The Detective's Dilemma (18 page)

Mr. Springfield’s mouth stretched into a humorless grin. “Listen to you! I don’t know what’s got into you, missus, really I don’t.” The smile vanished. “Your husband won’t like your sharp tongue.”

“That’s none of your affair.” She turned and continued to walk, head still high, no longer leaning on Harriet.

They skirted a sandwich-board man and a drunk clutching a lamppost as they rounded the corner.

Mr. Winthrop’s black-and-red carriage waited. Julianna had ridden in it only a few times but would recognize the contraption anywhere. Very few conveyances in the city gleamed as brightly—the groom cleaned it thoroughly every day, especially the distinctive yellow-and-red-rimmed wheels.

Mr. Springfield played the gentleman, helping the ladies into the compartment, even offering a hand to a stone-faced Harriet. He went so far as to respectfully doff his hat before climbing in. That might mean he hid his true nature from the coachman.

They drove in silence to the Winthrop’s house off Fifth Avenue. A butler met them at the door and ushered them into the pleasant foyer. Mr. Winthrop enjoyed his power and wealth, but he was not an ostentatious man. The house contained marble and polished wood, and several tables with inlaid mother-of-pearl, though the display hardly qualified as gaudy.

Mr. Springfield left them in the more formal drawing room with the French doors that opened out onto a small walled-in garden. “Now, don’t you move, ladies. I’ll see what the boss wants to do next. I have my good friend Gus waiting just outside the room, so don’t take it into your pretty heads to leave.”

As soon as he left the room, Mrs. Winthrop walked over and pushed her purse in Julianna’s hands. “Take this,” she whispered. “It is all of my jewels. Take it and Peter, and leave as soon as you can.”

Julianna wanted to protest, to say she didn’t want to leave Mrs. Winthrop alone, but Peter must come first. She consoled herself by remembering the lady had been married over thirty years—she had to know how to cope with the tyrant she’d wed.

So Julianna took the bag and said, “Thank you. I’ll leave when I can, but I’ll return to you as soon as I’m able. I’m sure Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Walker will arrive soon.” She said that to reassure herself as well as her mother-in-law.

The door opened, and Mr. Winthrop strode in. Still handsome with gray hair, side whiskers, and a straight carriage, he looked like an honorable military man, though he’d never worn a uniform of any kind. He also maintained the appearance of integrity and God knew he had none of that. The permanent scowl between his eyes and the lines at the corners of his chiseled mouth turned down—furious as usual.

“Mildred, what on earth are you doing?”

“Nothing, dear.” She seemed to shrink.

“Bah.” He turned his pale eyes to Julianna, who forced herself to stare back.

“Good evening, Mr. Winthrop.”

“What is this nonsense I hear? Mr. Springfield tells me you’re married to some police officer. After being my son’s wife, you choose a policeman? And a weasel! Do you know he’s a crook?”

So many obvious retorts formed, mostly about his own crooked ways, but annoying him wouldn’t get Peter back in her arms. “Where is my son?” she asked, hoping she sounded bright and calm.

He took a step forward. “My grandson is safe. I will take good care of him.”

She would not step back. And she wouldn’t threaten him, though she imagined picking up the large silver vase on the table next to them and smashing it over his head. Or perhaps the fire irons next to the carved marble fireplace. Not until she had her son in her arms.

She forced a smile onto her face. “I would like to see Peter.”

“He’s in the nursery upstairs.”

Here
. Her heart raced. She swallowed hard.

“I recall you have a nice nursery here.” She recalled no such thing—she had never been above the first floor in the house. “If you’d prefer, I’ll go up to see my son there.”

“I can’t spare the men to accompany you at the moment. You and your shenanigans have taken up too much time already today.”

“I can go upstairs alone. I don’t require any special attendants.”

“Oh, yes, you do. It’s taken a lot of cash and time to get that boy here where he belongs. I’m not risking you waltzing out of here and forcing my men to go after you again. Stubborn female that never understood her place, despite a fine upbringing. No wonder you and my son got on so well. He didn’t wear the pants in your household, did he?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. She pushed her fingernails into her palm. He goaded her on purpose. Now he watched her with a greedy, gleaming smile. Caleb had closely watched her with a smile too, but he’d invited her into the joke. This man waited for her to object so he might smack her down again. Perhaps next time he’d use a physical blow and not just words.

