Page 6 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

“ W hat? Bucciarelli?” Phillip was certain the women had not heard him come up the stairs or realized he’d heard much of their conversation as he walked down the hallway to the bedroom. Greta Adamsen was curled in a ball, crying, while Sarah and Miss Wiest looked on aghast. “What was she saying about her son?”

“Bucciarelli has her son. She told us she had no interest in Finkle,” Sarah said.

Phillip watched Miss Wiest attempt to comfort Miss Adamsen and tried to make sense of what his sister had just said. They coaxed her to take a sip of water, which he’d seen Miss Wiest put a drop of laudanum in. It was probably for the best, although he’d like to get more details from her, but he doubted she’d be able to answer him in her current state. Sarah closed the curtains and doused the lamp on the bedside table before leaving the room with Miss Wiest. He followed the women to the sitting room.

“What do you think, Phillip?” Sarah asked once Jenny had brought tea and butter cake, warm from the oven.

“If Bucciarelli’s involved, then we know why Miss Adamsen was dumped on our porch stoop and not on our neighbors’.”

“I thought the same,” Sarah said.

“Who is this Bucciarelli person? Not a friend, I’m guessing,” Miss Wiest asked.

“He’s a criminal. He sells opium, runs the gambling halls and the bro—pardon me, miss,” Phillip said. He shouldn’t be talking around Miss Wiest in the same way he talked in front of Sarah and Eliza.

“I know what a brothel is, Mr. Brown,” Miss Wiest said, her cheeks pink. “What is your relationship with this person?”

“I helped get him arrested and convicted last summer.”

“You are a policeman? Or a constable?”

He shook his head. “No. Neither of those things.”

“Oh,” she said and picked up her teacup, staring into it as if the answers to her questions were there.

“Phillip overheard Bucciarelli’s plot to murder his rival and start a gang war while he was speaking to the persons who deliver the opium he sells. He would come out the victor, of course, and control more of Baltimore. Phillip reported it to a friend on the police force, and they were able to catch him in the act. He’ll be in jail for a very long time, but he still manages to run his gang from inside the prison walls,” Sarah said.

“This is the type of man who would take a child to force the mother to do his bidding?” Miss Wiest asked.

“It’s unlikely the child is still alive,” he said.

“Dear Lord!” she said. “How dreadful! Is there nothing to be done to confirm that or recover him?”

“I’ve got to get Miss Adamsen to talk to me about what she was supposed to be doing in exchange for her son. If it has something to do with her working in the home of a city councilman. I’ll have to unravel that first.”

“What should we do?” Miss Wiest asked.

Phillip looked at her. “What do you mean ‘do’?”

“I mean I intend to help this poor woman somehow.”

“Are you insane?” he asked. “These men are ruthless! They’d kill you and toss your body in the bay. You must keep yourself far away from all of this.”

Miss Wiest glanced up at him with a haughty look he didn’t care for, especially from someone as delicate and fragile as she was. She’d never have a chance against one of Bucciarelli’s toughs.

“Your sister is just as vulnerable if not more. They obviously know where you live and must know your family is taking care of Miss Adamsen.”

“You don’t think I know that, Miss Wiest?” he growled in a whisper. “You don’t think that those nightmares keep me awake until all hours? They do. I can’t worry about you too.”

Miss Wiest straightened up, not that she had far to go. Her posture, her manners were all well controlled and perfectly ladylike. But he thought she might be angry now.

“I have no expectations that you will worry about me, Mr. Brown. It is not your place to do so, nor would I welcome it,” she said as she stood. “I mustn’t keep Mr. Turnbull out in this weather any longer. Thank you for your note, Miss Brown, and for the delightful tea and cake.”

He jumped from his seat as she headed to the door. Sarah helped her with her coat as her maid came from the kitchens. She left without even a glance at him after a warm goodbye to his sister. Sarah closed the front door and leaned back against it, smiling.

“Miss Wiest certainly knows how to put you in your place,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t enjoyed myself that much in a long, long time.”

“You must discourage her. She would never stand a chance against those men.”

“Discourage her?” Sarah walked past him toward the kitchen, Phillip following. “I hardly know her, and we’re certainly not going to meet at the church sewing circle. Her society is very different than mine.”

“Yet you’ve entertained her here twice.”

“She came to see Greta and you,” Sarah said. “She likes to look at you, I think.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a floor manager. I drink my brew at a tavern, and my clothes come from Martin’s Emporium.”

“None of that matters to a woman who is interested,” she said as she picked up a knife and cut an onion into quarters. She dropped them in the large pot on the stove. Eliza was shelling oysters beside her at the long wooden table.

“Well, it’s all nonsense because I’m not interested in her, not in the least,” Phillip said.

