Page 15 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

“ T here’s a message for you, miss,” Smith said as she finished reading her correspondence just after luncheon.

“Thank you.” Virginia dreaded one more letter that required a response and thought seriously of leaving it until the next time she would be at her desk. She and her father had spoken, both with some regrets for angry words, and she believed he realized she must be independent at her age, as she knew she must take more care in a sometimes dangerous world.

She opened the letter when she recognized the writing and jumped from her seat as soon as she scanned the short note.

“Please call for Mr. Turnbull and my carriage, Mr. Smith,” she said as hurried out of the small sitting room she used as an office. She found Colleen sorting through sheets with one of the maids.

“We’ll be going out shortly, Colleen. I think we have some spare blankets in one of the cupboards on this floor. Can you bring a few when you come downstairs? I’m going to change, and you must dress warmly too.”

They were soon on their way to an address she did not recognize in a part of town where many working-class residents made their home. A crowd was gathered toward the end of the street, and Mr. Turnbull opened the slot to speak to her.

“Won’t be getting through ahead. We’ll have to stop here.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Turnbull. We can easily walk that short distance.”

“Be careful of that crowd, miss. Crimlock will walk with you and Miss Hughes.”

The little door closed, and Virginia looked at Colleen with a smile. “We’ll never lose our minders, will we?”

“We won’t, and it looks like it is for the best.” Colleen picked up the blankets they’d brought and stepped out of the carriage with Crimlock’s help. Virginia followed and shook out her heavy wool dress and the cape that covered it.

The crowd ahead parted for her, nodding to her and stepping out of her way as she walked slowly toward the tenement where the bulk of the people had gathered. She climbed the wide stone steps to the narrow double doors that stood open to the wind and cold. She saw Phillip’s uncle leaning against the wall near the entrance, looking through the open door of an apartment.

“Mr. Brown? I received a note from your niece that my assistance may be needed.”

He straightened immediately. “Now don’t get yourself in an uproar, miss. It will only get Phillip rattled.”

“Whatever would I get in an uproar about?” Her spine tingled with some unforeseen damage or despair. “What has happened, Mr. Brown? Is he all right?”

“Nothing a few days, or maybe a week, won’t fix.”

Virginia turned her head sharply to the open door of the apartment, taking in the destruction and a child whimpering against a woman’s shoulder. The woman herself was weeping and clinging to the child. Virginia hurried through the doorway, taking in the overturned table in the room ahead and the broken window and the torn and cut cushions of the sofa, its stuffing spilling out. She took one of the blankets from Colleen and wrapped it around the woman and child. Colleen spread another over the sofa, and Virginia urged the woman to sit down.

Virginia could hear men talking in the next room—the kitchen, from what she could tell. She heard Phillip’s voice, wheezing a bit, and his sister telling him to sit down until the doctor arrived. It was all she could do to not jump up and see what had happened to him, but this poor, desperate woman beside her needed her attention more.

“My name is Virginia Wiest. This is Colleen Hughes. Have you been hurt?”

The young woman shook her head and dug in a pocket for a handkerchief, then dabbed at her eyes with it. “The kilt him, they did,” she whispered. “My husband. My poor baby’s da.”

“I’m so very sorry, dear. So sorry. Can you tell me your name?”

“Glenda Jackman. This is Glynnis,” she said and kissed the baby’s bald head. She looked up then, panicked. “What will I do? How will I feed her? Keep a roof over her head?”

“Any relatives nearby?” Colleen asked.

“They’re all back in Glasgow. Peter convinced me that we could start a new life, a good life, here in America. And I agreed because I loved him.”

She broke down then completely, nearly losing her grip on her daughter, whom Colleen scooped up and cuddled, rocking her in her arms and cooing to her. Virginia put an arm around the young woman and let her cry herself out until she shivered once and then was quiet.

“Mrs. Jackman? Miss Hughes will sit with you and your baby for a moment while I check on the gentlemen in the kitchen.”

Virginia stood, and Colleen took her seat on the sofa. She walked into the kitchen and covered her mouth with her hand at the violence in this humble home and at the man seated in a wobbling kitchen chair, holding a towel to an eye that was getting blacker by the minute. His lip was swollen twice its normal size, and he was holding his side with his other hand. His sister was staring down at him with worry.

“Mr. Brown.” She hurried forward. “You are injured.”

He closed the eye that was not already shut and sighed. “Virginia. What are you doing here?”

