Haunting Jordan (26 page)

Mona inclined her head. “Of course.” Turning to the coachman, she ordered him to wait for her in the carriage.

They descended the stairs, Hattie motioning for Mona to precede her into the small, comfortably furnished room in which Sara kept a fire lit most evenings. Moving to a side table that held a tray of crystal glasses
and a decanter, she poured Mona a glass of sherry. Hattie indicated they should sit in the two Murphy rocking chairs in front of the fireplace.

“Now, tell me everything you know,” Hattie said. “Where did you find Frank? Did anyone witness the attack?”

“My butler found him in back of our house around midafternoon.” Mona adjusted the skirts of her brocade gown, then leaned back in the rocker, her beringed fingers gently tapping on the rocker’s arm. “Booth asked the merchants in the immediate vicinity, but no one admitted to hearing or seeing anything unusual.”

“Could Frank have been beaten in a different location, then dumped at your establishment?”

Mona frowned as she lifted her glass from the small table between them and took a sip of sherry. “Possibly, yes. It does make sense that Frank would’ve been attacked on the wharf—he rarely comes to our block during the day.”

“And an alley sees less traffic, thus ensuring that it would’ve taken longer for someone to discover him.”

“Yes.”

So whoever had beaten him had possibly meant for him to die of his injuries, Hattie surmised. “Do you employ anyone who could ask around the wharf without raising too much suspicion? I would like to know anything he can discover about the attack—the number of people involved, whether any of them were recognized. I might be able to track them based on their employment to the person who ordered the attack.”

“Booth can make inquiries, yes, but to what end?”
Mona turned concerned eyes on her. “I would strongly advise that you not pursue this—to do so could be very dangerous.”

“But I must know whether this attack is related to my business,” Hattie insisted, then voiced her deepest fear. “And what of the possibility that Frank doesn’t recover?”

“If the worst happens, then you’ll send word and I’ll make plans to remove his body to a location where it will be discovered by the authorities,” Mona replied. “One more body, discovered on the waterfront, will be of no consequence. When you report this to Greeley, do not tell him of Frank’s whereabouts until we can be certain he will recover. You must protect yourself from falling under suspicion in the event that Frank dies.”

Hattie shuddered, though she knew Mona was only being pragmatic.

“Your physician will be discreet?” Mona pressed.

During Hattie’s past interactions with Willoughby, she’d found him to be rather proper, with a grandfatherly manner. He and Charles had been acquaintances though not close friends. “Dr. Willoughby is likely to believe Frank’s presence in my house is inappropriate.”

“Can his silence be bought?” Mona asked bluntly.

Hattie thought about the stacks of cash in the library. If need be, she would use that cash to ensure Frank’s safety. “I’ll double his usual fee in return for a promise of discretion.”

“Then we’ll hope for the best. As soon as Frank can be safely moved to the Green Light, contact me and I will return for him.”

Hattie nodded, then hesitated. “I’d like to ask you about comments you made the night of the fire, if I may?” When Mona showed no signs of objection—other than a slight return of wariness in her expression—Hattie continued. “You indicated that my husband, Charles, wasn’t a nice man. Precisely what did you mean by that?”

Mona studied her in silence, then seemed to come to a decision. “He beat one of my girls so bad she couldn’t work for weeks.”

Hattie swallowed, chilled despite the blazing fire. “You’re certain? I can’t believe—Charles would
never
have treated a woman that way!”

“You mean he wouldn’t have treated
you
that way, and you’d be right. He saved his more savage appetites for my girls.” Mona leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Remember the young girl who brought you the blankets the night of the fire? The one who was so timid in your presence? You must have noticed the freshly healed cuts and burns on her face and arms.”

At Hattie’s reluctant nod, Mona continued. “Charles and his man, Clive Johnson, asked to share Isobel one evening. At that time, Isobel was relatively new to the trade, and she still retained an air of fragile innocence that appealed to many of my customers. Of course, I agreed to Charles’s request.”

Hattie’s eyes widened. “You mean, two men with one woman, at the same time?”

Mona looked momentarily amused. “We don’t place limits on the sexual practices of our customers. My girls
are trained to accept and enjoy all our customers’ predilections, no matter how unusual.”

