Bedford Street Brigade 01 - Where the Lady Belongs Read online

  “I believe Mrs. Ramesdale was just taking a peach pie out of the oven when I left the kitchen.”

  “Oh, Quinn will think he died and went to heaven.”

  “Have you seen or heard from Mack today?” she asked. He was gone before she rose this morning and hadn’t come home all day.

  “He stopped by earlier and said he’d probably be late. He said he had some errands to run, then he’d be home.”

  “Did his errands involve Mr. Blake?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. But don’t worry. Mack knows what he’s doing.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Miss Lane!” Harper rushed from the house to the terrace. “Come quickly.”

  Cora rushed into the house. “What is it, Harper?”

  “It’s Mr. Wallace, miss. He’s been hurt.”

  Cora didn’t wait for Harper to say more but ran to the foyer. Quinn and two men Cora hadn’t met before were carrying Mack up the stairs.

  Cora rushed to catch up with them but didn’t get a glimpse of Mack until they reached the top of the stairs.

  His body was bloody and bruised, his face almost beyond recognition. One eye was swollen shut; the other had a nasty cut angling below it. His mouth was split and swollen, and bruises covered his jaw on both sides.

  “Bring him in here.” Cora rushed ahead of them to turn down his bed. “Harper, have Mrs. Ramesdale send up warm water and cloths.” She looked at Quinn. “Has someone sent for a doctor?”

  “He should be here shortly.”

  Cora helped Quinn and the other two men undress Mack, then put a clean nightshirt over his head. Several ugly red marks and purple bruises were already forming on his middle. He probably had some cracked or broken ribs.

  She hoped it wasn’t anything more serious.

  “Briggs,” Quinn ordered. “Watch the front with Hugh. Keep an eye on the street and everyone who goes by. Roarke, help Jack in the back.”

  The two men left the room as Harper entered with the doctor.

  “What have we here?” the doctor said, looking to where Mack lay on the bed. “I see Mr. Wallace had a disagreement with some nasty fellows.”

  Cora’s glare darted to the doctor. How could he be so glib? She knew her expression contained a look of incredulity.

  “Well, miss. Usually when I get called to Mr. Wallace’s residence, it’s to take out a bullet or sew up a knife wound. This isn’t a routine wound.”

  Cora swallowed. “I see.”

  “Yes, well let’s have a look here. Wash his face while I look at the rest of him.”

  Cora rinsed a cloth in water and gently dabbed at Mack’s face. The blood was easy to wash off. The bruises, however, didn’t disappear.

  Once or twice Mack moaned, then shifted as if trying to escape the pain. Cora quickly lifted her cloth, thinking she was the cause of his agony.

  “It’s not you who’s causing him pain, miss. It’s me.” The doctor straightened, then pulled the covers back over Mack’s torso. “Mr. Wallace has some cracked ribs. They’ll have to be bound. As to the rest of him, there’s not much I can do except leave some salve that will help his cuts and bruises.”

  The doctor checked Mack’s face, then felt his head. “He has a nasty bump on the back of his head. When he wakes he’ll have one hell of an aching head. None of the cuts on his face are bad enough, though, that they need sewing.”

  A wave of relief washed over her. It wasn’t until she swayed that she realized Quinn had his hand at her elbow.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “I’ll go below and get fresh water while you and Quinn bind Mr. Wallace’s ribs. Mrs. Ramesdale will have tea and dessert waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, miss. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll leave the salve you’re to use on Mr. Wallace. Call if you need me further.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Doctor.”

  Cora quickly left the room. She had to before Quinn saw her tears. To see Mack hurt so badly was more than she was able to handle. To know that when he awoke he would be in a great deal of pain wasn’t something she wanted to consider.

  Usually when I get called to Mr. Wallace’s residence, it’s to take out a bullet or sew up a knife wound.

  Cora didn’t go to the kitchen like she intended but made her way to Mack’s study, then out the doors onto the terrace, and down the pathway to the bench where she and Mack sat each night. The bench where they talked about their pasts. And shared their hopes for the future.

  Mack hadn’t mentioned that they had a future together. She’d been the one to dream they might. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  But how could she rise each morning knowing that when he left the house there was a chance he’d come home beaten, or shot, or stabbed? Or that someone would bring his dead body home?

  She hadn’t searched for a perfect love only to tragically lose it because of the man’s occupation.

  Cora swiped a tear that spilled from her eye, then another. She was being silly—she knew she was—but she couldn’t help but relive the terror she’d felt when she saw Mack’s unconscious body being carried up the stairs. She wasn’t sure she could go through that again.

  “Are you all right?”

  Cora swept the moisture from her face, then turned to see Quinn walking toward her. “I’m fine. I just needed a moment.”

  “That’s all right, Cora. Knowing what can happen in our line of work is never easy.”

  “No wonder none of you have married.”

  Quinn smiled. “It would take a special woman to be a part of our lives.”

  “Do you have regrets?” she asked Quinn, knowing that he must have. Wondering how deeply they affected him.

