Читать книгу The Proposition - Kate Bridges, Kate Bridges - Страница 7

Remorseful that she’d had to go to such lengths to get to Devil’s Gorge, but nervously praying her tactic had worked, Jessica opened her wardrobe chest and removed an old shawl. She’d done the thing she knew the sergeant major would despise most. She’d used her father’s status to manipulate Travis.

She walked down the hallway, peered into her younger sister’s bedroom and smiled. “Are you coming, Eloise? The pub social begins at eight.”

Lamplight danced around the room. Her sister’s sixteen-year-old best friend, Bessy, sat perched on the iron bed. Eloise was tall and blond, Bessy round and dark. They shared a love for clothing, and laughter.

Rubbing glaze on her lips, Eloise peered up from her dresser mirror. “Our stepmother says it’s not good to appear eager around men.” She giggled on the velvet stool. “And the place will be filled with Mounties.”

“My purpose in going isn’t to impress a man. I’m going to speak with the commander to arrange tomorrow.”

Eloise sighed. “Do you have to go away again so soon?”

“I won’t be as long this time,” Jessica said tenderly.

“Why aren’t you trying to impress a man? Honestly, I dare say you haven’t been kissed since Victor left.”

Jessica’s face heated. Two-and-a-half years ago, they’d done a lot more than kiss. “What’s that you’re putting on your lips?”

“Something Mother gave me.” Eloise had less difficulty than Jessica in calling their stepmother of four years Mother, but it was still awkward. “It makes my lips shine. I hope it attracts a suitor.”

Bessy giggled. “Can I try some?”

“Pa will be cross to see you in cosmetics,” said Jessica.

“Don’t be so old-fashioned. Look what I’m going to order next.” Eloise tossed her a folded paper.

Jessica read the headline and silently screeched at the name. Dr. Finch. “An electric corset?”

“It operates on a battery, a small box, and it says that no woman should be without one.”

Jessica read. “For functional irregularities. Weak back. Hysteria and loss of appetite. Kidney disorders.” Angered, Jessica glanced up. “This is nonsense.”

“It’s not. It’s signed by a real doctor. It’s for getting an elegant figure and good health, and I want both of those.”

Jessica took note of the Vancouver address. Vancouver. Her hopes fell. She wondered again who she’d find in Devil’s Gorge. “Promise me you won’t order this until I return.”

Eloise rose, silk billowing around her hips. She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Well, all right.”

Removing her spectacles, Bessy raised a contraption made of two blue suction balls.

“What on earth is that?” Jessica tossed the newsprint to the bed.

“An eye massager.” Bessy closed her lids and pressed the rubber balls on them. Air blew the dark bangs off her forehead. “Last summer when Dr. Finch came through town, he told me if I do this three times a day for two years, it’ll help restore my sight.”

“Honey, it’s only blowing air on your eyelids.”

“It’s improving the blood flow to my ocular nerve. I can feel the tingling.” Bessy replaced her eyeglasses and tucked the contraption into her reticule. “You don’t know what it’s like to wear spectacles.”

“How much did that cost your folks?”

“Only fifty dollars to restore my sight.”

Jessica gasped. Most men earned a dollar a day. She knotted her hands in her skirt. The poor girl and her folks would know the truth soon enough.

“It’s worth a try. What’s the harm?” Bessy asked.

Jessica remembered that she’d once thought that herself. Placing an arm around each girl, she led them down the stairs and out the door. “The harm is you’re being taken advantage of for your money and integrity.”

While they walked, Jessica peered at her sister’s trusting face and saw a reflection of herself before she’d gone to Montreal, before she’d relied on Victor Sterling, her father Franklin Haven, and Dr. Abraham Finch. Her father had promised to ship Jessica permanently back to Montreal for her own good if she confided in her sister about her own shameful flaws.

You’ll ruin your chances with another man if you let your confinement be known. Father had tried to be helpful but had succeeded only in tearing a rift between himself and Jessica.

