Page 12 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

“ Y ou mustn’t worry so,” Virginia said to Colleen. “I’m sure this ball will be like any other ball I’ve attended over the last eight years or so.”

“I’m not sure of that, miss, and with Mr. Turnbull with Mr. Wiest, well, I just worry. And Mr. Crimlock is very new. I’d rather come along.”

“You must stay out of this weather this evening. Betsy will be fine and can stay in the carriage since she hasn’t been fitted for a uniform or have a dress appropriate for something like this. I’ll go in, speak to Mr. Morehead, and leave, hopefully not more than fifteen minutes or so.”

“Yes, miss,” Colleen said and blew her nose.

“Did you take whatever concoction Cook sent up?”

Colleen nodded. “Yes. It was foul.”

“Those are the only ones that work, I’m afraid. Don’t wait up for me. Betsy can help me once we’re home,” Virginia said as she closed the door on Colleen’s room on the servants’ floor.

Betsy was waiting for Virginia in the foyer standing with Smith, who opened the door for her. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Wiest.”

“Thank you, Smith. I doubt I’ll be gone more than an hour or so. You did get word that Mr. Wiest will be staying as a guest of the client he was visiting as some of the roads home are blocked?”

“Yes, Miss Wiest. Hopefully, everything will be cleared by morning.”

Mr. Crimlock opened the carriage door and helped her and Betsy inside. They spread heated quilts over their legs while the carriage rocked as the driver climbed aboard. Virginia leaned back, enjoying the warmth and wondering what Mr. Morehead had to tell her. His note just said to meet him at the ball given by Mrs. Gwendolyn Bernard. She didn’t know Mrs. Bernard but couldn’t imagine how very different it would be from any other ball. The only strange thing about the missive was that he called her “his darling.” His sense of humor was not endearing. He had included an invitation for her to present and an address, which she had given to her driver.

The carriage slowed as they waited their turn in a line of carriages on a huge circular drive. Virginia looked at Betsy, who had said nothing at all during the ride even as Virginia asked her gentle questions about her background. “I should not be long at all. Will you be warm enough?”

“Yes, miss,” she whispered.

Virginia climbed down with help from Mr. Crimlock. “I will be back shortly. It is not terribly cold, but if you need to walk the horses, please stay on this street so I can find you.”

“Yes, miss. I’ll just go to the top of the block and back a few times.”

Virginia followed the swept bricked walk to the three-story mansion, every window lit, and as the door opened and closed on other guests entering, she could hear laughter and music. She’d never met or even heard of Mrs. Bernard, nor had she ever been on this particular street before. The door opened as she approached, and she pulled her invitation out of her bag.

“Good evening,” a young and handsome man said as he took her cape. “Welcome. Mrs. Bernard wishes that all of her guests enjoy themselves.” Another servant handed her a glass of champagne. There did not seem to be any receiving line, which suited Virginia as she did not know her hostess and did not have an escort.

Virginia wandered through the crowd in the hallway, not recognizing anyone but certainly noticing that the women were wearing dresses that were more revealing than she’d ever seen at any other social function since she began attending them. The men seemed much more forward than she was accustomed to as well. Several had taken their time perusing her from head to toe, and a few had winked! She sipped her champagne and followed the crowd going to the second floor, where she could tell the music was coming from. She took a deep breath before climbing the rather long staircase. She’d been feeling much better for a week or more, but she was still careful to not let herself become winded, especially as Colleen or her father were not with her.

“Hello,” a man said suddenly at her side. “Allow me to escort you.”

“No, thank you,” she said and turned away from the arm he offered.

“Oh, come now,” he said and hurried up to a step ahead of her. “I’ll be the envy of every man here to walk in with a beauty such as yourself on my arm.”

“You will be disappointed, then,” she said, reached the top step, and turned to the open double doors where guests were filtering in and out. She passed a woman whose dress was cut so low that there was a real danger she would fall out of the bodice. Virginia’s face turned bright red.

“You’re blushing, miss. I suppose that is because Annalee Andrews’s spectacular breasts are nearly out of her dress!”

Virginia stopped and looked at him, feeling a tremor of unease. “I do not appreciate such crass conversation. Do not follow me any longer.”

He held his hands up as if in surrender. “My apologies,” he said and wandered away.

Virginia stepped into the crowded room, looking left and right for Mr. Morehead, but she could not see over all those taller than her. She hoped he’d seen her enter and would make his way to her. It was difficult getting through the crowded room as other guests were clustered together in groups. She apologized and pardoned herself multiple times and fended off a few men who were entirely too close.

Eventually, she came to a room with fewer guests and a little space to move around to the scattered chairs and sofas. A man greeted her. “Hello! Welcome. Let us get you fixed up with something cool to drink.”

Virginia readily agreed as the temperature in the ballroom was high and rather overwhelming with perfumes and the scents of pomade. Her breathing was not as steady as she’d like, but she knew the worst thing she could do was panic. She needed to find a window and take slow, deep breaths. She did exactly that, sitting down where the air was cooler and smiling as the man carried her a crystal glass with shaved ice. She took a deep drink of the cool, tangy lemonade, and the man put his hand on her arm as she brought the glass to her lips for another sip.

