Passion Wears Pearls (42 page)

“No, Josiah. There are no lights. You mustn’t torment yourself to—”

“No lights?” he asked, the hackles on the back of his neck rising.
She’d said she couldn’t find Creed, but how is that possible? He’d never have left his post
. … “Look again, Eleanor. On the third and fourth floors and at the gate. Creed will have his lantern, and the lamps are always set at the gate and the stair landing when I’m out at night. And the Eschers … they’ll have waited up. Look again.”

Eleanor dutifully looked again. “No, Josiah. The house is dark.”

Josiah banged his fist on the roof of the carriage and opened the window to lean out. “Driver! Take this woman to the Grove and see her safely in.”

“Josiah, no! I cannot go! You cannot—”

“I cannot see you in harm’s way again, Eleanor. It may be nothing, but I can’t risk it. Go to the Grove and wait for me there. I’ll follow as soon as I can.” Josiah shut the carriage door. “If I’m not at the Grove in an hour, send a runner to Dr. Rowan West on Charles Street. The Jaded will come.”

“Josiah, I beg you!” Eleanor clutched at the lapel of his coat through the window, desperate to keep him close. “Send a runner yourself and wait for your friends! You
can’t see
! Why go in alone if there’s danger?”

“Because Rita and Samuel are in there. They’re the only family I have, Eleanor, and I have to be sure that they’re safe. I can see well enough, yet.” The last was a lie, but he refused to risk her. He pried her fingers loose from the wool cloth and kissed the palm of her hand, only to release her. “I love you, Eleanor. Farewell.”

“Josiah! No!” She tried to grab hold of him again, panic seeping into her voice, but he stepped back and turned to the driver.

“Driver, move on there! A sovereign to deliver her safely to the Grove!”

The carriage pulled from the curb quickly, sweeping Eleanor out of his reach and leaving him alone to face the darkness.

Damn!

Creed’s moan of pain echoed in the vaulted and open ruined factory floor, and Josiah put out his hands to try to avoid falling as he made his way toward the sound. He found Creed next to one of the milling machines but only after the man moaned again in pain and unwittingly helped Josiah narrow his search.

“Roger?” Josiah knelt down. “Are you injured, then?”

“My head … Some bastard tried to open my skull. …” Creed whispered, the weak rasping sound of it only feeding into Josiah’s awareness that his illusion of his home’s invulnerability was forever shattered.

Josiah took off his coat and laid it over the bodyguard. “Here, stay still and I’ll see about getting you some help.”

“The Eschers …”

“I’m on my way up. There’s nothing you can do, so try to stay warm and I’ll be back as quickly as I can, all right?” Josiah put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

Creed turned his head away. “A reference …”

“You won’t need one. You’re not fired, Mr. Creed.”

“I ain’t?” he asked dumbfounded. “But … I …”

“You’re human and I’m the one to blame for this, so I’d have you stay if only to let a man redeem himself in your eyes.”

Creed groaned. “I never thought—thank you, Mr. Hastings.”

“All right, then. We’ll talk about fixing up old factories and making good another time. You’ll stay still.”

Creed grunted his assent, and Josiah stood to make his way carefully back across the floor and then up the stairs. He didn’t bother with stealth, but took the stairs two at a time, hating the idea that he’d find the Eschers in a similar state of injury on his behalf.

And for what? A sacred treasure I don’t possess—or the stolen treasure I do?

He was on familiar ground and moved confidently without bothering with any lights. He tripped over Escher on the third-floor landing, cursing as he fell. “Damn! Escher, are you all right? Did I break your ribs?”

Escher could only mumble and Josiah discovered quickly that his houseman was bound and gagged.

“Here, let’s have you out of this! Are you hurt?”

“Mr. Hastings!” Escher spoke once his gag had been removed. “I’m fine, but my wife! They went inside our rooms!”

Josiah untied his legs and helped him to his feet. “Stay behind me and we’ll find her together. Don’t worry, Samuel. If they trussed you up, I’m sure they paid her the same courtesy.”

Escher lit a lamp and followed behind him, unaware of how little the flame helped Josiah find his way. Even so, both men followed the sounds of banging and thumping coming from inside the kitchen pantry and found the poor woman on the floor, tied just as her husband had been.

“My beauty!” Samuel knelt next to her and freed his beloved wife. “Did those bastards bruise you?”

“Did you see who it was?” Josiah added.

Rita shook her head, her cheeks streaked with tearstains. “It was like ghosts! I never saw ’em! The lights went out and it happened in a blink! Not a word or a whisper spoken and my poor man nowhere to be found! I was in a terror for you!”

Mr. Escher stroked her face. “I was trussed up, too! But what’s all this worry for me?”

“Well, mind”—Rita’s bluster returned, betraying her
emotions—“I’m not the one with the aching bones. You could catch your death on a cold floor! I’m so sturdy they could have hung me out the window by my ankles and I’d enjoy the fresh air.”

Rita relit more of the lamps and then turned back to them. “Oh, Lord! You’re a sight! Have you been cleaning chimneys?”

“Never mind that.” Josiah shook his head, enjoying the odd humor of his cook and housekeeper. “Creed was struck on the head and will need some attention.”

“I’ll see to him,” Rita offered.

“You’ll
both
see to him,” Josiah amended, intervening before his bruised and elderly houseman volunteered to help him search the rest of the house. “I’ll search the house and make sure our guests have gone.”

