Page 11 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

“ M iss, do you have a moment?” Colleen asked as she walked up to Virginia midmorning.

“Of course I do,” Virginia said with a smile. “Does it have anything to do with the new groom working for Mr. Turner?”

Colleen blushed and grinned but shook her head. “No, miss.” She glanced down the hallway leading to the dining room. “I think it would be best to speak privately.”

“Certainly. Let’s go to the small parlor past the breakfast room. Mrs. French’s staff will be done cleaning there.”

“Now, what is it?” Virginia said after the door was closed to the small, sunny room. “Come sit down.”

“I wanted to tell you that I spoke to my sister last week about what we talked about, a new child in the neighborhood where this Bucciarelli person was arrested. She spoke to her friend at church who lives near there, and she said she saw a little boy run out of a house down the street from her when she was walking to the grocer’s. He was crying and screaming for his mother.”

“How did the woman know the child didn’t belong at that house?”

“She said she knows the woman and her family. All of her children are older, two married. She said the woman who chased after the boy seemed panicked, looking up and down the street, grabbing the boy and carrying him back in the house. She said she could still hear the boy crying even after the door had slammed.”

Virginia reached for Colleen’s hand and squeezed. “Maybe you’ve discovered Miss Adamsen’s child! Your help is appreciated. Please make sure you thank you sister and her friend, but I would warn them to mention it to no one else.”

Virginia pulled the bell, and a maid opened the door a moment later. “Yes, miss?”

“Please ask Cook to prepare two food baskets like she does over Christmas with jellies and bread and a ham. Miss Hughes will be delivering them,” she said to the maid and turned to Colleen. “After you and I visit Sarah Brown, have Mr. Turnbull take you to your sister’s and deliver the baskets. She can see that her friend receives one of them.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Miss.”

“It is absolutely necessary, and who doesn’t like a ham dinner in this cold weather?”

Shortly after, Virginia and Colleen were under wraps, making their way to Wolfe Street. Mr. Turnbull handed them down, and she told him to keep the horses moving, that she and Colleen would be fine knocking on the door themselves. They were hurried into the warm foyer by the young maid.

“Hello, Jenny,” Virginia said. “I’m hoping to speak to Mr. Brown. Is he at home?”

“He’s in his room,” she whispered.

“Oh. Well, we don’t want to bother his rest. He probably worked a late shift. Perhaps I can speak to Miss Brown,” Virginia said and looked up when she heard footsteps on the stairs ahead of her. “Miss Brown, I was hoping to speak to your brother, but perhaps you can give him a message.”

“Hello, Miss Wiest. You’re welcome to speak to him yourself,” she said and turned to climb the steps again, signaling that Virginia should follow.

“I could not intrude in a sleeping room, Miss Brown.”

“No intrusion. We’ve been in and out of his room all night since Uncle Patrick brought him and Mr. Shoeman home. Dr. Prosperi has just left.”

“The doctor was here for Mr. Brown?”

She was feeling quite out of her depths. She’d only been in her father’s private sitting room, never the room where he slept, and he was her father . But as much as her sensibilities and Colleen’s stiffening behind her told her it was improper, wrong even, to venture to the second floor of this house, she was compelled to see him with her own eyes and assure herself that he was well and hearty.

She climbed the steps slowly, holding the banister rail and hearing voices, angry and impatient, coming from one end of the hallway in the direction Sarah Brown was heading.

“Pull your blankets up, brother,” she said as she entered the room. “You have a visitor.”

“Who in the hell are you dragging up here now?” Mr. Brown asked.

Virginia stopped at the corner of the open doorway. “Mr. Brown? May I come in?”

“Miss Wiest? Good Lord! No, you may not come in! Sarah! Get her downstairs right this damn minute!”

What a stubborn and proud man Phillip Brown was even when his voice was garbled, as if he had a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. Brown was still shouting at his sister and working himself into a real tizzy. She’d end it now. If he was sick in bed, he would not have the energy to get up and throw her out, she thought. She stepped into the room and turned to the bed.

“Mr. Brown,” she whispered when she saw him and hurried forward to his bedside. “What has happened?”

The parts of his face that were not bandaged were bright red. “You should not be in here, Miss Wiest.” He said her name as Mith Wieth .

“I am not leaving until you tell me what has happened.” She pulled a chair close to the bed. “Don’t strain your voice with shouting. I’m right here.”

