Rebecca Hagan Lee (16 page)

She wrinkled her nose in distaste as he presented the glass. “I’m wet and cold.” She shivered involuntarily.

Will placed his palm on her forehead and discovered that her forehead was dry and hot. “Drink this,” he urged. “It will make you feel better.”

“What is it?”

“A little laudanum in water to help with the pain so you can rest,” he told her. “Drink it all down like a good little girl and I’ll get you a dry shirt and another blanket to keep you warm.”

“Hate laudanum,” she complained.

“I’m delighted to hear it,” he said. “Used properly, laudanum is highly effective as a painkiller; unfortunately people who like it too much often develop a habit for it,” he explained. “But Dr. Stone ordered it to help ease your pain. He says it’s good for you. So drink it.” He bumped the glass against her lips once again, taking great care not to make contact with the stitches in her bottom lip.

Julie grimaced and tried to refuse the medicine, but Will gave her no choice. Tipping the glass, he forced Julie to drink—or to drown.

“One must take the good with the bad, Julia Jane,” he reminded her. “Dark and light. Yin and yang. That’s the way life works.”

Julie drained the glass, then blinked up at him. “Will?”

“Yes?” He set the glass on the bedside table and eased Julie back down on the pillows, then stood up, turned his back to her, and crossed to the front of the room. He closed the window he’d opened while she was feverish, then retrieved a fresh shirt from his armoire and a clean towel from his shaving stand and returned to her side.

Folding the covers down to her slim hips, Will unbuttoned the silk shirt she was wearing as a substitute nightgown.
His
silk shirt. He tucked the towel inside the shirt, arranging it over her bosom, hiding her breasts from view before he gently eased the damp shirt she was wearing off her shoulders, down her arms, and out from beneath her.

“Will?”
Julie opened her eyes.

He recognized the urgency in her whispered query and looked at her face. It was grayish green beneath the bruising, and the drops of perspiration on her forehead seemed to have tripled. “I’m here.” Reaching for the washbasin, Will fished the flannel out of the water once again, wrung the excess out, and took a step toward the head of the bed.

“Ill.” Julie rolled to the edge of the bed, braced herself on her elbow and forearm, hung her head over the side, and spewed the laudanum he’d just forced her to swallow across the tops of his shoes, then began to cry.

“Shh, don’t cry, Julia Jane,” Will soothed her, pressing the cool flannel cloth onto the back of her neck as she hung her head over the side of the bed. “It’s all right. Don’t cry, sweetheart; you can’t help it when you’re sick.” Glancing down at the vile-smelling concoction she’d spewed onto his shoes and the bedside rug, Will doubted that they would ever be the same. It didn’t matter. Rugs and shoes could be replaced. Julia Jane Parham could not. She was one of a kind.

Julie groaned again.

Recognizing the look of distress on her face, Will scrambled to grab the washbasin as Julie was ill once again. He held her head as her retching dissolved into a fit of dry heaves and eventually subsided, then carefully wiped her face and neck with the damp cloth.

The stench filling his nostrils nearly overpowered him. His stomach roiled and contracted in protest. Will fought to keep from disgracing himself as he slipped his feet out of his shoes and left them on the soiled rug while he padded in stocking feet splattered with the contents of her stomach across the room to empty and rinse out the washbasin in the washroom sink.

He returned to her side and helped Julie lie back against the pillows, then poured her another glass of water from the carafe on the table and offered it to her.

“No more.” Julie clamped her mouth closed to keep him from forcing her to swallow more medicine.

“It isn’t laudanum,” he told her. “It’s warm water. To rinse your mouth.”

Julie relented. She rinsed her mouth and spit in the basin Will held for her. The effort it took exhausted her. Her teeth began to chatter as she lay back against the pillows. Will carried the basin to the washroom, emptied it and rinsed it out once again, and refilled it with fresh, clean water from the pitcher Jack had brought up earlier.

He pulled the single sheet up to Julie’s chin, then unfolded the coverlet at the foot of the bed and draped it over her, tucking it with the sheet tightly around Julie’s shoulders.

“Cold,” she murmured.