“She is a sickly looking woman from what I could see. All drawn in the cheeks and so pale. It’s like she don’t have any blood,” Eliza said.

“And she has no meat on her. Her wrists are just two bones rubbing against each other.” Sarah shivered.

Phillip knew what was happening. Both women were trying to get him to make lavish compliments about Virginia Wiest. He wouldn’t satisfy them. Every time he was introduced to a woman, especially an attractive one, Sarah and Eliza tried the same trick, hoping he would marry, raise a brood, and stay away from criminals.

“I don’t care that she’s peaked, only in as much that she’s Mr. Wiest’s daughter and I don’t wish that heartache on anyone. Let the poor woman alone,” he said.

“I don’t intend to call on her, but I doubt we’ve seen the last of her. She seems determined to help.”

And that was exactly what concerned Phillip.

Phillip napped for an hour, knowing that his shift at the brewery would be a late one and he had to be at the cannery early the next morning. He walked the three blocks, his hands deep in his pockets against the weather, even with his thick gloves on. He rounded the side of the brick building and walked down the narrow passage toward the alley that ran along the back of the building where the drays pulled up to load barrels of Bond beer to be distributed to taverns across the city.

He tripped over something in the dark passageway, nearly landing in the mud, his hand going instantly to the knife in his boot. The something turned out to be old Sam Grayman after Phillip heard a groan. He glanced behind him to the street and saw a couple of men hurry away, as if they’d been following him.

“Sam? Sam? Is that you? Are you hurt?”

Sam let out a soft snore, and Phillip hurried to the alley and the door to the brewery, near the silos holding the hops and other grains.

“Hey! Somebody come help me. Sam Grayman is asleep in the walkway. He’ll freeze to death,” Phillip shouted.

Billy Bond turned from what he was doing. “Sleeping? The damned fool! Shorty! Get the little wagon. We’ll have to cart him home most likely.”

It was only a minute or two until they dragged Sam out of the passageway and lifted him into the cart. Shorty started down the alley pulling the cart, Billy and Phillip watching it go.

“Did ya see the two at the end of the walkway just now?” Billy whispered.

“I did. Don’t think they’re customers.”

“Come on, then,” Billy said in his booming voice, an arm around Phillip’s shoulder. “Let’s sell some beer.”

Phillip went through the cold room, where the barrels were stacked around blocks of ice, to the front of the building, pulling on an apron as he went. He went through the swinging doors, bringing him behind the polished oak bar where Emil Schmidt stood pouring beer into heavy mugs for the large crowd of mostly neighborhood working men, with a few women with their husbands and some women looking for company. Emil was as tall as Phillip, bald, and thick-bodied with massive forearms, his starched white shirt buttoned to the neck, covered by an embroidered vest and an apron.

“Emil,” Phillip said. “Any trouble?”

“Nay.”

“Any strangers?”

Emil glanced at him as he made change for three mugs of Bond lager. “I did, ya. They’re gone now. Friends?”

Phillip shook his head. “Doubtful. Let me know if you see them again.”

The evening went by quickly as he and Emil did not have a minute to spare between pouring brew, wheeling in new barrels, and wiping down tables. It was long after midnight when they got the last patron out the front door, locking it behind them. Another few minutes of cleaning up and they were both donning their coats.

“Not looking forward to this walk home,” Phillip said as he pulled his flat cap down over his ears. The two men went out the back door together, and Emil led the way down the narrow passageway where Sam Grayman had been sleeping. They came out on the street, quiet and still, not a person or wagon in sight. Snow was falling in large flakes, covering the dirty, crusted slush that edged the side of the path in front of the houses. Phillip looked up at the sky, dark blue and threatening to drop more snow, the smoke from hundreds of fireplaces and stoves rising against it.

Emil turned left, and Phillip turned right toward Wolfe Street and home. He had gone no more than half a block when two men materialized in front of him. Without turning, he knew there was one behind him too, the man’s heavy breathing giving him away. Three against one. Not great odds considering these men looked like they knew a thing or two about fighting, although the one man, tall and thin with massive ears, looked smug and pleased with himself. Phillip decided to act first while they congratulated themselves on finding him alone.

He lifted his foot up to the side, swinging himself around until his boot caught the breather square in the chest. The man dropped to the ground, gasping. Phillip felt someone at his back who caught hold of his arms, swinging him around to face the other man, a mountain of a brute who commenced punching him in the face and stomach until his vision blurred. He was not down yet, he thought to himself, kicking up and landing the toe of his boot in the brute’s groin, eliciting a cry from him like a dog howling. The brute was getting himself upright when he was toppled over in the snow by a man running full tilt. Emil took him down to the ground and swung his meaty fists time and again at the brute’s face.

