Authors: Kate Rothwell

Somebody Wonderful (24 page)

BOOK: Somebody Wonderful

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Chapter 25

Timona was gro
ggy and her head felt as if it weighed far too much. Had she been ill? Some grief filled her, she knew that for a certainty.

She had a vague memory of waking up once before and someone feeding her a horrible concoction. She had fallen back to sleep almost at once.

She moaned. And felt vile.

“Good, good, you shall be fine!” said a hearty voice nearby. “Miss Calverson. Timona. Can you hear me?”

“Mr. Blenheim?”

“Yes, and I am delighted to see you are better now. Er, you are better, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think so. I believe I am going to be sick.”

“Oh good lord,” he said. She didn’t open her eyes. Someone was prodding at her arm. No, it was a basin prodding at her. She tried to reach for it, but couldn’t. Her hands were tied to something.

“I shall return when you feel more the thing, shall I?” Mr. Blenheim sounded nervous. She opened her eyes and saw he was backing away from the bed on which she lay.

Without obvious twisting, Timona yanked at the cords that bit into her wrists. She carefully breathed in and out on counts of three. She held back the nausea and was able to speak. “Why are my hands hampered, Mr. Blenheim?”

“We thought it best, Timona. Please, call me Horace.”

She continued counting. “Why, Mr. Blenheim?”

“I think in light of the fact that we have known each other for several years, and I hope you will regar—”

“Why am I tied up?”

He cleared his throat “We know that you are most expert at, ah, shall we say, escaping. And it is best if you do not leave just yet. We have a proposition to lay before you.”

Suddenly Mr. Blenheim was kneeling before the bed, his face was quite close to hers. The scent of his bay rum cologne and cigars was almost enough to push her over the edge. She had to count as she breathed again.

“Miss Calverson. Timona. From the first time I took your hands to show you the steps of the quadrille I have known that we are a perfect fit. You are graceful, beautiful, desirable—all that any man could ever want.”

Her eyes widened. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Will you marry me, Timona? I have put off asking too long and I—”

“Mr. Blenheim! The answer is no.”

“You must hear me out, Timona.”

“Mr. Blenheim. You know that I am engaged to Michael McCann . . .” She wondered if that was still true. Something happened last night. Or whenever it was.

His sharp laugh cut her short. “Mr. McCann will soon be on his way back to his native land.”

He pulled out a note and held it above her head. She squinted at it, then querulously said, “I can’t read what it says. You hold it too far away.”

“I shall read it to you then. ‘My Dear Mik.’ Spelled wrong, Miss Cal—er, Timona. And I might add the handwriting is deplorable. ‘Word has come to us that you have involved yourself with a heathen sinner of a woman.’ I shall insert a period here, though the writer seldom bothers with details such as punctua—”

Timona’s heart pounded, but she managed to sound cool. ”Mr. Blenheim. Read it or do not read it. But please refrain editorial comments.”

“Very well. ‘—involved yourself with a heathen sinner of a woman who has never been baptized and has no virtue from what we hear. We beg of you to come home to us, Mick, and leave behind the wicked country and the woman that has drawn you to sin. If you must stay, then Theresa still waits here for you. I thought perhaps when you had enough for her fare you might send for her. I have long prayed and hoped you would wed . . .’ and so on. And more tripe such as this. It is from his mother, of course.

“Mr. McCann left word for you, my dear Miss Timona. He told me he was worried about his mother. He said that he still cared for you, but he knew he was not breaking your heart, since he knew that a woman like you was too cosmopolitan, too sophisticarulously s to care for a man like him for long.”

Timona couldn’t remember what had gone on the evening before she ended up here, but she knew it had to do with Mick leaving her. And that last line of tripe Mr. Blenheim uttered did sound rather like Mick at his worst.

She had managed to hold down the nausea but now she didn’t particularly care to try.

“The basin,” she gasped.

“Pardon me?”

“The basin, Mr. Blenheim.”

He put it near her head and fled the room.

She hoped he would stay away until the dizziness passed and she could collect her thoughts. They had scattered like so many terrified rabbits. No, Timmy Calverson, she scolded herself. Do not give in to the illness. She took some deep breaths.

Mick gone? Mr. Blenheim had tied her up. She grinned; this was a fairly good sign that his word could not be trusted.

She spat out the last of the dreadful taste in her mouth. The fear lifted from her heart as she recalled something Mick had once told her.

His mother could sign her name, and not write a word more.