“Maybe not so fast,” he said and tilted his head at her. “Is this your first time here?”

She nodded and took another sip. “This is delicious!”

“And potent.” He smiled as he slid into the seat beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Virginia,” she said slowly, vowel by vowel, as her tongue seemed too thick to say it otherwise. “Virginia,” she said again.

“Well, Virginia, it is a sincere pleasure to meet you. I’m Tom, in case you’re wondering.”

“Tom,” she said and giggled. The room was tilting in the strangest way, and she leaned to straighten it. “Oh. I’ve spilled my drink,” she said, or thought she said. Her gloves were sticky and yellow, she saw as she held her hand in front of her eyes.

The man beside her laughed. She noticed he was sitting very close, close enough that her skirts were caught under his leg. She tugged at them and nearly fell off of the couch.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, my dear Virginia. Let me keep you safe,” he said and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

But it did not feel safe. She could feel a growing panic, but it did not seem overwhelming. She sought to examine why she felt alarmed and queasy but could not remember why she cared. Perhaps it would be clear if she rested a moment. Her eyes were so heavy, and she could not understand why a man’s hand was so near her breast. Her eyes slipped closed.

Phillip answered his door after telling Sarah to get in the kitchen. Uncle Patrick was behind him, probably holding the long wooden paddle Eliza used to stir soup. It was nearly ten in the evening, and they’d all been disturbed in the sitting room, Sarah stitching a shirt, Uncle Patrick snoozing and snoring, and Phillip attempting to read his book.

He moved the bar and cracked the door a few inches.

“Mr. Brown?”

“Yes?”

“Hello. Miss Hughes sent me. She’s Miss Wiest’s maid. She’s concerned . . .” the man said as he twisted his hat in his hand.

Phillip reached outside and pulled the man in by his jacket. “You have a message from Miss Hughes?”

He nodded and glanced at the others in the small foyer. “I drove Miss Wiest to a ball . . .”

“Where’s Turnbull?”

“He had to drive Mr. Wiest to a customer, and then he couldn’t come home ’cause of some problem with the road.”

“Where did you take Miss Wiest?”

“That’s the thing . . .”

“What? Tell me,” Phillip raised his voice.

“Let the man talk,” Uncle Patrick said from behind him. “Go ahead, son. Where did you take her?”

The young man reached in his pocket. Phillip’s hand stopped the movement when he grabbed his wrist. “Slow now.”

The driver’s eyes were wide as he pulled a card with the name of Mrs. Gwendolyn Bernard’s and an address, all written in Miss Wiest’s hand.

“When did you take her?”

“That’s the thing,” he said. “We got there to this fancy party, Betsy and me, with Miss Wiest about seven o’clock. She told us she would be back to the carriage in fifteen minutes and that I was to walk the horses up and down the street, which I did.”

“Who is Betsy?”

“A new maid who rode along with the miss as Miss Hughes is sick in bed.”

“Where is Miss Wiest now?” Phillip asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, agitated now and white as a ghost. “We waited an hour, and then I went to the servants’ entrance, but they wouldn’t let me upstairs to the party. We waited another half hour, and then I hurried back to Shellington. I didn’t know what else to do. Mr. Smith took me to Miss Hughes, and she told me to come here to you straightaway.”

Phillip was already pulling on his coat and sat on the steps to lace his boots. “How fast can you get me there?”

“Phillip, go upstairs and put on your new suit. You’ll never get inside in what you’re wearing,” Sarah said.

He hated to waste the time, but she was right. He ran up the steps, Patrick following. His uncle was pulling his new suit from the cupboard as he tore off his clothes. He was re-dressed and hurrying down the stairs a few minutes later, the pistol and knife his uncle had handed him in his pockets.

The driver got him to the correct address as quickly as the slushy roads allowed. He jumped down before the horses were stopped and hurried up the brick walkway of the mansion. He opened the front door rather than knock, hoping to carry off that he was already a guest and had stepped outside for a breath of air, but the ruse wasn’t necessary. There were no servants at the door, just a foyer filled with guests, loud music, and a hum of mischief in the air. The women were in extremely low-cut costumes, many with men’s arms draped over their shoulders.

Phillip followed the crowd up a set of steps, looking left and right for a sign of Miss Wiest and wished he’d asked the driver what color dress she was wearing. He made his way around the perimeter of the room, noticing a few alcoves with couples embracing and kissing. What kind of ball was this, and why had she decided to come on her own? He walked through the crowd of dancers and finally came to a large room that was less crowded. He stepped through the wide double doors and was greeted by a woman in a red satin dress that left little to his imagination. She offered him a glass of yellow liquid with a giggle, glancing up at him from under her lashes.

“Well, aren’t you a big boy,” she said.

He turned back to the ballroom when he heard a commotion and saw two men dragging another man toward the door.