Phillip wrenched himself from the arms that held him and swung his fist as he turned, connecting with the chin of the man with the oversized ears. He reached for his knife in his boot and bent his knees into a fighter’s stance.

“Come on,” he said. “Get a little closer, you coward.”

Steam was coming from the man’s mouth and nose and from the top of his hatless head in the cold night air. He held a wicked-looking knife in his right hand. He tossed the knife from one hand to the other, never taking his eyes from Phillip’s face.

“You should be minding your own business, Brown,” Ears said.

“I am, you big lout. Just walking home when you idiots jumped me,” Phillip said, not taking his eyes from the knife in the other man’s hand.

“Give us the woman. We’ll let your sister alone.”

“Touch my sister and you’re a dead man.”

“Give us the woman. She’s ours.”

“She’s yours because you kidnapped her son,” Phillip said as the two men slowly moved circled each other.

“Ha! Her son! Ask her who the father is,” the man said.

Phillip lunged forward, knife out, but Ears jumped to the side. “I don’t care who the father is. You don’t dump an injured woman in the snow to freeze to death.”

“We didn’t dump her, but some women need a lesson or two, just like you.” The man whipped his knife forward, Phillip turning at the last possible moment, taking the tip in his shoulder rather than his chest. His arm burned like the very devil when he yanked it out. When Phillip looked up, all three men were gone, running into the cold night and darkness.

Phillip bent over, hands on his knees, and took a few short breaths. “Thanks for the help, Emil. How did you know?”

“Waited a moment at the corner on the next block down and saw them come at you. The one came out of the walkway beside the brewery. Must have been back there when we locked up.”

“We both better get home,” Phillip said and then staggered a bit. He must have lost more blood than he thought. Emil had him by the waist and was nearly carrying him by the time they got to his door. Phillip pulled his key out of his pants pocket with a shaking and blood-covered hand. The door opened before he could turn the lock. Uncle Patrick was there, pulling him inside and thanking Emil for getting him home. Phillip’s knees gave out, and the two men got him to the kitchen. Emil said good night, and Patrick peeled his coat from his shoulder, Phillip wincing with every inch.

“What in the hell happened?”

“I got stabbed.”

“Don’t be smart. You ain’t equipped for it.”

“Three men. They wanted the woman, Greta Adamsen. Threatened Sarah if we didn’t hand her over.”

“Hope you got in some licks.”

“I did. Would have been worse if Emil hadn’t shown up.”

“The German’s a good one in a fight with those fists, I imagine.”

Phillip hissed in pain as Patrick wiped the stab wound with hot water and then pressed it again until it bled. He put a salve on it and then wrapped a bandage around his arm.

“Would have been worse if you hadn’t been wearing your heavy coat.”

Phillip pulled his shirt on and climbed the steps. He washed his face with cold water, his jaw and cheek bone tender to the touch. The brute had gotten in some good punches. He closed his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The sun was shining brightly, and the temperature had warmed enough to melt the ice and snow on the drive.

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Miss Wiest?” Colleen asked for the third time.

“Yes, I am sure. In any case, it is only two blocks. I have been walking the hallways and stairs here, building my strength, and it is time I put it to the test. If I am unable to make it, you can hurry back here for help,” Virginia said and slipped her hands into her fur-lined muff.

She was very much looking forward to getting out of Shellington, even for a short time, and under her own power. Mr. Smith opened the door for her, and Virginia stepped outside, taking a deep breath, happy to smell the bay.

Virginia walked slowly, hoping to have the energy to get the whole way to the cannery without the embarrassment of having to send Colleen for one of the staff to rescue her. She did not tire until she reached the gates and stopped to catch her breath.

“Are you all right, miss?”

She nodded. “Just give me a moment,” she said, calming her breathing.

They continued through the gates and to the offices. Virginia sat down on the bench in the open area near the stairs for a few minutes and then stood, ready to climb the steps. Just then, Phillip Brown emerged from the hallway that led to the cannery itself.

“Mr. Brown! What has happened to your face?”

“Good to see you too, Miss Wiest,” he said.

“It’s not as though I can act as if there is nothing wrong with seeing a man with a blackened eye and a swollen split lip.”

“I tripped and fell. Going up the steps.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Brown. Someone hit you, I think. Multiple times. A step wouldn’t bruise your face on every side, would it?”

“Excuse me, Miss Wiest. I’ve got to deliver these papers to Mr. Everly.”

Colleen stood beside Virginia. “He is a handsome man even after a pummeling.”

“He is. I’m thinking he was waylaid by someone connected to Greta Adamsen.”

Colleen nodded. “Would not surprise me at all. Are you ready to climb the steps, miss?”

“I am.”

