Deception at Sable Hill (7 page)

Her expression turned perfectly blank. “There is nothing more to talk about.”

“If it weighs on you, perhaps there is.”

“I fear I have been feeling very sorry for myself, Sean. I know I am now . . . ruined.”

“Not ruined,” he interrupted. Far too roughly for her delicate sensibilities, he was sure.

She didn’t say a word, only averted her eyes.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “Owen often says I have the manners of a mule. My cloddish attempt at showing my concern has just proven that to be true.”

She blinked, then to what looked like both of their surprise, the corners of her lips curved up slightly. “Manners of a mule might be putting things a bit harshly.”

“Still, I am sorry. It’s just that I am concerned about your welfare. I certainly don’t want to do anything to give you further discomfort.” Even as he stumbled over his words, he prayed she at least understood that his heart was in the right place. While he knew it would be best for her to at last confide everything she was feeling to someone, he knew this was not the time. Perhaps he was not the person.

“Lieutenant, your concern could never bring me any measure of discomfort. Not compared to what happened.” She stopped in front of him. Stared.

In that moment, he saw the shadows in her eyes, saw pain. And, he guessed, a desire to share that pain. Deciding to err toward bluntness, he said, “Do you want to speak about what Mr. Sloane did? As I said, nothing you could say would shock me, and nothing you tell me will be repeated.”

She inhaled sharply.

He let her have that moment, remembering everything he’d heard about Douglass. He also remembered the rumors Owen had shared when they were investigating the wealthy heir’s death. Rumors of philandering. Of him forcing himself on maids. And the startling rumor that he’d also forced himself on a young lady.

A young lady with such a spotless reputation, who was so well regarded, that even the idea that someone could treat her so harshly was difficult to imagine.

And as his eyes skimmed Eloisa’s face, he noticed she was holding herself as if she could break at any moment. The shame that stained her expression. “You see . . . Douglass, he . . .” Her voice drifted off before gazing at him again, offering a silent plea for help.

And because he was the man, because he’d already privately promised himself that he would do anything and everything he possibly could to help her, he said the words. “Douglass Sloane raped you.”

She visibly flinched. Inhaled, then at last nodded. “Yes. Yes, he did.”

He turned away as anger coursed through him. He’d grown up on the outskirts of the tenements. So though he’d never actually experienced the life of the truly downtrodden, he’d certainly been aware of women being beaten and injured.

With thirteen years’ experience on the force, he’d witnessed firsthand the injuries women could sustain when at the mercy of uncaring, violent men. “Were you injured?” When she paled, he wished he had bitten his tongue. In his efforts to help her move forward, his manner of plain speaking had shocked her. Of course she had no idea what damage could be done. No one did unless they’d seen the evidence for themselves. He still remembered the first time he’d seen a woman who’d been beaten and viciously assaulted. He’d promptly vomited, much to his shame.

Or did she know?

“Eloisa, do you, perhaps, still need to see a physician?”

She pressed her hands over her face. “I cannot even believe we are speaking of such things.”

Unable to help himself any longer, he pressed his palms over her hands before gently guiding them away from her face. “This conversation is not the travesty, Eloisa,” he said as he gently traced one finger along her jaw. “What was done to you was. Do you need assistance in locating a doctor? I could find one for you who would keep his silence.”

She inhaled a shaky breath. “When I spoke of being ruined, I meant that my reputation will be if anyone ever finds out. I don’t know what man would ever want a woman with my past.”

Sean wished he were naïve enough not to understand what she meant. But of course he did. “That is not who you are. I promise you, you are far more than the results of one night’s pain.”

“Until very recently, I have been afraid to leave the house. Even though I know Douglass is gone, a part of me is still very afraid of being accosted again. I dream of it.”

“That would be a natural reaction, I am sure.”

“Perhaps. However, I am also at a loss of what to do with the rest of my life. I had planned to marry, you see.”

“Why couldn’t you still marry?”

“I would be duty bound to tell any fiancé what happened.”

“So?”

“No man will want me when he discovers the truth.”

