Wings of a Dove (58 page)

    Delaney fought to suppress an angry retort. His reaction did not go unobserved.

    "That's right, you'd better hold your tongue. If I didn't know better, I'd think this thing between Davidson and you was a personal vendetta."

    "I don't give a damn about Davidson as a person, Mulrooney, and you know it."

    "Yeah, I know it. Maybe that's the point. You've got a bad case of tunnel vision, Marsh. While your investigation into the prostitution ring is floundering"

    "It isn't floundering, dammit! I've spent the last four days down in Conley's Patch, and people are really beginning to open up to me. In a few weeks, I'll have everything documented and I'll be ready to break the story. I might even have a witness who'd be willing to testify about the murders."

    Mulrooney's expression changed dramatically, and Delaney felt a flash of satisfaction. The old news hound smelled a big story in the wind. Now it was just a matter of how much pressure he was willing to take to get it.

    Mulrooney's face drew into lines of concentration. "I know you better than to think you're making all this up just to get out    of a tight situation, Marsh, so I'll ask you a question: How much longer will you need to get everything firmed up?"

    "A few weeks, just as I said."

    Mulrooney nodded his shaggy head. "In the meantime I expect you to take it easy on Davidson."

    "No chance."

    "Dammit, Marsh, you"

    "If I start taking it easy on Davidson now, the people in the Patch won't believe a word I say to them. The attack on Davidson gives me credibility down there. They think if I'm not afraid of him, I'm not afraid of anybody else, either."

    Mulrooney pointed to the legal papers in Delaney's hands. "And in the meantime, what am I supposed to do with those?"

    Delaney carefully folded the papers in half and tore them in two. Then, leaning over Mulrooney's desk, he dropped them into the wastebasket.

    "You're an arrogant bastard, Marsh."

    "I've heard that before."

    Mulrooney lowered himself into his chair, an action Delaney recognized as a ploy to gain time. Seated, he raised his frown to Delaney, regarding him with a narrowed, assessing gaze.

    "I'll give you the time a few weeks to get this Conley's Patch thing straightened out. In the meantime, I want you to be careful what you write about Davidson."

    "You're wasting your breath, Mulrooney."

    Mulrooney's face flushing, he was on his feet again in a move that was surprisingly swift for a man of his bulk. Dwarfing his desk, he leaned forward on his wide palms to emphasize his softly spoken words. "I'm the boss here, remember, Marsh?"

    Delaney's answering smile held no trace of warmth. "And I'm the man you hired to get your work done. I'm telling you it'll get done all of it. I'm also telling you not to tell me how to do my job."

    Slowly straightening, Mulrooney stared into Delaney's belligerent expression. "If you've got personal problems, Marsh, I don't want them impinging on your professional life. I expect you to use professional judgment at all times. Is that clear?"

    Damn Mulrooney and his astuteness. "It's clear."

    The editor nodded his unkempt head once more. "Then you're on your own again for a few more weeks." Glancing toward the   wastebasket, he shrugged his beefy shoulders. "I suppose it'll take that long for Davidson to get another set of legal papers in motion." Mulrooney looked back to Delaney. "Go, Marsh. Get to work."

    "I'm taking a few hours off this morning. A private matter."

    "Go, Marsh! I don't want to hear any of this. I just want to hear you've got that story ready a few weeks from now. And I'm telling you, it'd better be good!"

    Not bothering with assurances, Delaney turned toward the door. In a few minutes he was in a hack on his way home.

    Turning to the passing street, Delaney saw little as his mind worked in familiar, disturbing channels. He might have been able to avoid this confrontation with Mulrooney if he had not left a few papers on his desk that he would need later in the day, but he would only have been putting off the inevitable. The heated exchange with Mulrooney was the culmination of the extremely difficult week that had passed since his nighttime visit to Allie's room. During that time, he had thrown himself into his work in an attempt to distract his mind. He had spent hours in Conley's Patch, interviewing residents surreptitiously, and had spent even more hours back at the office producing the articles to which Otis Davidson had reacted with legal action. Delaney was very close to getting enough information on the prostitution ring and the murders to bring the whole mess out into the open, but that realization provided him little satisfaction.

    Even now, countless tormented hours after he had faced his true feelings for Allie, his anguish had not subsided. A smile fraught with pain touched Delaney's lips. He had never loved anyone but Allie. It was a bitter irony indeed for him to realize that, because he loved her, he would have to let her go.