Thank goodness. If the man lied about that, the rest must also be a pack of lies. She lay flat again, as far from the basin as possible. She was now ready to face whatever nonsense Blenheim had in mind for her.

If only she had married her Mick when she could, but no, she had to thumb her nose at the penny press. If she were married, what she suspected was an absurd attempt to get her money would—

There was a soft knock at the door. A young woman entered before Timona could call out.

“Hello, Miss,” she said brightly, without looking at Timona. “The gentleman said you were feeling poorly.”

“I am better now, thank you. But do you suppose you could help me undo these ropes.”

“No,” said the woman firmly. “I can’t.” She picked up the basin and strode from the room. She came back, carefully wiped Timona’s mouth and helped her take a drink of water. She left as Timmy tried to explain that she was an innocent woman being held against her will.

“ ’Tis not my business,” said the young woman. “I am being well paid and that is my business, so I’ll bid you good evening.”

Evening. Timona must have been out for at least several hours. But the thick ache throughout her body, particularly her limbs, and the coldness in her hands might mean she had lain here longer.

A few minutes later, Blenheim reentered. He fetched a chair from the corner of the room and sat down near Timona.

“How long have I been here?” she demanded.

“Ah. Well, this is the second day. I think we gave you too large a dose of medication. I was not sure how much to administer because, I assure you, I not done such a thing as this before, Miss Timona.”

“Huh,” she said, unimpressed.

He pulled out a cigar. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Yes.”

He pulled out a tin of matches. “Now Timona, you must grow used to it. I warn you that I shall smoke indoors when we are man and wife.”

“I am not going to marry you.”

She did not like his confident manner or the way he smiled as he answered, “Very well. I believe we can offer you some alternatives.”

She waited. And wished she could scratch her nose.

“If you won’t have me, perhaps one of my business partners will suit you. Though I must say I feel I am the best of the three of us. I would actually be a good husband to you if you so wished. There is also Mr. Taylor. I believe you met him in New York.”

Blenheim puffed on his foul cigar and seemed to wait for her response.

“Yes, I remember him,” she said and regretfully discarded the idea of asking Mr. Blenheim to scratch her nose.

Somehow she was not amazed to hear Mr. Taylor was involved in this scheme. He had struck her as less subtle than most crooked businessmen. The kind of person more drawn to kidnapping than, say, embezzlement.

Hell’s bells. Perhaps he indulged in both. That might explain the reason for her current predicament.

“Our other partner is far less well educated than Mr. Taylor or myself. We picked him from this crew of diggers because he is Irish and you seem to have a taste for that sort of crudity. He is a criminal but we have firm control over him.

“We threatened to expose his record to local authorities, which helps keep him from doing everything he wishes. Since we do care about you, despite your uncooperative nature, we would make sure he would not injure you the way he did his previous wife. He is willing to work with us on this matter.”

“How much will you pay him?” asked Timona.

“I have always maintained that you are intelligent despite some of your, ah, unfortunate choices,” he said admiringly. “It is a matter of money. Mr. McNally will take a mere twenty thousand dollars and passage to some secluded spot. With you. Or, if you were willing to sign some papers that would put your financial affairs into our hands, without you.”

“Timona, if you would choose me, let me say I would be honored by your preference. I would forgive your little transgression with the Irishman. I am prepared to pretend it never occurred. We could start afresh. I would be happy to continue our work of smoothing over your rough edges and turning you into a rare diamond. I trust you see that both of our interests would be served.”

“This has to do with the missing receipts doesn’t it?”

“Ah. Well, we did decide it would be best not to allow you to alert others. And there is the matter of testifying against your husband.” He flicked the cigar into a small porcelain ashtray. “We had to move quickly and I am still hazy on the details. Mr. Taylor could explain if you wished.”

Timona decided to skip right to the threats and find out if McNally was the worst threat they could manage. She thought of poker, a game she had occasionally played with Solly and some of his friends.

“Mr. Blenheim. I will not marry you or any of your partners. I will not let any of you have a farthing of my money. But I promise that if you let me go immediately, I shall not speak of this matter or your botched receipts. With anyone. Including my brother, Griffin.”

There, she thought. I’ll see your McNally and raise you a Calverson.

Mr. Blenheim definitely paled. But a moment later he smiled.

