She stepped back, shuddering, and he dropped his hands. “Please, if you have an ounce of decency left in you, I beg of you …” She stopped, shaking her head.
He studied her broodingly. “And what will you give me, Hattie, for the safe return of Charlotte? Money? Or more? Will you give me everything I want?”
Hattie closed her eyes. As she suspected, he meant to bargain Charlotte—for control of Longren Shipping, for the demise of the sailors’ union, and for her own freedom. He wanted everything. She cared nothing for herself, but what of Frank? What would happen to him if she gave in to Seavey’s demands? Would Seavey insist that she turn Frank over to him? She couldn’t bring herself to trade one life for another. And yet, she couldn’t think about what was happening to Charlotte at this very moment.
Perhaps she had one more option, one more strategy at her disposal. And if that didn’t work, then she would force herself to make the more wrenching decision.
“What happens to me, or to Longren Shipping, is no longer of any consequence,” she said. “But I won’t bargain with the lives of others.”
Seavey studied her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Then it’s truly a pity,” he said finally, “that you won’t allow me to help you.” He replaced his top hat, nodding. “Good day, Mrs. Longren.”
He stepped around her and walked away. With shaking fingers she pulled her cape close to ward off the chill that seemed to permeate even her bones, never noticing the warmth of the late afternoon sun.
Pray to God my idea works.
Turning, she stepped into the alley. Walking to the door at the back of the building across from the courthouse, she raised a hand and knocked on its weather-beaten whitewashed exterior. Within moments, the door opened, revealing the young prostitute Hattie recognized from the night of the fire.
“Isobel. Please tell Mrs. Starr that I must speak with her immediately.”
* * *
FROM one block away, Michael Seavey watched Hattie enter the Green Light. So Hattie thought to secure assistance from Mona Starr. He found Hattie’s resolve, her courage in the face of truly frightening circumstances, curiously admirable. His late wife would’ve acted only to save her own skin, not out of principle or concern for others. Not that asking Mona would do Hattie any good—the wealthy madam was not without resources, but she didn’t have the power to affect the outcome of this little drama. Whereas he did. However, the question was, what outcome did he desire?
He turned to his bodyguard. “Remy.”
“Yessir.”
“Fetch Clive Johnson and bring him to my hotel room.”
“Yessir.”
“And, Remy?” The bodyguard turned back. “Don’t be gentle about it.”
Remy’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “How much time do I got, Mr. Seavey?”
“One hour should be sufficient, I believe.”
The Rescue Plan
TWENTY-FOUR hours later, Hattie sat in the second-floor parlor, sewing a hidden pocket into the skirts of her evening gown. She’d already pricked her fingers with the needle more times than she could count.
No ransom note had been delivered, as she’d prayed would happen. At least a ransom note would’ve cast a different light on Charlotte’s abduction, raising doubts as to her presumption about Seavey’s plans to use Charlotte as leverage. With no such note forthcoming, she’d been forced to accept the worst.
Sleep had been impossible, eating even more so. All she could hope was that the plan she and Mona had devised would be successful.
“Give me time to gather information regarding Charlotte’s location,” Mona had told her the day before at the Green Light.
“But the longer we wait—”
“Acting in haste, and in the absence of a solid plan, will be even riskier,” Mona had pointed out. “Think with your head, not your emotions, Hattie. Charlotte’s life is more important than whatever temporary discomfort, or even abuse, she experiences at the hands of her captors.”
Hattie had forced herself to nod her agreement. “How long?”
“Twenty-four hours, at least. You must also attend the soirée tomorrow evening—it will be your cover.”
“To expect me to act normal, as if nothing has happened, as if Seavey and Greeley, who are bound to be in attendance, haven’t had a hand in this … no. You ask too much.”
“If anyone asks later, dozens of people will say that you were at the party, that you couldn’t have been involved,” Mona had insisted.
Though Hattie had been forced to admit the wisdom of Mona’s plan, she’d been incapable of more than a shudder by way of response.
Mona had taken her silence as acquiescence. “Slip out no earlier than midnight, and make certain no one sees you. Come to the alley door—we will proceed from here.”
So she had come home to wait, firming her resolve for what she must do. Struggling to assure Sara and Tabitha that all would eventually be well, that Charlotte would return home safe.
Hattie closed her eyes for a moment, then bent over her sewing once again. She would never forgive herself for her own naïve actions that had brought about this chain of events.
She heard a slight movement and turned. Frank stood, one shoulder propped heavily against the doorway, his face white with pain. Setting aside her sewing, she leapt to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed—whatever were you thinking?”
Frank shook his head, working to get his breath back and, she realized, to keep his balance. “Willoughby said I could walk around as soon as I felt well enough.”
“Yes, I’m certain you’re feeling fine at the moment,” Hattie said, her tone acerbic. Though his improvement had been rapid since his awakening, he was by no means miraculously cured of either the concussion or the broken ribs. She grasped his arm. “Let me help you back up the stairs.”
He didn’t move, instead gazing down at her grimly. “The walls have ears, Hattie. I heard Tabitha’s screams, and her sobs late into the night. And Sara informed me of your plans for this evening.”
Hattie stiffened. “I gave Sara no such permission.”
“I was persuasive in my arguments.” Hattie watched him deal with a new wave of dizziness before continuing. “She’s concerned, as am I. I’m asking you to reconsider.”
“There’s no other way.”
She began to turn away, but Frank placed his hand on her arm, halting her. “I can’t … be there to protect you.”
She covered his hand with her own. “I must do this—I’m Charlotte’s only hope.”
“Take Seavey’s offer,” he urged. “I could accept that before I could bear seeing any harm come to you.”
“And you don’t believe he’d harm me?”
“At least you’d be safe. He’s a hard man, but I don’t think he’d mistreat you.”
“And what of you?” she argued, unaccountably angry. “Do you truly believe I’m capable of trading Charlotte’s life for yours? If so, you must think very little of me.”
After a long moment, Frank sighed, dropping his hand. “At least give me assurances that Mona is taking adequate precautions for your safety.”
“Yes, Booth will be accompanying us, along with two hired bodyguards.”
“Very well.” His tone was grudging.
“Please, allow me to help you back to bed—”
“No.” He ran a hand through his hair, his expression rife with frustration. “I’ll await your return in the library.”
* * *
AT precisely eight o’clock that evening, Hattie presented her engraved invitation to the butler at the door of the Canby Mansion. While he studied it, she slipped a hand into her pocket to assure herself the roll of cash she’d taken from the library safe was still there.