Haunting Jordan

by P. J. Alderman

  “Thank you. And rest assured that I will apprise Frank of your invaluable role in this affair.”

  Mona set her cup on the tray and stood to take her leave. “There is one more bit of information Booth was able to learn.”

  Hattie gave her an inquiring look.

  “The rumor along the waterfront is that Clive Johnson started the fire of three weeks past.”

  “Yes, that corroborates what Frank told me.”

  “According to what my man learned, a boardinghouse operator named Taylor refused to pay a bribe to Clive Johnson. Taylor subsequently made it known around town that he would run a boardinghouse only for union sailors. Clive Johnson burned down the boardinghouse to set an example to anyone else who might contemplate such a move. He paid a brothel patron to set the second fire for the purpose of misleading the investigators.”

  She’d been correct in her supposition after all, Hattie realized.

  “No doubt your business manager never dreamed the fire would spread as it did, though that certainly in no way excuses his actions,” Mona concluded.

  “And I suppose there’s no proof, which means he’ll get away with having murdered the people who died as a result of the fire,” Hattie said bitterly.

  “Yes, I suspect that will be true. Unless,” Mona said thoughtfully, “you could persuade a reporter for the newspaper to run a story mentioning an unnamed source?”

  Hattie shook her head. “I have no credibility with Eleanor Canby on this subject. I still don’t understand, though, who would’ve felt it necessary to pressure Eleanor to run the editorial condemning me. Seavey would have had the most to lose if Johnson were arrested, but it doesn’t seem like Seavey’s style.”

  “Michael Seavey can employ subtlety when it is called for,” Mona said. “Though Greeley is another possibility. He and Eleanor are good friends, and he knows what goes on between the ships’ masters and the boarding-house operators. He wouldn’t want it known that he turns a blind eye, particularly when people have died.”

  Hattie brooded for a long moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “It was the least I could do, given the great risk you are undertaking for a close friend of mine. I might point out that you seem to make a habit of doing so.”

  Hattie smiled sadly. Then she leaned over and tossed the slip of paper Mona had given her into the fire. She watched in silence as it burned to ash.

  “This will be the last time we speak of what we’ve learned this evening,” she said quietly. “But all actions have consequences. I will personally see that they do.”

  * * *

  HATTIE had no sooner seen Mona to her carriage than a loud scream had her hiking her skirts and dashing for the front hall. Tabitha stood, sobbing in Sara’s arms. The young maid’s braid had fallen into disarray, lying against her back in a snarled mess, and her eyes were wild with fear.

  “Oh, Mrs. Longren!” Tabitha sobbed. “I tried my best, I did! But I couldn’t stop them!”

  The Betrayal

  HATTIE’S heart stopped beating. She grasped the maid’s thin shoulders and gave her a quick shake. “Calm down, Tabitha! Tell us where Charlotte is.”

  “They took her!”

  “Describe to me exactly what transpired,” she ordered from what felt like a great distance.

  “We didn’t think there was any harm in it, you see,” Tabitha explained, her voice quavering. “We did just as you told us to—we took the note to Dr. Willoughby’s clinic. Then Charlotte …” Tabitha’s voice trailed off as she burst anew into tears.

  “Tabitha!” Hattie gave her another hard shake. “If you can’t tell us what happened, we can’t get Charlotte back.”

  “Yes’m,” Tabitha sniffled. “You see, Charlotte wanted an extra-nice ribbon for her dress for tomorrow evening, and so she thought we could make just the one stop on the way home.”

  “At Celeste’s?”

  “Yes’m. I tried to tell her you wouldn’t approve, that we should ask your permission first, but—”

  “Never mind that. What happened next?”