“Mr. Calverson has no reason not to trust me, Timona. And I have taken the liberty to send a message from you to him which he also has no reason to disbelieve. You are on your way to meet your friend Mr. Jackson in Colorado. No. I cannot think of how Mr. Calverson might, er, be brought into the matter before we have settled it among oursves.”

“I am patient, Mr. Blenheim. And I am ready to wait a very long time. Eventually someone will be alerted to the fact that I am missing. You shall have to lay down all of your cards, sir,” said Timona, still unable to resist poker.

“We have the perfect witness to your wedding,” he said, sounding far too smug. Then he called out, “McNally.”

The door opened and there stood Araminta. Her mouth was bound shut. They would have to, Timona thought with a flash of love for her outspoken, brave friend. She would never submit to threats. She saw they had had to bind her with so much rope she could barely walk.

Mr. McNally, a huge ape of a man was behind Araminta, holding her by her hair. Araminta’s eyes were wide with anger, but Timona thought she could discern fright. Her friend was not used to this sort of treatment.

“Araminta,” Timona called out. “I am so sorry that you are involved in this idiocy. I promise you that—”

The door slammed shut.

“There, you see?” said Mr. Blenheim. “And you do understand that no one but yourself would bother about a being like her.”

“Because she is a Negress?”

“Exactly so. In this country, she is not important.”

Timona exhaled impatiently. “You should do your research, Mr. Blenheim. Araminta is the granddaughter of a wealthy British banker.”

He smirked. “Who cast off his daughter when she delivered the little half-bred savage. I shall wait right here while you consider the full implications of the situation.”

Oh bother, thought Timona. It had been worth a try.

“A simple ransom,” she coaxed. “Much simpler to negotia—”

“Marriage,” said Blenheim firmly. “We feel it covers all potential problems. Once you agree, we will lay out our other conditions.”

Timona lay thinking for several minutes, but she was stumped. For the moment.

Blenheim hummed to himself and examined the immaculate fingernails on his slender, immaculate hands.

“Let Araminta go,” she said at last. “I shall marry one of you.”

Chapter 26

Blenheim un
tied her to allow her to prepare herself for sleep, then tied her to the bed again. Timona spent a bad night fretting, mostly about Araminta, and occasionally about what they had told Mick. She prayed he did not think she had abandoned him.

The next morning, the men brought Timona into the parlor, her hands still tied, and lashed her firmly to an elegant purple velvet couch. She looked around with interest. This was quite an expensive, modern house. Not the usual pit of misery one was dragged when one was kidnapped. Where in heaven’s name were they?

Her attention was dragged back to the three men as they argued amongst themselves about who should be the lucky groom.

“I have suffered. I deserve something,” Taylor rumbled angrily.

“Surely you gentlemen will see that paying me off with just the wee amount you mentioned would save yourselves a great deal of trouble,” McNally pointed out.

“Oh, pray do be quiet. I do not care which one I marry,” she interrupted them at last. “Any one of you idiots will do. Understand it will not be a real marriage. I shall sign over the money you want. You will allow me and Araminta to leave. And, yes, I agree to your escort to ‘ensure we do not do anything stupid’ for several days. The arrangements are straightforward enough. Get on with it.”

“But I rather thought,” bleated Blenheim. “That you might come to care for me.”

“On second thought,” said Timona. “I will marry either Mr. Taylor or Mr. McNally. Not Mr. Blenheim. But, no—now I recall how badly Mr. Taylor behaved in New York, so I choose Mr. McNally.”

Mr. McNally actually looked pleased. Mr. Taylor appeared to be in his usual dark fury.

They escorted her back upstairs to “prepare” herself.

“I cannot use the chamber pot with my arms tied,” she pointed out.

“Chamber pot,” said Blenheim, horrified.

Timona was amused. She knew ladies did not use the phrase, but that wasn’t the source of Blenheim’s horror.

“Miss Calverson. Of course we have water closets here.” He showed her to the room and demonstrated the sanitary ware as if he had invented it himself.

“Perhaps I might even indulge in a real bath,” she said speculatively. “Would you mind?”

Blenheim pulled out his watch. He sighed. “I had wanted a bath and lit the fire under the water heater. I suppose I can allow you to use some of the hot water. A half-hour. No more.”

After they untied her and locked her in the small room, Timona turned on the water taps. She couldn’t resist giving herself a quick wash but without getting undressed. She needed the thunder of the water in the tin tub mostly to cover any sounds as she carefully slid open the window. No squeaks or thumps. The rambling, recently built house was a solid one, thank goodness.

