Wings of a Dove (60 page)

    "One of the girls told me Mr. Paynter knows you've been tryin' to find out who killed Selina and the other girls. He knows I've been talkin' to you. He'll kill me just like he killed her, and nobody'll care just like nobody cared about them!"

    "I care, Mae, or I wouldn't have gone down to Conley's Patch, would I?" Carefully extricating himself from Mae's clutching fingers, Delaney glanced at Olga. "Is anyone else in the house, Olga? Is Mary here?"

    "No, she's gone for the day, Mr. Marsh."

    Delaney looked into Mae's frightened face. He had seen faces     like this on the streets of New York those long years ago. Some were younger, some older, some prettier, and some no longer pretty at all. They all had one thing in common: The acceptance of their hard lot in life was visible in their eyes. But this girl's eyes also reflected terror.

    Realizing that Mae was shaking so badly she could hardly stand, he grasped her wrists firmly and led her to a chair.

    "Sit here for a few minutes, Mae. I'm going to hail a hack and take you someplace where you'll be safe. When you're settled, I'll finish my investigation. We'll get Paynter and the others who are responsible for the killings and for forcing girls into his houses. When it's all over, I'll see to it that you have enough money to start all over again, someplace else, wherever you want to go. Do you believe me, Mae?"

    Mae, still quaking, cast Olga a quick, uncertain look.

    "Olga has been with me for six years, and she's completely trustworthy. Will you do as I say, Mae?"

    Gulping audibly, Mae nodded, and Delaney released her wrists. He snatched a jacket from a hook near the door and hurried down the front steps toward the street. A short time later he reentered and motioned Mae to her feet.

    "The hack is waiting." He took the shuddering young woman's arm as she walked toward him.

    Her smeared makeup stood out brightly on her pale skin a travesty of its former attempt at appeal and her revealing dress hung loosely on her thin frame. The girl looked exactly like what she had been forced to become, a panic-stricken whore, young and pathetic.

    Delaney slipped an arm around her. "I'll take you where you'll be safe until I'm ready to come and get you. Will you wait for me, Mae?"

    The girl nodded, and Delaney led her to the door with a glance toward Olga's unrevealing expression.

    "Dr. Willis recommended I give Mrs. Case a powder. She's sleeping. I'll be back before she awakens. Watch over her for me, Olga."

    The woman's nod all he needed for reassurance, Delaney took Mae's thin, trembling arm and walked her down the steps and into the carriage. With a short command to the driver, he drew the curtain across the window and settled back beside the frightened woman. He realized the full implications of this situation for the first time and he frowned. He was running out of time, and if he wasn't careful, he would be in more trouble than Mulrooney ever dreamed.

    The small, rodent like fellow concealing himself on the opposite side of Wabash Avenue laughed low in his throat as Delaney's carriage moved briskly down the street. Following it with his eyes until it turned the corner and moved out of sight, he slipped from hiding and emerged on the street with a brisk step.

    He had a lot to thank Mae Brewster for today. The girl had cinched things for him, and Mr. Paynter would pay him plenty when he came back with this information. The way things looked, Marsh was taking the girl somewhere. It didn't make much difference where. He'd find her pretty quick, and Mr. Paynter would see that somebody else took it from there.

    That was the way he liked it. Nobody ever got away with snitching on Mr. Paynter. He shook his head. Nobody.

Chapter Twenty-Five

    James held the scented pink stationery in his hand. The elaborate script and the obviously expensive envelope were intriguing. He had no doubt that was the reason Rob Miller had gone out of his way to deliver it to him on the way back from town. James had not enjoyed disappointing the fellow, but intuition had caused him to delay opening the letter until Rob had given up and gone home. He was exceedingly glad he had.

    Suddenly angry, James looked again at the letter in his hand, rereading the message for the third time. The pain caused by the written words did not lessen.