Her new stepmother, Madeline, was barely older than Jessica. The mayor’s four-year-old marriage had gone through difficult times with several separations during the first three years. Jessica’s stepmother had an ill sister who lived a hundred miles away, and she would often leave for months at a time to care for her. Jessica had always suspected there were other underlying problems—such as dealing with two adolescent stepdaughters and their doting father. However, since Jessica had been away, Madeline’s sister had miraculously recovered and the mayor and his wife seemed happier.

Neither one was particularly fond of the fact that Jessica had a job, but she believed both were grateful that it occupied her time. Her father likely saw it as a healthy distraction to Jessica’s worries, and Madeline was likely grateful it gave her more time with her husband.

Madeline was kind enough, but she and Jessica lacked a sentimental bond. Jessica’s real mother was a faded memory of a woman with gold earrings and ready arms for hugging. She’d slipped to her death on a patch of ice when Jessica had been six.

Neither her stepmother, sister, nor the family butler knew the true reason for her trip to Montreal to the “charm school,” otherwise known to Jessica as Miss Waverly’s Home for Unwed Mothers.

It’d been agony going, but nothing compared to the agony of returning empty-handed.

They turned the corner at the pub and bumped into a crowd of uniformed officers, one of whom was standing at the back speaking with the commander and his wife, glaring at Jessica.

She could almost hear Travis Reid’s growl.

Heavens, she thought, trying to shrink from his visual range. So he’s been told the news.

She’d never seen him in his scarlet uniform. The vision took her by surprise. The deep red color brought out the thick black luster of his hair, sharpness of his black eyebrows and cutting bite to his dark blue eyes.

“Oh, my word,” whispered Eloise. “A whole herd of handsome Mounties.”

“Miss Haven,” said Superintendent Ridgeway, the fort’s commander. “Hello.”

Jessica nodded warmly to his wife and the group exchanged pleasantries. Standing beside the commander was his sister—a possessive woman in her forties and widowed. She stepped toward Travis and draped an arm through his. “Are you coming inside?”

“In a minute.”

“I’ll save you a seat.”

His gaze speared Jessica’s. She was riveted by the anger infusing his dark face. He was going to Devil’s Gorge anyway, so what would be so difficult in taking her along?

“We’ll go inside and wait for you there,” said Eloise. “Our folks are already inside,” she explained to the others, pointing to the stained-glass door. The group made way for the women. “My father has arranged for a photographer from the newspaper.”

That was why everyone was dressed up, and although Jessica felt like an outsider wearing her everyday skirt, she had no desire to be photographed. Quigley’s Pub belonged to Travis’s sister and her husband, and the town had been invited to celebrate in the birth of their first child.

Jessica was struck again by the differences in their families. Travis came from labor-class roots. His folks had settled in Canada from Dublin almost thirty years ago and owned a busy cattle ranch. The senior Reid had been an Irish copper, disenchanted and seeking his fortune in the great new world. Two of his three sons were already Mounties, following in his police footsteps. But a cloud of rumor surrounded them—that the senior Reid had taken bribes in Ireland and was chased out of the country. Jessica’s father often reminded her that their lineage could be traced to English royalty, but she never mentioned it. Being the mayor’s daughter entailed enough difficulties.

As she dared a glance at Travis’s sweltering dark looks, she could very well imagine him with a sword to someone’s throat, whispering a black threat. He’d never do it for money, but if the cause were right—

“Let me join you young ladies inside,” said Annabelle Ridgeway, a round matron dressed in green ruffles. Pulling the commander’s sister with her, she followed Eloise and Bessy inside. Several Mounties stood at the door, ushering them in. When one of the officers winked at the younger women, they blushed and smiled.

The commander chewed on an unlit cigar and nodded to Jessica and Travis. “It’s all worked out. Travis is leaving at six in the morning, and you and your chaperon are going with him. I’ll leave you to figure out the details.”

