Page 17 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

“ M r. Brown! Mr. Brown!”

Phillip sat up from the couch he was dozing on to the pounding on the door just as he was thinking about climbing the steps to bed. Sarah dropped her sewing and hurried into the hallway, Uncle Patrick behind her. He lifted the bar on the door and opened it as the man on the other side identified himself as a Wiest employee, Crimlock from the stable.

“I’ve got to speak to Mr. Brown, Mr. Phillip Brown, please, immediately,” he wheezed and leaned back against the door, holding a bundle in his arms.

Then the bundle whimpered. “Mr. Crimlock? What is that? What are you holding?”

“Is Miss Adamsen here?”

“Yes. She’s in bed,” Sarah said, perplexed. “I think you should sit down before you fall over.”

Crimlock dropped down onto the small chair in the hallway and closed his eyes. “This is her son. William. I’m afraid . . .”

“William!” they heard from the top of the steps. “William!”

The bundle began to move, and Crimlock pulled the worn and torn blanket from the child’s face. Greta nearly flew down the steps and dropped to the floor in front of Crimlock. “My baby,” she said and pulled him into her arms. The child began to cry, as did Greta.

“Dear Lord,” Uncle Patrick said.

“How can I ever thank you?” Greta said to Crimlock.

“’Tweren’t my doing. I was just along to help.” He looked up at Phillip standing in the doorway to the sitting room. “Miss Wiest is the one to do it all, and they’ve taken her!”

“Taken her? What are you talking about? How was she involved?”

“Come to the kitchen,” Sarah said and helped the man to stand. “You need something to drink, and then you need to tell us the whole story.”

Crimlock let himself be led away, Patrick holding one arm and Sarah the other. Phillip helped Greta to her feet. “They’ll help you and the baby in the kitchen, Greta. I’ve got to get dressed.”

“But you’re barely well. You know you’ll be facing dangerous and violent men,” she said. “At least get your police friend to help you.”

“I’ll get plenty of help, but I need to know where she went first. Go on now,” he said and nodded in the direction of the kitchen as he hurried up the stairs, feeling furious, terrified, and inadequate for the task. He pulled on his clothes, ignoring the twinges and pain that movement of any kind brought. He couldn’t think about it. But he could think about how brave and foolish Virginia Wiest was. He needed to remain calm and clear-headed, knowing that undoubtedly Campbell or Bucciarelli, whoever had grabbed her, would want to get ransom money from Wiest, who would just as undoubtedly pay it and more. He did not intend to let things get that far.

Phillip pulled his coat from the rack near the door, stuffed the pockets with knives and bullets, and went down the stone steps into the kitchen. He could hear Greta talking soothingly to her son as he howled in the bathing room, likely getting a long overdue scrubbing from the looks of him. Crimlock was at the table, where Eliza rolled bread and cut vegetables for soup. He was eating roast beef leftover from supper between two pieces of homemade bread, closing his eyes with every bite.

“You’ve got to tell me exactly what happened. I’m going to see Mr. Wiest first, so I need to know the details,” Phillip said.

Crimlock laid his sandwich down and told the entire story, the trolley ride, his unsuccessful battle to get Miss Wiest to return home, the long walk to the house, the horrible woman, and the long walk back to the trolley.

“She was so exhausted from walking and the bitter air and fell behind me. She kept waving me forward. I would have carried her myself, but I had the child in my arms, and once I was on the trolley, I watched her through the window as the trolley was packed full and I could barely move. She was last in line to pay, and then a man, a large one, took her by the arm and dragged her away. There were several other men there too, surrounding the large one and Miss Wiest. The trolley had started and,” Crimlock closed his eyes and swallowed, “I didn’t know whether to abandon the child and try and rescue her, but I think she would have been furious if I’d done that. You should have seen her at the woman’s house. She was like an avenging angel! She slapped that horrible filthy woman, she did, and shouted at her that she would bring the police down on her head if she didn’t get warm clothes for the boy.”

