He leaned in closer. She swore he was about to kiss her, could feel his breath and the tiniest tickle of his mustache as his mouth hovered oh so near her lips. Then he straightened, his expression one of confusion, even consternation. He looked like a man delirious with fever, just come to his senses.
“We should find the others,” he suggested, releasing her from the spell she was under. It was the last thing she wanted. Couldn’t he tell, didn’t he know?
“Out of all the wonders here tonight,” he reassured, “spending time with you is what I shall remember most.”
****
Barefoot and wrapped in a counterpane, Trelayne shuffled across her bedroom and stared out the window. She should go to sleep, but then the evening would be over—an evening of unparalleled experiences.
Walker had almost kissed her. And as they continued to make turn after turn around the Crystal Palace, he had held her ungloved hand rather than her elbow. She couldn’t recall what they had seen, but she remembered the feel of his large, strong, and capable hand as she envisioned it touching other parts of her body.
What would it feel like to stroke the forbidden parts of a man, and claim them as one’s own? She and Pen had worn thin the pictures in their purloined books and novels. Did all men look the same? The majority of their bodies were beautiful, but their special parts were foreign and rather fiercely grotesque. Craving to put into practice what so far had only been theory, she squirmed with pent up eagerness and mounting desire.
Leaning her forehead against the windowpane, seeking the cool relief it offered, she peered at the night sky. Heavy and full, tonight the moon seemed to lumber rather than sail across the inky blackness. As it now dipped behind the trees, the last of its ethereal glow slanted across the autumnal landscape. It turned the foliage a pearly gray and the cony hopping across the yard to sterling silver. The whole world was enchanted since Captain Walker Garrison had entered her small portion.
A peaceful bliss wrapped around her tighter than the comforter. Then it wavered. It felt wrong to be so contented when her parents were still struggling to recover from their grievous wounds. Yet she knew they would want her to be happy and not moping about growing thin with worry. And they had sent Walker to watch over her—sent him to care for her. It seemed safe and sensible to unquestionably trust him. But was it foolish to undeniably fall in love with him.
There, she’d admitted it. She was falling—no, had fallen—in love with him. The declaration made her feel worse rather than better. She knew next to nothing about him. He was a man of anonymity, a foreigner, a big tall gorgeous American who looked like he had tamed the Wild West single handedly, and then conquered the Seven Seas. She shook her head. No man could live up to such a romantic image. But somehow, in her heart, she thought Captain Garrison would try.
Chapter Eleven
For the second day in a row, Walker idled away his time at the tobacconist.
Fortunately, it was a comfortable atmosphere, granting an unobstructed view of the chocolate shop across the street. It was also a long shot his efforts would be anymore fruitful today than they had been yesterday. Still, what other clues did he have to follow?
All hope hinged on a name scribbled on a boarding roster and the foil wrappers found in New Bedford so many miles away. He supposed it was possible he would never track down the man who had murdered Seaman Barkley and injured Philip and Ophelia. No more attempts had been made on their lives or his. Maybe one killing was enough to satisfy whoever was behind all this.
Either way, it left him with a belly full of discontent. He didn’t cotton to loose ends and unsettled scores. Getting to the bottom of all this weighed heavily on his mind. How he felt about Trelayne was also taking its toll. The memory of nearly kissing her flashed through him. He grew hard at the recollection. How he’d burned with the desire to take her in his arms, to kiss her, and do so much more. And unless he was completely adrift at sea, she’d harbored the same intentions.
When this nasty business was put to rest, maybe courting her properly wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities. She’d captured his imagination, given him the gift of contemplating the future rather than just the next hour or the next day. There was a great difference between staying alive, and actually wanting to live.
Up the street, a hansom cab turned onto the lane and came into view, and his thoughts jumped back to the present. Straightening to his full height, he stepped closer to the window. Well lookie-there, it was none other than Lucien Lanteen, and he wasn’t alone. At the confectionary, the coach drew to a halt and rocked as the larger of the two men stepped down. The stranger headed toward the store as the carriage and Lucien rattled out of sight.
