Stealing Mercy (10 page)

For a moment, Young Lee made eye contact with Mercy. His gaze darted back to his work. Mercy wondered what he’d heard. The two men rarely spoke. They moved through the shop like quiet, efficient ghosts intent on completing their tasks. Mercy suspected that because of the recent racial unrest they were grateful to have employment and comfortable housing. Tilly treated them as she treated everyone, with unflinching kindness and generosity.

Mercy didn’t doubt their allegiance to her aunt, but so far she hadn’t determined how they felt about her. Her sudden arrival, her instant place in Tilly’s home, store and heart, the men seemed to be keeping their opinions on Mercy to themselves. She felt as if she’d yet to win their approval.

Mercy tucked a loose curl into the knot at the back of her neck, conscious of the two men watching her through their dark eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

Tilly placed her hands on her hips. “And what, pray tell me, do I think? Seems like that’s something I should know, what I think, since it’s me doing the thinking.”

“And I appreciate your thinking of me, but --” Mercy stopped, biting her lip. Maybe she should let her aunt assume Trent was interested in her. Perhaps Mr. Steele would tread carefully if he thought her involved with Trent. “Please, Auntie, you know everyone and everything, you must know the Michaels family.”

The bell on the door jingled, announcing a customer. Mercy turned toward the front, but Tilly raised her hand to stop her. “Well, if I give information then I expect information in return.”

“Information?” Mercy’s heart speed up. Her aunt had never questioned her sudden arrival in unorthodox clothes. She’d only asked after her brother, how he’d died, where he’d been buried. She hadn’t pried into the circumstances of Mercy’s departure or cross country trip.

“Of course, I want to hear everything he says, does, where he touches you, if he kisses you --”

Mercy flushed. “Really, we just met,” she said over her shoulder as she made her way to the store’s front.

“Sometimes that’s all it takes. One glance, one brief encounter and poof, it’s like a spark in a tinder box,” Tilly called after her.

Mercy adjusted her apron and tried not to think about how it felt to be in his arms when he’d lifted her into the coach. Was she the spark or the tinderbox? Was he one and she the other? Did it matter if no matter what, together they were combustible? “If there’s any sparking, I’ll tell you first.”

Tilly hugged her scissors to her chest, smiling as if in memory. Her aunt clearly missed Bradley Malcolm, just as she would miss Mercy, if the situation demanded her disappearance.

Mercy stopped in the doorway. Trent stood in the morning light. She took a deep breath and prayed that he hadn’t overheard her conversation with her aunt. She stood, parked in the doorway, until her aunt, coming from behind, pushed her into the room.

“Mr. Michaels!” Tilly gushed. “We were just talking of you!”

The blood rushed to Mercy’s face as her aunt bustled toward Trent.

“And saying kind things, I hope,” he said.

“I was telling Mercy of your grandparents -- the king and queen of Seattle society.”

“That was some time ago.”

“Before your grandfather’s unfortunate death.” Tilly paused, as if paying a moment of silence tribute to the departed Mr. Michaels. “We haven’t seen your grandmother in an age. I trust she’s well.”

“She’s very well.”

“And the ranch?”

“Is flourishing.”

“Your grandmother runs the ranch?” Mercy asked, surprised.

“The finest in the west,” Tilly said.

Trent flushed and pulled on his collar. “Well, that may be an exaggeration-”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Tilly said. “Although, as a mere female, what do I know of raising horses?” And from her tone, Mercy suspected that her aunt, while admiring Trent’s grandmother for her success, disapproved of women ranchers. “ Breeding horses, breaking horses, Hester is a wonder.”

“A wonder,” Trent echoed rather hollowly.

“And how is little Chloe?”

“Not so little anymore. She’s actually performing with the Puget Players at the Grand Hotel.” Mercy noticed he managed to say this without moving his lips which made her wonder if her aunt had touched a sore spot.

