Читать книгу London's Calling - Elysabeth Williams - Страница 6

Chapter 2

The front door closed with a clunk, almost pushing Delilah into the hotel. The lobby lights were low, as she expected them to be at this time of night. One lone man sat behind a counter, slumped over an open book propped on his stomach. The echoes of his snores vibrated off the darkly paneled walls of the empty room.

Delilah approached him and cleared her throat, trying to delicately wake the gentleman. He snorted loud enough that Delilah jumped backward a step. Unfortunately, it didn’t wake him and he settled back into a regular rhythm of snores. Pursing her lips, she scanned the counter. Her gaze caught on a brass desk bell directly in front of the man. She hovered her hand over it, and between snores, she smacked the push button of the bell as hard as she could.

The ding was ear piercing. With a something akin to a snort and a yelp, the man threw his book in the air and fell off the stool into a flailing heap on the floor. Delilah caught the book on its descent and glanced at the pages while the man righted himself. She was somehow not surprised when she focused in on a black and white photograph of a lovely woman lying on a chaise lounge, completely naked.

“Oh! I do apologize for my inattentiveness.” He fumbled to stand and gasped as he saw her looking at the book. He tried to snatch it from her hands but Delilah grinned and took a step sideways as she flipped through pages, enjoying the moment too much. He cleared his throat and pulled down on the lapels of his vest to straighten them. Jutting out his chin to put off an air of authority, he sniffed at her silent refusal to give back the book. Delilah had to stifle a laugh as she watched his overgrown mustache waggle on his face like a walrus’ whiskers.

She closed the book and placed it gently on the counter. “Sir, I am looking for accommodations for the evening. Could you be so kind as to assist me?”

He blinked and stammered, grabbing the book and shoving it under the counter. He pulled out a leather bound ledger and thumbed through the pages, skimming over a list of names and room numbers.

“Yes, yes of course. I have a room available.” He turned the ledger around on the counter to face Delilah and handed her a pen. “Please just sign your name on this blank line and I will call the bellboy to help you with your things.”

Unease at the offer filled her stomach as she glanced at the rolling luggage behind her. Though he hadn’t recognized her, Delilah had no doubt he would if he or someone else were to see her nameplate on it. Given his reading material, it was certain he’d figure out her employer, or rather, previous employer. She dismissed his help with a wave. “No worries there, sir. I don’t wish to cause any fuss at this late hour. If you can just show me the way, I’ll be glad to settle in myself.” Delilah looked at the register before her and paused. The empty line waited for her name, and again, she wondered if she should be truthful with her identity.

The clerk frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh no, sorry. I was just preoccupied for a moment.” She swallowed hard and scribbled a random name across the ledger. With a tense smile, she handed the pen back to its owner. He returned the smile and placed the instruments back under the counter.

The clerk rounded the edge of the desk and led the way to the waiting lift. She followed him into the elevator and they rode silently to the second floor. He slid open the wrought iron gate and held a hand out to let Delilah exit first. Gripping her luggage handle tightly, she exited into the dim lit hall and waited for the man to show her the way. As she watched him fumble through a large ring of door keys, she noticed a man meandering down the hall to the right of the elevator. The sight of him wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary. He was a sharply dressed gentleman having apparently just returned from a night out on the town. Still in a black tuxedo and shiny black top hat, he dragged his right foot slightly behind him. As if noticing her unintentional stare, he stopped his uneasy gait and twisted his head toward her on his shoulders like an owl. She shuddered involuntarily. His face was pallid–the skin stretched tight over his skull. His eyes were a bit wild and glassy, and when he smiled, the sight of a mouthful of blackened, rotted teeth caused Delilah to jerk her head away from him to keep from screaming.

Distracted with the image of the man in her mind, she took a few steps away to put distance between them. Unfortunately, the clerk hadn’t yet moved and she ran straight into his back. The keys shot out of his hands and onto the burgundy Oriental rug. Delilah felt the heat rush to her cheeks in embarrassment and stumbled over him and out of the way, trying to get out of the corner of the hallway where she’d encountered the man. The clerk clamored for the keys, sputtering pardons and apologies while Delilah glanced over her shoulder. The man was now gone, but she could swear she could hear his dragging foot on the carpet where she could not see. Her stomach turned and she became overheated.

“Are we almost there, sir?” She pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket with a pause to recall the one she’d handed over to the man outside, and dabbed her forehead with it, a cold sweat popping to her skin. They had not taken more than ten steps down the hall from the elevator, yet Delilah just wished to put a few walls in between the stranger and herself. Irrational her feelings may be, but her desire to flee the area was still raging through her veins.

