Bedford Street Brigade 01 - Where the Lady Belongs Read online

  When she could no longer breathe on her own, she let him provide the air she needed to breathe. Then, as if she couldn’t survive if their kisses burned hotter, she forced her lips to lift from his.

  “Bloody hell, woman,” Mack whispered as he cradled her in his arms and held her close.

  Cora placed her cheek against his chest and smiled. His heart thundered beneath her ear as if a train engine were rumbling through his chest. For the first time she felt as if the barriers had been removed from around her heart.

  “We’d better get you inside,” he said after several minutes. “If we stay out here any longer, I’ll kiss you again.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “And this time I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

  Chapter Five

  When Cora woke the next morning, the house was quiet. Shortly after she was up, Elsie brought in a cup of chocolate. The maid told her Mr. Wallace was already up and gone.

  Cora knew he’d no doubt gone to see Sir George Grey. From there he intended to check on the two investigators guarding the Koh-i-Noor diamond. He would no doubt be gone for most of the day, so she made plans to keep herself busy. She’d never been one to sit idle, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  She went down to breakfast. Harper was waiting at the door to the dining room and showed her inside.

  “Did Mr. Wallace say how long he might be, Harper?”

  “No, miss. But he said you were not to worry. Mr. Baxter and Mr. Walker are outside.”

  Cora placed some coddled eggs and toast on her plate, then sat at the table. “Have Mr. Baxter and Mr. Walker eaten, do you know?”

  “I’m not aware, miss.”

  “Well, they must.” She looked at the puzzled expression on Harper’s face. “What is the name of Mr. Wallace’s cook?”

  “Just Cook, miss.”

  “I know. But what is her name?”

  “Mrs. Ramesdale, miss.”

  “Very good. Would you ask Mrs. Ramesdale to please send out two small containers? I’m going to fill two plates, and we’ll set them outside where Mr. Baxter and Mr. Walker will find them.”

  “Are you sure, miss?”

  “Oh yes. Quite sure.”

  Harper went to do her bidding while Cora ate her breakfast. When he returned, she filled two plates, then nested them in the containers.

  “Please take this hamper and put it outside in the front of the house. Someplace where Mr. Baxter or Mr. Walker won’t be seen when they retrieve it.” She handed Harper one of the containers. “I’ll place this one just beyond the gate. I’ll be perfectly safe. Mr. Wallace said I could go out to the garden when I wanted.”

  “Yes, miss, but—”

  “Not to worry, Harper. I’m sure Mr. Wallace wouldn’t expect his friends to go without food.”

  Cora carried the hamper to Mack’s study. She already knew where she would place it. There was a gate on the far side of the garden that opened up to the street. It was kept locked, but the bolt was on the inside. She would open the gate, set the container beneath the nearest bush so that it would be hidden, then slip back in before anyone saw her.

  She quickly made her way to the garden, then to the gate. The bolt didn’t move as easily as she had hoped, but a moment later she slipped out of the gate and set the container beneath a pine tree whose boughs reached to the ground. It was the perfect hiding place.

  She quickly slipped back into the garden and locked the gate behind her.

  “Miss Lane,” a voice said from the other side of the wall. The man sounded out of breath, as if he’d run to catch her. “Was that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh no. Not at all. I brought you a plate for breakfast.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s beneath the pine tree. Eat it before it cools. Eggs are best eaten hot.”

  Quinn started to say something more, but Cora rushed back to the house. She didn’t want to carry on a conversation with Mack’s friend while his food got cold.

  There wasn’t much she could do to help them catch the killer, but she could at least make sure the men protecting her didn’t go hungry.

  After she entered the house, she went directly to the kitchen. Now that there would be several more mouths to feed, she was sure Mrs. Ramesdale could use her help.

  Mack stepped into the foyer when Harper opened the front door. “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “Miss Lane, you mean?”

  “Who else?”