  “We went to Miss Celeste’s, like I said.” Tabitha wiped her eyes, then continued. “It was after we left the shop and were walking along the street … these two men ran out of the bushes and grabbed Miss Charlotte right off the sidewalk and dragged her into a carriage! I screamed, but there weren’t no one around, so I ran back here.” She started crying again. “It’s my fault, Mrs. Longren …”

  Hattie realized her fingers were digging into the poor girl’s shoulders. She forced herself to loosen her grip. “We’ll sort all that out later,” she said, “but you acted decisively by running back to tell us. Now, this is very important, Tabitha. Can you describe the two men for me?”

  “Well, they were big and they wore clothes like the men we saw on the waterfront the night of the fire.”

  “So the men were sailors?”

  The maid looked confused. “Their arms and legs were as big as trees, they were. And they were tall.”

  “Longshoremen, possibly,” Hattie murmured. “Or lumberjacks.”

  Tabitha screwed up her face. “Maybe.”

  Dear God. Two men of that size easily could’ve grabbed Charlotte and put her into a carriage without risking detection, especially if they’d planned the location of the attack so that it was shielded from view by the landscaping at the entrance to an alley. The carriage could’ve been waiting just out of sight. They must’ve watched the house, then followed the girls, waiting for the right moment.

  “What about the carriage?”

  Tabitha’s face was blank. “I think it was black.”

  “Was it a brougham carriage or a gentleman’s phaeton?”

  The girl didn’t know the difference.

  Hattie paced the hall, forcing air in and out of her constricted lungs. It would’ve been easier to conceal Charlotte in a carriage, but the phaeton would’ve been faster. And if they’d used chloroform, they could’ve gotten away with the phaeton—she would no longer have been struggling or screaming. God knew, chloroform could be had at any saloon along the waterfront. Either way, the vehicle could’ve been any of several available for hire from the waterfront liveries. She’d have no luck tracking it down—no one would be willing to talk to her.

  She continued to pace. It was entirely possible Seavey had kidnapped Charlotte. Did he intend to use her to force Hattie to agree to his proposition, or would he smuggle Charlotte out of the country, sending her to the Far East to be used as a child prostitute? Either prospect was horrifying. She had to act, and quickly.

  “My cape, Sara. I must speak to Chief Greeley at once—in this matter, he will be of assistance.” Sara quickly helped her into her wrap as she spit out orders. “Stay with Tabitha and fix her some tea to calm her nerves. Dr. Willoughby is due at any moment. When he arrives, take him upstairs. I should be back within the hour.”

  With that, she flew out the door.

  * * *

  SHE arrived at the police station, breathless from the six-block run. Not bothering with the desk sergeant, she dashed past desks and prisoners’ cells to Greeley’s office. At her entry, he stood, his face set in rigid lines.

  “Mrs. Longren, it’s inappropriate to burst in without warning—”

  She halted next to his desk, her hand at her throat, gasping for air. “The situation is dire, Chief Greeley. Charlotte has been kidnapped.”

  He was around the desk in an instant, his large hands gripping her arms. “What are you saying?”

  “She was taken by two men outside our house, not moments ago. You must help me.”

  His hands were punishing—she would no doubt have bruises by morning. “Were you with her? Did you recognize her assailants?”

  “Please—you’re hurting me.”

  He seemed to realize where he was; he loosened his hold on her. “Tell me what you saw.”

  “I didn’t see the attack—I was inside the house. Her lady’s maid, Tabitha Dumont—”

&nb
sp; “Charlotte was without a chaperone?” Wrath blazed in Greeley’s eyes. “You fool woman, what have you done?”

  Hattie tried to edge away. “Condemning my actions serves no useful purpose at the moment, Chief Greeley. If you’ll allow me to relate what I know—”

  Greeley let go of her with a shove, and she had to grab the edge of the desk to remain on her feet. He paced the small confines of the office. “Tell me.”

  She summarized the trip to Celeste’s and the abduction, leaving out the real purpose of their outing, which was to deliver the note to Willoughby’s clinic. “Tabitha immediately ran home to inform us, and I left within moments to come down here. The attack couldn’t have happened any more than a half hour ago, at the most. If you act with haste—”

  “And do what?” Greeley rounded on her. “In a carriage of any reasonable speed, they could be halfway to a neighboring town by now, or have Charlotte well concealed in the depths of the tunnels. It’s too late.”