Phillip’s teeth were gritted and every muscle clenched. He knew she was deeply concerned about reuniting Greta with her child, but he did not understand the level of her commitment, her courage, her willingness to sacrifice herself for that small boy. He was as angry with her as he was in awe of her.

“She did tell Mr. Smith to send word to you if she was not home by supper. I ran into Billings, who was to deliver that message, a few streets over just making his way here. He was so drunk he could barely stand!”

“Tell me about the large man,” Phillip said. “Anything you can remember?”

“Tall, a good-looking fellow, probably never has trouble with the ladies,” Crimlock said. “Dark-haired. Neck as thick as a tree trunk.”

“That’s Campbell,” Greta said from the doorway, where she held a clean and sleeping child. “That’s him.”

“Can you see that Sweitzinger gets the message that I might need his help, Uncle?”

“I’d rather come with you.”

Phillip looked around the room. “It’s possible Bucciarelli or Campbell will come here. I have to know that everyone is safe. You have to stay here with the women.”

Patrick nodded. “But you can’t go this alone.”

“Willis will go, and so will Turnbull, the coachman for the Wiests. No matter how many men I took head-on against Campbell, we’d lose. He’s undoubtedly entrenched and would be able to defend his property. This will have to be done by stealth. Muscle and stealth.”

“You don’t even know where his property is,” Patrick said.

“No. I don’t. But I know who does.”

Virginia struggled to breathe as they walked toward a closed carriage. Her knees started to buckle, and the tall man who’d grabbed her pulled her upright. She thought at one point she would faint from the cold and her fright and sheer exhaustion, but she kept focusing on little William, now on his way to his mother. It had all been worth it.

“Get in,” the man said.

She did what she could to lift her foot up to the step but could not reach, her strength all but gone. Someone lifted her into the carriage and sat her on a seat. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She wanted so desperately to fall asleep, let the gentle arms of slumber take her where she was warm and comfortable, and maybe looking into the eyes of Phillip Brown. But she could not. She let her head slump to the side as the men climbed in, the large man sitting beside her.

The men began to discuss where they were planning on hiding her and how much ransom her father would be willing to pay. She let her head loll forward, her bonnet covering her face somewhat, and cracked open one eye to see out the glass window that they had not bothered to cover. These men must be very confident in their invincibility to travel openly, no shades drawn, with a kidnap victim.

Virginia had an idea where she was as she recognized the shopping area in the center of Baltimore, where the new “department” store, Gutman’s, had recently opened. The carriage continued on through well-to-do areas of specialty shops, gentlemen’s clubs, and literary associations. They turned down an alley behind a wide avenue and came to a stop. Virginia sat up straight as if she’d just woken and looked around the carriage. Her fingers and toes were beginning to warm finally, but she was still ever so tired. She did not ask any questions or pose any resistance as she climbed down from the carriage with the help of one of the men. She walked between the large man—Campbell, she assumed—and another man, up a graveled walkway from a fine and large stable to the back entrance of a brick building.

Virginia could hear women’s chatter and laughter as the door was opened. Campbell turned her up a narrow set of steps that wound up and up until she was out of breath and turned herself to sit down. The man behind her told her to get up, but she did not think she could. She was just unable to conjure once more ounce of energy. Campbell clattered down the steps from above her and squeezed by her. He turned and picked her up in his arms and carried her another flight of steps, finally down a hallway to an open doorway, where a woman stood waiting for them.

“She won’t be any good to you dead,” the woman said.

Virginia turned her head to look at the woman, taking in an elaborate silk evening gown, low-cut in the bosom, and form-fitting otherwise. She was very beautiful with dark red hair, large brown knowing eyes and a pouting mouth. Virginia thought she might be any man’s dream, and the thought occurred to her that she knew exactly where she was, a place she’d only heard of when a servant was gossiping about what they’d heard from a neighboring servant. She was at the Ellipse. The most infamous and exclusive gentlemen’s club in the city of Baltimore that she was not supposed to know about.