  “She’s in the kitchen, sir.”

  Mack stopped. “The kitchen?”

  “Yes, with Cook. Miss Lane decided Cook might need her help.”

  Mack didn’t wait to hear any more of Harper’s explanation. He walked to the kitchen and threw open the door.

  Before he could step inside, he stopped to listen. Laughter. There was laughter coming from inside.

  He cleared his throat and both women looked up.

  “Oh, Mr. Wallace. We didn’t hear you come in, did we, Mrs. Ramesdale?”

  “No, sir. We didn’t.”

  “Have you had lunch, Mr. Wallace?”

  Mack was at a loss for words. He’d been prepared to reprimand Cora for putting herself at risk by taking plates of food out to Quinn and Hugh. He’d been prepared to remind her of the danger of her situation, but seeing her with flour smudged on her cheek and her face flushed from the heat of the ovens in the kitchen stole his bluster.

  “No, not yet,” he answered. “But it’s getting late, so I’ll wait for dinner.”

  “Nonsense.” She lifted her apron over her head. “Mrs. Ramesdale and I have had a busy day. We’ve made a peach cobbler, an apple pie, raspberry tarts, and a delicious coconut cake. You go into the study, and I’ll bring in tea and a few samples of our delicacies. Except don’t expect any coconut cake. That’s for later.”

  He stared at her openmouthed. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Cora Lane moved around his kitchen like she’d always been a fixture, and Mrs. Ramesdale—he didn’t even know that was Cook’s name—had a smile on her face that made her appear ten years younger.

  “Go on now, Mr. Wallace,” Cora said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Mack left the kitchen and went to the study. After the afternoon he’d had, the idea of a glass of brandy held more appeal than a cup of tea and a raspberry tart. But the thought of spending time alone with Cora made tea sound extremely inviting.

  “Here we are,” she said, bustling into the room carrying the tea tray. She set the tray on a table, poured him a cup of tea, black, like he liked it, and put a raspberry tart and a piece of apple pie on a plate, then handed it to him. After he’d taken the plate, she walked to the door and closed it.

  “You don’t look like you’ve had a very good day,” she said, sitting on a chair beside him.

  “I haven’t,” he answered. “Not all that bad, but not good, either.”

  “I take it Sir George didn’t have any information to offer.”

  “Not only did he not offer any information, but he refused to believe that the attempt could have been aimed at him. Or that it was anything other than an attempt to steal the diamond.”

  Cora poured herself a cup of tea and sat back in her chair. “I see. Then we’ll simply have to convince him otherwise.”

  Mack stopped with his fork midway to his mouth. “Who’s this we you’re talking about?”

  “Well, I mean you and the other men … and perhaps me when I can be of help.”

  “Like you were of help this morning, then again at lunch, when you sent food out to Quinn and Hugh?”

  She smiled. “Yes. I knew they would more than likely be hungry.” Her smile faded. “Didn’t they like what we sent out for lunch?”

  “Oh, they liked it very much. In fact Hugh said it was delicious. But it wasn’t necessary. They’re both used to going without meals when they’re on a job.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t have to. Not when there’s food not mo
re than ten steps away.”

  Mack put a fork with apple pie into his mouth, chewed it, then swallowed. “Do you take care of everyone in your family?”

  Her expression turned thoughtful. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Have you always been the one to take care of everyone else?”

  “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I am. After my mother died, my father declined rapidly. I think he found it impossible to go on without her at his side. And yes, I was the one to care for him. Bridgette and Father had always been very close. When he got sick, she couldn’t bring herself to watch him decline like he did. She would visit him, of course, but she couldn’t take care of him.”

  “So you did.” He studied her expression. She was giving his words a lot of thought. “And what exactly is your job in your sister’s home?”

  “My job? Well, I take care of Bridgette’s social calendar and care for the children when she and Baron Preston go out, and plan the menus when Bridgette can’t.”