  Hattie gaped at him. “You’re the law—surely you have resources at your disposal to ascertain who has abducted her.”

  “To what end?” Greeley roared. “Whether or not we find Charlotte, she is lost to us now. Her captors no doubt have compromised her—her reputation is ruined.”

  “You can’t possibly know that for certain!” Hattie said hotly. “If we act at once, they may not have had time to do more than simply conceal her.”

  “Charlotte is beyond all possible redemption,” Greeley muttered, staring through her as if he were talking only to himself.

  “Surely you don’t equate the potential loss of Charlotte’s good reputation with her very life!” Hattie cried, desperate to make him see reason.

  Without warning, he backhanded her, sending her careening off the desk and to the floor. She lay there, her hand raised to her face, staring at him.

  The desk sergeant rushed into the office, helping her to her feet. Two other patrolmen came to stand in the doorway, their wary gazes on Greeley.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” the sergeant asked, keeping an eye on Greeley, who stood like stone in the middle of the office.

  “Yes … I think so,” she answered shakily. “Thank you.”

  “Get out,” Greeley said to her in a low voice.

  “What?” Hattie asked, confused.

  “I said, get out of my office.”

  “Chief—” the sergeant began.

  “Shut up.”

  Hattie drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “So you will do nothing to help save Charlotte’s life.”

  Greeley’s face was devoid of all emotion. “The moment you allowed Charlotte to leave the house unattended, Mrs. Longren, you may as well have put a bullet in her brain. She is dead to us all.”

  He turned to the sergeant. “Get this woman out of my sight.”

  * * *

  HATTIE stood on the boardwalk outside the police station, her breath hitching. She had no one to turn to, no one who could help. And she had no notion of how to proceed. Should she wait for a ransom note? But what if none were delivered? She would only be giving Charlotte’s kidnappers the time they needed to transfer her aboard a ship bound for the Orient.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there before she became aware of Michael Seavey’s approach.

  “Mrs. Longren,” he said smoothly, removing his top hat to execute a bow. “And what brings you out on such a fine—”

  She slapped him, putting her weight behind her swing. “You son of a bitch! I want her back right now!”

  Seavey held her so her fists could no longer reach him. “Contain yourself, Mrs. Longren!”

  “What is it that you hope to gain?” She spit the words at him. “Money?”

  “I have no notion of what you’re saying,” he replied evenly, still holding her. “Please explain yourself.”

  She ceased her struggles, going limp under his hands. “Just give me back my sister.”

  His eyes shifted, and she knew. He was the worst kind of animal, preying on innocents. “Name your price, and I will meet it,” she said, trying to mask her terror and failing. A sob escaped. “Please don’t hurt her. I’ve heard what your men are capable of.”

  He shook his head, frowning, then his gaze suddenly sharpened. “You’ve been hit.” He ran fingers with surprising gentleness across the reddened skin, then along the swelling at her jawline. “Who did this?” he asked quietly, a note of steel having entered his voice.

  She stepped back, shuddering, and he dropped his hands. “Please, if you have an ounce of decency left in you, I beg of you …” She stopped, shaking her head.

  He studied her broodingly. “And what will you give me, Hattie, for the safe return of Charlotte? Money? Or more? Will you give me everything I want?”

  Hattie closed her eyes. As she suspected, he meant to bargain Charlotte—for control of Longren Shipping, for the demise of the sailors’ union, and for her own freedom. He wanted everything. She cared nothing for herself, but what of Frank? What would happen to him if she gave in to Seavey’s demands? Would Seavey insist that she turn Frank over to him? She couldn’t bring herself to trade one life for another. And yet, she couldn’t think about what was happening to Charlotte at this very moment.

  Perhaps she had one more option, one more strategy at her disposal. And if that didn’t work, then she would force herself to make the more wrenching decision.

