Almost a Lady (17 page)

Robert shifted his weight to another foot but held her gaze. “You said it yourself, Willow. Charlie figured out what was going on, got too close to discovering that Yvonne Xavier's killer had also murdered all of those women on the wharves.
Kyne
probably got scared and killed Charlie to protect himself. I don't think it's any more complicated than that."

Willow chewed the inside of her lip. She still had her doubts, still felt a niggling suspicion that all was not quite as simple as Robert and the police liked to think. But there was nothing she could do about it now, not with
Kyne
in custody and Chatham being questioned—and most likely released.

"I guess we should just be grateful there won't be any more killings,” she said softly.
Even if she wasn't completely satisfied with the guilt of their prisoner—or the innocence of his employer.

"As far as the police are concerned,” Robert put in, “they have their killer. Virgil Chatham will be sent home as soon as they're confident he's told them all he can about
Outram
Kyne
."

That should have made her happy. It didn't. But she sighed, gave a cursory lift of her shoulders, and turned to walk away. “At least it's over,” she said to no one in particular.

"Is this yours, or was it here when we arrived?"

Willow looked up to see Brandt holding a leather-bound book. She didn't recognize the volume. “It must have been here when we arrived."

They were in the process of packing to leave the Xavier house, now that their investigation was officially over. It made her a little sad and she wasn't sure why. Possibly because she still had a nagging feeling that all was not right with the
Outram
Kyne
situation. But more likely—and she was loathe to admit this, even to herself—it was because this was where she and Brandt had begun . . . whatever it was they shared.
A relationship?
A love affair?
A friendship?

Perhaps a little of each.
And she couldn't help but worry that once they left this house, this room—this room that had become
their
room—whatever it was they shared would all be over.

Not that she cared, she reminded herself with an intentional straightening of her spine. As she'd told Brandt, she wasn't interested in marriage or anything remotely similar. But she couldn't help hoping that their relationship would continue.

Only upon occasion, since Brandt would be returning to Boston now that their assignment was finished. But perhaps he would return to
New York
on business once or twice, and if she was also in town, they could get together. Maybe she would even be sent to Boston for the Agency and could drop in to see him.

She glanced at Brandt out of the corner of her eye as she folded a lacy lisle chemise. He hadn't said anything about what would happen between them after they moved out of the Xavier household. She wondered if he'd given it any thought, or even cared.

Right now, he only seemed to care about making all of his belongings fit into his single valise. Willow, on the other hand, needed a trunk and several bags for all the things she'd brought, as well as those Mrs. Xavier had thrust upon her during their stay. She would have to store some of them at the Pinkerton offices, since she couldn't possibly travel with this many parcels.

Mary Xavier chose that moment to breeze through the open doorway. “Mrs.
Hullpepper
has some of your laundry downstairs, fresh and clean,” she told Brandt. “You can go down for it, if you like, or I can have it sent up."

Willow saw him scowl, probably contemplating how he would get anything more stuffed into his small, well-worn carpetbag. Without a word, he moved past Mrs. Xavier and out of the room to retrieve his things.

"Oh, I can't believe you're leaving so soon,” Mary said sadly. “I've so enjoyed having you."

"Thank you,” Willow returned with a smile. “We've appreciated your hospitality."

"It's been our pleasure. And thank you again for all you did to catch that horrible man.” Her voice softened and her eyes misted at the mention of her daughter's killer.
Or perhaps simply at the thought of her daughter.

"Oh, I nearly forgot.” She pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of her dress and held it out to Willow. This came for you not an hour ago."

Willow took the note and unfolded it, quickly reading the wired telegram.
“Oh, no.”
She felt all the blood rush out of her head, felt herself sway,
felt
her heart lurch in panic.

Grabbing an already packed valise from the floor at her feet, she gathered only a few more articles before heading past Mrs. Xavier for the door.

"My dear, where are you going?"

Willow barely registered Mary's concern. Her mind spun in a thousand directions at once as she raced into the hall and down the wide, carpeted stairs. Mrs. Xavier followed close behind, repeating her question, frantically trying to get an answer.

"I have to go. I have to leave,” Willow mumbled as she threw open the front door and raced down the steps. “My brother needs me."

"What do you mean
she's gone?
” Brandt bellowed. They stood in the foyer, where Brandt, carrying a pile of newly laundered clothes, had come upon Mrs. Xavier staring out the open door after Willow's sudden disappearance.

The woman wrung her hands, anxiety causing the lines of her face to run deeper than usual. “I don't know what happened. I handed her the telegram she'd received and she read it and ran out of the house."

Brandt's fingers tightened on the fabric of his starched, folded shirts. “Did she say anything? Did she say why she was leaving, or where she was going?"

Mary shook her head, eyes frantic. “She only said that she had to leave.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “And I believe she mentioned her brother. I didn't know she had a brother."

Brandt did, but he thought the young man was missing. How was it that Willow had suddenly found him? Or was it that the telegram had contained some urgent piece of new information about her lost relation?

He shoved the pile of laundry into Mrs. Xavier's arms and headed out the door. He didn't know what was going on, but he thought he knew who would.