  “Is that why you went in to help Cook today? Because you thought she needed your help?”

  “It wasn’t that I thought her incapable. She’s highly skilled. You’re fortunate to have her. I simply didn’t want Mrs. Ramesdale to be put to extra work on my account. I thought she might need an extra pair of hands, since there were more mouths to feed.”

  Mack finished the food on his plate and stood. When he reached the window, he turned to face her. “Do you know I intended to reprimand you when I arrived home?”

  The look of surprise on her face was priceless. “Reprimand me? Whatever for?”

  “For taking such a chance by delivering food to Hugh.”

  “There was no risk involved. If anyone took a risk, it was Harper. He took food to the front. I simply slipped out the garden gate and dashed right back in.”

  “Oh, Cora.”

  She tilted her head and studied him. Finally, she asked, “Why didn’t you reprimand me?”

  “How could I when I walked into the kitchen and found you with your cheek smudged with flour, and you and Cook laughing as if you had known each other for years?”

  She quickly wiped at her cheek to erase any hint of flour, then walked to where he stood. “Would you do me a favor, Mr. Wallace?”

  “Mr. Wallace?”

  “Yes, Mr. Wallace.”

  “Yes, Miss Lane. What can I do for you?”

  “Would you please hold me?”

  Mack couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face. “It would be my pleasure, Cora.” And he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

  She breathed a deep sigh, then tilted her head to look at him. Mack found himself drowning in her deep brown eyes.

  “Then would you think it terribly forward of me if I asked another favor?”

  Mack looked at the hunger in her eyes and knew what favor she intended to ask. “That’s a request you’ll never have to make of me,” he whispered, then lowered his head and kissed her.

  It had been nearly two weeks since the murder of the Home Secretary’s Undersecretary. Mack and his fellow investigators had followed every lead they’d discovered, but everything led to a dead end.

  Cora drew more sketches, and Mack and his investigators showed it around in every place they thought the man might be known. But no one recognized him. At least, no one claimed to recognize him. Mack said he was sure one or two of the men he’d questioned seemed to know the man, but they refused to say anything.

  Cora sensed Mack’s frustration grow every day. He left early each morning and came home late each afternoon. Their days and nights took on a routine. Cora got up early and took breakfast out to the men who’d stood guard all night. Then she helped Mrs. Ramesdale cook and bake for the day ahead. She and Harper took out a meal at lunchtime; then each evening she and Mack ate a late dinner. Usually two or more of the investigators joined them. That’s when Mack and the other investigators discussed the results from the day’s work and made plans for the next day.

  After they left, Mack and she would walk through the garden. They would sit together beneath the beechnut tree where they’d first stopped, and they would talk. Sometimes their topics were insignificant, and other times Cora considered their subjects filled with meaningful information that provided her with greater insight as to what made Mack the man he was.

  The most relevant information she gathered was that Mack Wallace was a remarkably unique individual. She’d given up on love long ago, but Mack Wallace had awakened emotions she thought were long dead. In fact, she was afraid she’d already given him a significant portion of her heart that she would never get back.

  It had been fourteen days since the murder, and tonight Mack was consumed in thought. Cora was sure the day hadn’t been as productive as he’d wanted it to be, and she overheard him tell his fellow investigators that he felt as if they were wasting their time. That unless they came up with something soon, they were going to have to try a different approach.

  Cora wasn’t sure what that different approach might be, and she didn’t want to ask.

  After the brigade left, she walked with him through the garden in relative silence.

  “Are you sure you want to sit out here, Cora? I think it’s going to rain.”

  Cora looked up as the first raindrop hit her face. “Yes, maybe we should go in.”

  They walked toward the house but had to run the last few steps when the rain fell in earnest.

  “Oh, that was close,” Cora said, brushing off a few drops of rain from the sleeve of her dress. “Did you get wet?” she asked him.

  “No, we made it in time.”

