Powder of Sin (19 page)

“If I gotta be, sure.”

Miss Renshaw giggled. A good sign. Not normal
behavior, but good. “Such a curious answer.” She sounded coy.

“For you, Miss Renshaw, I’ll go to church every
dam—dag-gummed week.”

“Oh, my.”

“Sure. And I’ll start next week if you promise to go
to Coney Island with me. It isn’t such top-notch entertainment as
you’re used to, I know. But lemme show you some of the sights.
Please?”

She nodded hesitantly.

He rose to his feet and turned to face Rosalie. “Can
we go right now, Miss Ambermere?” He met her startled gaze with
narrowed eyes, as if challenging her to say no, though his gravelly
voice was hesitant. “Take the rest of the day off, I mean? Jackie
the groom’ll take you wherever you want, ma’am. I got it all
arranged.”

“Dear me,” Miss Renshaw said. “It’s quite a
distance. We’d be gone all the rest of the day.”

“Don’t you worry, miss. I got it all planned out.”
He still watched Rosalie. “I’ll have her back here by five. I
promise, miss.”

“It’s not my day off, Mr. Hawes.” Miss Renshaw
looked at Rosalie with wide, expectant eyes, but her message wasn’t
as clear as Hawes’s. Eagerness? Or perhaps it was fear.

Rosalie gave up trying to guess and said, “Please,
take the rest of the day off, Miss Renshaw. You’ve been, ah, under
the weather, and this will help, I’m sure. You needn’t worry about
me. If I require a companion, my mother is more than willing, and
there’s always Murphy.”

Hawes’s smile was endearing, even with several of
his back teeth missing and the rest slightly tobacco stained.
“Thanks, miss. You’re a fine lady.”

“Thank you,” Miss Renshaw echoed, and the corners of
her mouth trembled but then definitely turned up. Rosalie watched
them go, wondering what had changed Miss Renshaw and given her
something almost like resolution.

It wasn’t until ten minutes later, as she checked
Cook’s menu for the dinner party her mother had planned, that she
remembered the handkerchief.

Mr. Reed had held a handkerchief as he’d picked up
the box containing the horrible stuff to put it inside her
hatbox—the box that he’d then given to Hawes. Rosalie tapped the
table absently with the pencil. She was far too suspicious. That
was what this powder had done to her.

She quickly went up the stairs. “Miss Renshaw,” she
called through the door. “I hope you don’t mind if Murphy and I
accompany you and Mr. Hawes on your expedition? In all this time,
I’ve never been to Coney Island.”

“Oh Miss Ambermere, how jolly,” Miss Renshaw said.
“I shall tell Mr. Hawes.”

Rosalie was relieved. Miss Renshaw didn’t sound her
usual self, yet she didn’t mind an escort.

She summoned her maid and went to change her gown
into something less elaborate and more comfortable. Murphy was
delighted at the coming treat. She listed all the wonderful things
they’d see.

“I think Mr. Hawes has plans,” Rosalie said.

Murphy nodded and continued her description of the
joys of the roller skating in the special park. She didn’t appear
to think it odd that they would be a party together—the servants,
the companion, and the mistress of the household. New York, Rosalie
reflected, was often more interesting than England.

The warmth seemed to mute the day. Reed stood
against a wall, drowsing, waiting for Clermont to finish with the
twin contortionists.

He and Clermont had come to Coney Island on the New
York and Sea Beach Railroad with excited families. They’d headed
straight past the grand, sprawling hotels with broad, long
pavilions and fluttering flags and a carousel and orchestras
playing “Roller Skating,” to the less savory part of the island,
where the beer halls and other dens of iniquity lay.

The young ladies were attractive. Not that this was
vitally important for Clermont. Their caretaker,
panderer—whatever—had welcomed Clermont into the cottage that lay
behind a bar, and waved good-bye to Reed.

“See yous,” the old man had said cheerily and pushed
off through the crowds in the direction of the racetrack.

So Reed waited, yawning and daydreaming about Miss
Ambermere’s kisses. Perhaps he was obsessed with the woman, because
as he watched the passing crowds, he noticed a gray-haired man who
looked exactly like her coachman.

But then he saw the lady the man walked with and
knew he wasn’t imagining things.

“Good afternoon,” he called. “How are you, Miss
Renshaw? You’re well, I hope?”

