Page 9 of Blackmailed (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #2)

C olleen pinned the last diamond-tipped comb into Virginia’s hair.

If she was to face the gossips that evening, she fully intended to look her best. Her dress was a silk that looked both green and blue depending on the light and how she was standing.

She tugged her matching elbow-length gloves and took one last look in the mirror.

She would do. But she wished so very much to have an escort other than her father.

“I’ll be in the servants’ area tonight, miss, but if there is anything you need, at any time...”

She touched Colleen’s arm and smiled. “I’ll be fine, and I will ask for you if I need anything at all.”

As they walked down the stairs, Colleen said, “I don’t like to see you harassed, Miss Wiest. The folks spreading these rumors are not half the person you are.”

“Thank you. My father will be there, and so will Gertrude and Mary. And after all, I can’t help what others think and do. I must only be true to myself,” she said as Mr. Turnbull handed her into the coach, where her father was already seated.

The ride to the McCallisters’ was not long, which she was thankful for, as her stomach was a little nervous.

She’d not told her father a thing, of course, as he would have made a huge commotion at Shellington and would insist on standing beside her all evening, which was the very last thing she wanted.

Servants took their coats, and Colleen nodded as she followed a maid below stairs, where a dinner for the attending servants was to be held.

Virginia slipped her hand around her father’s arm, and the two of them waded through the throngs of guests until they came to the ballroom, twinkling with candles and gaslights, flowers and greenery.

“Alistair! Alistair! Over here! We’re discussing the new proposals for cargo in the bay.”

Her father looked down at her and smiled. “Come along, Ginny. Unless you see some of your friends.”

“I do,” she said and reached up to kiss his cheek. “I see Mary Hernsdown just there.”

“Of course, dear. Enjoy yourself!”

Her father disappeared in the crowd, and she turned to where she thought she’d seen Mary just a minute before.

She excused herself around groups of guests until she spied Mary speaking to a very tall, very thin young man leaning down to listen to her.

But she was stopped before she could move by Eunice Franklin.

“Well, if it isn’t Virginia Wiest,” Eunice said. “Cynthia didn’t think you’d show your face, but I was in no doubt that you’d attend.”

“I was invited, Eunice,” Virginia said. “If you’ll excuse me. I see a friend.”

“Really?” Eunice said. “There are few of us who want to have anything to do with a woman so cavalier with her behavior.”

“And some big lug from the cannery sent to haul you away!” Cynthia Norton added. “How embarrassing!”

“Mr. Brown is not a lug. There was a young child,” she began and then shook her head. “Never mind. The truth will not convince you. Excuse me.”

Virginia made her way across the room to Mary but could still feel Eunice’s and Cynthia’s eyes on her back.

It seemed as though several other acquaintances looked away as she came by, although she was not sure if it was true or she’d just let her imagination get away from her.

Mary reached out her hands when she finally arrived at her friend’s side.

“Virginia! You’re looking especially lovely! Please allow me to introduce my fiancé, Mr. Gerald Akins. Gerald, this is one of my oldest and dearest friends, Miss Virginia Wiest.”

“Miss Wiest,” Akins replied softly. “It . . . it is always a pleasure to meet one of Mary’s friends.”

Virginia smiled at the shy, gangly young man. He was handsome in an earnest way, with a constantly falling lock of hair on his forehead. Mary was beaming at him, and he was holding her hand in place where it lay on his arm, glancing at her friend and blushing. What a perfect match for her.

“I am so happy to meet you, Mr. Akins, and glad you were home from your travels in time to attend,” Virginia said.

“Gerald works for the B the only sign that he was worried or frightened was the bob of his throat.

“I’m not a man you can bamboozle, Morehead. I know you’re into shady dealings. And I know you bought some items from him, and that’s what got him killed. Who do you usually buy and sell from? Thomas Bruner?”

Morehead shook his head. “Littleman. Irene Littleman.”

“Where?”

“Near the docks.”

“I’d stay close to home if I were you, Morehead.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Morehead stood. “That was quick. Must be Gordon with his hands full.”

“Morehead,” they heard from the hallway just as he pulled open his door.

“Smith? Why are you shouting?” he asked.

The man was panting and bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees. “Your man is hurt.”

“Gordon? What could have happened between here and the tavern?” Morehead asked.

Phillip pushed by him and out the door, hurrying down the stairs.

He heard Morehead coming behind him. He startled the doorman, who was watching something outside.

Phillip pulled his knife from his boot and hurried out, looking up and down the street.

There was one man on the ground and three others standing and occasionally kicking the man flat on his back just a few buildings away.

“Hey,” Phillip said. He walked toward the three men, and they turned to face him.

“None of your business. Keep moving.”

Phillip kept walking straight at the man in the middle who’d just spoken, the leader of the trio. “Three against one? What a bunch of cowards.”

“Cowards?” the other man shouted. “Come here and say that.”

“Glad to,” Phillip replied. The men were smiling and joking about him, about how foolish he was and how quickly they’d “take care” of him.

He stopped within a few feet and waited.

The man on the left lunged at him. Phillip sidestepped him at the last moment, letting the man crash headlong into the wheel of a carriage, its cab empty of passengers.

Phillip glanced down at the man holding his head and back to the two remaining ones.

“Come on now. Come on.” Phillip smiled. He tossed his knife from one hand to the other.

The leader swung a meaty fist that connected with Phillip’s jaw at the same time he drove his knife into the man’s armpit.

The man yelped and dropped to his knees, holding his arm to his stomach with his good hand.

Phillip looked at the remaining man. “Take your friends and get out of here.”

The man pulled the leader to his feet and put an arm around the man who’d gotten himself upright but was still holding his bleeding head. Morehead raced to his man, still on the ground.

“Gordon.” Morehead surveyed the man’s bleeding face. “Good Lord. Can you sit up?”

“Did they say anything to you?” Phillip asked after dropping down to his haunches. “Did you know them?”

Gordon shook his head. “No. They mentioned you, though, sir,” he whispered and glanced at Morehead.