Page 8 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

V irginia took slow breaths once she was inside and out of the cold, taking a seat at a tall stool near a massive cutting board. Something smelled wonderful on the stove, and she could hear Miss Brown calling for the housemaid, Jenny.

“Oh, Miss Wiest. I didn’t know you were here. Does my brother know?” Miss Brown asked as she hurried into the kitchen.

“I just saw him outside, and I can’t deny he makes me unduly angry,” she said, huffing for her breath.

Miss Brown hurried to her and held her hands. “Take small breaths, Miss Wiest, until you are rested. Would you like a glass of water?”

Virginia shook her head. “Just give me a moment,” she whispered. Virginia watched Miss Brown pick up a massive paddle and stir the bubbling pot that was giving off such appetizing aromas. She could hear crying from the floor above and furniture scraping on the floor. Her hands were finally still, and her knees had stopped their trembling.

“What happened?” she asked.

“A man knocked and pushed through the door when poor Jenny opened it. He went straight upstairs, banging open bedroom doors until he found Miss Adamsen. He pulled her out of bed, and she was shrieking and crying.” Miss Brown shivered where she stood and turned to Virginia. “I was shouting at him to put her down, and he barreled past me down the stairs. I jumped on his back and clawed at his face, but he got the back door open, and I fell off him. Eliza, she’s our cook, hit him over the head with a frying pan.”

Virginia wondered if she’d have the wherewithal to do what these women did to defend themselves and Miss Adamsen. She must continue to do more each day and regain some of the strength she’d lost when she’d been ill.

“How very brave you were. You and your cook. I can still hear Miss Adamsen crying, I think.”

Miss Brown nodded. “Eliza is trying to get her to take some laudanum, and I don’t know where Jenny is. I’d better go upstairs and help Eliza. If Jenny appears, tell her everything is fine now and to come upstairs and help us straighten the mess in Miss Adamsen’s room. I’m sorry to leave you sitting alone but . . .”

“Never think of it. Your home is at sixes and sevens.”

Miss Brown hurried from the room, and Virginia sat quietly for a few more minutes. She stood then, taking her time to breathe deeply, when she heard a noise coming from a curtained doorway in the corner of the kitchen. She peaked around the edge of the drape. A shoe disappeared behind a large tin of flour.

“Jenny?” she whispered. “The man is gone, Jenny.”

A whimper came from the back. She slipped inside the room, floor-to-ceiling shelves of bins of potatoes and onions, spices and canned and jarred peaches and pears and beans stacked neatly. She sat down on the floor near the flour bin.

“Jenny? Is that you?”

The top of the girl’s head came into view as she crawled from her hiding space. “Yes, miss. It’s me.”

“Mr. Brown and the police have hauled away those bad men. Won’t you come and sit beside me?”

Jenny inched close enough that Virginia could reach her trembling hand and hold it. “There now. That was frightening but it is over. Miss Brown is worried about you. Take deep breaths. That is what I do when I am overwhelmed.”

Jenny slowly quieted until they heard men’s voices. Jenny buried her face in Virginia’s shoulder, and she pulled the girl into an embrace.

“Miss Wiest? Mr. Turnbull is here to take you home,” Mr. Brown said.

“In the pantry, Mr. Brown. We are getting over our fright,” she said.

The curtain pulled back, revealing the tall, broad figure of Phillip Brown. He dropped down to his haunches.

“Did they hurt you, Jenny?”

Jenny shook her head.

“Just scared, I think,” Virginia said.

“Let me help you up, Miss Wiest,” he said.

She turned to the girl in her arms. “Are we ready to venture out, Jenny?”

“Yes, miss. Thank you,” she whispered. The girl clamored to her feet, ignoring Mr. Brown’s outstretched hand. He stepped back as she squeezed by to the kitchen. Virginia accepted his help.

“Thank you, Mr. Brown.”

“Thank you, Miss Wiest, for being so kind to Jenny. I don’t know why she’s terrified, but she is, and I just do my best not to stand too close or get angry in her hearing.”

“That must be a trial for you,” she said and looked up at him. “The not getting angry, I mean.”

Brown smiled, making himself handsomer than usual—if that was even possible.

“Are you making fun of me, Miss Wiest?”

“Never. I would never,” she said and smiled back at him, feeling in charity with the exasperating man for once. “What will you do about Miss Adamsen?”

“She’ll be guarded until I can find her son.”