“Yes we are, madam,” he said, holding up a slender nickel colored key with much enthusiasm, totally oblivious to her unease. He unlocked and opened the door, pausing to turn on an electrical switch. A glass-beaded lamp on a side table dimly lit the room. Modest accommodations, yes, but given the circumstances, Delilah breathed a sigh of relief. The clerk handed over the key and bowed at the waist as he backed out the door with parting words. “I shall leave you to rest. There will be breakfast served promptly at six. Checkout is at noon and payment will be expected then unless you plan to stay longer. Have a good evening…er, rest of the evening.” His mustache rose with a derisive sniff as he closed the door.

Delilah closed and bolted the door, latched the chain, and pressed her back against it. Safe at last?

She glanced over the room. It was sparse, but at least it was better than the cot in her dressing room of Miss Merriweather's, or worse, the street. She pitched her reticule on the side table and her luggage on the bed to rifle through the contents in search of her nightgown. The sooner she could get sleep, the better.

While changing clothes, she briefly went over the happenings of the evening. The flash of flesh, the firing, the fight, the farewells…the man in the alley… She smiled at that as she pulled the gown over her head. Hoping he found his way home safe, Delilah recalled his stunning eyes and easy grin, even on the face of someone recently accosted.

The memory of his warm smile soon triggered that of the rotted black teeth she’d seen in the hallway not moments before. Her heart raced and she glanced again to the door to make sure it was bolted. Wrapping her arms around herself to avoid the involuntary shudder, she walked the room to make sure there were no other doors that would need to be attended. Finding it secure, she returned to the bed and lay down. Only then did she realize how exhausted she really was.

Pulling the covers to her neck, she let her eyelids flutter shut and began to cobble together a plan of what to do in the morning. Heading north, perhaps to the country was a viable option. It was possible she could gain employ at a manor house as a cook or some such. It wasn't as amazing or exciting as the life on stage, but it obviously was time to change her career path. Though generally unskilled at most things domestic, she couldn’t let inexperience stop her from at least trying.

She opened her eyes briefly to glance at the clock on the table and cringed, seeing it was well past three in the morning. Three hours of sleep until breakfast. She closed her eyes again and tried to erase the daunting thought of life changing plans with the more pleasant one. Mr. Heller’s face drifted in and out of her mind as she sunk into a pleasant slumber while she thought of one sided grins and silvery grey eyes.

* * * *

She awoke to the sound of pounding on her door.

“Cleaning service, madam,” a female voice called from the other side.

Delilah jolted upright, and looked at the clock. Half past eleven. “Damn!” Check-out was in thirty minutes. “Damn. Damn.”

She struggled to get dressed in a half sleep and sweetly explained through the door to have the maid to give her just a moment. Gathering her things back into the trunk, she found her reticule missing from the side of the table where she'd tossed it previously. With a curse, she flung the contents of her luggage back and forth, trying to find it. She dropped to the floor and scanned under the vanity, bed, and dresser, with no luck. “Bloody hell.”

“Madam, I must clean the room before the next guest arrives,” the maid pounded again and shook the doorknob.

“Just a minute, please,” she said with more force than intended. The rattling of the doorknob stopped. Delilah got to her feet and flopped down on the bed with her head in her hands. Her savings were gone, nowhere to be found. Had someone entered while she slept? She stared at the door’s locks. All unfastened from the inside. She felt her throat start to close with the idea of someone being in the same room. Glassy eyes and a rotten smile came to mind and she covered her mouth and screamed into it.

The rap on the door came again, harder this time. “Are you all right?” The doorknob started to jiggle again and Delilah bolted from the bed. She snapped the clasps closed on her luggage and threw the door open to a very concerned looking woman.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She forced a smile and all but ran down the hall to the lift. Passing by corner where she saw the pale gentleman, she breathed deeply trying to keep from losing her wits. She stabbed the down button of the elevator with her finger repeatedly, hoping it would come faster that way. The gate opened and the bellhop waited for her with a smile.

Once on the lobby floor, Delilah brushed past the bellhop as she exited as quickly as possible trying to dodge the clerk from the nightshift and anyone else who might recognize her. Delilah held her head high and strode purposefully out the doors and down the street as if the building were to catch fire at any moment.

