Page 20 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

T he Browns of Butcher’s Hill

Baltimore March 1868

Chapter One

Phillip Brown stepped out the door of the Wiest Oyster Cannery into the warm spring air. His position there as a floor manager gave him some liberty that other employees did not have but which he rarely took advantage of. The shining sun was irresistible, though. He’d been bedridden with some stubborn injuries most of December and January, only starting to recover his strength and agility in February.

His employer’s daughter, Virginia Wiest, had been kidnapped by a violent, unscrupulous man, and Phillip had been able to rescue her, but it had been a bloody battle which had left him with more significant injuries than was first realized. He was fortunate to work for a man who gave him time to recover and never cut a penny from his salary. He’d been back to work less than six weeks and was finally feeling fit for the job, no longer exhausted.

The bell rang to signal the end of the day. The door behind him opened, and he glanced back.

“Mr. Brown? Mr. Everly is looking for you,” one of the young messenger boys said.

Phillip blew out a breath. His time was up for sunshine and fresh air, he supposed. His immediate supervisor, and the right-hand man to the company’s owner, was Altimus Everly, who was, at his best, unpleasant, but more typically arrogant and snobbish. Phillip had been the focus of Everly’s surly disposition for years, and he imagined he was due to have a tongue-lashing for taking five minutes out of a twelve-hour shift to himself.

He knocked on the glass of Everly’s office door and cracked it open a few inches. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Everly?”

“Come in, Brown. Hurry and close the door.”

Everly stood in the middle of his office, his hand to his forehead.

“What can I help you with, sir?” Phillip asked.

Everly glanced at him, looked away quickly, and began to pace the room. Phillip stood quietly. Finally, Everly turned and faced him.

“Go back to the floor, Brown. I don’t need you,” he snarled.

Phillip nodded, his hand on the brass knob.

“Wait!”

Phillip looked over his shoulder, where Everly stood stiffly, his hands in tight fists, his jaw set, cheek muscles twitching. Phillip turned, casually waiting for whatever storm was brewing to pass or rain down on him.

“This must be between us and us alone, do you understand, Brown?”

“I won’t break the law.”

“Did I ask you to break the law?” Everly growled.

Phillip stared. “Not yet. You haven’t asked me anything yet.”

Everly continued some nervous pacing. “You’re still doing your little side investigations?” he asked.

So typical of Everly to be smug while asking someone for a favor, which was what he thought Everly was about to do. “When someone asks for assistance, I try and help them. Do you need help with something?”

That caught Everly off guard. He walked past his desk and opened the door to the inner office, Mr. Wiest’s. “Come in here. I don’t want anyone walking in on us or overhearing what is being said.”

Phillip followed him, closing the door behind him. It didn’t particularly feel right being in the owner’s office when he and his daughter were out of town, having spent the month over Christmas in New York City, where the late Mrs. Wiest’s sister lived, and then on to a European trip. They were due home any day. Phillip tried to not think about how much he had missed Virginia Wiest. She had sent three letters to his family, witty and descriptive of her and her father’s rather extensive travels, written in such a way that he could hear her voice. Ah, here he was being ridiculous about a woman who was far above his touch.

Everly looked up from where he sat behind Mr. Wiest’s desk. “I have a situation at my home with staff that I have yet to solve. You being more in their class may have more success getting them to tell the truth.”

“An issue with your servants?”

“Yes,” Everly said impatiently. “It does happen, and it is not always easy to solve when one lives there. These are servants my mother hired and have been with us for decades. She would be devastated if I fired them.”

“What are they doing that they would deserve firing?”

“Stealing! They’re stealing from my mother and me!”

Phillip sat back in his chair, away from Everly’s palpable anger. “Stealing? These longtime employees you suspect are stealing?”

“Money. Jewelry. Knickknacks, valuable ones.”

“How long has this been going on, Mr. Everly?”

Everly hesitated. “Since autumn.”

“Autumn?”

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s been too long, but I kept thinking I would catch one of them in the act.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Everly glared at him. “Find out who is stealing from me, Brown. I would have thought it was clear enough.”

“How many servants do you have? Can you make me a list with their positions? I’ll also need a list of items that are missing.”

“Stolen, you mean. I’ll get you your lists. How long will this take you?”

“It depends, but I’ll go as quickly as possible and with as little disruption as I can manage.”

“I don’t care who you disrupt. Just find out who is responsible. And don’t think you can slack on your duties here. When can you begin?”

“As soon as you give me half of my charges up front.”

