Tough Prospect

by Laura Strickland

  “I do not have to tell you that. Get out! You’ve had your damned tour. Leave before I complain to the police officer.”

  They returned to the hallway where Sergeant Fagan waited. He ushered them out, and they stood in a little flock on the sidewalk, heads together.

  “Abominable!” seethed Miss Carroll. “Mrs. Michaels, tell us what you saw in the infirmary.”

  Lily Michaels’ expression did not change, yet Tessa fancied she caught anger in her pale blue eyes. “A barren room, narrow cots with only a thin blanket each. Bars on the windows. The children appeared quite ill. I suggest, if we can afford it, a doctor should be sent in.”

  “We will afford it,” Mr. Ellison declared, “even if I have to pay out of my own pocket. Officer,” he turned to Sergeant Fagan, “what can be done?”

  The tall sergeant looked sincerely regretful. “Not much, I’m sorry to say. There are few ordinances regulating such places.”

  “Then I suggest,” said Mrs. Wright, “we organize to enact such ordinances. And I further suggest we meet at the Meadows Club in four days’ time to launch another such raid. Mr. Ellison, will you choose our next target?”

  “I will, Mrs. Wright. Meanwhile, any contributions to this cause are welcome.”

  Both Misses Carroll dug into their pocketbooks, as did Tessa; Mitch gave her a generous allowance.

  Mitch. It hit her suddenly like a solid blow to the gut—her husband had grown up in just such an institution as this, and had escaped as soon as he could manage it.

  So that was the answer to her question of what these places did to a child.

  Richard, standing with his hands stuffed into his pockets, spoke in her ear. “I’m afraid I have no ready funds to spare.”

  “That’s all right.” Tessa gazed into his clear blue eyes. “You will meet me again at the Meadows Club? In four days’ time?”

  His expression became ardent, and his fingers once more brushed hers. “I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You’re very quiet tonight, Tessa. Are you feeling unwell?”

  Mitch and his wife sat alone at their dining table, served by a single steam unit. So far, he’d watched her toy with her food, push the excellent roast around the plate, and do no more than sip her wine. Conversation had been nonexistent.

  She raised her lovely green eyes to his face and seemed to study him anew. Even such simple regard from her heated his blood. He wanted her again, longed to snatch her up from the damned table, carry her up the stairs, and woo her till she moaned his name.

  He didn’t suppose such behavior would be considered completely civilized. And he was supposed to be civilized, wasn’t he? He at least wore a veneer of civilization.

  “Forgive me,” Tessa said. “I was thinking about my day.”

  Her day. She’d gone out—he knew that much—to the Meadows Club. What else had she done? Had she seen him—Richard Trask?

  “Ah.” He pretended mere casual interest. “A pleasant day, I hope. What did you do?”

  She continued to gaze at him in that disquieting way, as if she could see right inside him. “Charity work.”

  “You’ve decided, then? Chosen your—er—cause?”

  “I have, or rather I think it’s chosen me. Today, we toured one of the city’s orphanages.”

  That, too, hit him like a blow to the gut. He tried not to let his surprise—his dismay—show. Very casually indeed, he said, “Oh? Which one?”

  “It’s called the Home for Abandoned Children on Elm Street.”

  Well, at least it wasn’t bloody God-damned Carter’s. “I’m not sure I like the idea of you going to such places.”

  “No, it wasn’t pleasant, but it’s necessary, don’t you think? The underbelly of the beast must be exposed.”

  “Beast?”

  “The atrocities must be brought to light, revealed.”

  “Atrocities.”

  “If what goes on there isn’t brought out in the open, nothing can be done to help those children.”

  He laughed harshly. “They’re lost souls. Nothing can be done for them. They have to climb up on their own feet and get out.”

  “Like you did.”

  There it was. The truth. “Yes.”

  “But some of them will never make it out.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Many aren’t as strong as you.” She laid her fork beside her plate. “I will tell you frankly—may I speak frankly?”

  “I wish you would.”