“I sent for her,” Sarah said. “As soon the message was delivered from that Dalton fellow who used to work at the cannery that you were in fight and would need help, I sent a message to Miss Wiest. I’m glad I did. You are being particularly stubborn, and I’m not even sure what has happened.”

“Trying to find out about Orville and the leather satchel, but it wasn’t Orville at all,” Phillip said.

“It wasn’t Orville?”

“No,” he said and told her and his sister what had caused him to be in the condition he was in, occasionally stopping to take a breath and touch his swollen lip. About his trip to the Durmand stable, Orville’s denial, Jackman’s escape and capture, and the knife that had killed the father of the child still crying in the next room. “He said ‘flour’ with his dying breath after he’d begged us to guard his wife and child. It must be significant.”

“How did the killer know that Mr. Jackman was being pursued?” Virginia asked. “It sounds like it happened quickly. How did the man with a knife get to the Durmands’ so fast?”

Phillip looked up at her and glanced at Austraw, sitting across from him with injuries of his own.

“That’s a very good question,” Austraw said. “I’ve a spy in the stable, I’m guessing.”

“Maybe just someone who gets a penny or two to pass on information,” Phillip said.

“Either way, I’ve got to get back to the stable and find out who it may be.” Austraw stood. “Remind me never to get in the middle of one of your arguments again. I’m far too old to take a beating.”

“You gave just as much a beating, or Mrs. Jackman wouldn’t have her daughter in her arms.”

Austraw leaned his giant fists down onto the wobbling table and whispered, “What will we do about the woman? She can’t stay here. It’s cold in here and dangerous if Campbell’s men come back. And she’ll have no income.”

“I’m going to offer to send her and the child back to her family and Mr. Jackman’s in Glasgow with enough to get her there in relative comfort and for transportation to her relatives,” Virginia said.

Phillip looked up at her. “That is for the best if she’ll do it. Where could we hide her effectively unless she moves to another city or state even, and there she’d be alone. In Glasgow, she’ll have family.”

“That’s what I thought. For the time being, I’ll take her to Shellington until arrangements can be made,” she said.

“What is the meaning of the word ‘flour,’ do you think? Could he have meant something else?” Sarah asked.

“We dumped the flour from the bin as soon as they hauled themselves and the big Scotsman out the door. Nothing at the bottom. We turned it over, looking for a message or something attached to it. We didn’t find anything. The women on the street were throwing snow and old vegetables at those men when they hurried away,” Austraw said with a smile as he limped to the door.

Austraw stopped and spoke to Mrs. Jackman, and whatever was said made her cry harder than before. The rooms were finally quiet again.

“Maybe Sarah is right. What if he wasn’t saying flour? Maybe flower. What if he was saying floor?” Virginia asked. Phillip looked up, winced, and dropped his head with the sudden movement. She turned to Sarah. “Help me look.”

The two women pulled the worn rag rugs away and began examining the wood floor for any boards that look as if they were loose or had been replaced recently.

Virginia straightened, stretching her back and rolling her neck from crouching as she moved methodically from the far side of the small kitchen toward the center. She glanced at Sarah, now on her hands and knees, crawling through a checked curtain that hung below a counter where pots and dishes had sat before they’d been shattered or swept to the floor.

“Found something,” Sarah said.

Virginia hurried over and knelt down. Sarah backed out and pulled the curtain back. “Look there. In the corner beside that pan. I think that board is loose.”

“Let me see,” Phillip said from behind them.

“Absolutely not. Dr. Prosperi will be at home to tend you, and you will not jostle those cracked ribs any more than necessary,” Sarah said to her brother without even turning to look at him. “Do you see it, Miss Wiest? That loose board?”

“I do. Can you hand me a spoon or a butter knife? I don’t think it is nailed down, just sitting in place.”

She could hear Sarah rummaging around among the broken crockery. “Here.” Sarah handed her a small knife. “I’ll hold the curtain back so you will have some light.”

Virginia took the knife and scooted over enough to see the board. It indeed looked as though as it had been recently removed with some grooves on the end that matched up closely to the knife she held. She wedged the blade between the loose board and the next one and gently lifted. She pulled the board up and away but could not see what was between the floorboards below. “Is there a lamp that has not been broken that we could light? I hate to stick my hand in there without seeing what I’m doing.”

Sarah scooted away and came back with a small lit oil lamp. She crawled under the counter beside Virginia and rolled her eyes and smiled when she heard Phillip telling them to try and not burn the building down.

“We’ll do our best, Mr. Brown,” Virginia said. Sarah moved the lamp closer to where the board had been removed and revealed some cloth rolled up with a leather string holding it closed. Virginia reached down and pulled up the cloth and could tell by the feel that there were some coins inside.