  “Do you want me to get some tea? It won’t take long.”

  “No,” he said, sitting on a sofa. “Just come and sit with me.”

  Cora moved toward him, but his voice stopped her.

  “Do you have another sketch?”

  Cora nodded, then went for one of the copies she’d made in case they needed extras. When she reached the sofa, she handed it to him, then sat down beside him.

  For several minutes he studied the sketch as if he’d never seen it before, then he dropped his hand to his lap and let the drawing lie there.

  “Do you see anything new?” she asked, taking the drawing from his fingers and holding it up in front of her.

  Mack shook his head. “No, it’s the same as before. The same face. The same scar on his cheek. The same inexpensive suit. The same hand holding the same pistol. Everything’s the same, and there’s nothing there to give us a clue as to who he is.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Eventually you’ll show it to someone who will recognize him.”

  “Yes, but how long will it take before that happens?”

  “Patience, Mack.” She lifted the sketch up before her again. Maybe there was something she’d forgotten to put in.

  She studied it but found nothing missing.

  “What’s that?” Mack said, pointing to the very bottom of the sketch.

  “That’s the gunman’s suit pocket,” she answered.

  “What’s that in his pocket?”

  “It was a folded newspaper. It was wrinkled and smudged and looked to be months old,” Cora said. “I only remember it because I couldn’t help but wonder why the man had a newspaper that was so out of date.”

  Mack grabbed the sketch from her hand and sat forward. “Do you remember anything about the paper? Which paper was it? The Times?”

  “No. It wasn’t any paper I’d ever heard of before. It was the Northern Sun. Or Moon. Or—”

  “Star,” Mack finished for her. Was it the Northern Star?”

  “Yes, that’s what it was. Does that help?”

  Mack clasped his hands on her upper arms and kissed her hard. “Yes, Cora. It helps. It helps a great deal.”

  And he kissed her again.

  Chapter Six

  Cora had only ever heard the word before. She didn’t know what the term meant, or what the movement’s purpose wa
s. Now she did. She also knew who’d killed Sir George Grey’s Undersecretary. Frederick Blake—an avowed Chartist.

  Blake was reported to be a staunch follower of Feargus O’Connor, the leader of the Chartist movement. O’Connor advocated strikes and physical violence, and when the Chartist movement was defeated, several of its more outspoken members became bitter and vowed for vengeance. Frederick Blake was undoubtedly one of those.

  Defeat of the movement caused a festering of discontent and hostility. Hopefully, Mack would locate Mr. Blake and the crime would be solved. Until then, Cora had no choice but to stay where she was.

  Maybe today he would catch him.

  Cora filled two plates with midday snacks, then put them in the hampers they used to set them outside. Rain had fallen steadily all morning, and Cora knew both Hugh and Jack would be thankful for warm coffee and a bite to eat.

  She waited until the rain slowed, then carried the two hampers to the front of the house. She gave one of them to Harper and took the other to the garden. A part of her would be very glad when she could go farther. Maybe on a walk through Hyde Park. Maybe just shopping. Another part of her dreaded the day when that would happen. That would signal that the killer had been found, and that she would no longer be living here. That she would no longer see Mack, or if she did, it would be seldom.

  Cora carried the hamper to the gate and pushed back the bolt. “Do you have the back-of-the-house duty today, Jack? Or is it you, Hugh?”

  “No, miss. It’s me. Jack. Did you take pity on the two of us and bring us a mug of hot coffee?”

  “I did. I heard your teeth chattering all the way in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, you’re a dear.”

  Cora took the hamper to the usual spot and set it down. Then she darted back inside the gate and pushed the bolt shut. She didn’t leave immediately but stood to talk to Jack for a moment.

  “Oh,” Jack said on a sigh. “You brought some of those strawberry-filled pastries from last night. Did you make those, Cora?”

  Cora smiled. “I did.”

  “They’re my favorite. What are we having tonight?”