She hated the idea of leaving the hotel without paying, but given the circumstances and now, missing money by an unknown source, she was without alternatives. Delilah made a promise to herself that when she arrived in a better situation she would anonymously return the money for the night kept, even if it were just a few hours.

Now she was without the ability to purchase food. As if it knew, Delilah’s stomach growled and panged. “Oh be quiet,” she muttered to her stomach. Gaining a few blocks’ distance from the hotel and herself, she slowed her pace and wondered what her grand master plan was now. She could return to Miss Merriweather’s and sell her costuming to the remaining performers. They were the only ones who had any use for the things now. If she moved on to another troupe, she'd more than likely have another array of clothing. She cursed under her breath to the person who stole her purse. It seemed like nothing was planning on going right today. Delilah turned around on her heel and began to walk back toward the building of Miss Merriweather's.

* * * *

Dante woke with the new day’s light pouring into his dingy room. He pulled the covers over his head and groaned at the soreness that overtook his body. His head throbbed and his throat was dry. When he rolled over, his stomach rebelled and he gagged. Giving up on sleep, he threw the covers back and threw his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up.

He glanced down to his bare chest and saw the remnants of dried blood on his now bruised stomach. Recalling the night before, he cursed and stood to stretch and take inventory of his injuries.

He shuffled to his armoire, opened it and cautiously peered at the mirror. Dark purple bruises covered his ribs. He touched them gingerly and recoiled at the pain. Broken, most likely. The left side of his face matched the mottled color. His eye was bloodshot and swollen. Not wanting to see more, he closed the armoire door and returned to his bed.

Dante slowly sat down on the bed’s edge and looked out the window. He recalled the woman he’d met the night before and wondered if she found a room to let. He didn’t want her to go alone, but insisting otherwise would have been foolish. She was a grown woman, a very independent one, obviously, and of course, not all women wanted saving. And he couldn’t figure out why he cared so much over a stranger. Was it because he’d already seen her mostly naked? Was it because she seemed like she needed saving? Like a lost puppy she was—waiting for someone to pick her up and carry her inside out of the cold.

He scoffed. Delilah Knightly was no lost puppy. She was strong. There was no doubting it. He didn’t have to know her for more than five minutes to know that much.

The doorbell rang downstairs. He waited for someone to open the door, but heard nothing. The doorbell rang again. Dante tried to ignore it, hoping the butler, or anyone, would open it. After the third ring, Dante growled. With a grimace, he attempted to pull on a shirt, padded to the door with bare feet and threw open the door.

“Good morning, Heller. You look like hell.”

Sebastian Kendall stood on the doorstep with a grin not meant for morning.

“What do you want, Seb? It’s barely daylight.” He opened the door wide enough for the man to bound inside as if he’d had a perfect night’s sleep.

“I was just bringing the paper around for you. Thought you’d be interested in it.” He tossed the rolled up newspaper to Dante, who caught it in midair with one hand–and hissed at the pain it caused his ribs. “What happened to you, mate?” Sebastian asked.

“I was accosted last night. Assaulted. Knocked out.” He shuffled into the parlor and sat down in a chair by the fireplace.

“Mugged?” Sebastian asked, following him into the room.

“Not exactly. They didn’t take anything. Someone shoved me out into the street in front of a cab while exiting Miss Merriweather’s last night. When I got up to chase after the culprit, I was led into the alley and beaten unconscious.”

“Did you call for the police?”

“What an odd thing for you to consider, Sebastian. You don’t agree with the police most of the time. What’s the change of heart?” Dante chuckled, only half-kidding. He didn’t mean to call his bluff, but the notion did strike him as odd, coming from him. Sebastian stayed as far away from the law as possible.

“I certainly don’t want someone out there harming my friends…and well, I want to know if it’s someone I know.” He laughed back.

Dante smiled, knowing Sebastian was far from kidding.

The butler entered the parlor where they stood. “Care for tea, sirs?”

Sebastian was the first to answer. “Yes! That would be wonderful. I’m starving.” He took a seat across from Dante, who scowled. He didn’t want Sebastian to be here. He didn’t want breakfast. Dante wanted to go back to bed.

“Yes, Bickers, breakfast would be fine,” Dante answered his butler, who stood waiting for the orders. Bickers bowed and exited.

Dante returned to the newspaper Sebastian threw to him. He unfolded it to read the headline.

Entertainment Manager of Popular Nightspot ‘Miss Merriweather’s’ Slain.