They strolled over to him, and Miss Renshaw gave a
small, shy smile. She had a glow about her and looked nothing like
a trampled companion. Was Miss Ambermere to blame for the woman’s
usual haggard look?

“Afternoon, Mr. Reed,” the coachman said, an air of
belligerence so strong that Mr. Reed wondered how he’d offended the
man.

But then he noticed the protective way Hawes touched
Miss Renshaw’s arm. Good heavens. They were there together. Reed
tried to hide his smile. Hawes might be daring the world, telling
anyone who saw them together to go on, make something of it, but
Miss Renshaw apparently didn’t notice his possessive nature. She
didn’t twitch her arm from Hawes’s light hold.

“Are you here for the sights?” he asked. “Lovely day
for a visit to the beach.” This wasn’t exactly the best part of the
beach, with the little shanties and cottages that held some fairly
shady businesses, but they were within sight of the better areas of
Coney Island.

Miss Renshaw gave a dreamy smile and looked around.
“You are so right,” she said. Reed wondered what ailed the lady,
when he noticed the groom holding out a slightly damp
handkerchief.

“This is yours. Sir,” Hawes said, still belligerent.
He glanced quickly at Miss Renshaw, whose attention had been caught
by one of the beauties luring customers into an establishment
across the way. In an open window, a bevy of women kicked and
danced on a raised stage.

“Perhaps we should go there?” she asked. “People do
seem to be enjoying themselves. It’s a concert hall.”

“Not at all the sort of place a lady like you should
go.” Hawes patted her hand. “’Sides, they got a bad business with
the waiters there. Never give you back your change.”

“Ah,” she said but didn’t look away from the female
outside the door who’d grabbed a passing man.

Reed beckoned Hawes, who reluctantly loosened his
hold on her arm. Looking up and down the walk, he took a step
closer to Reed.

In a low voice, Reed asked, “Did you somehow slip
something to this woman?”

“No, no, of course not.” But Hawes’s quick glance to
Reed’s pocket, where the handkerchief lay, told another story.

Reed gave the coachman as aggressive a look as he’d
got from the man. “Don’t lie, Hawes.”

Hawes sighed. “I knows where you put the hatbox, but
I didn’t tell anyone, I promise. I just looked inside real quick
and—and thought you might want your handkerchief back. Okay, all
right. She wiped her face on your cloth, but that’s it. I swear on
my ma’s grave. She’s just a little happy, is all. See it for
yourself? Just happy. And we didn’t come out here alone.”

Good God. No wonder the man was looking around.
There was Miss Ambermere herself walking with her maid. Miss
Ambermere wore a simple, pale pink gown, a straw hat, and a half
veil—and a look of distraction, her slightly pointed chin tilted up
as she scanned the pedestrians. She looked like a young mother
trying to keep track of small children who’d wandered off.

“Mr. Hawes, you have other females to escort,” Reed
said. “This is not a part of the island where women should walk
alone or even in pairs.”

Hawes gave him a sour look and nodded. “I got
distracted.” By love, no doubt.

Reed strode toward Miss Ambermere. At the sight of
him, she started, and then a large, sunny smile lit her face. He
held his breath. Those smiles were dangerous.

“Mr. Reed! Good day. You’re here too? What a
coincidence.” She raised her brows. “It is a coincidence, isn’t
it?”

He nodded.

Her maid trailed along behind, occasionally looking
back in the direction they’d come.

Miss Ambermere said, “Murphy discovered an organ
grinder with four monkeys, two pairs waltzing together. We stopped
to watch for a moment.” In a lower voice, she added, “And I wanted
to give Miss Renshaw and Hawes some privacy.”

Reed was astounded. She was not even slightly
niffy-naffy about the matter. He asked, “So they are, ah,
courting?”

Her smile faded slightly. “I think so.”

“Isn’t it a misalliance?” He prodded to see when her
disapproval would show.

“Yes. And heaven knows such things lead to
misery.”

He felt his body tense. After all, he and the
wealthy, aristocratic Miss Ambermere would be almost as badly
mismatched—at least in England. “Why is that?”

She brushed a bit of fluff from her skirt with a
gloved hand and didn’t look into his face. “What will they talk
about in the evenings?”

“So why are you encouraging them?”