  “We all live with regrets, Cora. I’m sure even you have regrets concerning at least one of the choices you made in the past. But we learn to live with our actions. And minimize our regrets. Otherwise, they consume us.”

  Cora considered Quinn’s words and couldn’t argue with anything he’d said. “No wonder Mack considers you such a close friend. He would agree with everything you said.”

  Quinn smiled, then reached out his hand to help Cora rise.

  “Has the doctor finished?” she asked.

  “Yes. He’s having tea and a sandwich Mrs. Ramesdale made for him.”

  “I need to go, then.”

  “I’ll be up in a while. I want to check with the others first and tell them Mack will be fine.”

  Cora nodded, then went back through the house and up the stairs. When she reached Mack’s room, she hesitated before entering. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt as if everything had changed. As if Mack wasn’t the only one who’d been beaten and left for dead.

  Cora reapplied the salve the doctor had left to the worst of Mack’s cuts, then placed another cool cloth on his forehead. He was calm now, but Cora knew that could change at any moment. It was as if he fought to regain consciousness, but his mind told him that if and when he woke, the pain would be unbearable.

  When she was sure he was as comfortable as he could be, she sat back in her chair.

  She battled against a weight that had settled inside her chest when they’d brought Mack’s bruised and beaten body home. A weight that hadn’t been there before. It was as if a window had been opened that allowed her to see the whole picture of what a life with Mack would entail. Not just the exciting parts of helping him with a case he was working on. Or the time at the end of the day when they shared quiet moments alone.

  The picture she saw now revealed the parts she’d refused to consider before. The parts she hadn’t known existed.

  Her gaze rested on Mack’s face, and she reached for his hand. She almost pulled back when his fingers tightened around hers. But she didn’t. She held his hand and knelt beside the bed so that when he opened his eyes he would see her first and know he was safe.

  He shifted in his bed, a little at first, then more. He was waking. His head moved from side to side, and he moaned. Then he held still, as if his mind realized it had e
ndured this intense pain before and knew the best action was to lie still.

  Very slowly one eye opened. The one that was swollen shut was unable to move.

  “Lie still, Mack,” Cora said, standing at his bedside so that he could see her without having to move his head. “You’re safe now.”

  “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

  His voice sounded hoarse and raspy, his words were slurred more than just a little, but the one corner of his lips lifted as if he were trying to smile.

  “To quote Quinn, you look like hell.”

  “That’s how I feel.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Mack sank back against the pillows. “How are you?”

  “Me? I wasn’t the one beaten nearly to death.”

  The longer Cora spoke, the more choked her voice became. The closer to the surface tears rose. The angrier she became—at Mack, although she wasn’t sure why her anger was focused on him. Yet it was. For some reason she felt as if he’d ruined everything. He’d shattered her dreams and destroyed her heart.

  Cora rinsed a cloth in cool, clean water and placed it on his forehead. Mack’s eyes were closed, and she thought he’d fallen asleep again, but he hadn’t. His next words proved it.

  “Why do I think you hurt as much as I do?”

  Chapter Seven

  Mack sat on the edge of the bed until he was steady enough to stand on his feet, then slowly rose. Cora would no doubt be angry with him for getting out of bed without anyone in the room to help him, but he’d been a burden long enough. It had been eight days since he’d been attacked, and he was tired of being waited on.

  He was tired of Cora having to wait on him.

  He needed to get on his feet so that she didn’t feel obligated to play nursemaid. He needed to have things between Cora and him the way they’d been before he’d been beaten.

  Since they’d brought his battered body home, he’d sensed a difference in her. It was as if every day she distanced herself from him a little more. As if she needed to separate herself from him.

  With his fingers wrapped around the bedpost, he took one tentative step, then another. His legs were shaky, but he wasn’t as unsteady as he’d been yesterday. He took several more steps, then made his way to the chair near the window. When he reached it, he carefully sat. He’d barely settled himself in the chair before the door opened.

  “How did you get over there?” Cora asked when she entered the room. “You’re not supposed to get out of bed when you’re alone.”

  “I’m improving. I managed on my own.”

  Cora brought in the tray she carried and poured him a cup of tea.

  “Aren’t you going to join me?” he asked when she handed him a cup. He noticed she hadn’t poured one for herself.

  “I—”

  “Please, Cora. Sit with me.”

  He saw the hesitation on her face, then she walked to the tea tray and poured herself a cup. When she finished, she sat in a chair near him.

  “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she said when she’d taken a sip of her tea. She placed the cup and saucer in her lap, but her eyes remained on her cup instead of looking at him.

  “Don’t, Cora. We’ve always been honest with each other. This isn’t like you.”

  “It’s not like me?” she asked. “How can you say it’s not like me? I’ve never had to deal with something like this. How do you know how I’ll react?”

  “You’ve dealt with something similar. You dealt with watching a man get murdered, and coming face-to-face with the murderer.”

  “But the man murdered was a stranger. He was someone I didn’t know. Someone I didn’t care about. This is different. I know you. I care for you.”

  There wasn’t anything for Mack to say to that. When had the dangers of his job become so commonplace that he no longer considered how they would seem to someone who wasn’t involved in investigative work?