  “After what I saw today, I can’t imagine how any of them survive.”

  Mitch tried to remember what he knew about the Home for Abandoned Children and failed to come up with any specifics. Didn’t matter—one of those hell holes was as bad as the next.

  And now a bunch of do-gooders, that included his wife, thought they could go in there and—what? Change the parameters of hell?

  The little clockwork dog came up to Tessa’s chair, stood on its rear legs, and pawed her knee. She lifted it into her lap.

  He waited till she had settled the toy before he asked, “What did you and your group hope to accomplish by touring one of those places?”

  “It wasn’t a tour so much as a raid. We plan to do it again and again at other institutions. And what we hope to accomplish, ultimately, is reform—improvement for those children, change to the way they’re treated.” Earnestly, she added, “We’re having a physician sent in, for one thing. Mrs. Michaels said the children in the infirmary are in dire need of one, and that terrible man who runs the house won’t pay.”

  “Mrs. Michaels—the automaton. How can an automaton have sympathy for anyone?”

  Tessa stroked the head of the dog. “You’d be surprised. I was surprised. She’s very warm and caring and—she means to fight for those children.” She gave Mitch a close look. “I hope you won’t object if I say I’d like her for a close friend.”

  Mitch’s head spun. That’s all he needed, his wife befriending one of the mechanicals like the ones he was up against for downtown. What had become of his life, since he first laid eyes on Tessa Verdun?

  His single weakness.

  “I’ve told you, I’m happy for you to have friends. But I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this crusade you’ve chosen.”

  She looked him in the eye again, glaring now. “Too bad. You bade me choose an interest. I have, and it’s one in which I feel completely invested.”

  Yeah, but why did it have to be the one that he, Mitch, had lived?

  She tossed her head. “I should think you would take an interest, since you have personal experience with what these poor children endure on a daily basis.”

  Poor children. The last thing he wanted was her pity. Anyway, how could he explain to her without exposing vulnerabilities he’d spent a lifetime trying to conceal that he couldn’t even bear to think about the orphanage? Just being reminded that such places still existed felt like poking a burning brand into a lurid wound. His best chance at survival came from forgetting what he could.

  Except he got reminded every time he looked at one of the boys who’d been at Carter’s with him. And now, when he looked at Tessa.

  “I’ve no time for all that,” he told her dismissively. “And I want you to be careful if you visit those places.”

  “Oh, I am in very good company.”

  Why did that assurance make Mitch feel even more uneasy?

  And wasn’t it ironic how his wife could feel friendship for some hybrid automaton and love for a mechanical dog, but none for him?

  ****

  “It’s a message, Boss. From Danny Dwyer. He wants you to come at once.”

  Mitch looked up from his desk into Tiny Haskins’ excited face. Morning sunlight bled through the windows, its dirty color predicting rain. He’d had very little sleep last night, and what he’d managed to snatch had been colored by evil dreams which left him in a foul mood.

  “Since when do I jump to Danny Dwyer’s demands?”

  “
He said it’s important. And that you two have an agreement.”

  That caught Mitch’s interest. “He send a messenger?”

  “Yeah, Boss.”

  “The messenger still here? Send him in.”

  The fellow who sloped into the office wore a flat cap which he doffed in Mitch’s presence; there ended any show of respect. With red hair and an ugly, cunning face, he had “Irish” written all over him.

  Mitch fixed him with a hard eye. “What’s this all about?”

  “Danny has something to show you, Mr. Carter.”

  “To show me?” Mitch scowled.

  “Aye. He asks you to meet him at the boathouse down at the end of Erie Street.”

  “What boathouse? There are plenty of sheds down there.”

  “I’ll take you if you like, show you the one.”

  Mitch didn’t like; this had danger written all over it. Still, if Dwyer wanted to lure him someplace in order to work him over, he’d hardly do it in broad daylight.

  Curiosity chewed at him—what could Dwyer possibly have to show him?

  He shoved aside the paper he’d been reading, a list of late rents.