He scooted to the edge of his seat and narrowed in on the specifics. The body of Mr. Arthur McGinnis, long-time entertainment manager of the famous Miss Merriweather’s club was found with his throat slashed in his office. It is suspected that a recently unemployed entertainer may have murdered Mr. McGinnis. Coworkers of Miss Delilah Knightly state she and the manager were heard arguing before the homicide occurred. There have been no reports of witnesses to the actual crime. A stagehand, Mr. Charles Grum states he walked in to speak with Mr. McGinnis regarding her dismissal the night before and found him deceased. The woman, Miss Knightly, has not been seen since and obviously unable to give details as to her whereabouts the night before. She is considered a person of interest. If found, please report her whereabouts to Scotland Yard officers for further investigation…

The words blurred as he read the last sentences. The police considered her a person of interest…would be held under arrest until further notice. Any information regarding Miss Knightly or Arthur McGinnis’ death should be directed to the Scotland Yard.

Dante’s throat went dry. Could she have been able to kill a man? He recalled her anger toward the man when they spoke. Perhaps she was angry, but murderous? It didn’t seem very likely. Of course, he didn’t know much about the woman other than their conversation on the curb, but surely, she wasn’t responsible.

He folded the newspaper and placed it on the coffee table in front of him.

“You look a bit pale,” Sebastian said.

“Pale? Under all these bruises, perhaps?” he chuckled with little enthusiasm, hoping to detract from his real reaction. Bickers returned with a silver tray full of scones and tea. Dante was grateful for the distraction, for Sebastian forgot the conversation and turned his attention to the food.

They ate in silence for a moment. It gave Dante time to think about the woman he met the night before. He wondered if she would still be at the hotel he watched her enter. He considered going there to talk to her.

The question still nagged him. What if she was responsible for the murder? The notion kept returning to the forefront of his mind. She was very bitter about the man who released her. She didn’t appear to be psychotic. Reflecting on the way she held the handkerchief to his lip, long after it had quit bleeding; Dante couldn’t imagine her putting those delicate hands to use of slashing a man’s throat. Her eyes hadn’t been full of anger or hatred. He scoffed out loud before he realized it. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at him.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Dante responded a little too quickly. Sebastian cocked his head to the side. Great, Dante thought, now he’ll suspect something. The last thing he needed was for Sebastian to get involved. He trusted his friend enough to share some details, but not enough for them all. He was a shifty character, one who would smile and be genuinely concerned for one’s welfare, while he picked their back pocket. He knew no different, unfortunately.

He’d learned Sebastian’s tricks fast and even mastered a few of his own while growing up. Having a somewhat perfect family situation, Dante found himself bored of home life. He spent many a night courting danger and risky pursuits with Sebastian in his company.

Dante wasn’t terribly proud of those moments, but he managed to make it up to his family. The drinking and gambling got out of control and once he’d lost his father’s prized racing horse and shamed the family, Dante’s recklessness skidded to a halt. He only kept company with Sebastian because his father was now deceased and he felt some kind of family bond with him, even if it kept him at arm’s length. Sebastian never managed to keep proper employment, yet always found his way around making a living. He stole, lied, and cheated his way into a posh apartment, food in many of the finest places, and of course–entertainment.

Dante thought of the previous night and how he came to be there. Sebastian had met Dante at the cemetery after his father’s funeral. Sebastian lured him, still dressed in his somber clothes to Miss Merriweather’s with the intention of dismissing morbid thoughts of the dead patriarch. Dante was aware Sebastian didn’t care one whit about his father, he just wanted to find a prostitute, and he didn’t want to go alone. Uncaring and numb, Dante just wished to be free of his own thoughts.

Much to Sebastian’s dismay, Miss Merriweather’s had done away with the seedier side of business recently. Even Dante, who hadn’t set foot in the place in months, knew the change of hands meant a new lease on the old entertainment establishment. Not that he minded, of course–he wouldn’t have met the graceful Miss Knightly had he not come.

Though now, thinking of the acrobat and possible murderess, it brought him around full circle to things he didn’t want to think of anyway.

Dante tipped back his teacup and drained the now cooled contents. Clearing his throat, he met Sebastian’s eye contact. “I hate to do so, but I need to run a few errands.” He stood a little too fast and held his ribs in pain. The throbbing clouded his vision for a moment and Dante thought he’d be sick. With a few shallow breaths, the pain receded and opened his eyes to see Sebastian already at the door.

“That’s fine, mate. I shall call on you later.” Within seconds, his friend had closed the door behind him.

Curious…Dante thought, frowning–then fell to the floor.