Kissing Comfort (21 page)

Bode held up his hands, palms out. “No, sir. Not for twenty dollars.” In the event they misunderstood and thought he had a price, he added, “Not for all the tea in China.”

Disappointed, Newt sat back down and put the money away.

Bode's glance darted between the two men. “I don't understand. If you suspected she would make the trip to my office, why didn't you make some effort to stop her?”

Tuck tugged lightly on his earlobe, his narrow features thoughtful. “Frankly, we didn't discuss it until we were here, and you saw for yourself that I lost a bet because I depended on her to show more sense. Newt gauged her worry better than I did.”

Newt slid his hands along the arms of his chair. His fingers curved around the ends. “We both figured that if I was right, we could count on you to look after her. Seems we could.”

Tuck nodded. “I don't know that we would have felt that way if we hadn't seen you with Comfort last night, but you were gentle with her, and a gentleman.”

Bode was certain he didn't deserve their unconditional trust, but he wasn't going tell them about kissing their niece to illustrate the point.

“And we noticed you didn't annoy her,” Newt said. “Least-ways not so much that she put you on your backside again.”

Bode couldn't have imagined that he'd be grateful for that reminder, but it was helpful in pushing the kiss from the forefront of his thoughts. Evenly, he said, “So you saw what she did while we were dancing?”

“I didn't,” Newt told him. “Tuck did. He told me. Comfort said she had cause. Did she?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Well, now you know. She does all right looking after herself, although we've never known her to do what she did to you outside of a lesson with Chin Fong.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the chair. “We'd appreciate it, though, if you didn't let that become fodder for a good story.”

Bode's smile was faintly ironic. “It's only a good story if she tells it. I wasn't the one left standing.”

“True.” Sitting back, Newton crossed his legs. His slight smile faded as he set his arms across his chest. “Tuck and I want to know what you caught and returned to that fellow last night.”

“It was a tin. Red and white. I told Miss Kennedy the same thing.”

“How did she accept it?” asked Tuck.

“With difficulty. She believed me . . . believed what you told her . . . but she can't remember it any differently than she does. She still sees a glove.”

Both men sighed audibly. Neither spoke.

Bode breached the silence. “It's confusing to her.”

Newt nodded. “It's confusing to us.”

“I understand. I can't explain it, and neither can she.”

Tucker pushed back his chair, rose, and went to the door to close it. He didn't return immediately to his desk. He crossed the room to the safe. Bending in front of it, he carefully turned the dial, and then twisted the handle. He withdrew a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. He held them up so Bode could see. “You'll join us?”

Bode nodded. “That's a Hildesheim safe, isn't it?”

“Yes? You're familiar with them?”

“Not them,” he said. “That one specifically, I think.”

“Huh.” Tucker used the heel of his shoe to shut the safe's door. “Comfort told you about it, did she?”

“Yes.”

Tuck set the glasses on his desk and poured a couple of fingers in each. “I don't know that she's ever told anyone how we came by that safe. Surprises me some that she told you.” He distributed the drinks and sat down again. “What else did she say?”

Bode understood that they needed to hear it from him. They would be naturally cautious about telling him anything that Comfort didn't want him to know. He wasn't confident they'd answer questions that she hadn't. “I think you will agree that she was extraordinarily candid,” he said, and then proceeded to recount what Comfort had shared.

Tuck and Newt listened without comment. When Bode finished, their glasses were empty and his was hardly touched. He sipped his whiskey while they continued to think about what they'd heard. It was Newt who finally stepped into the silence.

“It seems she
was
candid,” he said in a manner that indicated he accepted it. “Do you know, last night was the first time in years that the three of us—Comfort, Tuck, and me, I mean—talked about anything connected to the night we found her. Seemed to Tuck and me that she went east to college and came back with it all settled in her mind.”

“You're aware she still has nightmares, though.” Bode was uncertain what the look that passed between them meant. He thought they might have been surprised that
he
knew about her dreams, but then Tuck reached for the whiskey bottle and tipped it ever so slightly over his glass. Bode watched him add a splash to his tumbler and then pass the bottle to Newt to do the same. “You didn't know,” he said. “Neither of you.”

Tuck shook his head. “Not a word from her. Best of my recollection is that she was quiet about them for a couple of years before she went to Oberlin.” He lifted his glass and used it to point to Newt. “She was, what? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen. Just before the coming-out party, remember?”

“That's right. Sixteen, then.” He addressed Bode again. “That's the last time she said anything.”

Newt continued the explanation. “She was a real Nervous Nellie about the party. Didn't want any part of it and told us so, but my sisters said it was the proper thing to do to bring a young lady out in society, and Tuck and I made up our minds we would do it. As the day got closer, we began to notice that her sleep was more troubled. The night before her come-out, she had such a spell that we decided that no introduction to society was worth putting her through so much hurt.” He shrugged. “She talked us out of canceling the party, didn't she, Tuck?”

Contemplating the drink he poured, Tuck nodded slowly. “She sure did. And naturally, we thought we'd done right all around because we never heard anything after that.”

“We didn't just accept her silence,” said Newt. “We'd ask her about it from time to time. She led us to believe the nightmares were gone. Of course, growing up, she never remembered what they were about. Tuck and I always figured we knew, but she couldn't tell us. After her come-out, she didn't say another word. Maybe we should have been more suspicious.” He rolled his glass between his palms. “It's the damndest thing to think about it now, but back then we thought it had something to do with Bram.”

“Bram?” asked Bode. “Why would you think that?”

“She met him at the party,” Tuck explained. “And he showed a particular interest in her. You must have seen it. You were there, remember?”

Bode gave no indication that he did.