  “You go ahead,” he told the man. “I’ll follow with a couple of my boys.”

  “All right. But Danny says don’t bring your car.”

  “Why not?”

  “Everybody in the city knows that car, and you’re not gonna want to be seen. Right so?”

  “What am I supposed to do? Walk?”

  “Heaven forfend the King of Prospect should have to hoof it anywhere. I’ve a steamcab waiting. We take it part way, get off and take a carriage, then walk.”

  Such secrecy—what the hell could Dwyer want? “All right. Tiny, you come with me. And fetch Lou.” Lou—another alumnus of Carter’s—never went anywhere without being armed.

  It started to rain as they exited the first cab and, by the time they set out on foot for the waterfront, it was pounding down. The foul weather had no visible impact on Danny Dwyer, whom Mitch found lounging outside one of the boathouses that lined the pier. A number of Dwyer’s lads also stood about; they eyed Mitch and his two men the way sated lions might size up antelope, with lazy interest.

  Dwyer stepped forward and gave Mitch an indolent grin. “And how might you be, sir, on such a bonny morning?”

  “Bonny? It’s bucketing down.”

  “What I have inside makes it bonny.” Dwyer laid his finger aside his nose. “But careful what you say, now. It has ears.”

  Ears?

  “You just step inside with me, yeah?”

  Dwyer cracked the door of the boathouse; the two of them stepped in out of the rain. The interior space—maybe ten by twelve feet—lay littered with nautical trappings, coils of rope, oars and tools, even a crude winch. On a stack of folded tarps dead center sat—

  A woman.

  Perhaps thirty years old, she had light brown hair and wore a good quality dress of russet red, from beneath the hem of which peeked the toes of black boots. Mitch couldn’t see her eyes or much of her face because she also wore a blindfold. Her arms were bound tightly to her sides.

  Mitch swore with feeling and turned incredulous eyes on Dwyer, who grinned at him like a madman.

  The woman perched on the tarps shuddered even though she couldn’t see them.

  When Dwyer spoke, he disguised his voice, making it rough and gravelly, and nearly losing the brogue. “My friend, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Patrick Kelly.”

  “Shit!” Mitch exclaimed.

  “Is that any way to talk in front of a lady?”

  “Who are you?” Mrs. Kelly demanded. She made an effort at composure, but Mitch heard her terror. “What do you want?”

  “How—?” Mitch began.

  “Snatched her last night from right outside her own house.”

  “My husband is a police officer. You—”

  “We know that, missus. And nothing bad’s going to happen to you. I just wanted my friend here to see you, wanted to show him what I can do.”

  A message, right enough, Mitch thought as his heart clenched in his chest. One meant for Patrick Kelly—and for him, also. It might just as well be Tessa sitting there. He imagined her, frightened and shivering, and anger made him want to take Dwyer apart bone by bone.

  “You fool,” he growled.

  “You think so, do you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nah,” Dwyer returned. “I always strike a man—or in this case an automaton—where he’ll feel it most.”

  He stepped forward and grabbed Mrs. Kelly by the hair. She gasped and shrank away from him. “We’re going to let you go, missus. But I want you to take a message to your husband. Understand? Tell him to stick to being a cop and quit buying up property in my city. Next time, we won’t let you go so easy, right?” He bent and spoke in her ear. “And there will be a next time.”

  Mrs. Kelly froze. With a sound of disgust, Mitch turned and left the shed. The rain felt refreshing after the atmosphere of terror inside.

  When Dwyer joined him, Mitch said, “You’re an ass. And that was a stupid ploy.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t imagine much makes an impression on an automaton, but that will.” Dwyer shot Mitch a look from narrowed, pale eyes. “You want him off our turf, right? Then where’s your balls?”

  “What’s your next move?”

  “Let her go. Let her report back to the mister.”

  Ignoring the rain, Mitch stared Dwyer in the eye. “And if he figures out who snatched her, comes looking for you? Or me?”