  “What happens to me, or to Longren Shipping, is no longer of any consequence,” she said. “But I won’t bargain with the lives of others.”

  Seavey studied her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Then it’s truly a pity,” he said finally, “that you won’t allow me to help you.” He replaced his top hat, nodding. “Good day, Mrs. Longren.”

  He stepped around her and walked away. With shaking fingers she pulled her cape close to ward off the chill that seemed to permeate even her bones, never noticing the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

  Pray to God my idea works.

  Turning, she stepped into the alley. Walking to the door at the back of the building across from the courthouse, she raised a hand and knocked on its weather-beaten whitewashed exterior. Within moments, the door opened, revealing the young prostitute Hattie recognized from the night of the fire.

  “Isobel. Please tell Mrs. Starr that I must speak with her immediately.”

  * * *

  FROM one block away, Michael Seavey watched Hattie enter the Green Light. So Hattie thought to secure assistance from Mona Starr. He found Hattie’s resolve, her courage in the face of truly frightening circumstances, curiously admirable. His late wife would’ve acted only to save her own skin, not out of principle or concern for others. Not that asking Mona would do Hattie any good—the wealthy madam was not without resources, but she didn’t have the power to affect the outcome of this little drama. Whereas he did. However, the question was, what outcome did he desire?

  He turned to his bodyguard. “Remy.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Fetch Clive Johnson and bring him to my hotel room.”

  “Yessir.”

  “And, Remy?” The bodyguard turned back. “Don’t be gentle about it.”

  Remy’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “How much time do I got, Mr. Seavey?”

  “One hour should be sufficient, I believe.”

  The Rescue Plan

  TWENTY-FOUR hours later, Hattie sat in the second-floor parlor, sewing a hidden pocket into the skirts of her evening gown. She’d already pricked her fingers with the needle more times than she could count.

  No ransom note had been delivered, as she’d prayed would happen. At least a ransom note would’ve cast a different light on Charlotte’s abduction, raising doubts as to her presumption about Seavey’s plans to use Charlotte as leverage. With no such note forthcoming, she’d been forced to accept the worst.

  Sleep had been impossible, eating even more so. All she could hope was that the plan she and Mona had devised would be successf
ul.

  “Give me time to gather information regarding Charlotte’s location,” Mona had told her the day before at the Green Light.

  “But the longer we wait—”

  “Acting in haste, and in the absence of a solid plan, will be even riskier,” Mona had pointed out. “Think with your head, not your emotions, Hattie. Charlotte’s life is more important than whatever temporary discomfort, or even abuse, she experiences at the hands of her captors.”

  Hattie had forced herself to nod her agreement. “How long?”

  “Twenty-four hours, at least. You must also attend the soirée tomorrow evening—it will be your cover.”

  “To expect me to act normal, as if nothing has happened, as if Seavey and Greeley, who are bound to be in attendance, haven’t had a hand in this … no. You ask too much.”

  “If anyone asks later, dozens of people will say that you were at the party, that you couldn’t have been involved,” Mona had insisted.

  Though Hattie had been forced to admit the wisdom of Mona’s plan, she’d been incapable of more than a shudder by way of response.

  Mona had taken her silence as acquiescence. “Slip out no earlier than midnight, and make certain no one sees you. Come to the alley door—we will proceed from here.”

  So she had come home to wait, firming her resolve for what she must do. Struggling to assure Sara and Tabitha that all would eventually be well, that Charlotte would return home safe.

  Hattie closed her eyes for a moment, then bent over her sewing once again. She would never forgive herself for her own naïve actions that had brought about this chain of events.

  She heard a slight movement and turned. Frank stood, one shoulder propped heavily against the doorway, his face white with pain. Setting aside her sewing, she leapt to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed—whatever were you thinking?”

  Frank shook his head, working to get his breath back and, she realized, to keep his balance. “Willoughby said I could walk around as soon as I felt well enough.”