by Lisa Bingham
Treading in careful, silent footfalls, he eased down the hall toward the room assigned to Crocker. The narrow passageway was cloaked in long purple fingers that feathered his shape into obscurity until he resembled a hazy shadow rather than a man. With each step his impatience grew. Only a few days remained before Crocker would succumb to the poison coursing through his system. But the time couldn’t pass swiftly enough.
He wanted Crocker dead.
Stopping at the door at the end of the hall, he listened intently for any sounds. He’d already bided his time in planning Crocker’s demise. Long, endless months. Like a hunter, he’d set his traps, one by one, day by day. It hadn’t been easy. Crocker had always been careful. Too careful. Like a wild thing he seemed to sniff out any impending threat.
But the man had woven his web so carefully that the Pinkerton had sensed nothing.
Nothing.
He could hear no noises—no rustling, no grunts, no moans of pain—and his brow creased in confusion. Either Crocker had succumbed to sleep … or the arsenic had worked more quickly than anticipated, thinning the man’s blood until he bled to death from his wound.
His heart began to pound. A clammy sweat gathered in the hollows of his palms. Glancing down the hall to make sure no one was watching, he rapped on the door.
His years with the Pinkertons had given Crocker the nerves of a mountain goat. The muted tapping should have caused some reaction, a sound.
Nothing.
The stranger’s heart rate intensified; the blood rushed to his extremities, making him tremble with excitement. Indecision bubbled and churned in his brain. He imagined all sorts of pleasing scenes: Crocker delirious from pain or unconscious or lying cold and forgotten.
Throwing caution to the wind, he drew a brass key from his pocket. The key had cost him a rather unimaginative tryst with one of the chambermaids. The cold metal bit into his skin as he inserted it into the lock and released the latch. Then, stealthily, he opened the door.
His first sight of the room reassured him. A rumpled bed. Bloodstained sheets. Satisfaction settled deep, warming him.
Pushing the door open wider, he absorbed the sight of a half-touched plate of food on the dresser, a soiled facecloth, and a corked bottle of whiskey. With each added inch exposed to his gaze, the satisfaction quickly turned to bitter fury.
Slamming the door against the wall, he stormed inside. The room was empty. Empty!
He paced the narrow confines and frantically searched the corners as if disbelieving the evidence of his own eyes. Before he’d finished his circuit, he knew Daniel Crocker was gone.
His fury exploded. Grasping the bottle, he lifted it over his head, blindly aiming at the opposite wall in an effort to vent his frustration. Just in time, he reined in his temper. He couldn’t be found here. Not now. Not yet. Not until Crocker had suffered the ultimate defeat.
Slowly he lowered his hand, growing more determined to reach his goal. Crocker would still die. Judging by the amount of blood on the sheets, he was well on his way to Judgment. He merely had to find Daniel in order to finish the job.
Turning, the man left the room and disappeared as quietly as he’d come. There were people who would help him find his prey. In the meantime …
His lips tilted in a cruel smile. The voices crowded into his brain and repeated the same thought over and over again like a worn-out refrain.
Bleed, Crocker. Bleed and die.
Chapter 7
Accustomed to early mornings and work-filled days, Susan rose at dawn, despite her late arrival. Excitement had made her sleep restless and light. She’d awakened again and again to peek at the black square of the window like a child willing the first kiss of Christmas Day to appear.
Because she would be taking her vows soon, Susan had been granted some time away from the academy to tie up her affairs and bestow on others the last of her worldly goods. In the meantime she would help Essie prepare for the reunion of children who had once lived at Benton House. The event would occur the first week in February.
Not wanting to miss a minute of her stay at Benton House, Susan tugged at the strings of her corset, pulled on two petticoats and a black wool dress, then wound a heavy scarf around her head.
The room she’d been given was the same dormer room she’d used years ago. Essie had thought the time spent at Benton House deserved a special touch. She’d put dried flowers on the dressers and embroidered sheets and pillowcases on the bed.