“I think we should ask Mrs. Jackman to look inside. It is hers by rights anyway,” Virginia said after backing out from under the counter.

“We need to tell her a little about Greta, though, so she’ll let us see if there are any clues about Greta’s boy in there,” Phillip said.

“She’ll know her husband was part of it, then. Maybe it’s best to let her have her memories,” Sarah said.

Phillip shook his head slowly. “She needs to know. Otherwise, she may be reluctant to go back to Glasgow.”

“That is true,” Virginia said. “Let me talk to her.”

Virginia dusted off her skirts and wiped her hands on a towel she found near the small stove. She went into the room where Mrs. Jackman sat on the sofa. The baby was beside her covered with a blanket. Colleen was at the broken window with Phillip’s uncle. She was holding a board while he wedged another into the frame around the window and stuffed rags behind it. Virginia sat down with Mrs. Jackman and picked up her hand.

“Have you wondered how or why Mr. Brown and Mr. Austraw came here to help you?”

Mrs. Jackman nodded. “I wondered but am not sure,” she said and bowed her head. “Could be my Peter was doing something he shouldn’t have.”

Virginia knew some small disappointments in her life, including her father not always being completely honest with her, but she’d never felt those times were because he was doing something that might be construed as criminal. How upsetting for Mrs. Jackman to realize that she was in the situation she was in because of her husband’s misdeeds.

Virginia told the young woman an abbreviated version of Greta’s missing son and arrangement at the Durmands’.

“So Peter was taking these copies and giving them to someone, and that someone killed him anyway?”

“I believe so,” Virginia said and squeezed her hand. “They told you he thought of nothing but you and the baby after he’d been stabbed. Other than perhaps a clue to where Greta’s child is being held. We’ve found a roll of cloth with some coins. Will you open it and see if there is anything that might lead us to this little boy?”

“Perhaps there will be enough coin for me to pay next month’s rent,” she said with a shaking voice. “But I don’t know what I’ll do after that.”

“I have an idea about that, Mrs. Jackman. But let us see what you husband has rolled up in this cloth first.”

Virginia helped her stand up and held her arm as they walked to the kitchen. Mrs. Jackman held the canvas cloth to her chest and closed her red-rimmed eyes.

“He said he was saving to get us a bigger flat,” she whispered.

She untied the string and unrolled the fabric. There were several coins and some paper money too. Probably twenty dollars all told. But no note or clue. Virginia stared at the money and sighed. She’d been hoping against all that there would be something to lead them to Greta’s child. She smiled at Mrs. Jackman.

“That will be helpful for you and Glynnis, won’t it? It looks as though he was always thinking of you,” Virginia said.

She nodded. “But not quite enough, was it? Not enough to stay out of trouble. I love him anyway.”

“It’s always the womenfolk who are left behind to carry on, isn’t it?” Sarah said wistfully.

Phillip glanced at his sister out of his one good eye. He was in pain, none of which he regretted, and did not look forward to Prosperi’s heavy hand. But it hadn’t occurred to him that Sarah could possibly still be pining for Alexander Halifax, who’d died in one of the last battles in the War Between the States, during the skirmish at Palmito Ranch. He and Sarah had met through a mutual friend when he was on leave and visiting Baltimore to see a relative, and it was obvious there was a romantic connection. Although she’d never said so, Phillip was certain that they had discussed marriage, even with their acquaintance only being a month long. She was feeling that old pain now, he thought.

He pulled himself upright, having to take a breath to dispel the dizziness he felt. Virginia’s and his sister’s eyes were on him as he made his way through the parlor where Uncle Patrick had managed to board up a broken window. The baby was fast asleep in Colleen’s arms, and her eyes were closed too. Maybe she was dreaming of an old love as well.

He leaned against the wall beside his uncle. “Are Greta and Jenny home alone?”

Patrick shook his head. “I took ’em to Miriam.”

“Miriam?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“She threw you out of her house in the middle of the night last summer.”

Patrick shrugged. “Jenny and Greta are safe there. Leave it at that.”

There was too much emotion floating around for Phillip to be comfortable, and he intended to get himself home, one way or another. Poor Mrs. Jackman, so young, with a new babe and a dead husband who she realized had jeopardized her and their child with his actions. Then Sarah’s long face, most likely thinking about her long-dead beau, and maybe Patrick having patched things up with Miriam Dexter enough to hide Greta and Jenny. But who knew if he had fixed things with Miriam as no one but the two of them knew what their argument had been about in the first place.