Saving the Soldier's Heart (The Emerald Quest Book 2)

by Beckenham Jane

  “We...we really should get on.” She went to pull away from him and slipped from the curb, arms flailing as she tried to gain purchase.

  “Maggie!” He made a grab for her, pulling her from the road in the nick of time as a strange looking conveyance raced past.

  “That’s it, that’s it.” She pointed to the unusual carriage and the insignia scripted in green on the back of the vehicle.

  A tiger.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They watched the carriage head about one hundred feet up the street, then turn a sharp right into an alleyway.

  “Come on, Clayton.” In a breathless rush, Maggie grabbed at his arm and tugged him after her, but as she went to round the corner, he drew her sharply back.

  “Stop! We can’t just go charging in. Let’s wait and see where that contraption stops first.”

  “Oh, right. Observation.”

  “Exactly.” He held her to him and they stood silently, his breathing slowing a pace, though his heartbeat was still a rampant thud. He didn’t need to second-guess that it had nothing to do with racing after the carriage and everything to do with Maggie standing enclosed in his arms.

  Maggie pointed to the end of the small alley. “It’s stopped outside that building.

  They peered down the length of the narrow alley, where the buildings on either side appeared to almost lean into the middle. “It’s a restaurant. Well, at least the rear of it. Look, the tiger emblem is atop it too.” A dilapidated wooden sign flapped precariously atop a single beam above the door.

  Maggie glanced at him over her shoulder. “So why would a restaurant import opium?”

  “We don’t know they are—yet. Maybe the chap with his knife just works there.”

  “But don’t forget those names in that notebook. If they’re not companies Bellerose is trading with, why would Edward list them? Then there’s the emblem and that necklace, of sorts, around that man’s neck. They are all the same as that sign.”

  A wave of sadness tangled with disbelief raged inside Clayton. “What hell has Edward gotten himself into?”

  “Sometimes people don’t tell of their troubles. They’re too embarrassed.”

  “I had no idea about the gambling, and it really doesn’t add up to the man I’ve known nearly all my life.”

  “But what about all the missing furniture from his familial residence? It seems to confirm that he’s sold it to pay debts.”

  It did, but Clayton wished to hell it didn’t.

  “Why the hell didn’t he come to me for help instead of getting himself into this dastardly business.”

  “Only he can tell you that, and the only way you’ll know is if we find him.”

  “True.” Clayton wished it hadn’t come to this but there was no turning back. He had to find out the truth, whatever it was.

  Maggie stepped into the alley. “No one has come out. So that means we go in.” Though there was a tentativeness in her expression, it belied the strength in her voice.

  “Not you. You wait here.”

  Her hands fisted. “I will not. You need me to recognize him.”

  “We've had this discussion before.”

  “And I’ve given you my answer before. We’re a team. That makes it all for one and one for all and all that stuff.”

  Clayton couldn’t stem a smile. “I believe that was the three musketeers, but unfortunately, there’s only two of us.”

  “Three if you count your detective.”

  “Who is not here.”

  Maggie shrugged. “So do we wait for him? Or do we go and do what needs to be done now and tell him about it later?”

  “My, my, Miss Francis, I do believe you are a rather fierce warrior.”

  “When it counts, I am.”

  He took the opportunity and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. “Come on, my little warrior, let’s go into battle.”

  A few seconds later they stood outside the door to the building. A cacophony echoed from within.

  Clayton peered through the grille over the glass fitted into the door. “It’s the kitchen.” Steam rose from two large pots over a fire pit, bubbling water hissing as it hit the embers. Large bowls of vegetables and cooked rice were on a side bench while several animal carcasses lay across the table. A wooden table centered the room and around it two workers chopped vegetables with lethal precision and ferocious speed. Was one of those men Maggie’s man?

  Neither wore a tiger charm around their necks, so maybe not. Maggie’s fingers crept along his forearm. “Do you see him?”

  “Given that you keep reminding me you’re the only one who has his description, I’d say the answer is no.”

  “So let me have a look.” Maggie elbowed him in the ribs and he coughed, doubling up. She pushed her way in front, her back pressed into the curve of him firing something that shouldn’t be happening. Not right now, anyway.

  Later, maybe.

  His mouth curled at the thought.

  Definitely.

  He could smell her perfume, wanted to get closer, inhale it. Kiss her.

  She stood on tiptoes leaning toward the door. “Oh, oh...” The door fell open and Maggie after it.

  Clayton went to grab her but couldn’t gain traction as her arms thrashed at the air and she crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  Everything stopped, silence deafening, as all eyes turned in their direction.

  Maggie shoved her hat back on her head, looking up at the kitchen workers, then offered a sheepish grin. “Ooops.”

  At the same time Clayton went to haul her to her feet, she let out a piercing shriek. “There he is.” She jabbed a finger towards a worker. “Him.” She scrambled upright, dodging the closest workers and charging after the man who’d just entered the room.

  “Maggie! Wait! For God’s sake, wait!”

  She didn’t and he took off after her. “Miss Francis you are dangerous to my sanity.”

  Maggie came up hard against a closed door. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to get her breath. “He went in there.”