“Oh,” said Jessica, catching her breath as the older man entered the pub, leaving them behind. Travis didn’t budge. Nor did he speak, but he was seething.

She felt like a moldy piece of cheese being inspected. “Say something, please.”

“Congratulations. You got your way. You used your power and position—your father’s, not even your own—to force your company on me. Now it’s an official order from my commander. I have to escort the mayor’s daughter safely to Devil’s Gorge.”

“This is important to me. It’s not a trivial whim—”

“Neither was my journey. It was supposed to be a personal leave. I’ve been arranging it for months and was looking forward to being alone. Now I have to watch over you.”

Her loose wavy hair bounced on her shoulders. “You don’t have to watch over me. Mr. Merriweather and I are perfectly content to—”

“I have to watch over two incompetent—”

“I said you don’t have to watch—”

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

His cold words felt like a slap in the face. “Why do you dislike me so much?”

“Because I know you.”

She stumbled back.

No, you don’t, she wanted to scream. You knew me years ago but you don’t know me now. It was something words alone couldn’t prove. Only the passage of time could. But she’d done more damage by forcing his hand like this.

She pressed a shaky palm to her gurgling stomach. She wouldn’t argue. But when her lips trembled, her mood darkened. “What makes you think you’re so superior to me?”

“Ha,” he snorted. “I think I’m superior? I’m not here to prove anything to you. I wanted you to leave me alone. Why do you have to butt into people’s lives? You butted into Caroline’s and now you’re butting into mine.”

“I didn’t want that for Caroline—”

“I don’t want to hear—”

“She made it difficult—”

“Leave her alone. She’s dead.”

The cold blade of truth sliced the conversation.

Jessica spun away and headed for the pub, the fabric of her long-sleeved blouse whipping through the air. “We’ll meet you in the morning at the fort’s gate, at five minutes to six.”

“I’m not finished speaking.” His grip on her arm ripped her from her spot.

Her head snapped back, blond hair swaying against her chest. “I am.” She tried to yank free but his hold was like a wooden clamp.

“You’ll listen to me until I say you can go.”

The man was a vain mule but she would tolerate him for the duration of her cause. She’d never ever trust him. Lord only knew how condescending he’d be if he knew the truth. She trembled and tried again to pull free.

He held fast and drew her closer, an inch away from his patronizing face. “I’ll supply your horses.”

She didn’t flinch. “But we’ve got two perfectly—”

“I said I’ll supply them. The broodmares I’m bringing are valuable, and I won’t chance the interaction of horses whose temperaments I don’t know.”

“All right. You bring them.”

“And I’ll pack the supplies and food.”

“But Mr. Merriweather—”

“You and Giles can each bring one small bag with a change of clothes.”

“But that’s not nearly—”

“One bag. Can you manage or not?”

“One bag,” she repeated. “And my reticule of course, plus my small duffel with my notepad and pencils.”

“I said one.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. One.” She aired her frustrations in one big exhale. “Are we finished?”

“Seven days and nights,” he said, holding open the door for her to enter. But he was no gentleman, she thought. “That’s all I’ve promised. When we get there, there’ll be a Mounties’ outpost with three men you can count on for further help, and a small inn where you can stay while you’re writing. I’ll be heading back immediately, so you and your chaperon can find your own way home.”

It was better than nothing. However, she stormed by him in annoyance.

Peering around the noisy crowd, she tried to find the hosts. She’d give her regards then leave. Mr. Merriweather needed to know they had to repack. Maybe the mercantile was still open for her to buy a lighter bag. Luckily, it was Monday and she’d already done her banking earlier today.

The soft sounds of a fiddler and accordion player wafted above the chatting heads, a lively melody winding through a cloud of cigar smoke. Jovial diners filled one side of the pub, feeding on cabbage and beans while on the other side, people threw darts at dartboards, raised their glasses at the walnut bartop, or clapped along to the music.