She hauled in a long breath to calm herself and tried to formulate a response. She should speak like Mrs. Winthrop, fluttery and uncertain. Perhaps a conciliatory apology for putting him to all that trouble. She must see Peter. Dignity, honesty, and the truth didn’t matter at all.

“Mr. Winthrop, please.” She let her voice crack. “A boy that young needs his mother.”

From the sofa nearby, Mrs. Winthrop gave a stifled sob. Mr. Winthrop’s eyebrows flicked up. “You two make me sound like a villain in a melodrama. Utter nonsense. And all this sniffling and crying on your part is just what ruined our son, Mildred.”

She pressed a handkerchief to her face and seemed to try to hide her tears.

All right, he didn’t like crying women, and he didn’t like aggressive women. Should she flirt? Behave like a calm automaton? She tried again. “I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt him to see me, and it would mean so much to me. If I could be assured that all is well, I’d leave peacefully and never be a pest.”
And take my son with me.

He scratched his chin and gave a single nod. “Yeah, something to that.” After a quick, disgusted glance at his wife, he strode to the door and pulled it open. He spoke to someone in the hall, likely a servant who stood guard, then slammed the door and strode back to Julianna. “I’ll draw up a contract, eh? I get the boy. You stop bothering us. If you really are married to that cop, then you can get started on making a new family. A baby will do the trick to get your mind off my grandson.” He went to a desk in the corner, a small escritoire nestled by a curtain with gold tasseled ties.

Julianna suspected he’d put them in this very room because he’d planned to push her into signing a document like this.

She went to a sofa and sat, balancing Mrs. Winthrop’s bag on her lap and watching him lean over the desk, one palm supporting his weight as he riffled through some notes. Of course he had drawn up some sort of contract for her to sign before she’d arrived. He’d probably contacted a lawyer at the same time he’d contacted the corrupt puppeteer he controlled in the police department.

The loathsome Mr. Winthrop looked bored, for heaven’s sake. He’d ruin her life without a thought. He needed only to lift a finger to control everyone around him, and then he’d sneer at them with disdain. The rage rose in Julianna again, consuming her, and she gripped the handles of the purse.

She was so wrapped in her fog of anger, she barely noticed the way Mrs. Winthrop silently drifted around the room, stopping at one of the tables loaded with ornaments, then ambling to the fireplace.

Julianna blinked. Her mother-in-law meandered toward the corner where Mr. Winthrop stood, back to them as he shuffled through the notes. The strange part of the picture: Mrs. Winthrop clutched a fireplace poker.

Her husband only had time to glance to the side, and irritably ask, “What are you doing, Mildred?” before the poker came down on the back of his head. He dropped to the floor silently.

“Good God,” Mrs. Winthrop whispered as she took several steps back. She pressed her fingers to her mouth.

Harriet bounded over and grabbed her before she fell.

Julianna hurried to the form sprawled on the floor. He still breathed, so Mrs. Winthrop hadn’t killed him, but his eyes remained shut and his body limp.

“Unconscious,” Julianna said. After grabbing the gold tie holding back the curtain, she picked him up by his feet and dragged him closer to the corner of the room. Should she try to wake him up? No.

Harriet was next to her, cloth of some sort in her hand. She wrapped it around Mr. Winthrop’s ankles. “Use that cord for his hands, ma’am. I suspect we’ll need something to push into his mouth, to keep him quiet,” Harriet said, chipper as always.

“Yes.” Julianna was awed that Mrs. Winthrop’s small body contained that much violence.

Now Mrs. Winthrop sat on the sofa near the fire, trembling and staring off into space. She didn’t cry, at least.

Behind Mrs. Winthrop, Harriet wiped at the fireplace poker with another bit of cloth—only a touch of blood showed.

“Best burn that,” Julianna said.