If she closed her eyes, Susan could nearly believe that the years had melted away, that she was still a child. But a glance in the drawers would eloquently confirm that the bedroom belonged to another pair of girls now. Time could not be dismissed so easily.
Sneaking from the bedroom, Susan eased the door closed behind her, then stole down the familiar hallway. Descending the back staircase, she discovered that she remembered where to step to avoid any betraying squeaks. She emerged in the kitchen where Donovan was stoking the stove in preparation for the day’s cooking.
“You’re an early riser. Not even the chickens are up yet.”
She shrugged and leaned close to kiss him good morning. “Habit.” The familiar peck on the cheek came naturally to her. She had indeed progressed since, as a child, she had screamed whenever Donovan entered the room.
“Miss Essie’s not up?”
“She’s feeding one of the babies in the nursery.”
“Do you think she’d mind if I started breakfast?”
“I think she’d be delighted.”
Less than a half hour passed before the smell of coffee, bacon, and oatmeal lured most of the children downstairs. They gulped their food, then scrambled outside to complete their chores before returning to gather their schoolwork.
“Lilly? Could you take this tray to Sister Mary Margaret in the guest room for me?”
The teenage girl nodded shyly and grasped the copper server, then crossed toward the rear hall carrying the tea, toast, and butter with such care they could have been made of fragile porcelain.
Susan was a little surprised that Sister Mary Margaret had not yet risen. The woman had always given the impression of having the constitution of an elephant. Susan couldn’t remember ever having beaten her to her chores. Still, even a nun suffered from exhaustion now and again.
“Good morning, Susan.”
Susan started when Sister Mary Margaret spoke from a spot right behind her shoulder. The nun was immaculately attired and bright-eyed. Judging by the toddler curled into her arms, Susan wasn’t the only one who had settled into the orphanage routine.
“I thought you must still be sleeping.”
“No, no. I wouldn’t dream of missing the best part of the day.” She tweaked the child under the chin and spoke to it in nonsense talk, then said, “I’ve been getting to know the children. This little one woke me quite early, insisting on a story.”
“I’d hoped that the guest room would give you some privacy.”
“The guest room? No, I slept in the main bedroom with the young girls. I insisted that Mrs. Reed not go to any fuss on my behalf since I would be moving on to the convent soon. Besides I believe the guest room is already occupied.”
Susan’s brow creased. “Occupied?”
“I’m quite sure I heard snoring when I passed,” the nun confided.
“But I’m sure Essie said the room was free …” Susan’s words trailed away. A niggling warning began to worm its way into her mind. Susan wasn’t able to decipher its meaning. Something wasn’t quite right. She twisted to peer at the corridor leading into the rear of the house. The guest room was situated behind the kitchen, three doors down.
Strange. First, eight dozen cookies had disappeared—
A scream pierced the quiet of the morning, followed by the unmistakable sound of broken crockery.
Daniel!
Susan didn’t know how she knew he was responsible for the scream, but she did.
&nb
sp; “What in the world?”
Susan ignored Sister Mary Margaret’s gasp of surprise. Hiking her skirts well above her knees, she ran down the hall.
Sure enough, the guest room door was ajar. Susan skidded to a halt. Shy little Lilly stood in the midst of the rubble caused by a dented copper tray, a shattered teapot, cup, and saucer, and a growing puddle of tea. Her expression was comically shocked—mouth open and gaping fishlike for air.
Across the room, propped against the headboard, a sheet barely covering his chest, lay Daniel. He held a monstrous revolver, and judging by his fixed aim, he had been ready to use the weapon.
“Lilly?” Susan eased through the door. When she spoke, she used the same tone one might employ with a frightened toddler. “Lilly, why don’t you go back into the kitchen? I’ll see to the mess; then Mr. Crocker—Daniel—and I will be right along.”
If Lilly found it strange that Susan knew the stranger’s name and had suddenly decided to take control of the situation, she showed no sign. She nodded and raced from the room.