"You don't think she's in trouble, do you?” Mrs. Xavier called after him.

He shook his head, but in truth, he wasn't sure.
Outram
Kyne
might have been captured, but the less-than-pristine Virgil Chatham was still out there, and Brandt wasn't taking any chances.

In record time, he made it through the busy city streets and up the front steps of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. Without waiting for the secretary to announce him, he burst into Robert's office and speared him with a withering glance.

A startled Robert sat up straighter in his chair and slowly laid down the pen with which he'd been writing.

"Where is she?” Brandt charged.

"Where is who? And who gave you the right to break into my office like this?"

With his color rising and annoyance clear on his face, Robert rose to his feet to meet Brandt eye-to-eye. They would be nose-to-nose in a minute if Robert didn't start giving him the answers he sought.

"Willow is missing. She received a wire at the
Xaviers
’ and has disappeared, and I suspect you know exactly where she is."

"I don't know what you're talking about,” Robert replied calmly. But Brandt didn't miss the slight shift in his posture.

Brandt lowered his voice to an intimidating pitch and spoke each word slowly, so as not to be misunderstood. “I'm not a patient man, Robert, especially when it comes to Willow. And I'm afraid that if you don't tell me where she is—within the next ten seconds, mind you—I'll have to put you through that wall.” He nodded his head in the direction of the hardwood panel behind Robert's upright frame.

He expected Robert to balk, to take exception at being spoken to in such a manner, as he'd taken exception to having his office door kicked in, and Brandt was prepared to deal with that, too. He was prepared to deal with anything if it would only help him find Willow. But instead, Robert's gaze darted to the side, as though trying to decide whether or not to reveal what he knew.

"She mentioned her brother,” Brandt prompted. “I know he's missing and that she's been looking for him for several years. If anyone knows where he is—and where she's gone—it's you.” A sudden thought entered his head and he blurted it out. “Knowing how much Willow travels for the Agency, I suspect that any information or correspondence would come through this office. Through you,” he added pointedly.

Robert's cheeks reddened and Brandt knew he'd hit a nerve. “The wire she received . . . You sent it to her at the Xavier home, didn't you?"

With obvious reluctance, Robert nodded. “It's not exactly as you think,” he began. “Willow does have a brother, but he's not missing. And he's not as old as she lets on. Erik—"

"Erik? She told me her brother's name was Jeremy."

"Yes, well, the missing brother story is one she uses often in her work, and it wouldn't do to bandy about his real name, for safety's sake. Erik is only twelve years old. He was born when Willow was already practically grown, and with some problems that make it hard for her to keep him with her."

"Problems?”
Brandt asked, still trying to absorb the fact that she had a brother much younger than he'd believed.

"Yes. He's slower than other children his age and has certain . . . mental deficiencies. Willow has taken care of him since her parents died several years ago, and although I know she'd much prefer to have him with her, that's just not possible in this line of work. He stays with a pleasant farm family outside Gettysburg,
Pennsylvania
."

"Then why did Willow take off so suddenly this afternoon?"

"A wire arrived here at the office saying that Erik has fallen ill. It must be serious or the Nelsons wouldn't have felt the need to worry Willow. I sent the telegram over as soon as I saw it, and I assume that's where she's headed."

Brandt leaned forward to slide a blank piece of paper over the desktop toward Robert. “This farm in
Pennsylvania
. . .” he said in a tone that brooked no arguments. “I'll want directions."

Willow
dipped the square of cloth into the bowl of cool water once again and mopped Erik's brow. His fever was coming down, thank God, and he hadn't emptied his stomach since she'd arrived, even though Mrs. Nelson said he'd been vomiting for days.

Everyone's biggest fear was that her brother had contracted cholera, since the nearby town had suffered an outbreak only a month before. But now that it didn't seem he was developing any of the more serious symptoms of that disease, and his fever had begun to lower, they were a little more confident that Erik would recover. Even the doctor, who had left less than half an hour earlier, hadn't seemed terribly worried. He'd given them a list of things to watch for and offered to return if he was needed, but had otherwise felt that Erik's fever would break and he would soon be back to his active, everyday self.

As much as Willow wanted Erik to awaken feeling fit, that prospect was daunting. Her brother, when healthy, was a whir of motion. She didn't know how Mr. and Mrs. Nelson kept up with him, she was only glad they did. They were good to Erik and treated him like one of their own.

She wiped his brow again and silently promised that she would bring him to live with her as soon as she could. It was the same promise she made each time she left after a short visit. And one of these days, she would keep it.

Until she was on the train headed here, frightened beyond reason that she might lose him, she hadn't realized how very much she missed her brother, how much she wanted him to live with her. It stiffened her resolve to build her savings and find a place for the both of them to live.
Soon
.

In fact, directly after she got back to
New York
, she would talk to Robert. Explain that she needed to establish a permanent residence rather than staying in assorted hotel rooms even when she was back in the city. Ask him to give her more assignments that would keep her close to home. She could hire someone to stay with Erik when she had to be away, but she would much prefer to simply work within the area and never be as far from him as she had been these past several years. She would also ask Robert to give her less risky duties, ones that were unlikely to have dangerous repercussions or lead the criminal element back to her brother.