“We should send for the watch!” Escher growled. “They’ll have robbed us blind!”

“No. I’ll see to my own house, and I don’t want the authorities on my doorstep. Not tonight. Not after—please, both of you, just trust me. If someone is threatening the house, I need to see to it.”

Samuel nodded and then got up to rummage through one of the drawers in the china cupboard. “Here, take this, then.” He pressed a revolver into Josiah’s hand. “I had it for protection. …”

Rita snorted. “Well,
that
came in handy!”

“Be kind, woman! A man can’t shoot ghosts in the dark now, can he?” Escher countered defensively.

“We’ll argue the points of home defense later,” Josiah said, ushering them both to the landing. “Please, see to Creed and wait for me downstairs.”

“You’re sure, then?” Escher asked again. “Not that I don’t think you can manage, but a good pair of eyes couldn’t hurt, could they?”

Wonders never cease. The old bird’s known all along.

“I’m grateful for the offer, but I’d rather face a dozen armed robbers than your wife if I put you in harm’s way or accidentally shoot you, Escher.”

Escher laughed. “All understood, sir! We’ll wait below and I’ll hold off until you signal.”

Josiah moved by touch alone.

A man can’t shoot ghosts in the dark.
Escher’s prophetic words made him smile in the inky black.
Not to mention the idiocy of a blind man carrying a gun in the first place. …

Josiah set the revolver down on a small table inside the first set of double doors leading into the apartment. At best, it was a useless object, and at worst, a deadly thing he’d use and only succeed in killing himself.

He moved quietly and with practiced confidence. It was his house and sanctuary, and he had been living without light in the evenings for many weeks to accustom himself to it. It was only Eleanor’s arrival that had changed that.

But old habits died hard, and Josiah was pleased that he wasn’t forced to crawl or stumble about with his hands held out in front of him.
Not here. Maybe everywhere else from now on, but not here, damn it.

He expected to trip over upended furniture or to come across some sign of mayhem from a violent search. After all, he suspected that whoever had done this must have come looking for the sacred treasure, and a polite search didn’t seem possible after Creed’s fate.

All the doors were open to each and every room, but as he methodically walked through each room, Josiah made the same discovery again and again.

Nothing is touched. Nothing out of place.

A chill slid down his spine at the strange idea that it had been ghosts, but Josiah shook off the sensation. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he quietly commanded, to be answered with a silence so loud it made his chest ache.

In his bedroom, Josiah began to cross over to his dresser only to trip over an unexpected object someone had deliberately set in the middle of the floor. He knelt down and realized it was the ornate wooden jewelry chest set. Heart
pounding he opened it, only for his fingers to encounter the smooth, unmistakable weight of rope after rope of pearls and the silk bags holding the loose undrilled larger orbs he’d saved for barter.

It’s all here. As if these were useless trinkets. …

Josiah lifted a handful of the cold pearls to the throbbing heat at his temples, trying to soothe the storm of his thoughts and emotions.

No sense. This doesn’t make any sense. Why carry it downstairs?

But then a new thought seized him.

Josiah retraced his steps, racing up the stairs to the studio, his fingertips gliding along the banister. The pitch-black didn’t hinder him, but he slowed as he reached the landing.

The painting. If it’s destroyed, then so am I.

The door to the studio was wide open, a soft glow emanating from within. Josiah deliberately moved toward its source, experiencing in a new way the challenges of the solid black curtain that obscured his vision. Slivers of light revealed the direction of his steps until he finally surmised the details of the surprise waiting for him.

It was the small bronze statuette of the Hindu goddess perched on a wooden platter in front of a single dancing flame, while behind her, one of his canvases served as a backdrop. He tilted his head to try to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

My shrine. My little makeshift shrine is … here? They’ve moved it and lit the oil lamp and even the flowers. Why?

“Thank God!” Escher’s voice interrupted his thoughts and Josiah didn’t have the energy to chastise him for ignoring his express orders to remain below stairs.

“Yes. A miracle they didn’t take anything.”

“Not that, sir. The paintings. They didn’t spoil them. Although I’m not sure what this lot is doing up here out of your rooms. But look here. Miss Beckett in the pearls! Oh, dear!” his tone changed, dismay flooding his words. “They smudged it, those ghostly devils!”

“Smudged it?” Josiah scanned the work, unsure of what Samuel was seeing. He was fighting to translate what little he could and ignore the habit of a lifetime that dictated that he should look directly ahead to achieve his goals. “Where?”

“There! Right on her dear face! What a shame!” Escher sighed.

Josiah finally managed to see it by turning his head and glancing sideways, imagining that in doing so, he probably looked like a very bad imitation of a sly villain on the stage.

On her face. That’s not a smudge. But that’s impossible. …

The work in progress had barely started to take shape, as he’d sketched out his lovely Eleanor in pearls and layered in a few rudimentary colors. But a single delicate red smear in the shape of a man’s thumb print now rested on her forehead between her eyes. His English lady had been transformed into a Hindu goddess with the single touch of a stranger’s hand.

“You can fix it, can’t you?” Escher asked at his elbow.

He shook his head.
It’s the sign of a blessing—not a curse.

“I wouldn’t remove it for all the wealth of India, Mr. Escher.” He crossed his arms, lost in a new meditation. “Please leave me for now. Make sure your wife has Creed in hand and send for Dr. West if need be.”

“And you, sir?”

“I—I’ll be going to the Grove.”