Phillip was ushered into Alistair Wiest’s office at Shellington without saying a word to Smith. Wiest looked up and hurried toward him.

“What do you know? Brown! You must tell me! Where is Virginia?”

“Miss Wiest has most likely been kidnapped by Edward Campbell. Have you received a ransom note yet?”

The blood drained from the older man’s face, and he suddenly looked less like the confident, affable, and highly successful businessman he was and more like a man in a panic. A father with a missing daughter.

“Kidnapped?” he whispered. “No, I’ve not received anything.”

Phillip nodded. “I believe so, sir. This is what I know,” he said and proceeded to tell his employer all. “I’m going to find out where she is being held and return her to Shellington.”

“But how? How will you rescue her?” He turned away and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t lose my little girl.”

“I’m going to find out where she’s being held and get her out. They won’t have injured her, sir. She’s valuable to them because they know you’ll pay a ransom.”

“I will pay a ransom, if it costs me my last penny.”

“Go to the bank and withdraw a large amount of money in cash. As much as the bank will give you. Hire some men to guard you and the house once you are home. I need Campbell to believe you will pay.”

“I will pay!”

“That is our last resort.”

“What do you mean, our last resort?”

“Exchanges are dangerous. Once the money is in their hands, there is no reason for these types of criminals to keep the hostages alive.”

“Should I contact the police?”

“The more people who know about this, the higher the likelihood that one of them is in Campbell’s or Bucciarelli’s debt or even on their payroll. I have an old friend I’d trust with my life—I have trusted him with my life—who I will contact if we need an official. But I’d advise we keep this as quiet as possible until then.”

Wiest put his hands on Phillip’s shoulders, and he could see tears in the older man’s eyes. “Can you do this? Can you get her back?”

“I believe I can, sir. Or die in the effort.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Wiest said quietly.

Phillip stared straight into his eyes. “Yes. Without hesitation.”

“What do you need?”

“Turnbull, if he is willing, and the use of horses. A carriage, perhaps.”

“Whatever you need, Brown. Whatever you need,” Wiest said and dropped down on the chair behind his desk. “I can’t lose her.”

Phillip did not think the time was right for him to declare that Virginia Wiest was more to him than just an innocent young woman in danger or his employer’s daughter. She meant something else to him, and he was unsure if he could put words to it, but he did know he would do whatever was necessary to recover her and keep her safe. Maybe forever.

Less than an hour later, Phillip was on a horse from the Wiest stable and navigating through city streets, carts, wagons, carriages, and past other horses and pedestrians. He wasn’t confident at riding, but he could sense he was doing better after heeding Turnbull’s advice to be in charge of the horse instead of merely bouncing along. Mr. Wiest had also provided him the address for Geoffrey Morehead. Phillip slid down from King’s massive back and tied the reins to a ring on a post in front of the tall building. He found the number he was looking for and rapped on the door. Several minutes later, it was opened by a yawning man.

“May I help you?” he said.

“I need to speak to Mr. Morehead. Is he in?”

The servant shook his head. “No. He is out,” he said and began to close the door. Phillip wedged a boot inside to keep it open.

“I need to know where he is.”

The man looked him up and down. “As if I’d tell any riffraff where my employer was. I won’t.”

“I’m not a debt collector,” Phillip said. “But this is a matter of life and death for a young woman Mr. Morehead is acquainted with. If you don’t know where he is specifically, tell me his usual haunts.”

The man scratched his head and looked up at Phillip. “Not here for money?”

“No. Where would I find him this time of day?”

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner. He spends many afternoons there.”

“It’s eight in the evening. Where would he be now?”

“Most likely the Garden Club. There’s cards and wine and a decent dinner.”

“Keep this door locked and don’t answer it unless it is your employer.” Phillip put a coin in the man’s hand as his eyes widened with the warning.