    Allie's ankle would soon be healed. Dr. Willis had reassessed the injury since the swelling had lessened and now saw the problem as a severe sprain rather than a fracture. The doctor had already started Allie up on her feet, and he maintained it would only be a little while longer until she was completely ambulatory.

    But Delaney knew he was not yet prepared to face Allie's leaving, and he realized the appointment he was scheduled to keep with Margaret a short hour from now would determine how soon that time would come. He frowned, realizing Dr. Lindstrom, a man who was merely a name to him, would soon take the matter out of his hands. At best, he would have a few more weeks while Margaret recuperated from an operation, but that time would be a parting gift he would always cherish.

    Delaney's carriage turned onto Wabash Avenue. He stared in the direction of his home, waiting for it to come into sight. It was still early and the streets had not stirred fully to life, but he knew Allie and Margaret were waiting.

    "Sybil, I'm beginning to feel a bit ridiculous."

    Sybil flicked Harriman Bain a glance filled with disdain as he sat in the carriage beside her, parked a discreet distance from Delaney's door. "I don't feel in the least foolish. As a matter of fact, I'm distinctly angry."

    His hand moving to Sybil's shoulder, Harriman caressed her gently, in his mind reliving the sensation of her smooth flesh under his palm. He didn't suppose he would ever forget the previous night, which they had spent together. In light of the passion Sybil had exhibited in his arms, he found himself incredulous at her present preoccupation with a former lover.

    Harriman sighed. Unfortunately, Sybil did not realize that having become accustomed to the character of the spoiled child produced by a wealthy environment, he was far better equipped to make her happy than Delaney Marsh was. But she did not, silly child that she was, and he supposed he would have to patiently educate her to that reality. However, patience was difficult when he had to conceal his jealousy or run the risk of losing her. With that thought in mind, Harriman questioned Sybil lightly.

    "Why are you angry, dear?"

    "Because, damn him, Delaney never had time for me, but he
makes
time for that country bumpkin he now has in his bed! He spent no more than a few minutes in his office this morning before racing home to her."

    "Sybil, how do you know he is 'racing' home to her?"

    "Harriman, don't be a fool! Why else would he come home so early in the day? It's obvious that last night's passion was not enough and he"

    "It was not enough for me, either, darling."

    Sybil's tirade halted abruptly as she turned to observe the    earnest gleam in Harriman's eye. A faint smile flickered across her lips. "I confess, I did not believe you could be such an insatiable beast."

    "Beast, darling?"

    "Well… perhaps that wasn't the right word."

    Leaning forward, Harriman pressed a lingering, questing kiss on Sybil's parted lips, and she raised a well-shaped brow in amusement.

    "Harry, dear, you can't be serious. I must go home. Father will return at noon, and I must make it appear I slept in my own bed while he and Mother were away for the weekend."

    "That leaves us several hours, dear."

    Her beautiful face suddenly losing all trace of levity, Sybil looked into Harriman's warm gaze with vexation. "This situation between Delaney and me is a joke to you, isn't it? It isn't for me. Delaney Marsh is the only man I have ever loved. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and he threw me over for a little farm chit. I intend to win him back… or exact my revenge. That need is very strong, Harriman. It can't go unfilled."

    Harriman was suddenly as serious as she. "And if Marsh proves unattainable, how do you intend to get your revenge?"

    "I haven't decided yet." Sybil's frown reflected her distress. "That talkative maid, Mary, said Delaney cannot seem to keep his hands off the sickly Mrs. Case. She said that when the woman was unable to get around, he carried her everywhere, sweeping her into the garden for outings and…" Her voice trailing away, Sybil bit her lip to restrain her distress at that thought. In control of herself once more, she met Harriman's gaze. "Evidently the woman's daughter is quite upset over the relationship between her mother and Delaney. It's my thought that stupid farmer she's married to would be very grateful to learn what's going on while his wife is 'recuperating.'"

    "You wouldn't do that, Sybil!"

    "Oh? Why not?"

    "Because everything you're saying is either gossip or conjecture. You don't know if there's a word of truth in it."

    "Don't I? Well, I tell you this, Harriman, whether there is truth in it or not, if Delaney doesn't see the error of his ways soon"     "By 'error of his ways,' you mean…?"

    "I mean, if he doesn't wake up to the fact that I'm the woman for him, that I can do more for him than"

    "I've heard this speech before, Sybil."

    Giving Harriman a deadly look, Sybil continued resolutely, "If he doesn't wake up soon, he'll find out he made a mistake in choosing that woman over me."

    Sybil was trembling with distress and jealousy, and unable to bear her anguish, Harriman slid his arms around her in a comforting embrace. Damned spoiled woman. Why did he love her so?