Tilly sucked in her breath. “Goodness,” she said in the same tone of voice that she’d used to express her thoughts of female horse breeders.

Mercy remembered seeing Chloe’s name on a marked trunk in room twenty. Had Trent been familiar with the room because his sister shared it as a dressing room with the female cast members? If his sister had been on the stage, then he might have been on a simple errand, like fetching something from the dressing room. Maybe he hadn’t an interest in Steele, after all. Mercy had a sinking feeling, as if the floor was giving way beneath her feet. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she had hoped for Trent’s help in foiling Steele.

Tilly smoothed out a piece of fabric on the counter and picked up a pair of shears. “I think it’s curious that we never saw much of you or Chloe until a few months ago. You were both off the social registers and then suddenly, pop, you’re everywhere and at everything.” She slid her gaze towards Mercy, as if she could be held responsible for the Michaels’ sudden sociality.

Mercy sank into a nearby chair. She knew she couldn’t take credit for Trent’s sudden reappearance.

Tilly watched his face for a clue, but since nothing was forthcoming, she continued, “Hmm, well it sure seems like we see you a lot around here.” Tilly tucked the shears into her apron and slipped a couple of pins into her mouth. “But, isn’t that just what I said, one glance, one touch, and pop.” She spoke while the pins poked out of the sides of her lips. “Come, Mercy. I need you to run an errand for me.”

Mercy, with a heart full of misgivings, followed her aunt to the back room.

*****

On the sidewalk, a closed door away from her aunt’s listening ear, Mercy let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. The tension eased between her shoulders and she smiled up at Trent. When he returned her smile, her insides twisted back up.

“Where are we going?” He seemed a different creature in the daylight, out of the dark and shadows of the theater. Well dressed and clean shaven, he looked urban despite the fact that he moved with natural athleticism. His muscles were well defined across his shoulders and chest.

“To Neilsons for a ham bone.” Mercy had her basket on one arm, the other she tucked through Trent’s.

Trent smiled. “And where are the Neilson’s?”

Mercy sighed, embarrassed by her aunt’s shameless matchmaking attempts. “Across town. To be fair, I think she thought you’d have a buggy.”

“And now, because I chose to walk, I have to carry a hambone across town.”

Mercy shook her head. “Don’t be silly, of course you don’t. I’m capable of carrying a piece of pork all on my own.” She gazed at him from under her lashes.

“She walks in beauty, like the night,” he quoted Lord Byron. “Even when carrying pork.”

Mercy choked back a laugh. “This is beauty?” She nodded at the street teeming with horses plowing through mud and muck. The wagon wheels cut into the mire and spat filth with every rotation. Gulls and pigeons flocked around the fish stalls and the air reeked of the briny putrid Sound combined with fish stench.

“I was talking about you, not Seattle,” he said, tucking her arm closer so that their hips bumped as they walked. He leaned down and whispered into her ear. “There are so very few women with which I can discuss brothels.”

She lowered her eyelids. “Should I be offended, Mr. Michaels?”

“Not at all,” he replied. He placed his hand over hers, securing her to his arm and side. “But, I have the information and the upper hand.”

She walked beside him, annoyed and yet unable to stop smiling. “So you admit to being upper-handed?” Mercy’s smile faded when she thought she caught sight of a familiar dark head in the distance.
No, it couldn’t be
, she reasoned.
There are so many, and they all look surprisingly similar.
She banished the niggling thought. “Does that mean you’re underhanded as well?

“Only when it involves you.”

She considered him. “I won’t allow myself to be manhandled,” she stated with absolute confidence. After a quick look in both directions, she stepped off the boardwalk into the intersection. The dark haired man had disappeared. A path of bricks had been laid for crossing ease, but they were covered with a film of grime. Brown stained her shoes as she picked her way across the street and lifted the skirts of her second best dress.

“Mr. Michaels,” Mercy asked, frustrated with his taunting, “did you learn anything from Mr. Steele’s papers?”