“You’re charging me? I thought you did all of this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“I do for folks like your servants. There’s a charge for those able to pay.”

“Don’t try and cheat me, Brown. I’m well aware of the tricks your type of men employ. Find this thief and don’t breathe a word of this to anyone, especially Mr. Wiest.”

“Of course, Mr. Everly,” Phillip said. “I’ll be getting back to the plant floor now.”

Virginia Wiest took a deep breath of the briny air of the Chesapeake Bay. Home. She was home after an uneventful steamer crossing from England and more than two months of travel. How fortunate she was to be healthy and wealthy enough to visit five European countries and see some of the sites she’d only read about during her childhood, when illnesses had kept her confined to her bed or sedate activities. But she was stronger now, thank goodness, and fully recovered from a dangerous adventure during the bitter winter weather which had required her rescue from a gentleman’s club, of all places.

She’d told her Aunt Essie every detail when she and her father visited her in New York City and spent the holiday there being cossetted and waited on and generally placid before setting off across the ocean. She would have complained but recognized her body needed time to recover. Her aunt had listened wide-eyed to every foolish thing she’d done and every dangerous event that had taken place. She’d declared, when Virginia finished the tale, that her niece should get busy and marry this Brown fellow. After all, who could resist a hero like that? she’d asked.

Virginia would admit that she thought of him often, wondered if he’d fully recovered from his injuries from his rescue of her and if he ever thought of her, and if so, was it with kindness or exasperation for her foolish behavior? She was well acquainted with guilt. It hung over her like a shroud when she thought about the risks she’d taken and the violence imposed on so many others because she’d not considered the pitfalls, focused completely on a small child she’d never met.

“Well, Ginny? Happy to be back on dry land?” her father, Alistair Wiest, asked.

“Oh yes. Sad our wonderful trip is over, but I will be so very glad to be back at Shellington and seeing all the staff there. Won’t you be glad to be back at the cannery?”

“I will. It appears from reports that Mr. Everly has done well since we’ve been gone. He has a tendency to be abrasive on occasion, and I worry I’ll lose a valuable employee.”

“Look! There is our coach and Mr. Turnbull himself. Here!” she called out and waved.

The older uniformed man and another younger one made their way through the crowd to them, through families reuniting, lovers restored to each other, and men and women seeing their very first view of the United States.

“Mr. Weist. Miss Wiest. We are glad you are home. Get their trunks from the porter, Crimlock. Follow me, please,” Turnbull said and picked up the valise she’d been carrying.

“Are you ready to go home, Colleen?” Virginia asked, turning to her maid.

“I am, miss. But I will never forget these months. I never dreamed I’d get to travel like this. It was wonderful.”

Phillip worked a long shift at the cannery and a few hours pouring beer at the Bond Street Brewery after that. But Eliza Waterman’s plate of sausage, eggs, and toasted bread revived him the following morning along with a steaming cup of coffee.

Eliza was the family cook at the Brown home on Wolfe Street and had been for over ten years. Uncle Patrick, his father’s older brother, had found her walking along the Patapsco River where he was fishing and convinced her to come home with him and cook for a room and wages, a sight better than being a house slave in South Carolina.

“I thought this was a day out for you,” his sister, Sarah, said as she came into the kitchen, carrying a massive basket of clothing.

“A morning out.”

“Then why are you up and out of bed early? So unlike you, brother,” she said and laughed as she peered at his plate. “How many eggs did she make you?” Sarah looked at Eliza. “Eggs are dear. But I suppose he told you some sorry tale that he is still recovering.”

“He’s too thin,” Eliza said and turned to their maid of all work coming from their small pantry, her apron filled with onions and potatoes. “Over here, Jenny. We’re going to start the oyster stew.”

“Do you want me to get the kettle boiling for the laundry?” he asked Sarah.

She shook her head. “There’s a young woman with two babies near Dolly’s shop who takes in laundry. She doesn’t charge much and needs the work.”

“What does that cost us?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Phillip. My work at the dress shop is bringing in more than enough to pay it. I hate doing the laundry, and I’ll gladly pay for it to be done.”

“You shouldn’t be working at all,” Uncle Patrick said as he walked down the two stone steps near his small bedroom on the first floor and into the kitchen. “Should be marrying one of the men courting you. Setting up your own household.”

Sarah leaned over and kissed his weathered cheek. “I’d miss you too much.”

Uncle shook his head, not a man comfortable with Sarah’s affectionate pats and kisses. “Go on now. I need my coffee.”