  “Bloody hell, we’ve made the worst military tactical mistake ever.”

  She shot him a look over her shoulder. “What are you babbling about?”

  He nodded towards the kitchen crew who now stood behind them, blocking their exit, a variety of knifes and lethal looking kitchen utensils at the ready. “We have supposed ‘enemies’ behind us and you say your guy went in here.”

  “He did.”

  “So we’re surrounded. Remember what happened to Napoleon when he had military fronts on both sides.”

  Maggie’s brows rose, and she offered a tiny shrug. “Oops, again.”

  If he wasn’t so uncertain as to their safety, he’d want to laugh with her, but instinct ingrained from years of hell in the trenches came to the fore. This wasn’t the time for jocularity. “Keep quiet, and say nothing.”

  Maggie gave him a jaunty salute. “Look who’s bossy now.”

  He tried the door, shocked that it actually opened without resistance.

  Maggie’s attacker wasn’t alone.

  “Ah, the man with the tiger’s eyes. Good morning. Welcome to my humble restaurant.”

  In the middle of the room, standing behind an exquisitely black lacquered desk with inlay of mother of pearl, stood a Chinese man of indiscernible age. He wore the clothes of the English, his wispy moustache trimmed neat as was his inky black hair. Emerald cufflinks edged out from beneath his black jacket, glinting in the hazy light.

  “Do come on in, Mr. Abbott, and Miss Francis.” He glanced momentarily at Maggie. Her attacker spoke to him rapidly in whatever common language they shared.

  In those few seconds, Maggie sidled up to him, reaching for his hand and held on tight. She nodded toward the man. “He’s wearing the tiger.”

  The man who appeared to be the boss, turned and smiled. “Ah, my tiger. Do you like it?”

  “Not when your goon here decides to frighten Miss Francis, I don’t. I presume it was yo
u who ransacked my home too.”

  “Merely a misunderstanding.”

  “Rather a big one, I would say.”

  The boss nodded toward his offsider. “We thought it better you did not put your nose in where it is not wanted. That is the English saying, is it not?”

  “Tough. My nose is in, whether you like it or not. It’s my business you’re using as your cover. That’s got to stop.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid that is impossible.”

  Clayton fisted his hands, fighting the urge to slam one into the center of the bastard’s face.

  The slick businessman glanced at his henchman. “I’m afraid he doesn’t speak good English. He thought Miss Francis was in the house because she was Lord Hindmarch’s friend.”

  Maggie snorted. “Not likely.”

  “How do you know who we are?”

  “I wondered when you’d realize that. My name is Wah Lee, Mr. Abbott. I am a businessman and I make it my business to know who I’m dealing with.”

  “But I’m not dealing with you.”

  The man’s mouth twitched, but his black eyes were hard and merciless. “Your friend has something I want.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “A box did not quite reach its final destination.”

  “Your opium.”

  The man’s smile dissolved. “You’re too clever.”

  “You’re right, I am. So I suggest you keep away from us.” He stabbed a finger towards the other man. “If you ever threaten Miss Francis again, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Do I make myself clear?”

  The man looked to his boss, who spoke for him, his voice silky smooth, his English diction quite perfect. “Oh, yes, very clear.”

  Clayton went to turn away.

  “A moment more of your time, if you please.”

  Suspicion warned him to get the hell out of there. He looked to Wah Lee, then to Maggie. “Alright. Maggie, you go wait outside, I won’t be long.”

  “But...”

  He held her from him. “This time, Miss Francis, I’m invoking my power of being your employer. Go outside and wait.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved the key to their room, then leaned in close, whispering, “If I’m not out in ten minutes, get the heck out of here and go to the hotel. Send a message to Detective Brownley.”

  Her eyes widened, fear-filled. She went to speak, but nothing came out. Not even an argument. She clutched the key in her gloved hand and simply offered a half nod. He wanted to kiss her good bye, wanted to take her in his arms, but that would be too hard, too final. Instead, he did neither and he watched her turn and leave.

  ***

  Maggie should have stayed. She desperately wanted to but... She was a coward. Seeing Wah Lee with the smarmy smile, which never once reached those black eyes of his, made her skin crawl. And then there was her attacker. Her throat closed over just thinking about him.

  Back through the kitchen, the staff silent as she walked into their domain, she headed out into the fresh air, exhaling a long pent up sigh of relief.

  Where to now?

  Clayton said wait ten minutes. She walked to where the alleyway met the main street and halted, then began to count the seconds. One. Two. Three...

  A chill breeze fluttered and she shivered, drawing closer to the corner of the building.

  “Where are you, Clayton?”

  “Putting himself in danger.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She went to turn round, but something nudged her in the back.

  “Stay exactly where you are, Maggie.”

  “Edward?”

  “It is.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  His laugh wheezed from his chest. “I should have thought that would be my question.”

  “Clayton is trying to find out what disaster you’ve brought on Bellerose.”

  “I tried to get him to stay away.”

  “You’ve used him.”

  “No. Never that, Maggie. Tell him to keep out of it. Tell him it’s not what it seems. I’m sorting it. Tell him I’m close.”