Trent’s mouth turned down into a straight line, his face suddenly serious and dark, and she wondered if the transformation had to do with Mr. Steele’s papers or the fact that she’d lowered her skirts when she returned to the boardwalk. “Indeed.”

“Yes?”

“As I said, my information comes with a price.”

She frowned, not fathoming what price he thought he could, or desired, to extract. “And what would you ask of me, Mr. Michaels? You must be aware I haven’t any means.” And then she saw him again. The dark hair, the small man. The younger or the elder? Mercy watched while the Asian disappeared behind a fish stand. Had her aunt sent him, or had he followed her on his own?

Trent nodded. “You aren’t powerless. What I want is a promise, an answer and a commitment.”

She waited with her breath caught. “How do I know if you’ve learned anything pertinent? You’re asking three things of me and I don’t know if I’m getting anything in return.”

“That is my price, Miss Faye.” He looked her in the eyes.

She hadn’t realized his eyes were so blue and that he was so big. He could easily manhandle her, even on the boardwalk, and very few would likely challenge, or attempt to stop him. Suddenly, she felt grateful for Young Lee’s presence. She didn’t know if the small man could possible threaten Trent, but she was glad she wasn’t alone. Of course, they were sharing the boardwalk with countless others. They stopped and for a brief moment, it seemed as if the gulls stopped calling, the pigeons hushed their cooing and the horse’s harnesses ceased clinking.

“Will you pay?”

“Can I trust you, Mr. Michaels?”

“Trust must be earned, wouldn’t you agree?”

She fought the temptation to stamp her foot. “Very well. Tell me your demands and I’ll see if I can comply.”

CHAPTER 11

Honey:

1. Enhances browning -- ideal for glazing roasted and baked foods.

2. Is a flavor enhancer -- a sweetener for hot teas and cold beverages.

3. Provides texture and body -- an excellent addition to pastries and cakes.

4. Prolongs shelf-life -- a natural preservative for pickles and sauces.

5. Retains moisture -- essential for providing and prolonging moisture in cakes.

6. Binding viscosity -- aids shaping of desserts such as pastries and cakes.

7. Adds color -- contributes a golden hue to sauces, dressings, and jellies.

From the Recipes of Mercy Faye

He picked up her hand and returned it to his arm. “All of my requests are reasonable, and I hope you won’t find them unpleasant.”

Her face flamed. “Mr. Michaels --”

After a quick look up and down the busy sidewalk, when he seemed convinced no one could over hear their conversation, he continued in a low tone. “First, I’d like to ask you to stay away from Steele. It’s none of my business whose rooms you chose to trespass, but my information requires your distance from Steele.”

“Granted,” she said, aware that her health and wellbeing depended upon her distance from Steele. She shivered thinking about what she would do if Steele spotted and recognized her. “You have my promise. What is your question?”

“Why were you breaking into Steele’s room?”

She’d been expecting this. Tugging on his arm, she led him to a deserted bench and pulled him down beside her. Making sure that she wouldn’t be overheard, she spoke quietly into his ear and she told him what she thought she could. “I’ve a friend who rescues girls from Lucky Island. She claims that some have been kidnapped and taken there against their will.” She watched inscrutable emotions cross his face. She took a deep breath and then whispered, “We hope to shut it down.”

Trent dropped his head back, clearly stung with surprise, and addressed the clouds. “You want to shut down the most exclusive brothel on the west coast?”

“Hush!” She jutted out her chin. “Is it so impossible?”

He barked out a laugh, stood, and resumed walking, taking her hand and pulling her along with him. “You do realize that you’ll have most of the men of Seattle’s elite out for your head…as well as your other body parts, if you’re successful.”

She skipped to keep up with him. “Including you?”

His expression turned somber and he faced her. “I’d be proud to help, if I could, if I thought you had a prayer of success.”