“Well, I find that to be simply outrageous,” Charlotte sniffed. “Some conventions should withstand the test of time.”
“Yeah, and obviously, that one didn’t.” Curious, Jordan walked over to examine the flowers. A card was nestled in the leaves. She plucked it out and removed it from its envelope. There was no message, just a boldly scrawled “J.”
She replaced the card and, smiling, leaned over to sniff the fragrant flowers.
“I believe you may be correct regarding the source, Charlotte.” Seavey sounded amused. “Of course, the man got the idea from me, which indicates an appalling lack of imagination.”
“He was merely making certain I didn’t feel left out,” Jordan said. “It was a kind, thoughtful gesture.” And charmingly sneaky.
“I fail to see why women lose all sense of reason over a handful of hothouse flowers,” Frank said, his tone disdainful. “You are, as a sex, such disgustingly sentimental creatures.”
Seavey sighed and raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Given your attitude, Lewis, is it any wonder that Hattie prefers me over you?”
“Michael,” Hattie admonished. “As you are perfectly well aware, I haven’t made a decision yet. Please do not taunt your competition.”
“Regardless of your attempts to manipulate her emotions, Seavey, I feel confident that Hattie will see through you.” Frank remained stubbonly focused on his opponent. “She has, after all, an outstanding mind and admirable ethics.”
“Thank you, Frank,” Hattie replied softly. “You are a good man.”
“Enough,” Jordan ordered. “I’m way too tired to referee this evening. I’m fixing a cup of tea and then heading up to bed with my stack of reading.”
“What, precisely, are you reading?” Seavey asked.
Already halfway down the hall to the kitchen, Jordan slowed and looked over her shoulder. “Your personal papers. I’m looking for information about Sam Garrett. I talked to him earlier this evening, and—”
Charlotte gasped and flew to Hattie’s side, clutching her arm. “Garrett is here?”
“He is an extremely dangerous man,” Seavey admonished Jordan. “I strongly suggest that you have nothing to do with him.”
“Believe me,” she said fervently, “I never want to cross paths with him again. But I need to know more about him.”
“Your investigation into this man could put you, as well as the rest of us, at extreme risk,” Hattie warned. “I beg of you to drop whatever line of inquiry you are pursuing.”
“You do want me to solve Michael’s murder, don’t you?” At Hattie’s grudging nod, Jordan added, “Then I need answers.”
Charlotte started sobbing uncontrollably. “If Garrett comes near me again, I simply won’t survive! I can’t bear to see him!”
Jordan looked at her, perplexed. “What do you mean, ‘again’? Has he been coming around Longren House?”
“She means before,” Seavey explained quietly. He moved to place a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “My dear, if Garrett approaches you, you need only to summon me, and I will endeavor to protect you as I did in the past.”
“What are you talking about?” Jordan asked, bewildered.
“Yes, I would like to know the answer to that question myself,” Hattie said firmly. “Charlotte, did Garrett harm you in some way? And if so, why is this the first time I’m hearing of it?”
Charlotte looked at Seavey with pleading eyes.
He sighed. “Very well, I shall explain. It is probably best that it all come to light. Perhaps we should adjourn to the kitchen, where we can be more comfortable while I relate this sordid little tale.”
Unintended Consequences
Cosmopolitan Hotel
August 3, 1893
MICHAEL was awakened by his bodyguard in the early morning hours and informed that unexpected guests awaited him in his sitting room.
Remy’s expression was solemn. “It’s young Mr. Canby, Boss, accompanied by an injured young lady.”
“Please make them comfortable, Remy. I will join them momentarily.” He paused while pulling on his silk dressing gown. “How badly is the young woman hurt?”
“She’s unconscious, Boss. Someone beat her up bad.” Remy hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I believe she’s a soiled dove. One of Mona Starr’s girls?”
“Never mind that,” Seavey replied, knotting the tie of the dressing gown, then sitting down to don the calfskin slippers his bodyguard produced. “Summon Dr. Willoughby immediately.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“And Remy—remain at Willoughby’s and accompany him back to the hotel. I don’t trust the man to respond to my summons without the threat of persuasion. Take care, however, not to injure him—we will need his skills intact this evening.”
His bodyguard nodded, then withdrew silently.
Opening the sitting room door, Michael stopped at the sight that greeted him. Jesse Canby knelt by Michael’s maroon velvet settee, stroking the bruised forehead of Charlotte Walker, who lay unmoving, eyes closed. Her complexion was pale, her gown ripped. Michael thought he could see evidence of some blood spatter on her sleeve.
He closed his eyes briefly. Dear God! As he’d feared, he’d gravely miscalculated.
“Seavey!” Jesse stood to execute an unsteady bow. “I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“This is the work of Sam Garrett?” Michael asked grimly.
“Yes.” Jesse wrung his hands. “I was in the next room when I heard Charlotte’s screams. S’truth, I tried to stop him!”
“Where was Mona’s bodyguard?” Michael asked.
“As soon as Charlotte began screaming, one of the girls ran to fetch him. It took three of us to pull Garrett into the hall. He was in an uncontrollable rage—we were hardly a match for him.”
“Few would be,” Michael said, trying to sooth the agitated young man.
He knelt beside the girl, studying her injuries. His gut tightened. Even with the bruises, her resemblance to Hattie was strong enough to bring forth a familiar rush of grief. He took a moment to steel himself, then continued his perusal.
Charlotte’s breathing appeared to be even, though shallow, as if she was in pain. Broken ribs, perhaps? No oubt at least badly bruised. Garrett had managed to land several blows about her face, even blackening one eye. Even more troubling, Michael suspected the worst of the damage had been inflicted where no one would see the bruises unless they removed her clothing.
He stood and lifted a soft wool throw from the back of the settee, gently covering her with it.
“I’ve sent for Willoughby,” he told Jesse quietly. “If you don’t want your current state of debilitation reported back to your mother, I suggest you vacate the premises immediately.”
“I’m not leaving Charlotte,” Jesse said stoutly. “I’m responsible for her.”
“Your loyalty is admirable but misguided. This attack was directed at me, and rest assured, I will handle it. You may return in the morning to visit Charlotte.”
Jesse swayed on his feet but remained where he was, a stubborn look on his face. “I will have your word that you won’t allow her to leave this suite,” he demanded. “If she returns to the Green Light, I fear she won’t survive another night.”
Michael nodded. “I’m in agreement. She will be safe here. I will post my bodyguards outside her room.”
After several more minutes of reassurances, Michael was able to convince Canby to leave by the back stairs. He returned to pace the suite while he awaited the physician’s arrival.
Garrett had crossed the line when he recklessly committed murder, but this attack was far more reprehensible. Harming a defenseless young woman … Michael simply couldn’t stomach it.