His resolute statement rung in her ears. There was no bragging or falseness in what he said; in fact, it made her want to march with him into whatever battle or danger he faced. He was the very definition of a leader, making a bold claim that she had no doubt he would fulfill.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“Miss Wiest, this is not your battle. You must keep yourself safe.”

“It is not your battle either, but you intend to win it. What can I do to help?”

“Let me think on it.”

“Don’t wait too long, Mr. Brown,” she said and swept past him. “I may just take circumstances into my own hands.”

He grumbled, and she smiled as she opened the door and saw Mr. Turnbull waiting.

Phillip watched Miss Wiest leave through the back door. Her stubbornness was both admirable and terrifying. It was not really his job to keep her safe, but he still felt responsible, even without her father’s edict. He climbed the steps and turned to Greta Adamsen’s room as his sister came out of it, closing the door behind her.

“Is she awake?” he asked.

Sarah shrugged and pinched her nose between her eyes. “We finally got some laudanum in her. She was completely hysterical.”

“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“No. Just a bruised backside from landing on the ground.”

“One of the Shoeman girls saw him push past Jenny into the house. Mrs. Shoeman sent Darius to get me at the cannery.”

“Thank God you got here in time. He would have hauled her off or killed her if you hadn’t stopped him.”

“She has to tell me the whole story, or we may not be able to stop him the next time.”

“I know. Not tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow,” she said. “Have you seen Jenny?”

“She was hiding in the pantry. Miss Wiest was sitting with her when I found them. She coaxed her out.”

“Did she?”

He nodded. “I’m going to get a bar set up on both the front and back doors. Don’t let anyone in until I can figure out what to do about Miss Adamsen.”

“You have to be careful too. Uncle told me you had trouble the other night on the way home from Bond’s. That’s where the bruises on your face and that cut came from.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can, but I’ll not let the fact that a man barged into our home and terrified my family go by the wayside. I’ll find the men responsible and deal with them.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

Phillip held her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I love you and Uncle, and Jenny and Eliza too. I’m not going to let anyone threaten you or hurt you. You’re going to have to trust me.”

Sarah stepped away and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I do trust you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

Sarah and Phillip went to the kitchen, Eliza following them.

“Did she finally get to sleep?”

Eliza nodded. “I sat with her until she was quiet. That girl is skittish and nearly scared to death.”

“I’m going to talk to her tomorrow. She’s going to have to tell me everything,” he said.

Phillip waited until Sarah came downstairs the following morning after helping Greta dress and eat her breakfast. He knocked on her door.

“Come,” he heard.

“Hello, Miss Adamsen. Are you up to some conversation?”

“Would it matter if I’m not?” she asked.

“No.”

“You’d best call me Greta. Your sister does.” She glanced at him. “Sit on the chair. I’ll sit on the bed.”

“Well then, Greta. I think it’s time you tell me what has happened.”

“The less I say, the safer you are.”

He shook his head. “We’re past that. Men broke into my house—my home—yesterday. I can’t protect my family, or you, if you don’t tell me exactly what happened and how you ended up on my doorstep.”

“What do you want to know?” she whispered.

“What were you doing at the Durmands’?”

“Papers. There were papers in his office that I was to steal or copy.”

“Bucciarelli asked you to copy them?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I thought you said Bucciarelli has your son.”

“He does,” she said and looked away. “But he did not ask me to copy those papers.”

“Who sent you there?”

“No one sent me to work there. I’d been working there for months. It was just a job.” She took a long breath. “I was hiding from my husband.”

“Who is your husband? Why were you hiding from him?”

She shrugged. “You wouldn’t know him.”

“Why does Bucciarelli have your son then? Who is he to the boy?”

She glanced out the window and Phillip was sure there was more to the story, but it seemed she wasn’t going to speak about it, for now, at least.

“But someone asked you to copy documents that were found in the office,” Phillip asked.

She nodded. “I don’t know his name. He told me if I got the papers he wanted, he would get my son for me.”

“And you believed him?”

“I’m a mother, and I’m desperate,” she said, staring at him. “I had to believe, otherwise it was too horrible to think about.”

“Then who do the men who tried to carry you off yesterday work for? Bucciarelli or the mystery man?”

“I don’t know. I think Bucciarelli wanted the same papers that this other man wanted. I was told that Bucciarelli would never find out what I was doing, but I know that is not true. He has spies everywhere.”

“Did you find any of the papers your mystery man wanted?”

She nodded. “A few, yes. I was able to copy over the originals and put them back in Mr. Durmand’s study. I can read and write.”

“What did you do with them once you copied them?” Greta was silent, looking at her hands and twisting the bed quilt in her fingers. “Greta?”