She raised her head and looked over at the couple
she escorted. They stood too close together. “They are fully grown.
I can’t direct their lives, can I?”

“Your presence means you condone it.” He silently
challenged her:
how far are you willing to go against the normal
rules?

She returned her attention to him. “I felt I had to
come today because I suspect Miss Renshaw had been affected by a
slight exposure to that horrible powder. Only a very small
amount.”

“You were right to be suspicious,” he said and
touched the pocket where the edge of his handkerchief showed.

She frowned and walked more quickly toward the other
two. The maid caught up with them.

He wondered if she would scold or demand the truth
from Hawes. Instead Miss Ambermere raised her voice to a cheery
social tone and looked over her shoulder at him. “How have you
been, Mr. Reed? We’re to have lunch at the Ocean Palace Hotel, I
think. Isn’t that the name, Mr. Hawes? I’m sure we have room at our
table for you, Mr. Reed.”

The man turned puce and mumbled. The ladies seemed
oblivious, but he clearly didn’t want the extra company.

Reed didn’t give a damn what the man wanted. “I must
return here to wait for Mr. Clermont, but I’d like to walk with
you,” he said and took Miss Ambermere’s hand before she could
protest. He rested it on his arm. Imitating a courting couple. Any
excuse to pull her body close to his.

They set off. Hawes gently held Miss Renshaw’s arm,
steering her toward the big pavilions of the hotel. The broad,
slightly bandy-legged coachman beamed at the thin, middle-aged
lady. Murphy walked on his other side, and Mr. Reed and Miss
Ambermere wandered along behind the group.

The day improved a thousandfold. Suddenly Coney
Island became a place of beauty, and the weather-beaten cottages
and shacks were rustic, not ugly. Obvious infatuation, he told
himself derisively, but for once he quieted that inner, scolding
critic. He’d indulge in his own silliness and enjoy the moment.

“How is your young agent?” she asked.

He examined her face, trying to see if she was
speaking some sort of code, but she wore a look of interest,
nothing secretive. He gave up. “Who?”

“The baggage mangler.”

“Ah, Peterkins. And the word is smasher. Smashers
either steal passengers’ bags or act as porters. Peterkins, bless
the lad, is basically honest. He handles the bags for the train
station.”

“He’s so small, though. No more than eleven, I
should think.”

He nodded. “He’s a busy lad, working most days and
evenings at the station, and yet he’s still always on the lookout
for more to do. Full of energy. Last time I saw him, he was talking
a mile a minute and dancing around.” The boy had been so
bright-eyed, Reed had worried that he’d been on some sort of drug.
Not so unusual for any street lad in any big city to use drugs to
escape misery.

He recalled they hadn’t talked for more than a
couple of minutes, only long enough for Reed to buy the perpetually
hungry Peterkins a pasty from a street cart vendor, but now Reed
remembered part of the conversation. “He mentioned you, actually.
Said the lovely lady at that big house gave him work.”

“I didn’t.” She frowned slightly. “But with this
wretched party, I wouldn’t be surprised if Beels hired him on to
provide extra help. I think half of New York has been in and out of
the house.”

Her hand rested lightly on the sleeve of his jacket,
and he could feel the heat of her. He drew her closer, and perhaps
they walked too closely side by side, because she stumbled
slightly. So of course he had to reach across to grasp her upper
arm firmly with one hand and rest his other arm across her back to
steady her.

A side-glance from her told him she knew his game,
and instead of tartly demanding he cease manhandling her, she said
nothing. The color rose in her cheeks, and her full mouth quirked
into a twisted smile.

For a short distance, they walked in this fashion.
Now they moved smoothly, matching their steps. He could feel her
rhythm through her hip, which he’d dragged against his own.
Pleasant but tantalizing—with just a pull and a twist, he could
haul her full up against him. That would be something. In view of
the whole world, groping and mauling the correct young lady. He
slowed his pace. Not because he had any intention of pulling her
close, but just the thought proved potent. Their steps missed and
jerked.

She gently disengaged herself from his grasp, and
they walked side by side with far too much air between them.

“I’m not an invalid walking across ice, though it is
good to know you have the strength to support me if I were.” Under
the half veil, she turned pinker and cleared her throat. “I am
supposed to be performing the service of chaperone. I’ve never
played that role before, you know, so don’t confuse me by playing
the part of wicked seducer.”