Susan waited until the girl’s footsteps had faded into the kitchen, then she shut the door and whirled to face Daniel.
“Just what do you think you’re doing? Have you lost your mind completely?” But her fury died a premature death as soon as she came face to face with her longtime friend. Daniel was really here. He’d followed her to Ashton!
Susan was faced with the first really good look at Daniel she’d had in daylight for years. He had dropped the revolver and sat with his head flung back to rest against the wall, his eyes closed. Sunlight spilled through the multipaned windows, playing over the arc of his throat and the sloping span of his shoulders. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin, highlighting the sweeping ridges of his collarbones and the sharp crease that separated the planes of his breast. Two dark masculine nipples gleamed above the washboard ridges of his stomach. His navel rested in a streak of gold-brown hair that arrowed down, down, ever down… .
Susan felt the color draining from her face with excruciating clarity. She averted her eyes from the sight of the fabric wrapped low around his hips and one muscular thigh bent free of the covers.
But she knew that ignoring Daniel would not make him go away. Spying his saddlebags and clothing heaped untidily on the floor next to Essie’s favorite rocker, she snagged his trousers and a chambray shirt and tossed them in the general direction of the bed.
“Kindly clothe yourself before the rest of the orphans come storming in. Then you can explain why you’re here.”
Long minutes ticked by in silence. He finally said, “I can’t.”
Susan planted her hands on her hips and, forgetting herself, glanced at him. After confronting those coin-sized nipples so brazenly naked to her view, she looked away.
“You will explain. Whatever possessed you to—”
“I can’t … dress.”
His words halted her tirade.
“I don’t think I can stand up. If I could, I’d …” He stopped in mid-sentence, gulped, then gurgled, “I think … I’m going to be sick.”
The choked quality of his voice convinced her he wasn’t lying. After teaching children for several years, Susan had dealt with enough coughing, sniffling, and vomiting to know when the malady was real. She managed to reach the clean ceramic chamber pot and hold it under his chin just as Daniel leaned over the side of the bed, his body shuddering with dry heaves.
She braced the back of his head, tangling her fingers in the golden strands that grew there. Funny, but until this moment, she’d never known how silky his hair could be, how … enticing.
Daniel heaved again, causing the muscles of his back and torso to ripple and flex. Susan knew she should commiserate with him, but she couldn’t help watching in fascination. Daniel’s flesh was pulled so taut over his lean frame that each thrust and parry of bone to muscle could be seen clearly.
Daniel braced himself against the bed. After setting the pot on the floor, Susan grasped his shoulders and helped him to sit upright. The texture of his skin was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Smooth, yet with the supple strength of fine leather. Even when he’d regained his bearings, she couldn’t pull away. Bit by bit, she became conscious of the way the heat of his body nearly scalded her own. Frowning in concern, she raised a palm to his forehead. “You’re burning up!”
He shook his head. “It will go away. It has to go away. I’ve been this way for too long already. I have to get better.”
Too late Susan remembered the blood she’d found in her room. “How many days have you been this way?”
He shrugged, but the movement lacked the energy and vitality Susan had always associated with Daniel Crocker.
“Seven. Eight.”
“Days!” she retorted. “You’ve had a fever for over a week and you haven’t done anything about it?”
“I saw a doctor. There’s some medicine in my saddlebags. But it doesn’t seem … to help.”
“That’s because you’ve been gallivanting all over creation, sneaking in and out of buildings, and making me addlepated.”
That remark warranted a ghost of a smile.
Susan reached for the pitcher and washbasin on the dresser beside his bed, then chipped away at the ice crystals that had formed on the top and filled the basin with water. After wetting a cloth, she laid it on his forehead.
“Hell’s bells! That’s cold! What are you trying to do, kill me?”