“You are just as beautiful as you ever were,” he said, stumbling over his last reticence. No longer afraid of them both remembering their stations in society.

No longer caring that he should never be saying such familiar words to a woman like her.

“But not as innocent.”

“Beg your pardon, but I would have to disagree.”

Her skin flushed, leaving him to chastise himself again. “I’ve meant no offense, though I can see now that I have said far too much. Please forget I ever said such a thing.” Then to his surprise, she grasped his sleeve. “Lieutenant Ryan, Sean . . . last night, when you spoke of taking an off-duty paying job and giving the money to Hope House, it interested me.”

Though he was still reeling from her disclosure, he allowed her to switch topics. “Yes. Hope House is a shelter for orphaned children, as well as some women who have nowhere else to go.”

“When you get paid, will you deliver the money there yourself?”

“I had planned to. Or else I will send it along with my sister Maeve. She volunteers there.”

Eloisa straightened her shoulders. “I think I would like to volunteer there too. Or at least visit. Or, perhaps, simply give a donation.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I’d like to see Hope House. Would you, perhaps, consider escorting me there?”

“It is in the south side. Not at all fashionable.” And, though his sister Maeve often worked there, and even his youngest sister, Katie, he was reluctant to expose Eloisa to such darkness. “I’m afraid it might not be the right avenue for you to serve. You might not find it safe.”

“If you stayed by my side, would I be safe?”

“Yes.” If he were at her side, he would make sure nothing untoward ever happened to her.

“Then I will be just fine.”

Thinking of her elegant perfection in the midst of so many coarse persons gave him pause. “If you are certain?”

“I need something more than my fears. I need to think of something more than myself.” New emotion filled her voice. “I need this, Sean. Please.”

He could never refuse such a request. “Then I will take you, Eloisa.”

“When?”

He smiled. “You are eager.”

She looked down at her yellow slippers. Slippers that looked so fine and delicate, he was surprised the pebbles under her feet didn’t bruise them. “I suppose I am.”

“I have a day off on Sunday. Sometimes I stop by there on Sunday afternoons, around two o’clock, during the time my sister volunteers to give the regular staff some time off. Would that be an acceptable time?”

“I will make sure I am available. Could I meet you outside the lending library on Polk Street? If I walk there, my mother will simply think I am doing just that—taking a walk in a safe area with lots of others taking strolls. She is used to my doing that on a Sunday afternoon.”

“If that is what you would like, yes,” he answered, already regretting his promise. What was he doing, agreeing to spend time with a girl like Eloisa Carstairs? Agreeing to take her to the south side, to walk where trash littered the streets, where dirt and filth and suffering lived almost everywhere.

“Thank you. Would meeting a half hour earlier give us enough time to get there?”

Stepping away, he fastened a smile and nodded. “I need to go back to the precinct, but before I do, I would be very much obliged if you would show me the rest of these gardens.”

“We both know that was merely a ruse to talk to you alone.”

“Yes, but if I was your mother or papa, I’d be wondering why I haven’t seen us in the gardens yet.”

“Then by all means, let me show you my mother’s pride and joy—her rose bushes.”

“Lead on, Miss Carstairs. I can hardly wait to see them.”

Her light, melodic giggle floated through the air, mingling with the faint scent of late-blooming roses.

And Sean admitted to himself that he’d never been more enchanted.

CHAPTER 5

S
o sorry, Mrs. Cameron!” Katie Ryan called out as she almost ran over one of the old biddies gossiping on one corner of Haversham Street.

“Katherine Jean, you will stop right this minute.”

Though she would have loved to keep running as far as she could from those ladies and their eagle eyes, Katie turned around and faced her nemesis. “Ma’am?”

Mrs. Cameron—all four feet, eleven inches of her—glared at her imperiously. “Instead of apologizing in such a scattered manner, I would expect you to have learned by now to show some respect for your elders.”

Knowing that if she didn’t give Mrs. Cameron her due, her mother would never hear the end of it, Katie bit back her pride and proceeded to do whatever it took to smooth things over. “Yes, ma’am,” she agreed, attempting to look contrite. “I am sorry. You are right, and that is a fact. I need to take better care of where I am going.”