Harriet smiled and pushed the cloth into the fire and replaced the poker in the elaborate filigreed holder next to the fireplace. Julianna realized the maid had torn up her apron to use on Mr. Winthrop and the poker.

The door opened.

Julianna jumped up and ran over to the man in the doorway, who held a small sleeping form. Her Peter, at long last, her baby.

The man holding Peter gave a startled “hey,” probably surprised to be met even before he’d taken a step into the room, but a moment later awkwardly he shoveled the blankets and heavy warm body into her outstretched arms. Julianna didn’t know the man, who might have been a secretary except he had no neck and a scar lay on his pale cheek. He seemed as if he were about to push past Julianna and the baby to come into the room, but caught sight of Harriet and asked her, “Where’s the boss?”

The maid went pale and wide-eyed, so Julianna answered immediately. “He stepped out into the garden.”

From her place on the sofa, Mrs. Winthrop added, “He’ll be right back. No need to wait.” She sounded faint but otherwise her usual vague self.
Brava, Mrs. Winthrop
, Julianna thought.

The man shrugged. “I’ll be back in a half hour. Those are the orders,” he told Julianna, almost apologetically.

After he closed the door behind him, Mrs. Winthrop sprang to her feet and went to Julianna and Peter. She touched the sleeping baby’s head and whispered, “Take him and go, now, go!”

“But Mother Winthrop, this can’t work. Your husband will wake up…” She paused and examined Mrs. Winthrop, who breathed hard but remained dry-eyed.

“As soon as you go, if he’s still unconscious, we’ll take off the ties and…and drag him out back. Yes, that will work, won’t it, Harriet?”

The maid seemed to rouse herself. “You mean we pretend he was set upon by housebreakers or something?”

“Exactly. If he remembers it was I who hit him…” Mrs. Winthrop’s lip trembled, and she pursed her mouth tight, her usual expression, then said with a terrible imitation of bravado, “Harriet will take care of me. And I’m sure we can manage. Go as soon as you can.”

Harriet cleared her throat and said, “If you please, ma’am, best to go out the French doors. The kitchen staff might see you, but that’s no worry. The gate leads to the servants’ privy and the mews and then the alley.”

Julianna had looped the bag over her arm. Peter was so large, she had trouble wedging the thing off. The bag thumped to the floor, and Julianna explained, “You’ll need your jewelry.”

“But I want you to have it all.”

“Then bring it to me after you and Harriet flee. I will leave word with Mr. Gordon at the bookshop about where I’m going.”

Hurrying to the open window, she hoisted her baby up on her shoulder. Not truly a baby anymore—his legs reached past her waist. She stopped to examine Mr. Winthrop, whose eyes remained shut, but he stirred a little and moaned.
Hurry
, she mouthed at Harriet. The maid nodded, but Julianna didn’t stay to see if she untied her employer. She slipped into the garden and walked down the slate path, though she wanted to run as fast as she could.

The sun had nearly set, and the shadows covered the small back passage, which smelled bad. The alley was even worse. A large pile of horse manure and straw steamed just outside the gate, and she almost fell on the slippery cobblestones as she made her way toward the street.

Peter slept on. She gazed down at him with relief and love.

Someone spoke her name. She gasped in alarm and clutched Peter tighter, but a second later, gave a breathy laugh of relief.

Caleb bolted down the alley toward her. “You have him. You got out.”

“You came for me.”

“Of course I did.”

“You seemed so annoyed…” she began.

“Sure. I was mad you wouldn’t let me smack that idiot over the head, but I get it. You were thinking. I wasn’t.”

Over the sound of traffic rumbling and clopping down the street and newspaper boys’ calls nearby, she heard closer shouts.

Caleb smiled. “That’ll be Sawyer and his friends visiting. I was just about to—” He stopped abruptly and frowned. “Blast it,” he muttered. “Fair warning to you, Julianna. Not all of the men Sawyer and I summoned are gentlemen.”

Three men who’d been loitering near a stable door at the corner of the alley trotted toward them. A ginger cat slinking across the cobblestones nearby froze, then clambered over a fence.