    Intensely aware that his own passion was an ungovernable as Sybil's, that the similarity of their natures made him view her excesses with more latitude than probably was wise, Harriman pulled her closer. "That may be so, dear, but in the meantime you may console yourself with me. And I'll amuse you in return. We do make such lovely playmates."

    Sybil's shuddering slowly ceasing, she raised her glorious blue eyes to his. A pensive smile touched her lips. "I suppose we do, Harry."

    Allowing her time for no further response, Harriman raised his voice in brief command. "Home, Orsen."

    The carriage snapped into motion.

    Bloodshot eyes observing from across the street blinked as the sleek Bain carriage moved forward. A low growl escaped the small, wiry fellow's throat as he watched from his position of concealment. Damn that persistent rich bitch! Always hanging around Marsh, always following him. She made such a show of herself that he had seen Marsh looking over his shoulder several times, watching for her. She made it damned hard for him to keep out of view of them hard, light eyes, and he knew damned well what would happen if Marsh realized he was being watched.

    Well, one thing was for sure. The way things were going, he wouldn't be bothered with this job much longer, and he'd be damned glad to see the end of it. A low snicker escaped his long, bony throat, and his protruding Adam's apple bobbed with the next thought he savored so pleasurably. The hardest part would be over for him then, but for Marsh, it would be another story.

«» «» «» «» «» «» «» «» «» «» «» «»

    Allie raised a shaking hand to her head in an effort to still its reeling. It had been stupid of her to expect her ankle to support her weight the first time she attempted to walk by herself. But the error in her thinking had quickly been revealed to her when a stabbing pain had immobilized her at her first step. It had only been with the sheerest luck that she had managed to keep from falling.

    A long strand of hair fanned Allie's neck, and she groaned in annoyance. She had struggled to pin up her hair in a semblance of order, but it was already slipping loose. Not only that, but the dress Olga had helped her into had become wrinkled and she still had not managed to reach the wardrobe to retrieve her shoes. She had hoped to look presentable when Delaney returned, but getting herself on her feet and remaining there was harder than she had thought it would be.

    She had been so encouraged when Dr. Willis had told her that he no longer believed her ankle was broken. A sprain sounded so much less serious than a break, but his comment that there was a possibility of tendon damage had put a damper on her spirits. She was impatient with lying in bed and she wanted to be on her own as soon as possible. Unknown to Delaney, James had found a boardinghouse near the hospital where she and Margaret could stay if Dr. Lindstrom decided to operate. The boardinghouse had several things to recommend it. Its location would allow visits from hospital physicians who would follow through on Margaret's case after Dr. Lindstrom left the city; it would free Delaney of the burden of their care and presence, and it would spare James the agitation of knowing she and Margaret were under Delaney's roof.

    Everything hinged on the extent of her mobility, for Margaret would be bedridden for an indeterminate time, and the speed of her recuperation would depend on the quality of care she received. However, it had taken Allie only a few moments on her feet to realize that there would have to be a miraculous improvement in her ankle if she was to accomplish the heavy nursing chores she would face.

    Breathing deeply, Allie prepared to stand again. Smoothing the skirt of the pale blue foulard afternoon dress, she frowned at the realization that Delaney had personally selected this dress    for her. She had immediately recognized its striking resemblance to a dress she had owned years ago, one Delaney had said made her look like a small ceramic doll he had once seen in a store window in New York. He had said he always wondered how it would feel to hold something that valuable and fragile. He had given her a hard, enthusiastic hug then and laughed, saying it felt pretty good. But his clear-eyed gaze had communicated a far deeper message the first time she had worn this particular dress.

    Her thoughts strengthening her determination, Allie swung her feet to the floor and attempted to stand up. Gasping with pain as she put weight on her injured ankle, Allie lurched helplessly toward the nearby nightstand. Missing as she grasped the edge, she fell, striking her head as she hit the floor. Disoriented, she was startled as Delaney appeared at her side, his anxious gaze searching her face.

    "What happened, Allie? Are you all right?"

    "I… I'm fine."

    Lifting her cautiously, Delaney carried her toward the bed, but Allie protested sharply.

    "No, I don't want to lie down, Delaney. I was getting dressed. I'm going with you when you take Margaret to see Dr. Lindstrom."

    Delaney paused, his light eyes studying her. "So that's it." He lowered her to the bed and sat beside her, then took her hand.