“No. Although I probably should after all you’ve put me through.” She wiped his cheeks and mouth, rinsed the scrap of fabric, and patted at his neck. But even though she knew he needed relief from the intensity of his fever, she couldn’t force herself to go any lower.
Grabbing his wrist, she smacked the cloth into his palm so he could take care of the job himself, then retreated to the relative safety of the window.
“What are you doing here, Daniel?”
Despite his obvious discomfort, his lips lifted in a rueful half-grin. “I’ve come for the reunion.”
“The reunion isn’t for weeks yet. You have a job in the meantime—with the Pinktertons, remember?”
He shrugged. “I’m on holiday.”
“You can’t stay here.”
He peeked at her from between his eyelids. “Why?”
“It’s … unseemly.”
“What’s unseemly about staying here in the house where I grew up, with more than two dozen other people?”
She folded her arms and frowned at him. “But you haven’t come with honest intentions. You’ve come because of some ulterior motive.”
“I wanted to visit with old friends.”
“According to the letters I received from Essie, you haven’t really visited in years. The children who live here now are strangers to you.”
“All the more reason to stay.”
“You could sleep at a hotel.”
“Maybe I haven’t got enough money.”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Daniel Crocker. You seem to be the favorite subject of correspondence for a half dozen of our old friends. I’m well aware of all the bounty work you’ve done with the Pinkertons. I should think you’d be richer than Croesus by now.”
“I spent it.”
“All of it? On what?”
He remained stubbornly silent. Wincing, he gripped the muslin sheets. Susan realized she was arguing with a sick man. A sick and injured man judging by the bandage she kept seeing as the hem of the bedclothes shifted.
Forcing herself to study him once again, she inspected Daniel from tip to toe. Much of him was bare to her examination, but she could see nothing physically wrong with him.
Sensing her scrutiny, Daniel tugged the sheet higher. Susan gasped when a bright patch of red began to ooze through the cloth.
“What have you done?” Her words quavered with horror.
He sighed. “Go away, Susan. I’ll be fine in a little while. I just need some rest.”
He refused to answer.
Susan didn’t know what to do. He had to be tended to as quickly as possible, but if Essie saw him like this, there were bound to be questions. Awkward questions. Yet Susan didn’t think she could care for him herself. Not when he was so … so … naked. At the mere thought, she feared her knees would buckle.
But this was Daniel, her Daniel. How many times had he eased a bump or scrape for her? He’d soothed so many aches. Not only the physical ones but the emotional ones as well.
The pallor of his skin decided the issue. If she didn’t do something soon, he would pass out and the fever would be that much harder to control.
Pushing her misgivings aside, she opened the door. “Don’t let anyone else in until I’ve returned.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, she slipped into the hall. Halfway along the corridor, she met Sister Mary Margaret.
“Sister!”
The baby Sister Mary Margaret held squirmed at Susan’s cry, but the nun remained calm. “I thought I’d better see what caused such a commotion.”
“Nothing. A visitor. Since Lilly was expecting you to be staying in the guest room, Mr. Crocker … startled her, I think.” She led Sister Mary Margaret gently but firmly back into the kitchen. “Mr. Crocker is not feeling well, I’m afraid. The cold draft in the guest room has given him the ague. I was going to fetch him something warm to drink.”
“Do you need my help?”
“No, no. It will only take a few minutes to steep the tea.”
Mary Margaret regarded her curiously. Not for the first time Susan was struck by the older woman’s timeless beauty. “Very well. I suppose I should return this young lady to the nursery. Since I am not needed at the convent until tomorrow, Mrs. Reed has kindly invited Max and me to stay another night.” Her voice became musical as she spoke to the toddler. “Are you ready for your bath, hmm?”
As soon as Mary Margaret had disappeared, Susan peered into the pantry and retrieved a battered wicker basket from one of the shelves. Esther had served as a nurse during the war, and her storeroom was more adequately stocked than most women’s. Susan was relieved to find an abundance of ointments, tinctures, and other medical supplies Essie had gathered over the years.