She realized his uncle and his sister had slipped from the room, although she heard Miss Brown speaking to Colleen in the hallway. She could see angry and jagged cuts on Mr. Brown’s neck and imagined the same would be under the bandages that covered the right side of his face.

“Are you in much pain? What a silly question,” she said quickly. “Of course you are. What can I get for you?”

He shook his head slowly and closed his eyes. “Please leave.”

“I won’t, Mr. Brown. I want to know how this happened and what the doctor said.”

“This is nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be fine,” he said.

She picked up his hand lying on the blanket and held it. He flinched but didn’t pull away when she looked up at him, his eyes dark and intense. “I find I am worried. I will find out from someone what has happened, but I’d prefer to hear it from you. Can you not indulge me?”

He took a deep breath, which must have pulled at several of the stitches on his neck and shoulder, from what she could see past the open collar of his nightshirt, and grimaced. And then he told her of his climb to the second floor, the olive oil, finding the man, Carbone, in his office talking to a woman, and his and Shoeman’s narrow escape with the help of his uncle.

“You haven’t said what happened to cause these injuries. Were you shot?”

“Shot at. The bullet hit the wooden frame of the door I was escaping through.”

“Dear Lord,” she said as she surveyed his face. “And all of these cuts are from when the wood was hit? It is a miracle you were not blinded.”

“It was.” He pulled his hand away as he looked away from her toward the winter-frosted window.

“Have you let anyone know at the cannery that you’ve been injured?”

“I sent word.”

“You must rest and take as long as necessary to recover.”

“Except he can’t quite do that,” Sarah Brown said from behind her.

“Shush,” he said to his sister. “This is nobody’s business.”

“What?” Virginia asked. “Why can’t he do that?”

Mr. Brown was blustering, but his sister raised her voice. “Mr. Everly replied that if he was not at work tomorrow, he’d be fired.”

Virginia turned to him, eyes wide. “He said you’d be fired?”

“It doesn’t matter what he said, I’m going to work tomorrow.”

Virginia knew better than to argue with this stubborn man. “I have two pieces of information for you, which is why I came here in the first place. If you remember, I was speaking to Mr. Morehead at the Waters’ ball. He told me that the person who told Miss Adamsen he would retrieve her son is most likely Edward Campbell, who has arrived recently from Scotland and who Mr. Morehead claims has plenty of gold and clansmen with him. He believes Campbell is trying to buy the same piece of property that Bucciarelli is trying to buy.”

“Campbell? Never heard that name.”

“Neither had I until Mr. Morehead told me. Also, Miss Hughes’s sister has a close friend who lives in the neighborhood where this Bucciarelli was arrested. The friend said that she saw a young child with a woman on the street she lives on and is certain all the woman’s children are fully grown.”

He looked at her with surprise—and perhaps admiration. “That is very helpful. Very helpful. How on earth . . . ?”

She held up a hand. “Mr. Brown, do not patronize me. I’m fully capable of thought and reasoning even if my physical health has been less than satisfactory. I’ll be speaking to Mr. Everly about your shifts?—”

“Absolutely not!” he roared. “I am not some pitiful unfortunate who needs to be rescued. I am a man who will take care of his own problems!”

If Mr. Brown thought she would cower under his tirade, he was wrong, but she could see that he would be insulted if she did anything to try and rectify the situation. He was proud and accustomed to being the one who directed others, not the one who relied on an outside voice. She raised her eyebrows.

“There is no need to shout, Mr. Brown,” she said and stopped speaking until he ceased yelling. “I will not interfere. Are you satisfied?”

He glared at her. “Not really. I don’t trust you.”

She looked at him for several long moments. “Well,” she said and could not stop her lip from trembling just a bit. She waited until she could swallow the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry to hear that, as I trust you. Good day, Mr. Brown. I hope you are feeling better soon.”

She stood and turned to the door, hearing him calling her name and saying he was sorry in his raspy, muffled voice, but she kept walking. Once in the hallway, Colleen fell into step behind her. She was not certain why his comment hurt as much as it did. But she could not get his words out of her head.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself!” Sarah said as she pulled his blanket up and sat a tray on his lap with some force. She plopped a bowl of stew on the tray and dropped a piece of bread beside it. “There’s a glass of water on your bedside table.”