Virginia climbed slowly, glad that she was not panting for her breath. Everyone she passed nodded or said a cheery hello and were so happy she was feeling better. She heard loud voices as she came to the door to her father’s office. She stood staring through the glass at Mr. Everly, who was shouting and pointing at Mr. Brown.

She would have barged in immediately if Colleen hadn’t touched her arm. It would do no good for her to favor one employee over another, even if Everly was being rude. She did not believe the way to build loyalty among employees was to embarrass them, and she was certain Mr. Brown would be embarrassed as everyone could hear Mr. Everly’s shouts up and down the hallway. Clerks and secretaries were silent as they hurried past, not meeting her eyes.

She rapped her knuckles on the glass hard enough that both men looked her way. Colleen opened the door for her and closed it behind her.

“Gentlemen, your voices are carrying outside of this office.”

Everly’s face was already red with anger; if possible, he reddened further and glanced away. Mr. Brown looked as though he was holding on to his temper by a thread.

“What can I help you with, Miss Wiest?” Everly asked and turned to Brown. “We’re done here.”

Virginia walked between the two men to her father’s office. “I am here to visit with my father. Please continue with your business at a lower volume, Mr. Everly.”

She did not wait for a reply from him, just opened the door, stepped inside, and shut the door behind her. She took several deep, steadying breaths as she found herself furious with Everly, with some sympathy for Brown even if he did tend to be dismissive of her. Her father came through the door just then.

“My darling girl! What brings you out today? I didn’t see Turnbull and the coach. Did you send him away?” he asked.

She kissed his cheek. “No, Father. We walked. Colleen and I.”

“Walked?”

“With both feet!” she said with a laugh.

“Ginny, darling, I have worked all of my life, your dear mother too, to make sure you did not have to walk anywhere!”

Virginia laughed again. “How silly you are being. Shellington is just down the way, and the sun has melted the snow on the walkway. It’s lovely out. I took my time and am actually very proud of myself. My exercises at home have helped me grow stronger.”

“You are my courageous girl! I’m so proud of you, but I will always worry about you.” He wrapped his big hands around her shoulders. “I feared we’d lost you just a few weeks ago. I don’t know how I would have gone on.”

“Father. Don’t be morose. I’m here, well, and getting stronger every day.”

“I know you are.”

Her father sat down behind his desk, and Virginia seated herself on one of the soft leather chairs in front of it. “I know you’re very busy, but I was wondering if you knew anything about a man named Bucciarelli? Apparently, he’s in jail.”

“He’s a criminal and a dangerous one. Where did you hear of him?”

“Do you remember when Mr. Brown dined with us and told us about the injured woman who’d been left at their door?”

He nodded. “She wasn’t conscious when he told us about her. I wonder if she’s woken since.”

“She has. I visited Mr. Brown’s sister, Miss Sarah Brown, who’s been caring for her, and she woke just a few days ago.”

“What does this woman have to do with this Bucciarelli person?”

“She says this Bucciarelli person has her son. I’m not sure why, but I think he was blackmailing her to do something.”

“Good Lord!” her father said. “I thought you said he was in jail.”

“That’s what I was told, but someone must be running his organization now.”

“We’ve had some problems over the years with troublemakers associated with him. Dangerous men.” He glared at her.

Virginia looked at her father solemnly. “I would like to see this woman reunited with her child.”

“Virginia,” her father said softly. “You must have nothing to do with any of that. I feel sorry for the woman as much as you do, but you must not involve yourself.”

“How can I not involve myself? A woman’s child has been kidnapped.”

“This is for the police. Don’t allow your sympathy for this woman to override your good judgment.” He picked up his glasses and a paper lying on his desk. “I won’t allow you to endanger yourself.”

Virginia knew what her father intended. He would recruit the staff to let him know where she was going. She must be on her guard. For now, she must reassure him. “Of course not, Father! I would not dream of it.”

She stood, her father following, and went around his desk to kiss his cheek. “Roast beef this evening.”

“No stew?”

“Of course we’ll have oyster stew first,” she said with a laugh.

Virginia found Colleen and began their walk home. She was a little tired, but not overly so, and she had enjoyed the sunshine even with the cold air. They were just a few steps on their way when they heard someone calling her. She turned around to see Mr. Brown walking toward them.

He nodded to both of them, and Colleen stepped back as if giving them privacy, even though she was only a few feet away. It had been ages since she’d been alone, or nearly so, with a young man.

“I won’t keep you, miss. It’s too cold to be standing still for long,” he said.

“I’m fine for a few moments. What has my father sent you to tell me?”

His mouth opened in surprise for just a moment, quickly covered with a small smile. “Why would you say that, Miss Wiest?”

“Because I know my father, sir. He would wrap me in blankets and lock me in my room these last twenty-six years if he could!”