Tuck went on, watching Bode closely. “Of course, Bram danced with her; you didn't. If recollection serves, he asked her more than once. We both remarked that the only time she seemed to genuinely enjoy herself was when he was close by. He could make her laugh, and that counted for something.”

Newt nodded. “Bram, being Bram and all, well, we didn't figure that he'd remember Comfort the next day, let alone pay a call. He was just a boy full of wildness then, so we—” Newt abruptly stopped as he realized that he was talking to the wild boy's older brother. “No disrespect meant, Bode, but that's how it was.”

“I understand,” Bode said. Bram was not significantly changed from that boy, and they all knew it. Newton Prescott was showing restraint by not pointing that out.

Newt went on. “So we paid as much attention to him as he was paying to Comfort, but best as we could reckon, he was good company for her. We knew her feelings were attached, but—” He broke off again, this time in response to Tuck shaking his head. “Well, I don't suppose she'd want me to be saying anything about that.” He shrugged. “What's more important is that they became friends. Stayed that way, too.”

Tuck rested his chin on his fist. “I don't know what to make of what you're telling us now. Seems we credited Bram with more influence than was rightly his due, but that's because we wanted to believe our girl was doing better. She just got real quiet about all the bad that was still going on inside her. That's something she chose to do on her own. We probably should be careful about thinking Bram's responsible for that.”

Bode wanted to knock back what remained of his drink. Instead he set it on his knee and turned the tumbler slowly, hoping the gesture appeared more absent or thoughtful than it was. “No, you're right. Bram's not responsible.” Bode decided he'd let them put whatever construction they liked on his statement. “And Miss Kennedy's not entirely honest. That makes for a fragile friendship, I think, and for an even more fragile marriage.”

Tuck and Newt were careful not to exchange glances. It was now clear to them that while Comfort had revealed a great deal to Bode in relation to the red-and-white tin, she'd told him nothing about the engagement being false. Her omission made it awkward to defend her against Bode's charge that she was not entirely honest, and pointing out that no person was
entirely
honest was inadequate justification for her behavior.

Tuck shifted all six feet of his rangy frame as he settled back in his chair. “This is the first I'm getting wind of any concerns about the engagement from a DeLong. Does Alexandra feel the same?”

“I have no plans to discuss this with her. I also won't be sharing any part of my conversation with Miss Kennedy with my brother. It's her place to do that. More than that, her acceptance of his proposal makes it her responsibility. I hope you will persuade her to be forthright with Bram.”

“You can be confident that Newt and I will be having a conversation with her,” said Tuck. “Whether she is persuaded by anything we have to say is something else again.” He tilted his head to the side, his expression more considering than it had been. “Of course, you're welcome to tell Comfort yourself that she has a responsibility to Bram. It would be interesting to see how that turns out.”

Bode knew when he was being baited. He left what Tuck was dangling on the hook and sipped his drink instead.

Newt clasped his hands and rested them on his chest. He tapped his thumbs. “What makes you so certain Comfort's still having nightmares? Did she tell you she was?”

“I observed it.”

“You probably should explain that, 'cause from where I'm sitting, it doesn't sound quite right.”

Bode told them about Comfort falling asleep in the parlor the evening of Bram's accident. “She denied she remembered anything about the dream.”

Newt nodded. “That's true. She's never been able to recall what they're about.”

Tuck caught the fractional lift of Bode's brow. “Wait a minute, Newt. I think Bode has a different idea about that. Is that right, Bode?”

Bode's gaze encompassed both men. “She remembers. She admitted as much. Talking about what she remembers doesn't seem possible for her. And I wouldn't suppose that she remembers all of what she dreams or even that what she dreams is an accurate account of anything that happened before you found her. It's tempting to say her nightmares are about the robbery and murders, but do you really know that?”

In unison, Tucker and Newt shook their heads.

“I don't know it either. What she told me was that she wakes up thirsty. She described it as having swallowed a mouthful of sand. It struck me that it might have something to do with the lozenges, but I couldn't walk softly enough on those eggshells to keep Miss Kennedy from hearing me.”

“We know the feeling,” said Tuck.

“There's one last thing,” Bode said, and he told them the circumstances around Comfort fainting a second time.

Newton's cheeks puffed as he blew out a long breath. “I can't make any sense of it. You say it happened when you were telling her about that gentleman thanking you?”

“That's right. I don't know how you recall what happened last night, but I don't think she fainted until he turned to thank me.”

“So she recognized him?”

Bode shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe. She couldn't explain it.”

“Or wouldn't,” said Tuck. “I'm entertaining doubts about which it is.”

“What did he say?” Newt asked Bode. “Exactly.”

“I don't remember exactly. I recall the gist.” He repeated it as best he could, but no one, including him, was enlightened by his recitation. He removed the tumbler from his knee and set it on the corner of Tuck's desk. “If it's agreeable to you, I'd like to make some inquiries and discover what I can about the gentleman who dropped the tin. It shouldn't be difficult to find out who he is, but I'm not confident that it will come to anything when I do.”

“Every stone needs turning over.” Tuck looked at Newt. “You agree with that?”

“I do. Comfort won't.”

“I'm not asking her permission,” said Bode, getting to his feet. “I'm asking yours.”

Newt pushed back his chair and stood. He held out a hand to Bode. “You have it.”

Bode clasped his hand. They shook. Tuck rose a moment later, and the ritual was repeated. “Gentlemen.” He nodded to each in turn. “Good day.”

 

 

Comfort stood outside her uncles' study for a full minute before she entered. She was tempted to press her ear against the door as she'd often done as a young girl when summoned to this room. Being called to their study didn't necessarily mean that she'd done something wrong and that a scold was imminent, although that certainly happened now and again. More often she was asked to sit here with Newt and Tuck when they wanted to tell her something they'd decided was
significant.
The emphasis was hers.