    "I'm sorry. I should've realized you'd be apprehensive about this consultation with Dr. Lindstrom, but everything will be all right. You don't have to worry about Margaret. I'll make sure Dr. Lindstrom sees her and gives me a full explanation of his findings. If he decides he can help Margaret, I'll have him talk to you before anything is done. Will that satisfy you, Allie?"

    The throbbing pain in Allie's ankle had returned, but she still hesitated in response. How could she explain to Delaney that the more he did for her, the more uncomfortable she became? How could she tell him that she needed independence from him so she could assess the conflicting loyalties, which were so mixed up inside her that they were tearing her apart?

    "Allie?"

    "Of course, you're right." She attempted a smile. "But I'd    like to talk to Margaret before you go. Would you ask her to come in here, please?"

    Delaney nodded and rose to leave. She saw hesitation in his eyes. He sensed something and was uneasy, but she could not allow it to affect her. She knew what must be done.

    Delaney attempted to make himself more comfortable on the seat of the rented hack, but it was a wasted effort. Silently accepting that his present unease was not physical, he glanced once more toward Margaret, who sat stiffly beside him, her head determinedly turned toward the window and the streets through which they passed.

    Delaney followed her gaze, wondering at the perversity that had made him instruct the driver to use an indirect route to the office Dr. Lindstrom was using in the Marine Hospital. He supposed he should be grateful that Dr. Willis had persuaded Dr. Lindstrom to see Margaret, since the railroad accident had caused the famous surgeon to cancel all other appointments during his stay in Chicago. But somehow, at the present moment all he felt was uneasiness.

    The pace of the hack changed, the reverberating sound of hooves against the cobbled street altering as the horses negotiated a corner to bring the sparkling surface of the Chicago River into view. Millions of tiny ripples raised by the brisk breeze danced in the sun, turning the surface into a fluid blanket of diamonds studded with graceful masts of swaying ships. A cool wind brushed Delaney's face, carrying the familiar odors of fish and moisture-laden air so characteristic of the docks, in a total assault on the senses to which he had never become inured. Glancing toward the silent, unsmiling child beside him, Delaney realized if he had hoped to elicit a reaction from her, he had failed miserably.

    Delaney studied Margaret's rigid form. The breeze lifted her pale hair from narrow shoulders covered with a lightweight pink dress and wrap. The ensemble complemented the child's fair coloring. He had seen the dress when he purchased the blue foulard for Allie. He was well aware that Margaret would resent wearing the outfit if she realized it was his money that had bought it, but Olga had been only too accommodating in twisting the    truth enough to make both Margaret and Allie believe that James had left a sufficient sum to replace the clothing lost in the wreck.

    Not for the first time it occurred to Delaney as Margaret sat, her posture rigid, her small chin fixed with determination, that she was the image of Allie as he had first seen her. He supposed that accounted for his conflicting feelings with regard to the child. There was no denying the anger she aroused in him with intense perusals and accusing glances so reminiscent of her father's, but there was something else, a feeling to which he could not put a name, which would give him no rest. Whatever it was, he had a strong inclination to

    ''Sir, this is the hospital coming up on our right."

    At the driver's call from atop the carriage Delaney turned to the three-story brick building coming into view. An effort had been made to relieve its cold, institutional appearance with wide wooden porches extending from the first and second floors and with abbreviated lawns on either side of the front entrance, but the building projected little of the appeal intended.

    They were drawing steadily closer to the imposing edifice when Delaney was startled by a tremor that unexpectedly shook Margaret's rigid posture. He was more startled still by a low, almost indistinguishable sob that escaped her throat in the moment before she raised her chin a fraction higher with a small sniff.

    Reacting instinctively, Delaney curved his hand around her cheek and gently turned Margaret's face toward him. Tears welled in her great dark eyes in a way that touched his heart.

    "What's the matter, Margaret? Don't you feel well?"

    Margaret remained silent. Her attempt to brush away a tear brought her hand in contact with Delaney's long fingers as he smoothed it from her face.

    "Tell me what's wrong, Margaret."

    The child shuddered again, and Delaney turned to give the driver further instructions.

    "Drive around the block again."

    Delaney looked back toward Margaret with concern.

    Abruptly brushing away his hand, Margaret gulped back her tears. "I don't want to see that doctor with you! You don't like me and you don't care about me. You're only taking me because Mama can't go and Papa had to go home."

    Delaney shook his head. "That's not true, Margaret. I do care what happens to you."

    "No, you don't! You never liked me, and you were mean to Papa, too. You only like Mama."