A growl rumbled in the back of Walker’s throat. On general principle, Lanteen made his mustache bristle and his hackles rise. The man seemed slippery as a sidewinder, and just as dangerous. And his familiarity with Trelayne was a worry. Did she reciprocate feelings beyond friendship toward the Englishman? Deep down he felt the man was somehow involved, but discrediting him would be difficult. A delicate task demanding solid evidence. Of which he had none.
The thought of a relationship existing between Trelayne and this English dandy put his stomach in a knot, and it was becoming harder to dismiss his own sentiments where Trelayne was concerned. Of course, his feelings should be irrelevant. He was here to protect his partner’s daughter, not fall in love with her. Anything else would be dangerous, causing him to lose focus and make mistakes. He couldn’t afford to blunder. But not falling in love with Trelayne was one battle he thought he might lose. It had been a long time since feelings like these had stirred his heart and soul. He liked it, and it scared him.
The man re-emerged from the shop, popped a chocolate into his mouth, and tossed the wrapper aside. Walker crossed the street and followed at a discreet distance, snagging the gold embossed foil along the way. His pulse quickened. The wrapper was the same as those he carried. If this man was Grimsby, the puzzle pieces were beginning to fit together nicely. It reinforced the logic Lanteen was involved, but it wasn’t solid evidence.
The big burly man with the penchant for sweets looked a nasty piece of work, an unlikely acquaintance for the St.Christopher’s uppity solicitor. However, he did fit the role of henchman extremely well.
His quarry lumbered down the walkway and turned in at nearby pub. The sign swinging over the entrance held the image of an angry black bull. Removing his hat, Walker slipped inside and scrunched down on a bench in a shadowed niche behind a timbered upright. The place was all but empty smelling of brew, tobacco, and men who did manual labor for a living. The person he followed swaggered across the room to the table closest to the tavern keeper’s station.
“You’re a bit early, Grimsby,” the grizzled old proprietor quipped. “Ain’t even noon.”
Walker’s gaze narrowed.
It was him.
“You don’t want my business, I’ll go elsewhere,” Grimsby shot back.
“Ha, you’ve been banned from nearly every pub in town. The Black Bull’s the only one will have you.”
“Just give your red rag a holiday, and set me up. And none of that queer Nantz and crank either. I want the good stuff.”
“I takes offense at that,” the elderly barkeep snapped. “I don’t water my gin. You well know that. If I did, I wouldn’t have so many coves losing their grinders and blackening their glims with fighting every Saturday night.”
“Aw right, aw right. Please accept my deepest apology,” Grimsby sneered. “Now give me a bloody drink. I got a long ride ahead of me.”
“Where you heading?” the purveyor asked, as he poured.
“South,” came Grimsby’s vague answer. “Got me a job down there will pay off big. Maybe big enough to retire.”
“That’s what you said afore you went to America,” the other man razzed
“That didn’t exactly work out as planned. And I told you that on the quiet. This time is different.”
Grimsby lowered his voice, and Walker missed the next bit of the conversation. Damn.
Keep him talking
, he willed the tavern owner.
“You’re full of tales of glory, Bart. I think all that chocolate you eat has rotted your brain as well as your teeth.” The man hooted at his own jest, and swiped at the table with a semi-clean rag.
“Aw, what do you know?” Grimsby jeered, at full volume. “I’m glad to be going to Brighton so’s I won’t have to be ogling your ugly mug or drinking your piss tastin’ brew.” With that, he drained his glass, threw down a few coins, and stomped out.
When the coast was clear, Walker settled his hat in place and sauntered up to the table Grimsby had vacated. “I could go for a pint,” he said.
And hopefully a bit more information.
The tavern owner eyed him suspiciously, but filled the request.
“That Grimsby’s quite the character,” Walker said, testing the waters.
“A bad character,” came the unexpected response.
“I thought he was a friend of yours,” Walker pressed.
“With friends like that a body wouldn’t need enemies. That’s an interesting topper you got there mister. You from America?”
“That’s where I call home,” he acknowledged.
The old man nodded. “Our Mr. Grimsby has recently returned from there his very self. Or so he says. That why you asking about him—he get hisself in trouble over there, too?”