Phillip walked King the short distance the servant had directed him to and glanced up at the windows lit with candles. He climbed the steps, opened the door, and entered a foyer. A thin man was speaking to a young woman in a servant’s dress. The thin man looked at him, checking his wardrobe as he did.

“Deliveries to the back, please.”

“I’m not delivering anything. I need to speak to Geoffrey Morehead. Is he here?”

“Our guests prefer discretion. Leave,” he said, “before I have you removed.”

Phillip stepped forward. His hand snaked out, and he lifted the thin man by his neck. “Is Morehead here?”

Within seconds, there was a large man at his side, strong enough to crush Phillip’s grip on the thin man’s neck. The large man wrapped his arm around Phillip’s neck, pulling him toward the door. Phillip slammed an elbow into the man’s stomach, eliciting a grunt but no lessening of his grip. He stomped down his boot heel on the large man’s foot, which did give him a moment to pull free, swing his fist, and hear the satisfying crunch of bone. The man was seasoned, though, and rammed Phillip into the wall near a partially opened door where he could hear excited chatter and chairs scraping against the wood floor.

“Stop! Stop!” the thin man called out as patrons jostled for position in the doorway to view the fighting.

The large man backed away from Phillip, eyeing him warily. “Morehead. I need to speak to him.”

Phillip could hear Geoffrey Morehead’s voice telling others to stand aside as he shouldered his way through to the foyer behind the thin man.

“Brown?”

“Morehead, I need to speak to you,” he said. “Privately and immediately.”

Morehead stared at him and then gestured to a hallway.

Brown followed him to a room where a servant was setting tables for the next meal. Morehead jerked his head to the door, and the man scurried out.

“What? What is going on?”

Phillip gave him a summary of what he knew. “From the description, it sounds as if Campbell has taken her.”

“Virginia traveled by streetcar with one servant to Orleans Street? In this weather? Rescued a child she’s never even seen before and got kidnapped?”

“That’s the gist of it,” Phillip replied. “I need to know where Campbell’s bolt-hole is.”

Morehead held his hand to his forehead. “I wouldn’t even know who to ask. He’s only been in America for a few months.”

“You’ve got to know something, Morehead,” Phillip pleaded. “Anything. I need a place to start.”

“I did hear he was keeping company with Mrs. Van Dyke.”

“A widow?”

“Hardly, since no one knows of, or ever heard of, a Mr. Van Dyke,” Morehead said and glanced at him. “You really don’t know who Mrs. Van Dyke is?”

“I work at a cannery and pour beer a few nights. I don’t know any of these highfalutin socialites. I’ve been to one ball. The Waters’. Was this woman there?”

“Hardly. Mrs. Van Dyke owns the Ellipse.”

“The Ellipse? The bawdy house?”

Morehead nodded. “Supposedly, she entertains Campbell in her private suite. The man who told me that was drunk, but I heard it again elsewhere. She has never been known to entertain any man herself—her girls do that, for which she makes an extraordinary amount of wealth and most likely knows the secrets of the city and the state’s highest officials. The only man near her that I’ve ever seen is her bodyguard. A massive bald-headed ex-boxer missing one eye. Name of Cordle.”

“Where have you seen her?”

“At the Ellipse, of course, when my fortune was still intact.”

“Where is this place?” Phillip asked.

“Exeter Street. Close to the museum.”

“Isn’t that the area with all the fancy shops and restaurants?”

Morehead nodded. “You’d never know to look at it. The building is beautiful and well cared for. People think it’s just a gentleman’s club, and Mrs. Van Dyke is careful to maintain that facade.”

“How will I know her when I get inside?”

“ If you get inside, you mean. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Auburn hair and a figure to set a man on fire.”

“I’ll get inside. Don’t know how yet.”

“Wait for dawn or just before. The women are in their beds alone by then, and the place is shut up tight.”