“Morehead,” Phillip shouted and pushed his way through gawkers. The man’s head came up, revealing a swollen eye and a bleeding mouth.

“Brown?”

“Where is she?”

“Don’t know,” he said as one of the men twisted his arm behind him, making Morehead howl. “Try the drink room,” he shouted and received a punch that made his head drop.

Phillip turned back to the room where the woman had offered him the glass of punch or whatever it was. He noticed immediately that there was a crowd of men around a sofa. He locked the door behind him.

“What is going on over there?”

“Don’t worry about her, honey,” the red dress said. “We can have some fun together.”

Phillip walked to the crowd of men, who parted as he shouldered his way through. She was stretched out on the couch before him, her eyes fluttering and her delicate hand above her head on the pillow. She made an erotic picture, which the men surrounding her were clearly enjoying.

“She’s mine if she ever wakes up!” one said to laughter from the others, and some cries of “no” from others.

He could smell cannabis in the air now and prayed that was the only thing she’d ingested. He knelt down beside the couch and picked up her hand. “Miss. Miss. Can you hear me? Virginia?” he whispered as he leaned close to her.

Men were crowding around him and making lewd comments. He stood up and faced them. “Get the hell away from her! There mustn’t be a gentleman in the crowd to leer at an unconscious woman in this way. What is wrong with you?”

Several men slunk away, but a few remained.

“Who are you?” one asked. “Who in the hell are you to say we’re not gentlemen, you overgrown lumberjack?”

The other men laughed until Phillip stepped close to the one speaking. He grabbed the man’s jacket lapels and lifted him a foot off the ground. “You don’t want to know,” he said and tossed the man several feet. He turned back to Virginia, but not before one of the men jumped on his back, and another came at him swinging. Phillip caught the fist in his hand and twisted the man’s arm behind his back until he screamed and fell to the floor.

Phillip reached behind him, grabbed the man on his back by the scruff of the neck, bringing him to his feet in front of him. The man raised his fists.

Someone in the crowd hollered, “You’re in trouble now, lumberjack!”

Phillip smiled at the speaker and threw a roundhouse punch, hitting the man in front of him squarely on the chin. He dropped to the floor. “Anyone else?” Phillip asked as he took off his jacket. He eyed a sheepish-looking young man at the back of the crowd and pointed at him.

“You. Come here,” he said. “I’m going to sit her up and you’re going to put this jacket on her.”

The man hurried to the couch and took Phillip’s jacket from his hands. Phillip put his arm around her shoulders and sat her up while the other man put her arms in the sleeves. Her head lolled to the side, and her eyes blinked open.

“Mr. Brown?”

“I’m here,” he said softly as he picked her up in his arms. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I’m not worried. You’re here.”

Phillip straightened, feeling as if he were the strongest, the tallest, and the best man on earth, which reality said he wasn’t, but there was something about her confidence in him that went to his heart. He nodded to the man who’d put his jacket on her.

“Can you get the door?”

The man hurried across the room, opening the double doors wide and making a path through the rowdy crowd to the stairs and finally to the outer door.

“Thank you,” he said to the man.

“I’m sure nothing untoward happened to her. Miss Wiest, isn’t it?”

Phillip stared at him. “I wouldn’t know,” he said.

The man nodded quickly. “Of course. Never saw her before in my life.”

Phillip went down the walk to the carriage, where Crimlock held the door, tears gathering in his eyes.

“Is she dead, sir?”

“No. Just very tired. Let’s get her home to Shellington,” he said as he maneuvered his way into the carriage, Virginia in his arms.

Smith was at the door as soon as the carriage stopped, Colleen Hughes behind him.

“She is sleeping,” he said. “Where is her room?”

Miss Hughes signaled him to follow her up the marble steps, the tap of his shoes sounding like cannon fire in the quiet of the entranceway. The room was warm and lit with several lamps, and feminine paraphernalia lay everywhere, all organized on tabletops and dressers. He laid her down on her bed but was hesitant to leave.

Miss Hughes began unbuckling her mistress’s shoes. She glanced at Phillip, still staring at Miss Wiest laid back against a mound of pillows. “Thank you, Mr. Brown, for bringing her home. I’m going to get her changed now.”

He nodded and picked up Miss Wiest’s hand. “I believe they gave her some of the poppy. She will hopefully be fine in the morning.”

Miss Wiest’s eyes fluttered. “Mr. Brown?”

He dropped to one knee beside the bed. “Miss Wiest. You’ve given us quite a scare. How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy. So very sleepy.”

“Then you should rest. Miss Hughes will help you.”

She nodded. “I went to a ball, Mr. Brown.”

“I know.”

“Will you be here when I wake?”

“No. I’ll be at the cannery. But perhaps Miss Hughes can get word to me about how you are feeling.”

She stared up at him, a small smile playing at her lips. “I’m sure everything will be fine. You’re here.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he gently laid her hand on the silky sheet, having no idea when her fingers had closed so tightly around his.

Phillip hurried home and to his bed. His shift at the cannery started at four in the morning.