Thick black eyebrows, which Katie always thought looked like unfortunate caterpillars, edged together. “And where might you be going at this time of day?”

Katie stifled a groan of impatience. Mrs. Cameron and her best friend, Mrs. Munro, were always certain everyone’s comings and goings were their business.

However, no good would come of being completely evasive. “Just going to have a spot of tea with my brother,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her new, smart-looking navy dress. “Which is why I need to go. I’m late, I am. I’m trying to catch the 9:14 train.”

Mrs. Munro, the woman who all agreed was only a slightly better version of Mrs. Cameron, narrowed her eyes. “And which brother might that be? Connor, perhaps?”

“I’ll be visiting Sean, ma’am.”

“Him?” Mrs. Munro curved her thin lips in distaste as her partner in crime leaned a bit forward.

Ah, yes. That was the usual response she received anytime she mentioned Sean. By turns, people in their borough were either proud of the affable Sean Ryan for raising himself out of their midst into the police force—and achieving a lieutenant’s position, no less. Or they were holding firm to their distrust of the coppers as well as anyone who ever wanted anything other than what was expected of them.

Even their family was divided on whether to ignore or celebrate Sean’s success. Their widowed mother was grateful for Sean’s financial help, though she was always careful not to mention it in front of Connor or Billy, their eldest brothers.

Maeve, Michael Thomas, June, and she were nothing but proud of Sean.

And Mary Patricia? Well, it was a known fact that she didn’t think about anything but her fiancé, Patrick Kelly.

Furthermore, mentioning Sean seemed to always lead into comments about the rest of her family, spurring speculation about what was going to happen to them all, given that their Da had been gone for some time now.

Which was now a very good reason why she should not touch the women’s inquisitive looks and questions with a ten-foot pole. “Good day now, ladies. I really must catch the train. Otherwise I’ll have to walk.”

She turned and scampered off before they could respond. Then dodged and darted through traffic just in time to pay her ticket and board the train for Michigan Avenue, smack-dab in the hustle and bustle of the city, surrounded by tall buildings, tourists, bankers, financiers, and elegant ladies shopping. It was also the heart of where her brother was currently assigned.

She didn’t want to be late, though. Sean didn’t even know she was going to be there. But she didn’t want to hear about his investigation from anyone else or from anywhere else.

Once she got off the train, she walked at a far more sedate pace to his precinct, a bit off Michigan Avenue. And while it was many, many steps away from the glamour of Prairie Avenue, it was an area most people would agree was a sight far better than hers.

But she still didn’t feel completely safe there, most likely because there were no biddies standing guard at the edge of the street. And, of course, because according to the latest paper, the Society Slasher was still on the loose—and not even a great detective like her brother had been able to figure out how to capture him.

She took care to keep her face averted from most passersby as she stepped up the front steps of the precinct and opened the heavy door.

A uniformed officer at the reception desk, with a pair of graying pork-chop sideburns and a good extra thirty pounds, looked up in a harried way when she entered, then set down his pencil and smiled at
her far more slowly. “Morning, miss. And what brings you here into our midst?”

Looking first at the nameplate in front of him, Katie nodded. “Good morning, Sergeant Fuller. I am here to see my brother.”

After a pause, he winked. “Sorry, miss, but we’ve got a lot of men here. Who might your brother be?”

“He is Lieutenant Detective Sean Ryan.”

Sergeant Fuller’s gaze cooled, and her cheeks heated as she realized she said her brother’s title with probably a bit too much pride.

However, she couldn’t help it. She was so proud of him. He’d beaten so many odds, the least of which had been their brother Connor’s constant jibes that Sean was forgetting where he came from. And that he was going against everything they were by joining forces with those who many Irish saw as men who had sold out to the rich and powerful.

And many others in the city thought were beyond corrupt.

“I’ll go see if he is available, miss.”

“Thank you.”

He returned five minutes later, but instead of her brother in tow, another man was at his side.