Will bent at the waist and peeled off his soiled socks, balancing first on one foot and then the other, before dropping his socks onto his shoes and rolling them both up in the stained rug. Walking to his armoire, he opened a drawer and took out a fresh pair of socks, then crossed to the fireplace and stirred back to life the coals he’d banked. One look at Julie told him she was suffering fever and chills in equal measure. Her eyes were closed and her teeth were chattering.

Will’s heart went out to her. He knew from experience that as soon as she succeeded in getting warm, she’d become too hot, and as soon as she succeeded in cooling off, she’d be chilled to the bone. Leaving her long enough to walk down the hall to the linen closet, Will retrieved another blanket, took it back to his bed, and spread it over Julie.

“Whoa!” Jack entered the room half an hour later with a fresh pot of coffee and barely made it over the threshold. “How can you breathe in here?” he demanded of Will, who sat on the chair beside the bed, reading aloud to Julie, who was sound asleep and buried beneath a mound of covers.

“I’m not sure I
am
breathing,” Will admitted.

“Between the heat and the stench . . .” Jack set the pot of coffee on the table beside the wing chair and walked over to open the window. “I think the paint is sliding off the walls. Aren’t you hot?”

“As a sinner in Hades.” Will closed the book and looked up at his friend. “I feel like a pig on a spit, but she’s having chills.”

“Saints preserve us!” Jack exclaimed. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Will nodded. “She threw up the laudanum. All over my shoes and the rug. She’s in pain, but the medicine makes her ill.”

“Drag the rug into the hall. I’ll have Ben come collect it.”

“We’ll have to use brandy for the pain,” Will told him. “And hope for the best.”

If the course of this evening followed the course of the previous one, it would be one long night of piling on covers and building up the fire to warm her, only to open the window, pull off the covers, and bathe her with cool water in order to get her temperature down.

Over and over again.

And with the fever came the nightmares. She tossed and turned, thrashing about, reliving the attack, crying out for help. Shouting, “Fire!” while Will held her to keep her from doing further damage to herself as did her best to escape.

After her struggling to get away from him, Julie collapsed in Will’s arms and cried tormented, piteous tears, repeatedly calling out for Su Mi, begging Su Mi to stay alive until she could find her and take her home.

The cycle continued through the night—fever, bad dreams, tears, chills—until she finally fell sleep.

“Poor girl. I’ll sit with her for a while. Go downstairs,” Jack ordered, already shedding his jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves to combat the overwhelming heat in the room. “Get some fresh air. Walk around. Get something cold from the bar. Cool off.”

Will stood up. “If she wakes . . .”

“I’ll send for you,” Jack said, repeating the assurance he’d repeated every time Will left the room. “Is she still having bad dreams?”

“Yes, and the brandy I’ve been forcing down her for the pain is no better than the laudanum. The pain may be diminished, but the nightmares seem to be worse.” He glanced from Jack to the girl on the bed. “Maybe I should stay. . . .”

“I don’t think so, boyo,” Jack told him. “You need to get out. The heat in here is almost intolerable.”

Will had to agree. He’d been drenched in perspiration off and on for hours. “Maybe I’ll walk down to that little shop on the way to the wharf. Gino’s or Giovanni’s—the one that sells those Italian ices. Or Ghirardelli’s for chocolate ice cream. Something cold and soothing for her throat.”

“Why don’t you get one for yourself?” Jack suggested. “I don’t think she’s up to it yet, but your throat must be raw. I heard you reading from down the hall. You’ve been at it for hours.”

“It keeps me from dozing by the fire,” Will admitted, peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt, exchanging it for a fresh one he took out of his armoire. Snagging his tie from the back of the chair, he draped it around his neck.

“Why are you fighting so hard to stay awake, Will?” Jack asked. “You need to sleep while she does. You need to get some rest.”

“I’m bone-tired. I’m afraid I’ll fall into a deep slumber.”
And that might bring dreams of Mei Ling. Or worse, of Elizabeth
. Haunted dreams he hadn’t the strength to fight.

“Don’t be afraid,” Jack teased. “That’s the best kind of slumber.”

“What if she wakes up and needs something?” Will frowned down at his dwindling supply of clean shirts before removing another one from the drawer and placing it atop the armoire for Julie. She would need it if her chills were followed by another bout of fever. “Her voice is a whisper. I’m not sure I could hear it.”