    Mr. Case,

    You do not know me, but we have an acquaintance in common Delaney Marsh. I do not know your opinion of Mr. Marsh, and for that reason I hesitated to write for fear you would give this note little credence. But time has worsened the situation to the point of scandal, and in good conscience I can no longer keep silent.

    Mr. Case, it pains me to inform you that Mr. Marsh and your wife are conducting a flagrant affair that is the disgrace of the good people of Wabash Avenue. They have     been seen in each other's arms in full view of the neighbors in the garden behind Mr. Marsh's home and in public places where such behavior is entirely unsuitable. I feel it is only fair to add that your young daughter appears to be suffering as a result of the conduct of Mrs. Case and Mr. Marsh. She has been seen on more than one occasion to be considerably ill at ease in his presence.

    I write you, Mr. Case, in the hope that you will see fit to take proper action. It is always difficult when a man is informed his wife has taken a lover, but I believe you will agree it is your duty to see that this dishonorable conduct is brought to a halt.

    I hope you will forgive me for being the bearer of such unwelcome news. I do consider myself

    A Friend

    His complexion grew pale beneath his sun-darkened skin, and James closed his eyes briefly. In his heart he could not believe a word of this well-written note. Not Allie… his Allie. She would not betray anyone, especially him.

    The wrinkled letter in his hand seeming suddenly to burn his palm, James rolled it up into a ball and tossed it on the ground. Stepping off the porch, he hesitated a moment longer before grinding it into the dirt of the yard with his foot. Turning, he walked back into the house. He would leave first thing in the morning.

    Foremost in his mind as he entered his bedroom and started to pack was his realization that someone in that city, possibly living near Allie, hated her enough to attempt to incite him against her.

    Panicking at his sudden fear for Allie's safety, James knew only one thing. He had to see Allie, to convince himself she was truly all right. He loved her and missed her terribly. He wanted her home but, most of all, he wanted her safe. He would not leave Chicago again until he was certain she was secure.

    Bending low over the silver teapot in her hand, Sybil allowed Harriman a teasing view of her generous bosom, quickly raising her glance to catch the appreciation in his eye as she asked     lightly, "Do you want some more, Harry?" At his startled glance, she added innocently, "Tea, that is."

    The brief discomfort visible on Harriman's distinguished face appearing to amuse her, Sybil lowered the pot gracefully to the tray and added two teaspoons of sugar to the steaming cup. "You like it sweet and hot, isn't that right? Tea, that is."

    Sybil handed Harriman the cup, all but laughing aloud as he mumbled an unintelligible reply. Casting her a warning glance, Harriman reached for a biscuit, his eyes scanning the small, elaborately furnished parlor.

    "I admit to considerable surprise when I arrived here and found your mother at home, Sybil. As fond of her as I am, I'm also grateful that the dear lady saw fit to leave us alone for a little while so we could talk." Harriman paused, his aristocratic brow rising as he asked a short direct question. "What are you up to, Sybil?"

    "Are you always so perceptive, Harry dear, or is your perception only so accurate with me?"

    "Sybil dear, I see through you as I do a pane of glass. I'll ask you again. What are you up to?"

    "Nothing at all." An expression of supreme contentment moving over her lovely face, Sybil took a casual sip of tea. "I've decided to put aside my 'jealous fury' and go on with my life and the sweet games we play and to see where they lead, Harry dear."

    Harriman's narrow, distinguished face went still, and he lowered his cup to the table. "You're saying you've finally conceded that Delaney Marsh is beyond your reach."

    The tic in Sybil's cheek was more revealing than a response, and the slow dawning of hope in Harriman's gaze faded. "What have you done, Sybil?"

    Sybil set her cup noisily in its saucer. "I will not be interrogated by you, Harriman! What I have or have not done is not your concern!"

    Harriman rose angrily to his feet. Not to be outdone, Sybil rose and faced him, only to have him clamp his smooth hands on her shoulders and give her a hard shake.