Phillip smiled. His little family, some bonds of blood, some not, were the reason he was happy going to work and coming home to a hot meal, to this comfortable house, and the chatter in this kitchen on Wolfe Street in the Butchers Hill area of Baltimore. He was lucky—and thankful too; not everyone had the conviviality at home that he did, even including the occasional argument or disagreement.

“I’ve got to catch the streetcar,” he said and took his empty coffee cup to Jenny’s wash bin.

“Where are you off to?” Uncle Patrick asked.

“Doing a little work for a friend,” he said and kissed his sister’s cheek.

Phillip took the streetcar to French Street, getting close to the Washington Monument and the area where wealthier Baltimoreans resided. He found the address, an imposing gray stone home with six windows across. He went down the alley behind the Everly home and found the kitchen door belonging to it.

He knocked and waited. A lock slid back, and a man opened the door a crack. “Deliveries are done for the day.”

“I’m not here to deliver anything. I’m here to speak to Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Everly sent me.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Mr. Everly did?”

Phillip nodded and noticed the uncertainty, and maybe fear, in the man’s face. The door opened wider, and Phillip stepped inside the low-ceilinged kitchen, where a young woman was busy chopping vegetables. He could see tear tracks on her cheeks and thought that she must be cutting a particularly pungent onion. He followed the man, making his way through a labyrinth of hallways to a closed door near a narrow set of steps.

“Mr. Jenkins? There’s a man here to see you. Says Mr. Everly sent him.”

The door opened. “Thank you, Norris. You may go.”

He entered the comfortable office when Jenkins opened the door the whole way. Phillip closed the door behind him when the other man seated himself at a desk. “Mr. Jenkins. I’m Phillip Brown. Mr. Everly has asked me to look into some thefts that have occurred here. Has he spoken to you about this?”

“Of course he has. I’m the most senior member of the household staff. I’m privy to all such knowledge.” Jenkins looked him up and down. “I’m sure it’s one of the new housemaids. There are several just off the boat from Ireland. It’s certainly one of them.”

“I have a list of staff members here,” Phillip said and pulled the folded paper from his jacket pocket. “Can you tell me who the newest members are?”

Jenkins took the list, picked up the stub of a pencil, and made a few checkmarks. “Bridget and Ann, at the bottom of the list, are the two newest.”

“Thank you. Is there a place I can speak to the staff, privately and separately?”

“There is a small room down the hall you may use. But you must not keep them from their duties. I intend to tell them that if they are unable to keep up they will have to finish their work on their own time.”

Phillip nodded at Jenkins, knowing the man intended for him to get little cooperation. The butler reminded him of Everly, smug and pompous, a natural extension of Everly’s behavior toward those he deemed lesser. The room Phillip was shown to speak to the staff was small and chilly, which did not bother him at all but would undoubtedly make the women uncomfortable. He interviewed several employees: Norris, the man who’d answered the door, two upstairs maids, a pot-scrubbing boy, and a groomsman from the stables. They’d all heard there were missing items, some didn’t believe it, and all denied having ever stolen the smallest thing in their entire lives.

The last person he had time to speak to was the young woman who’d been chopping vegetables.

“Hello. I saw you chopping an onion when I first came in. It must have been a very strong one,” he said and smiled, trying to put the clearly terrified woman at ease.

She shook her head and whispered, “Not why I was crying, sir.”

“Oh?”

“No. Cook’s away and Mrs. Brandeis put me in the kitchen, but I’m only a tolerable cook at best. I can’t afford to lose this job. My husband can’t work.”

“Surely they must give you some lenience if you are only filling in,” he said.

“Don’t think so, sir. They aren’t a family that will put up with mistakes.”

Phillip sat back in his chair. Nearly every employee had expressed fear or at the least concern with their employer. There was no mention of the family being fair-minded or kind or appreciative. Only anxiety about continued employment.

“Have you heard that the family is concerned that there are several items of value missing from the house?”

She nodded. “I’ve heard, but I know nothing about it. I would never put my wages at risk for some ceramic trinket that may not have any value at the pawnshop.”

“Sensible. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Is that all, sir? I’m terribly afraid my soup will turn out poorly, and Mr. Everly is having company tonight.”

Phillip reached across the table and tapped his knuckles on the rough wood. “If you are ever in need of work, I believe I could get you placed with a wonderful family. My name is Phillip Brown, and I live on Wolfe Street.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and her lip trembled. “You mean that, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Of course I do. You better go tend your soup.”

Phillip watched her go and could not dismiss the feeling that there was something more to this than a few missing coins or knickknacks.