  “Why don’t you tell him yourself?"

  “Because, those men in there want my guts for garters right now.”

  “So give them what they want.”

  “I can’t do that. Clayton, I believe, has moved it. Get Clayton out of here. He doesn’t need to be involved. Tell him to remember his letter to me, it’s... Shit!” Edward shoved her forward and she all but stumbled into the roadway. Hauling upright, she spun round to face him, but there was no one there. He’d disappeared as easily as he’d snuck up behind her.

  Just then Clayton strode toward her and she rushed into his arms. “Whoa, I guess you’re glad to see me.”

  “Edward was here.”

  “Here?” Clayton shoved her behind him and looked up and down the street.

  “I didn’t quite see him, but he was right behind me, he...he pushed something into my back.”

  “A gun?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Dear God, what the hell has gotten into him?” Clayton dragged off his hat and ran clawed fingers through his hair several times. “This is bizarre.”

  “He said to tell you to stay away, keep out of it.”

  “As if.”

  “I tried to tell him that you were defending Bellerose.”

  “And?”

  “And he started to say something about you remembering the letter you sent to him.”

  “What letter?”

  “I don’t know. That’s all. Then he swore and ran off.”

  “He ran?”

  “Yes. He shoved me away from him and by the time I’d steadied myself and turned around he’d gone.”

  Clayton slumped down on the broken brick wall by the curb and tossed his hat from one hand to the other. “I don’t remember writing a letter.” His voice trailed off, gaze hooded and distant. His brows furrowed. “Damn it! Why can’t I remember?” Emerald eyes gazed pleadingly up at her. “What is wrong with my brain? And why is it important?”

  Maggie’s heart constricted. She desperately wanted to help him, but didn’t know how. “The shooting has made you forget. That is the consequences of war.”

  “No, this isn’t anything to do with that bloody war, not directly.”

  Hope ignited in Maggie’s chest. “You can remember?”

  “Not exactly, But there’s something, some sort of skullduggery. Jesus…” Clayton rubbed a hand over his face. “What did I do?”

  That hadn’t occurred to her. Maggie tried to visualize Clayton doing something so terrible that it would shock her. She couldn’t. “No. No, I don’t think it is anything you’ve done.” She reached out and rested her hand on his arm, the warmth between them instant. “Don’t worry, Clayton. Whatever it is that Edward is hinting at, you will remember.”

  He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped. “But when? And do we have time?”

  “Time is not important. What will be, will be. You will remember when you’re ready to do so.” Deciding it better to change the subject than to let Clayton wallow in trying to remember, she made to walk through the market, Clayton thankfully at her side. “So what did you find out in there?”

  “Do you know what tiger’s eyes are in Chinese culture?”

  “No, but that man in there, Wah Lee, he called you the man with tiger’s eyes.”

  “Well, apparently tiger’s eyes represent emeralds.”

  “Emeralds! The diary.” And the color of his beautiful eyes.

  “Exactly. You were right.”

  “So Edward has stolen the diary to try and find the emeralds.”

  “It seems he does believe it’s a way to pay off his debts.”

  “But the diary belongs to Bellerose.”

  “That’s right, and there’s something more, something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  “How much more do you need, when your best friend betrays you?”

  “Th
at’s just it. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “He’s gambling, Clayton. It’s an addiction and once it gets hold of a person, they change.”

  “I understand that.” He rubbed a hand across his brow. “But the Edward I know is a straight ace sort of chap.” Suddenly, he stilled, the color draining from his face. He stared down through the crowd, across the narrowed lane congested with stallholders hawking their unusual foods. The unending cacophony of different languages echoed the length of the market. But if he heard any of it, he gave no indication, for his attention was firmly fixed.

  “Clayton?” She reached for his hand, surprised even through his leather glove, that it was icy to the touch as she enveloped it in hers. “Clayton, what is it?”

  “Not what? Who.”

  His tone deadpan, Maggie followed his gaze and peered across the crowds, but even through the density of the populace all-intent on garnering their bargains she saw nothing untoward.

  “He’s gone now?”

  Ice slithered down Maggie’s spine, the prod of whatever implement the man had so recently used to garner her attention, revisited. “Edward?”

  “No. Someone else.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “A face. A name.” Clayton shook his head, life returning to his expression. “Someone I should remember, but can’t.”

  “But you recognized them now?”

  “I recognized...something, something familiar about them.” He clamped his lips closed, then just as suddenly his expression morphed and he offered her a beaming smile.

  Her stomach somersaulted.

  “Enough of these mysteries. How about I treat you to high tea at the Savoy.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  They walked several blocks away from the hubbub of the Chinese community market, Clayton’s arm linked with hers, both silent, everything she wanted to say strangulated on the tip of her tongue, seemingly unimportant. Walking beneath the warming winter sun belied talking about danger and betrayal.

  A few blocks from the market Clayton hailed a taxi and they headed west to the Savoy.

  As they walked into the hotel, excitement captured Maggie. High tea in such surroundings. She couldn’t believe it. But as they walked beneath the grand cupola, Clayton’s footfall stalled.