  “This is what I do, Cora. This is what makes my life worthwhile.”

  Cora sat without moving. Her face lost its color, and her eyes filled with tears. “I know how important what you do is to you, and to everyone who depends on you.”

  “But … ?” he asked.

  “But …” She paused. “Please don’t ask me to accept what you do as if your occupation were no different than if you were a tailor measuring and sewing suit coats each day. Please don’t ask me to live my life waiting for you to come home, knowing that the chances are just as great that you’ll come home dead as alive.”

  “And if I would tell you that I love you and want you to marry me?”

  Her heart shifted in her chest. She shook her head. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m not strong enough to face this right now.”

  “Not strong enough today? Or you won’t be strong enough—ever?”

  Mack waited for an answer, but she didn’t give him one. Not one he could hear. She only shook her head, then rose from her chair and left him.

  The days went by with drudging speed, and Cora realized that her time with Mack was almost at an end.

  Mack was up and about. Although he wasn’t able to work an entire day, he was able to work. He discovered where Frederick Blake lived and set up surveillance at his residence. Even though Blake hadn’t returned home, it was only a matter of time until he had to.

  Mack also went to the factory where Blake worked and was told that he hadn’t shown up for work since the Undersecretary had been murdered.

  According to Mack, that meant Mr. Blake would soon be out of money and forced to come out of hiding. When he did, Mack and his fellow investigators would be there to apprehend him.

  Cora thought of what this would mean. It meant she’d be able to go home. She’d be able to see Bridgette again and the children. She’d be able to stroll freely along the streets and go for a ride through Hyde Park.

  It also meant she’d never see Mack again.

  That thought hurt more than she thought it would. More than she’d anticipated it would. But there wasn’t another choice for her to make. She needed to protect her heart, and the only possible way was to not risk losing it.

  Cora placed sandwiches, a pastry, and a cold drink in each of the two hampers. She would take one to Harper like she had twice a day every day since she’d come here, then take the other hamper to the back and set it beyond the gate. Jack was there today. She’d talked to him when she’d delivered the noon hamper. He wouldn’t be relieved until later, when he and Hugh would come in for supper.

  She walked to the gate, then stopped. “Jack, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you, Cora. I’ve been guessing what you might be bringing all afternoon.”

  Cora laughed. “And what have you decided I would have?”

  “I thought perhaps some of the lemon custard from last night.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jack,” Cora said. “I know you probably had your heart set on the lemon custard, so I’ll just take out the blueberry cobbler Mrs. Ramesdale made for you.”

  “No! Blueberry cobbler is perfect. In fact—”

  “Ooof!”

  Cora listened. “Jack?”

  Cora set down the hamper and rushed to the gate. “Jack, are you all right?”

  She listened but heard nothing. “Jack! Are you all right?”

  “Miss,” Jack moaned. “Help me.”

  His voice was soft and strained, as if he was in pain. Cora reached for the bolt on the gate, then hesitated. What if it was a trick? What if the voice didn’t belong to Jack? What if she walked into a trap?

  But what if Jack was hurt? What if he were to die because she was too frightened to help him?

  Cora looked to the ground and searched for something she could use to protect herself with. She grabbed a sturdy piece of wood from beneath one of the trees and grasped it firmly. Then she pushed back the bolt and slowly opened the gate.

  She looked to the left and saw Jack in a crump
led heap on the ground.

  Before the man’s fingers clamped around her arm and pulled her beyond the safety of Mack’s garden, she knew she’d been a fool to open the gate. But what choice had there been? She couldn’t have left Jack without trying to help him.

  The man’s fingers bit into her flesh. She fought to break his hold, but he was too strong.

  “Fighting will do you no good, lady.”

  Cora looked up and found herself staring into the face of the man whose sketch she’d drawn over and over. She pulled and twisted, then swung the piece of wood as hard as she could.

  The wood came into contact with the man’s shoulder and he grunted in pain. Then, before she could protect herself, his arm came around, and his fist slammed against her jaw.

  Cora’s world went black for several moments, and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. “Harming me will only make matters worse, Mr. Blake. The authorities already know who you are.”

  “They can’t prove anything, though. Not without you to identify me. Without you to point the finger at me, all they have are those drawings.”

  “That’s all they need,” she said. “Mr. Wallace has my testimony and several people have identified you. You would be wise to turn yourself in and plead for mercy from the court.”

  “No!”

  His fingers clamped tighter around her arm, and he pulled her toward the street. Cora knew the farther he took her away from Mack’s house, the harder it would be for Mack to find her. She went three steps with him, then pretended to stumble.

  “Get up, bitch!”

  Before she could get to her feet, he pulled a pistol from his jacket and pointed it at her head. Cora scrambled to rise, but she tripped on her skirt and stumbled back down. He swung the pistol forward and hit her on the side of the head.

  Cora lost consciousness for several moments, and when she became alert again, she was being dragged toward the street.

  “Stop right there, Blake!”

  Cora heard Mack’s loud, powerful voice and wanted to cry for joy. His bruises were still plain to see, and because of his cracked ribs he moved slowly, but he was an intimidating figure to behold.