    Margaret's perceptiveness and distress were unanticipated, and Delaney was at a loss for a response. Distressed to recall his previous callous disregard for her feelings, he realized her agitation touched him more deeply than he had thought possible, and he took her arm gently, refusing to allow her to shake off his touch.

    "Margaret, there are so many things you don't understand things that happened before you were born."

    "I don't care. I don't want to go with you. I want to go back to Mama."

    "Margaret, listen to me." Realizing the situation was quickly progressing out of control, Delaney gripped both Margaret's arms firmly, holding her immobile. When she attempted to break free, he spoke in soft reprimand. "Your mother put you in my care today, Margaret. She expects me to take you to see Dr. Lindstrom, and she also expects you to behave. She would be very disappointed in you and very upset if you didn't keep your appointment." Margaret's struggle came to an abrupt halt, and Delaney continued quietly, "But I realize your reluctance isn't entirely your fault. I'm to blame, too, and I want to tell you some things that might help you understand the way I've been acting. Will you listen, Margaret?"

    Her eyes still averted, Margaret gave a reluctant nod.

    Encouraged, Delaney began softly. "Your mama and I are old friends, Margaret. I've known her since she was a little older than you are now. We were both alone, with no family and no home when we met. Your mama was frightened, just as you are now, and I was very unhappy. We became friends, and when your grandmother and grandfather took us into their house to live, our friendship became stronger. Your papa didn't like me, Margaret, and I didn't like him. We both had a lot of reasons why we felt that way, but Mama liked us both. It made her unhappy to see two people she liked always arguing, and when I left the farm, I suppose she was unhappy because even though it was a relief not to be torn between us, she knew she would miss me, too."

    Delaney noted that Margaret's trembling had ceased. She turned toward him with a speculative gaze as he continued, "I came to Chicago to live, and I hadn't seen your mother since that time. But I missed her, Margaret. I missed her very much, and when I saw her injured in the wreck, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to help her in time. I couldn't think about anything else but helping her to get better, and I didn't want anyone to get in the way. I was selfish about wanting to keep her to myself after all the years that had passed without seeing her. And I was jealous of the time you had with her while we were separated, so I wasn't very pleasant to you.

    "I'm very sorry for that, Margaret. I hope you can forgive me." Realizing he meant those words sincerely, Delaney watched as Margaret's dark eyes flickered, but she made no response, and he continued, determined. "Then your papa came here, Margaret. Nothing had changed between us. We still disliked each other, and we still argued. But that didn't stop your papa from doing what was best for your mama and you. So he went back to the farm and left you here until your mama could get well. Your papa and I will never be friends, but he knew I would keep my word to take care of you both."

    Margaret was listening attentively, and Delaney's hopes rose. "Your mama and your papa want you to see Dr. Lindstrom today. They want him to fix your hip so you can walk more easily and I want it, too." Raising his hand to Margaret's cheek, Delaney brushed a wisp of pale hair out of the path of her tears, his voice deepening with the previously unacknowledged truth he was about to speak. "I want the doctor to help you because your mama's my friend and I love her, just as I love you because you're a part of her."

    Delaney attempted a smile. "Do you believe me, Margaret?"

    Withholding response, Margaret looked hard and deep into his eyes, and Delaney's anxiety mounted. Suddenly realizing how much he needed and wanted this child's acceptance, he could hardly bear her silence. He prompted softly, "Can you forgive me?"

    Tears brimming in her eyes once more, Margaret gave a short nod.

    Delaney slid his arms around Margaret and hugged her close, an unexpected thickness appearing in his throat as her arms     moved lightly around him in return. Drawing away as the carriage drew to a halt in front of the hospital, Delaney was about to speak when Margaret stiffened.

    "I don't want to go in," she said. "I I’m afraid."

    Delaney smiled in an attempt at comfort. "Dr. Lindstrom won't hurt you, dear."

    "But… but what if he can't help me? Mama and Papa will be so unhappy, and I don't want to disappoint them."

    The full reason for Margaret's reluctance was clear at last, and Delaney was touched by her unselfish concern for her parents. But he would have expected little else from Allie's child.

    "Your mama and papa could never be disappointed in you, Margaret. And neither could I." The last sentence increased the tears in Margaret's eyes, and Delaney enclosed her small hand in his. "Let's go in now. I promise you, everything will be all right."

    Delaney walked up the path toward the hospital with Margaret at his side, her hand in his. She was still tense as they approached the entrance, and he cast her an encouraging glance. A shadow of a smile touched her lips, and Delaney's aching spirit swelled.

Chapter Twenty-Four