But it’s tragically romantic. She loved him so much it drove her mad.” The girl made a sound that seemed to come straight from her heart. “What do you think, Isobel?” Sarah was looking for a tie-breaker.
“Don’t drag me into the middle of this.”
“You always have an opinion,” Sarah said.
Riot laughed. “She has you pegged, Bel.”
“Shouldn’t every woman have an opinion?” she countered.
Sarah nodded in agreement.
Isobel set the tray down on a table in front of the fire and handed Riot his tea. Personally, she thought Ophelia an imbecile and Hamlet an emotional wreck. There were far better ways to simply kill a man. But as she served Riot his dinner, she pondered the girl sitting on the ottoman.
Where Cowards Tread Page 20