  “Ah, shite, man. You think I’m afraid of a fecking machine?”

  Mitch suspected he should be.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What’s this?” Tessa paused at the bottom of the stairs when she saw her husband waiting, a box in his hands. The box, wrapped in gold paper, sported a bow of the same hue.

  Her heart sank in dismay. Not another gift!

  But he held the box out to her. “Chocolates from that shop you like, up on Delaware. I know how much you enjoy them.”

  “I do. That’s very thoughtful of you.” What could Tessa do but accept the box?

  Mitch watched her with careful hazel eyes. “I thought we might spend the afternoon together.”

  “Oh?” She couldn’t hide her surprise; never before had he suggested such a thing. “And do what?”

  “Whatever you like. I thought a ride out somewhere, but given this rain, we might do better staying in.”

  Rain. And staying in. Why did that make Tessa think of going up to her room with him? Sudden memories of their single shared night swamped her—the heat of his touch and the things his mouth had made her feel. That blinding moment when he’d claimed her. Color rushed to her cheeks.

  No, no, no. Her body might demand it, but she didn’t love this man. She didn’t even like him. Her body, once aroused, merely had needs.

  Ones she knew he could fulfill. Would it be so wrong? To go with him into her bedroom, take off her clothes, and let him make her feel all that again?

  Yes. Yes, it would be wrong. For one thing, she must think of Richard, the man she truly did love.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with some genuine regret. “I have plans to go out this afternoon.”

  “Out? Where?”

  “Another meeting at the Meadows Club.”

  “Ah.” His eyes narrowed. Was he suspicious? He couldn’t possibly know she met Richard at those meetings.

  “Perhaps another time,” she suggested. Later tonight he might come to her room. Perhaps it would still be raining. And in the dark she could once more forget who he was.

  No.

  “Of course. Enjoy your meeting.”

  “I will.” Something made her add, “Thank you for the chocolates. But—you don’t need to keep buying me gifts.”

  “You won’t let me give you what I want to give you—what else can I do?”

  And there it was right out in the open between them, the searing
memory of that night when she’d let him give her what he wanted, what she could see he still desired every time he looked at her.

  She trembled. For an instant the composure she fought so hard to maintain crumbled—she feared what he might see in her eyes.

  “I—I must go. I don’t want to be late.” She fled out the door and never realized, until she climbed into the car, she still had the chocolates in her hand.

  ****

  “Mrs. Carter, are you well? You seem out of sorts.”

  Tessa turned her head when Lily Michaels spoke in her ear. They’d just finished their meeting, making plans for the raid on their next orphanage target, and still sat side by side on the folding chairs.

  “I’m fine, and please, I asked you to call me Tessa, or Tess.”

  “Of course, Tess. I would like to think we are friends.”

  “I like to believe so, too.”

  “Friends confide in one another. Such as when they feel ill.”

  “I do not feel ill. Really, I just have something on my mind.”

  “Is it Mr. Trask?” Lily directed a glance across the room at Richard, who stood locked in conversation with Mr. Ellison.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “I am an automaton, highly trained in picking up nuances in humans and adapting my responses to them. Truthfully, I can’t keep from doing it. And forgive me saying, but it would not require such abilities to notice how the two of you look at one another.”

  “Oh.” Tessa flushed in dismay.

  “Yet you are married to another man.”

  “It’s quite complicated.”

  “Perhaps you would like to confide in me.”

  “Oh. I don’t think…”

  “I am quite reliable and was designed to keep secrets. I will, in actual fact, not breathe a word.” Lily emitted what, for her, must pass for laughter, a soft fluttery sound.

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “It is what friends do. Since the meeting has ended, I suggest we withdraw to a café and have tea. I cannot, of course, actually drink the tea, but I view it as a charming exercise.”

  “All right. Let me just say goodbye to—”

  “Your lover? Right enough.”

  Tessa arose and went to Richard, who’d just finished his conversation with Mr. Ellison and turned to face her. They clasped hands.