She quickly stripped off her silk stockings then wrapped them around a solid-looking pipe in the room. Gripping tight to the stockings to keep from falling, she leaned far out of the window to examine the outside. At once she saw she could easily inch out to the edge of the window ledge to shimmy down the water disposal pipe.

She turned off the water filling the tub, and climbed onto the window ledge.

After she landed softly on the grass, Timona pushed herself tight against the house so no one looking out the downstairs windows would spot her. She would have considered her options, but she had none. If she fled to seek help, they might hurt Araminta.

She hitched up her skirts and crept on all fours towards the back door. She must take care of her friend now.

What would they do to Araminta if they discovered Timona’s escape before she had a chance to get to her? Timona had never had to worry about someone else the other times she had been kidnapped.

She put her ear to the kitchen door. She couldn’t hear anything so she carefully turned the doorknob.

Mr. Taylor stood by the door as if he had been waiting for her.

He dragged her into the house. He stood close behind her and pushed both of her arms painfully up so she couldn’t move.

“I thought you might attempt this sort of nonsense. But tell me, what do you suppose you could accomplish,” he hissed into her ear.

“I should think that is obvious.”

“You think you are so much better than us mere mortals, Miss Calverson.”

She thought this over for a second or two. “I don’t go about kidnapping people, so I suppose I do think I am better than you.”

“You are wrong. You are not worthy of the title ‘woman.’ You are filth.” Still speaking quietly through a clenched jaw, he marched her to an empty servant’s room on the first floor, next to the kitchen.

He shoved her hard into the room, then closed the door slowly. She saw the hand holding the doorknob was white-knuckled and trembling as if he were forcing himself not to slam it shut.

In a choking, low voice, he began. “I have been waiting for a long time to show you what I think of you. The way you spat on convention. You turned your back on what a real lady should be. Did you even know I loved you?”

“No,” she said faintly. He was very angry. And, she finally realized, dangerous.

His dark face was flushed with angry passion and a vein running down the center of his forehead pulsed. “I loved you for years.”

“But you haven’t known me for years, Mr. Taylor.” She inched away from him, hoping he only wished to scold her.

“I have known you, Timona. I read anything I could about you. I went to work for the Calversons mostly for the sake of you. I have loved you for years, I tell you. And you repay my devotion by taking up with a- a piece of trash like McCann. And you let him humiliate me. In public.”

She thought it best to not argue with him.

Thundering at her was not enough for him, unfortunately. He was coming toward her.

She was ready.

But so was he. Taylor seemed to know how she would defend herself. He circled left and she followed, when, like a flash, he reached out and hit her on the right side. When he slapped her face hard, she spun from the impact. He grabbed her arms and again yanked them behind her.

There was a horrible snap and pain flooded her.

“It’s dislocated, Mr. Taylor. My shoulder. It hurts.”

“Shut up,” he said and ripped at the front of her dress.

He wasn’t stupid enough to put his mouth anywhere near her teeth, but he put it almost everywhere else.

Timona kicked out. He swiftly grabbed her bare foot and jerked it, which threw her down on the floor near the door. He knew not to go directly at her where she could get at him with her knees or head. Instead he let go of her injured arm.

He grabbed the wrist of her good arm, and yanked it up by her head. Still clutching her hand, he used two fingers to yank pins from her hair. When a handful of hair hung loose, he wrapped it tightly around his fist. Now he could hold her wrist and head down with just one hand.

Through the horrendous pain, Timona felt a flash of indignation. The man fought as unfairly as she did.

Noise. She would make noise. She opened her mouth and he stuffed in a handkerchief almost as soon as her first shout left her mouth. The handkerchief seemed clean, at any rate.

She drummed her feet on the floor hoping the thumping would attract one of the other villains. Taylor reached behind him, grabbed her foot and twisted.

The combined agony of her ankle and shoulder nearly sent her unconscious. But it was worth it because she heard footsteps pounding down the hall outside the room, growing louder.

Taylor reached over to the door, getting onto his knees to lock it.

Shaged to twist her body sideways and drove her hip into what she hoped was a tender spot. It must have been because he yelped with fury. Good. That shout would attract more attention.

As he worked at yanking up the bottom part of her dress, his grip on her hair loosened. She made the mistake of lifting her head from the floor.

He saw what she was doing. With his palm on her forehead, he slammed her head back down on the hard wooden planks.

She heard two loud thumps, then saw black.

BOOK: Somebody Wonderful

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