“Of course,” Hattie said faintly.

She’d heard the girls in the Boston clinic giggle about odd requests from their customers, but she had no firsthand knowledge of such things. The fact that her husband had participated in them stunned her. Though now that she thought about it, many of the young men in town visited the brothels, and perhaps this was part of the allure.

“This wasn’t the first time Charles had brought along his business manager for a ménage, of course.” Each of Mona’s words fell like a blow. “And though I’d had to warn him once in the past when he’d gotten overly rough, he’d been more circumspect since then, so I wasn’t concerned. But this time he and Johnson went too far.” Mona stopped for a moment, then shook her head. “If another girl hadn’t heard Isobel’s screams and come to find me, I’ve no doubt Isobel would’ve been killed.”

Hattie’s breathing had become shallow, and there was a faint roaring in her ears. Unable to remain seated, she rose and walked to the window that looked down on the front garden.

The picture Mona drew was one she could hardly fathom. It bespoke of a casual cruelty in her husband of which she’d seen no evidence during their short marriage. Though he’d been cold and distant, she couldn’t relate Mona’s words to the man she’d known. She now understood why Frank had refused to give her details.

“I can’t …” She stumbled to a halt, unsure of what she meant to say, then pressed a hand to her stomach.

“If a man beats on me or my girls, he’s not invited back,” Mona continued, seemingly unaware of the depth of her distress. “I had Booth throw them both out. Clive Johnson is no longer welcome at my establishment.”

Mona drank the last of her sherry and placed the empty glass on the table. “Why do you ask about the incident? Is what happened to Isobel related to what Frank was making inquiries about?”

Hattie thought once again about the cash in the library safe, and about the rumors of the white slave trade. But until she established a connection to Longren Shipping, she had to assume the two matters were unrelated. “No, it was another matter entirely. I simply wanted to know the truth about Charles’s visits to the Green Light. You are not the only person to insinuate that Charles had unhealthy appetites.” Hattie shook her head, her mind still reeling. “It seems I didn’t know my husband at all.”

Mona didn’t offer sympathy, for which Hattie was grateful.

“Do you think Clive Johnson was behind this attack on Frank?” Mona asked instead.

“Possibly,” Hattie conceded. “Though I think it equally likely that Michael Seavey ordered the beating—he visited me two days ago to warn me off.”

Mona frowned.

“Hattie?”

Hattie jerked around to find Charlotte hovering at the door to the parlor, her eyes wide and questioning. Dear
God, how much of the conversation with Mona had Charlotte heard?

“Dr. Willoughby is on his way?” Hattie managed to ask calmly. At Charlotte’s nod, she turned to Tabitha, who stood behind Charlotte. “Tabitha, please accompany Miss Charlotte to her room and stay with her until I come for you both, is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Charlotte glanced nervously at Mona. “But … we saw someone carry a man up to the attic. That man who visited you that day in the library.”

“Not now, Charlotte. I will explain as soon as I am able.”

Charlotte nodded, for once not arguing, then turned to Mona. “Thank you for the beautiful fabric, Mrs. Starr.”

Mona smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear.” Charlotte curtsied and left, and Mona said to Hattie, “A charming girl. It would be a shame to see her put at risk because of this business.”

“Yes.”

Mona stood. “It’s best that I leave before the physician arrives—it wouldn’t do to have him notice my carriage. And the longer I linger, the more likely it is that a neighbor could note my presence.”

Hattie sighed. “You’re right, though I don’t like the thought that either of us would be judged for our actions this evening.”

Hattie showed Mona down the stairs and out through the kitchen.

Mona turned, her hand on the back doorknob. “Frank
wouldn’t want it known that this has happened, and I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t have wanted me to involve you. If I’d had any other alternative—”

“You made the right decision,” Hattie assured her firmly. “I’ll send word as soon as I know what his condition is.”

Mona continued to hesitate. “And I will send communication of any information I am able to uncover regarding his attack. But please, don’t try to deal with whoever did this on your own.”

“I will take every precaution,” Hattie agreed.