“What do you mean, ‘too’?” Walker probed.
“Too, is what I mean. It’s simple enough,” the elder man replied irritably. “He’s in trouble everywhere he goes. That’s understood. If trouble ain’t there waitin’ for him when he arrives, he ferrets it out like a pig in a truffle patch. He likes trouble. He invented trouble.”
“Slow down.” Walker chuckled at the pub keeper’s theatrical display. “I get the idea. Do you happen to know where he’s going?”
“Where he’s goin’? Why he’s probably gone lookin’ for more trouble. Ha. That’s a good one ain’t it?”
“Indeed. But I’m serious. The man owes me money, and I heard him say he was into something big with good times coming. I’d like to be there when it happens and get what’s due me before he spends it or disappears.”
The old man pondered a moment then seemed to come to a conclusion.
“Is it a considerable sum? If it ain’t,” he advised, not waiting for a reply, “you’d best chalk it up to experience, and leave this one alone. Bartholomew Grimsby’s an unpleasant person what will do almost anything for a price, and that includes murder.”
Rather than a warning, the words came as music to his ears. Grimsby definitely sounded the culprit responsible for injuring his friends and killing his crewman. The exact why of it was still unclear, but that could be sorted out later. And he knew the ruffian hadn’t conjured the plan alone. He appeared suited to following orders rather than conceiving and implementing grand schemes. That’s where Lanteen came in. Of course, sharing a carriage ride wasn’t proof they collaborated on the crime. What he needed was a witness. Someone who knew they worked side by side in dirty dealings and worse.
“It truly is important,” Walker insisted. “A matter of life and death, so to speak.”
“Well, you look as if you can take care of yourself. Just don’t underestimate the blackguard, or turn your back on him. He mentioned he was going to Brighton to meet a ship coming in from Africa. There’s only one port there deep enough to accommodate a vessel of any consequence, so that should narrow down your search. He was a mite secretive about his intentions. Not his usual blowhard self. Maybe it is important.”
“How far away is Brighton?”
“About an eight hour trip if you know how to ride and don’t dillydally. And if you be considering going by coach, don’t. With the roads still rutted from the late summer rains, it’ll take you twice as long and you’re bound to rattle loose a tooth in the process.”
Eight hours. That was a relief. It amazed him England was such a small country. Back home a man could spend months, wandering the southwest territory with nothing for company but coyotes, cutthroats, and cactus.
“Thanks for the information.” He laid down twice what he owed and turned to leave.
“Thank
you
,” the old man exclaimed, scooping up the money. “And best of luck to ya.”
Good luck couldn’t hurt, but right now what he really needed was a sturdy mount. They had lots of suitable horseflesh at Royston Hall.
****
“You just missed him,” Aunt Abigail explained.
“But why didn’t he wait?”
Trelayne couldn’t abide women who simpered and whimpered; yet she had to quell the urge to stamp her foot and pout. She was hurt. Walker had come to visit, but couldn’t bother to accommodate her schedule and await her return from the nearby Vicarage.
“To be honest, darling, he came about a horse, not you.”
“A horse!”
This was even worse news. They’d held hands, feverishly embraced, come a breath away from kissing, and after two days not a word. No courtesy call to prove his good intentions, no treasured trinket. Not even a note to express his feelings for her.
Seeing Walker again was all she could think about. Apparently he had other things on his mind. She flounced across the room, yes flounced, and didn’t care.
Well, it was her own fault wasn’t it? How silly of her to have so easily fallen prey to her emotions. In a matter of days, she’d allowed Walker to become the center of her world, a world spinning out of control.
Her mind far removed from the charitable duties discussed during her visit with Father Woolsey, she set aside the list of handwritten information he’d supplied.
Perhaps she misunderstood. Surely, Walker had asked about her, left a message regarding expectations of returning this evening to formally call upon her.
“Will Captain Garrison be joining us later?”
“According to Merrick,” Aunt Abigail relayed, “he’s off to Brighton, and will be gone two or three days. In his absence, he reminded us we should all be on our guard. And he specifically advised you should stay at home.”