    "I asked you what you've done to make you so smug and self-satisfied. Damn you, if you've"

    "What do you think I've done? I'm not about to let Delaney Marsh toss me over for a country slut!"

    "Sybil! What did you do?"

    "I wrote her husband a letter, that's what I did!" Her eyes blazing azure fire, Sybil spat heatedly into Harriman's darkening expression, "And you needn't look so disapproving, because I don't care a damn! By now that skinny little bitch's husband has read that letter and is on his way here to take his wife home with him where she belongs."

    "What did you write in that letter?"

    "The truth! I wrote that Delaney and his wife are having an affair, and that Delaney can neither keep his hands off her nor bear to part from her! I wrote that the relationship is an open scandal!"

    "That's not true."

    "I don't care! I will have that woman out of Delaney's house, now and forever!"

    "And when she's gone, you'll conveniently show up on his doorstep."

    "If I feel the inclination!"

    Harriman's face went white. He dropped his hands from Sybil's shoulders, turned, and strode toward the door.

    "Harriman, where are you going?"

    Harriman's expression was frozen as he turned in reply. "I've decided to leave before I lose what's left of my honor. A man can only be pushed so far, Sybil. You lost the man you wanted because you pushed him beyond his limits, and as inconceivable as it may seem to you, you're now losing me for the same reason. I told you, I wouldn't be party to your revenge scheme."

    "But you aren't! You have nothing to do with it!"

    "That's where you're wrong. By my silence, by my presence, I've lent you support. I told myself there was no true malice in you, that you'd come to realize the value of my affection for you in time, but I realize now that I've been just as great a fool as you. There's one difference between us, however. I will be a fool no longer. Good-bye, Sybil."

    "Harriman, you can't leave!"

    "Can't I? You're wrong again."

    Turning, Harriman pushed open the door and left Sybil standing in incredulous silence. His footsteps echoed in the empty
 
   

    hall, and it was only after the click of the front door had ceased reverberating in the silence that Sybil finally believed he was gone.

    Relieved to be back in familiar surroundings and away from the discomfort of the Wabash Avenue post where he had kept watch so diligently, Weasel wound his way through the narrow gaslit streets of Conley's Patch. He turned his head in quick, jerking motions, his small slitted eyes sweeping the area as he continued his rapid, silent step. But it was more than physical appearance that had earned him the nickname by which he was known throughout the patch, and Weasel was about to prove how well the label suited him.

    Weasel smiled, his uneven rotting teeth glinting in the light of the street lamps, his protruding Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He was glad to be called back to Mr. Paynter's office. Mr. Paynter was an important man. He ran the Patch and everything that went on in it, and Delaney Marsh hadn't fooled him for a minute when he came sniffing around, pretending to investigate Otis Davidson's holdings. Mr. Paynter knew Marsh's reputation and suspected Marsh was looking for a story on him and the whores he had gotten rid of. And then Mr. Paynter sent for Weasel.

    He gave a low, self-satisfied snigger. He had shown Mr. Paynter that he could be depended on to do the job for him. He had followed Marsh, dogging his heels, watching his house. He had done little else for the past few weeks, but it had all finally paid off with the appearance of that redheaded whore, Mae.

    Weasel smiled again. Everything was going just as he had thought it would, and he liked being able to anticipate what his boss would do. Mr. Paynter had been furious when Weasel told him that Mae Brewster had shown up on Marsh's doorstep a few nights ago and that Marsh had whisked her away. Mr. Paynter had checked the house where Mae worked, and she had not returned. Weasel had known she wouldn't be there, and he had experienced a familiar thrill at the murderous gleam in Mr. Paynter's eye.

    Served the damned whore right that Mr. Paynter finally found out she was the one who was rumored to be giving Marsh information! It wouldn't be hard to find that hack driver and get     the address where Marsh dropped Mae. Weasel assumed that Mr. Paynter had sent for him to tell him one of the other
fellas
had already done just that.