“There you are, Travis,” said his sister Shawna, coming up beside them.

Jessica was surprised to find Travis still at her side. When she turned to look, she brushed against his rock-hard chest. His presence dominated her.

Shawna, long black hair tumbling over her shoulder while she held a three-month-old baby in her arms, peered tentatively at Jessica and nodded. “Miss Haven.”

The baby boy, with lids closed, balled up one tiny fist and sucked on the other’s loose fingers. Jessica smiled. She had that to look forward to. “Shawna, I want to offer my congratulations and wish you and your family the best.”

The woman kept her distance. “Thank you.”

Jessica knew she wasn’t welcome even though invitations had been extended to the whole town. Her father always went to these events—for the company of his friends, yes, but Jessica knew he also went for harmless political reasons, to have his photograph taken and name written in the papers. It seemed to work, for the town had reelected him twice, and most folks genuinely liked him. Except the Reids. “I’m leaving now. I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

Travis grumbled but Jessica ignored him. She noticed the commander’s sister, the eager widow, waving to him from the opposite side of the pub and felt more ill at ease.

“You won’t be joining your father, Miss Haven?” Shawna nodded at the well-tailored heavy man in the corner with the slim redheaded wife at his elbow.

“I’ve come only to give my regards to you. Good night.”

“Good night,” Shawna offered a bit too readily.

A man bumped Jessica from behind as she swung away.

“It’s dark,” said Travis. “You need someone to walk you home.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jessica hollered above the crowd, squeezing past his sister.

She couldn’t help but overhear the sister’s whispered comments to her brother. “What’s this I hear about you taking her to Devil’s Gorge? You know how Caroline felt about her…how we all feel about her.”

Travis whispered something back but Jessica was already out of earshot and heading to the exit. She burst through the doors, eager for calm, pine-scented air and the privacy to slow her beating heart.

Her walk home was only two blocks, but the streets were darker and lonelier than when they’d come. She picked up her pace. A man skidded beside her and nearly made her jump.

“Travis, you scared me.”

“Just wanted to make sure the mayor’s daughter got home to her mansion safely.”

She bristled. People treated her politely because of who her father was, and never, it seemed, on her own merit. “My house is in view. You can leave.”

“One bag,” he reminded her.

“I’ll manage.”

“Quarter to six at the fort’s gate.”

“Quarter to…”

Now he wanted her there even earlier than before.

“Do you think we’ll be able to stand each other for seven days?”

Her heart quivered at the question. “Yes,” she answered dutifully, knowing it was best to appease him. She no longer cared what he thought of her personally. Nothing mattered except finding Dr. Finch and having him return her most precious gift.

She’d been unable to trace any adoption agencies in Montreal that had dealings with a Dr. King or Finch, but someone at the university had told her Dr. Finch was planning an agency out West. Devil’s Gorge, she figured, was as good a starting point as any to search. An adoption agency for a fee, she imagined, and wondered if her baby had been sold.

She couldn’t tell Travis more or he might react the same way her father had, or worse, he might jeopardize her plan.

Her father’s words rang in her mind. You weren’t lucid that night, honey. Your accusations against Dr. Finch have proven to be false. Please don’t say any more about them. People will think you’ve lost your mind, and it will ruin your future chance of marriage.

But, she reminded herself, Travis was a police officer. He’d been sworn to uphold the law, despite what he might think of her character or reputation if her problems were revealed.

Leaving Travis behind, she ran across the dirt street to the stylish board-and-batten home with its pillars and broad white porch. She couldn’t recall clearly what’d happened seventeen months ago on the night of her delivery, so she needed to locate the attending doctor—Finch or King, or whatever name he went by—and ask him.

Now, she’d go inside the house, quietly latch the door and silently prepare for the morning. But what she ached to do, standing on the rooftop of her father’s unblemished mansion, was to shout up and down the streets.

She wanted to speak about the unspeakable. The disappearance of her child.