Mona’s expression indicated that she’d caught Hattie’s prevarication, but she didn’t pursue the subject. “As soon as I return to the waterfront, I’ll send one of my men to stand guard.”

“Do you believe that’s necessary?”

“Yes, I do. And don’t worry, he’ll be invisible—your neighbors won’t know he’s around.”

“Very well.” Secretly, Hattie was relieved to know someone would be watching out for them, and for Frank. “I am in your debt.”

“Just take care of Frank—he’s one of our own. We wouldn’t want to lose him.”

Shutting the door behind Mona, Hattie took the water and clean cloths Sara was holding. “I’ve left Mr. Lewis longer than is wise. Please bring Dr. Willoughby up when he arrives.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hattie climbed the stairs to the attic, pausing just inside the door.

Frank lay where the coachman had left him, still unconscious. He must have shifted while she’d been talking to Mona, because one foot had fallen to the side, dangling off the edge of the cot.

Laying a hand on his brow, she was startled by the heat she felt there. Surely a fever was a sign that his body was trying to heal? She gently brushed the hair off his forehead, as she’d wanted to do yesterday in the library, though this time her reason was to pull the hair away from the bloody cuts and bruises covering his face.

One eye had already blackened, and two long gashes—perhaps made by the steel toe of a boot, she realized, shuddering—ran across his forehead and down his left jaw. His nose was bent and badly swollen along the right side, indicating it had been broken. Yet even as battered as he was, the strength of his character was apparent in the uncompromising line of his jaw and squared-off chin. Her gaze traveled down his body, noting that the knuckles of both hands were split and smeared with dried blood, indicating how hard he’d fought back.

“Who did this to you?” she murmured.

She sank into the chair Sara had set beside the cot. How could she have let this happen?

Tears burned behind her eyes. She’d seen far worse in the Boston clinic, she reminded herself, and she’d be no good to him unless she could keep her emotions in check.

Unlacing his work boots, she gently pulled them off, setting them on the floor at the foot of the bed. Fetching a pair of sewing scissors, she carefully cut away his shirt,
revealing a broad, muscular chest marred with reddish-black and purple splotches along his ribs.

She was contemplating whether to leave the removal of his pants to Dr. Willoughby when Sara entered with a second basin of cool water. “I thought if you kept cold compresses on his bruises, it would ease the pain a bit.”

Hattie smiled at her. “Thank you, Sara. As soon as Willoughby arrives, please do me the favor of keeping a close eye on the girls. Don’t allow Charlotte or Tabitha to come up here. Explain as little to them as you can—I will deal with their questions once we know more of Mr. Lewis’s condition.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She hesitated. “Do you think he’ll recover?”

“I pray to God that he does.”

Hattie closed the door behind Sara as much as she dared, to discourage the girls’ curiosity. Then she drew a chair and table over next to the bed. Wetting a cloth in warm water, she began the process of gently cleaning the blood off Frank’s face, hands, and torso, biting her lip each time he moaned. As she worked, the anger that had begun to build within her earlier grew into a burning rage.

* * *

W
HEN
Dr. Willoughby arrived, Hattie retreated once more to the second-floor parlor, to await word of his diagnosis. After an agonizingly long hour, the portly, middle-aged
physician knocked on the door. She bade him enter, rising to fix him a glass of his favorite brandy.

He lowered his bulk into the Murphy rocker next to her with a sigh, his face lined with exhaustion.

“How is he?” Hattie perched on the edge of her chair, handing the doctor his drink.

He accepted with a nod of thanks. “That young man sustained a hell of a beating—pardon my language. I’d like to personally thrash the men who did it.”

“So there was more than one attacker?”

“I found evidence of at least three.” Hattie swallowed her outrage, allowing him to continue. “One man couldn’t have overpowered a man of his size. He was surprised from behind, I would guess, by the initial blow to the back of his head, which would have stunned him. After that, he wouldn’t have been able to protect himself, though it seems he tried.” The physician paused to take a gulp of brandy. “I can see no evidence of compression of the brain, so in that respect, he is lucky. His features remain even and do not slacken to one side, and his pupils are dilated evenly. I suspect, since he continues to sleep so deeply, that he has sustained a concussion. Do you know how long he has been unconscious?”