Phillip watched his sister walk out of the room, shoulders rigid, mumbling to herself. He’d been an ass, but how was he to react when Miss Wiest was going to speak to Everly on his behalf? He’d never be able to look at himself in the mirror if he allowed her to get between him and his boss, let alone that there would be even more resentment between him and Everly. And what kind of a man would he be? But had he let his famous temper make her lip tremble? He had.

He picked up the spoon beside the bowl of stew and mashed the pieces of potatoes and carrots so that he could eat without tearing stitches. He’d never be able to chew the roast beef that was tempting him and instead dribbled mush into his mouth. What a fool he was! Virginia Wiest was the owner’s daughter! And according to rumor would be running Wiest Cannery when her father retired with the help of a board. What a foolish thing to say he didn’t trust her.

But her position at Wiest Cannery was not the reason he was feeling foolish and disgusted with himself. He’d best admit it. He was embarrassed for her to see him injured in his bed. He liked it that she thought he looked handsome at the Waters’ ball. And here he was in his flannel nightshirt, with cuts all over his face, not even able to speak properly. Uncle Patrick had said many times his temper would keep him from achieving what was possible for a young, strong, smart man in a quickly changing world.

He would admit that he admired Virginia Wiest. Maybe more than admired. He liked her.

The following two days were miserable. He got himself to work and forced himself to ignore the pain and the pinching of the stitches and get his work done. Josiah Steinman was on the same shifts and covered much of his work on the floor, allowing him to sit more than usual in his office. Late in the afternoon, a messenger told him that Mr. Everly wanted to see him in his office. He straightened his clothes and glanced at himself in the glass of his office door. The swelling was mostly down, but he still looked and felt like a monster.

He knocked on the glass of Everly’s office and turned the knob. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Everly?”

“It’s been reported to me that Steinman has been doing much of your work,” Everly said.

“He has been watching my section of the floor for me, and in turn, I’ve been working on his paperwork.”

“That’s not how supervisors are expected to manage their areas. Employees see you sitting around doing nothing all day and wonder why they can’t do the same.”

Phillip took a deep breath, remembering to curb his temper as he knew Everly was baiting him, looking for a way to fire him. He heard the door open behind him, and Everly jumped to his feet.

“Mr. Wiest! I thought you’d gone for the day,” he said and glanced at Phillip. “You’re dismissed.”

Phillip turned to the door and heard Mr. Wiest gasp. “Good God, man! What has happened to you? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Yes, I’m sure we can do just fine without you. You may leave early,” Everly said.

Phillip looked at Everly. “I don’t want to jeopardize my position here.”

“Nonsense,” Wiest said. “Come into my office and tell me what happened.”

Phillip followed Wiest, never glancing at Everly. Wiest told him to sit and poured him a glass of water from a crystal decanter. He told Wiest what he’d done at the warehouse and why.

“I’m sure you see, sir, I cannot allow people into my home where my sister lives, and our cook and a maid. They were terrified, along with the woman we’ve been tending since she was dumped on our stoop. The men who did it had to be told clearly that forcing their way into my home would not be tolerated.”

Wiest nodded. “I’m guessing this Bucciarelli person that Ginny mentioned had something to do with this.”

“His lieutenant, Carbone, was the one who sent the men; I’m sure at Bucciarelli’s request.”

“Ginny is quite concerned about this young child separated from his mother.”

“She is.”

“You must keep her out of it, Mr. Brown,” he said and glanced up from under his bushy eyebrows. “She does not understand the dangers.”

Phillip agreed but felt an odd obligation to defend her to her father. She was not a helpless creature. She was bright and resourceful. “She is hard to convince.”

“I know! She’s just like her dear, sainted mother. But Ginny’s frail; she’s been sickly for years. Weak lungs, you know. But she’s my only family and must be protected.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Wiest stood, and Phillip followed. “Now it is time for you to go home, and I don’t want to see you for three days or more if necessary.”

Phillip took a breath and glanced behind him toward the door to Everly’s office.

“I will take care of Mr. Everly,” Wiest said.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Phillip made his way home and collapsed in his bed after telling his sister he would not be going to work for three days and to let him sleep all day if he wanted. Uncle Patrick had already told Billy Bond that Phillip would not be working for a week or more, and Phillip intended to do as little as possible.

He woke late the following day, feeling better than he had since his trip to the warehouse. Dr. Prosperi stopped by and removed some of the stitches and cleaned the others with something that burned like the dickens, which he suspected the doctor enjoyed. Eliza filled the tub with hot water, and he took a leisurely bath, soaking away his sore muscles.