There were other details to take care of, other things to think through, but Willow knew this was the right move. She and Erik had been apart long enough.

Erik mumbled in his sleep, and she brushed strands of light brown hair off his damp forehead. Then she leaned forward to kiss his brow. “You'll be fine,” she whispered.
“Just fine."

She was alone in the house, except for Erik, but heard Mrs. Nelson's voice carrying from outside. Mr. Nelson had ridden off for the fields only a few hours ago, so Mrs. Nelson couldn't be talking to him.
Unless something was wrong.
But in that case, she thought the woman's voice would sound less calm.

Rising from the edge of Erik's small bed, she stretched her stiff spine and moved through the sparse kitchen to the front door. She heard a man's voice now and became even more curious. Not that it was unlikely for neighbors to drop by, but Mrs. Nelson had told her people were keeping their distance because of the cholera scare.

She opened the door and stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine. And then her feet froze. Her body continued its forward motion, however, and threw her off balance so that she stumbled for a moment before catching herself and drawing to a stop.

"Brandt,” she breathed, amazed that she could utter a sound with her lungs totally devoid of oxygen.

He stood beside Mrs. Nelson, his faded carpetbag hanging in one hand. Mrs. Nelson had a smile on her face, while Brandt's seemed curiously blank. She hadn't expected him to be surprised, considering he'd come all this way and had no reason to be here unless he'd followed her.

What she expected, she supposed, was anger.
And rightfully so.
She'd taken off with no warning, leaving no clue of where she was headed. But even though she'd known he would be upset, she hadn't thought he'd
follow
her.

"Aren't you going to say hello?” he asked. The question sounded simple. It was anything but.

Not sure her vocal chords would comply, she opened her mouth to respond, but before any sound came out, Mrs. Nelson spoke.

"Isn't it nice of your friend, here, to come all the way from New York City to check on you? He says your Robert Pinkerton and some others were concerned about your safety. You know, a woman traveling alone and all."

Willow forced a smile. “Yes, that's very nice of him.” Her gaze moved to Brandt, and even though her tongue wanted to trip over the words, she made herself say, “Thank you."

Brandt nodded, but she could tell he wanted to say more, chastise her for her actions. “How's Erik?” he asked instead.

Her mind stuttered to a stop. How did he know Erik's name? How did he know that was why she'd come here? She recalled Mrs. Nelson's earlier words and the answer came to her in a flash of realization: Robert.

"I see Robert told you why I had to leave the city on such short notice.” Just how much had Robert divulged?

"Yes.” Brandt's eyes fixed on hers, daring her to break the connection. “He told me everything."

Everything.
The words fell over her with the impact of a ten-ton weight.

"How is your brother?” he asked again. “Is he all right?"

She inclined her head and swallowed to wet her exceedingly dry mouth and throat. “He's much better,” she told him. “We think he's going to be fine."

"We feared at first it was the cholera,” Mrs. Nelson added as she retrieved the earlier dropped vegetable basket from the ground at her feet. “But the doc was just here and said it don't look like he's got the cholera after all. His fever's coming down already. ‘Course, that's probably because Willow
ain't
left his side since she got here. She plain dotes on that boy when she's around, and he's plumb crazy ‘bout her."

Willow tried to smile, but the expression was grim. She hadn't forgotten that she'd led Brandt to believe her brother's name was
Jeremy, that
he was grown and had disappeared. She wondered how long Brandt would wait to corner and interrogate her about the lies.

"Would you care to come in and see for
yerself
?” Mrs. Nelson offered.

And of course he agreed. A pleased grin lifted the sides of his mouth and he gave Willow a smug look as he followed Mrs. Nelson into the small, clapboard house.

Willow clenched her teeth in frustration. She hadn't meant to deceive him by leaving
New York
that way, but she honestly hadn't given him any thought. From the moment she'd read that telegram, Erik and his uncertain health had been the only thing on her mind. She'd have gladly explained everything—within reason, of course—as soon as she returned.

Except that he'd tracked her down and now she would have to face him much sooner than she'd planned. With a weary sigh, she walked into the house after Brandt and Mrs. Nelson.

They were standing in the threshold of Erik's room, watching the boy as he slept. Pushing past them—because she was just the teeniest bit annoyed—she lowered herself beside her brother and took up bathing his face and neck once again.

She put the back of her hand to his brow and waited for the searing heat to seep through her skin. Instead, there was only
a slightly
abnormal warmth, a sign that he was getting better by the minute.

Relief washed through her. “He feels cooler,” she said aloud, partially to the two people behind her, but mostly to herself.

"
Erik'll
be hungry when he wakes up. I'll start some of my beef stew and biscuits. That's one of his favorites."

"Good idea,” Brandt said, those two simple words filled with meaning. “That will give Willow and me a chance to talk."

When she turned to look, his gaze was determined, his face set in stone, telling her that she was in trouble. He expected answers.