Retrieving the gold cuff links he’d removed earlier when he’d rolled up his sleeves in order to seek relief from the heat, Will shoved them through his cuffs. He picked up his discarded waistcoat and jacket.

Jack gave Will a look of patent disbelief. “Trust me; you’ll hear her.”

“Are you certain?”

Jack gifted him with another look of disbelief. “You’ve been listening to the girl breathe for two days, Will. You’ll hear her.”

Will exhaled his relief. It was unlike him to be uncertain or to worry over situations beyond his control. Needless worrying wasn’t part of his nature. He was deliberate. And decisive. He planned for the best possible outcome in any situation, did his best to eliminate the unknowns, and trusted that he could handle anything unexpected that might arise. Will had never been given to second-guessing himself. He had always been secure in the knowledge that he’d done his best, and his best was better than most.

But he was worried about Julia Jane. And Will was honest enough with himself to admit that his worry stemmed from his feelings of general helplessness. He hadn’t been able to prevent his little missionary from making enemies, and despite his warning, he hadn’t been able to protect her from those enemies. When it came to protecting her, he had been useless, just as he’d been useless to prevent what had happened to Mei Ling, and the guilt he carried was eating away at him.

“I’ll relieve you in an hour or so,” Will told him.

“Take your time,” Jack replied. “Put in an appearance in the grand parlor. Our regulars are beginning to wonder what’s become of you. Get acquainted with the Pinkerton detectives.”

“They’ve arrived?” So much had happened since Julie had taken her parasol to his front window on Saturday morning, Will had all but forgotten that he had wired Denver for Pinkerton agents he knew to be completely trustworthy, the only agents Murphy O’Brien had included on the list he had sent to his younger brother for consideration.

“Earlier this afternoon on the Denver train,” Jack confirmed. “I gave them their duty assignments and arranged their schedules. I also took the liberty of paying the previous ‘Pinkertons’ and releasing them from their obligations.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Will extended his hand in friendship. “I couldn’t have managed without you.”

Jack grinned. “That’s why you hired me, Will. To handle the things you need help handling. Or things you don’t wish to handle.”

“Speaking of which . . .” Will paused for effect. “If I am not mistaken, there is a meeting of the San Francisco Saloon and Bordello Owners’ Association Wednesday morning at the Lotus Blossom.”

“You are not mistaken.”

“How would you like to go in my stead? To represent the Silken Angel Saloon?”

“I would be delighted to go in your stead, Will, but I am sure that my presence there would not be tolerated or allowed.”

Will knew where the conversation was headed, but he was enjoying this bit of sparring with Jack. It was comfortable. It was normal. It was the way the two longtime friends and colleagues dealt with the strain of their dangerous endeavors. “How so?”

“The name of the organization whose meetings you are obligated to attend is the San Francisco Saloon and Bordello
Owners’
Association. You are the owner. I am but a barman in your employ.”

Will chuckled. “And a finer barman never lived.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Jack warned.

“I’m not likely to,” Will retorted. “Not with you reminding me at every turn.”

“You’re already deciding how to handle Madam Harpy’s presence at the meeting on Wednesday.” Jack was serious.

“How am I going to sit beside the woman and pretend everything is business as usual when I know she ordered
that
”—he spit out the word as he nodded toward the bed—“done to that girl lying in my bed?”

“I don’t know,” Jack told him. “But I’ve no doubt you will do whatever you have to do to manage it. Because as far as Madam Harpy is concerned, it
is
business as usual.
Ugly
,
deadly
business,” he added. “And, Will?”

“Yes?”

“Do me a favor and get one of those Italian ices when you take your walk. But leave the hunt for Typhoon Julia’s assailant for a later time.” Jack knew as well as Will did that the beat cops tended to congregate at a coffee shop next to the Italian ice shop on the wharf. “You are exhausted and in no shape to confront anyone. And I prefer you free and in one piece. I’m sure Typhoon Julia would agree.”

“He won’t keep the marks she gave him much longer,” Will protested. “I need to locate him now, while he still has them.”

“There’s no guarantee he still has them,” Jack argued. “And you’ve a better way of finding him than prowling the streets at night.”

Will muttered a curse beneath his breath. “Madam Harpy.”