“There’s a groom I gave them to. Orville is his name. I don’t know his last name, and I’m not even sure what he looks like. I put the copied papers in a leather packet and left it on a bench in the garden. When I went back a few hours later, the packet was empty. I think he’s dark-haired and rather short; at least a man who looked like that followed me with his eyes. He made me nervous.”

“Can you remember what you copied?”

“Some of it. Much of it was legal that I did not understand. I think it was a deed to land that was being bought by someone from Mr. Durmand.”

“Durmand owns property he is selling and the mystery man wants to know about the sale, or maybe just who the property is being sold to?”

She nodded. “I don’t know for certain, but that is possible. I just copied it and put my copies in the packet for Orville.”

“Dr. Prosperi said you had a healed broken arm and nose in addition to the gash on your head he stitched up. Who’s hitting you? Is it Finkle?”

“Matthew?” she said. “No. Matthew never hit me. He isn’t the type.”

“The type? What type is he?”

“A man who will be miserable all of his life with a woman he doesn’t love or even like. He has accepted that, I think. He’s not violent.”

“Then who was violent with you?”

She shrugged. “The healed injuries are in the past. There is no use discussing them.”

“Then what about your current injuries?”

“I don’t know,” she said and began to cry. “I was out picking up something for Miss Durmand. The one put his arm around my shoulder and guided me to a space between buildings before I even realized what was happening. They put a rag over my nose, and I don’t remember anything other than fighting them. But I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t get away from them.”

Had Miss Durmand told someone, this Orville person, perhaps, where she was sending Greta? If so, Miss Durmand was involved. “Do you remember what day of the week that was?”

“Yes. It was a Thursday. In the evening.”

“We found you on our doorstep on Saturday morning. Do you have any idea where you were before they brought you here?”

“Not really, although I have some strange dreams of being near animals.”

“Animals? Like dogs and cats?”

“No. Horses, I think, but I don’t really know.”

“Do you have any idea where they would have taken your son or why?”

She shook her head slowly. “Bucciarelli has so many people who owe him. That’s what he does, you see. He does a favor, and then sometime, even years later, he will tell you he needs something done and that you must do it.”

“Is that how you became acquainted with him? Had he done you a favor?”

“Not me,” she whispered. “My father.”

Phillip stared at her, and she stared steadily back. Suddenly, he was quite certain what Bucciarelli had asked for in return for whatever favor was given to Mr. Adamsen. How much he hated witnessing or even knowing about how some parents used their children for their gain or comfort. How would this woman trust anyone, ever, after having been betrayed by her own father?

“That’s enough questions for today. If you remember anything else, even the smallest detail, it may help me track down the men who did this, and therefore your son. Get some rest. If you hear pounding, it’s me or Uncle Patrick putting up bars across the front and kitchen doors.”

He wasn’t sure she heard what he said, as she was staring at the wall as if in a trance, and he realized she’d never answered why her son had been taken. He closed the door to the room and hurried down the steps, eager to get the bars installed.

“Colleen? How would one go about finding out where Miss Adamsen’s son is?”

Her maid stopped for a moment while threading a ribbon through her hair and then began again. “I’m not really sure, but if the little mite is young, he must have been put with a family, or at the least a woman, as a man would never tolerate a child’s demands.”

“True. I don’t know how old he is, but I’ll find out. In fact, I’ll write a note to Miss Brown and find out.”

“What are you thinking, miss?”

“I’m thinking that often working-class families live in close proximity to others, and someone may have heard about a little boy suddenly appearing with Mrs. Whomever. But the city is so large. There are thousands of Mrs. Whomevers. What do you think?”

“Do we know for certain the child is with a working-class family?”

“No, we don’t, but nor can I see a wealthy family taking in a child for a dangerous criminal. Maybe there is some payment to a desperate family for watching the child that would induce them.”

“My eldest sister’s friend lives in the neighborhood where this Bucciarelli person was arrested, but that is no guarantee that the child is there. I can ask her if she’s heard of a young child suddenly appearing in the neighborhood, although with this bitter weather, families are not out as much.”

Virginia glanced at her in the mirror. “Would you, Colleen? I think about that poor child taken from his mother and it makes me very sad. But you must tell your sister to be careful what she says. We don’t want her friend to be in any danger.”

“No. Of course not. I will see her on Sunday at my parents’. There, miss,” Colleen said as she pinned the last curl in place. “I think we should do your hair just like this for the ball next week.”

“Agreed, Colleen. It’s good you’ve practiced. I think it looks perfect.”