Page 9 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

P hillip walked straight past Everly’s glare and knocked on the inner door of the office. “Mr. Wiest? What can I do for you, sir?”

“Brown? Come in,” Wiest said and shuffled papers on his desk until he had his hand on a square card with fancy inked writing. He handed it to Phillip.

Brown glanced at the card, an invitation to a ball at the home of someone named Reginald Waters who lived on Federal Hill. Must be a rich one, then, Phillip thought . He glanced up at Wiest.

“What do you have in the way of dress clothes, Brown?”

“Dress clothes?”

“Yes. What do you wear when you’re invited out?”

“I’m not often, or ever, invited out, but I did buy a good wool jacket at the secondhand store to wear to church last fall.”

“That won’t do. Here.” He handed Phillip an envelope. “Take this to Rosenblatt’s tailor shop on Exeter Street. I’ve instructions inside for what you will need.”

Phillip felt a pit open up in his stomach. “Why do I need to go to a tailor’s?” he said and added, “sir.”

“I’d like you to attend the Waters’ ball and keep an eye on my daughter. There will be several men there I need to speak to and hopefully close deals that are already in the works. I’m worried Ginny will overdo, and she would never interrupt me to say she needed rest or to go home.”

“A ball? I’ve never been to anything so fancy. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you or Miss Wiest.”

“You ate at our table, Mr. Brown. You didn’t lick your fingers and managed to know which piece of silverware to use. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure there’s someone more suited to helping Miss Wiest than I am, sir.”

Wiest eyed him. “I’m also certain you’d guard her from any trouble, Brown. Especially as she seems so caught up in this poor woman who was left on your doorstep. Mr. Turnbull has known her since she was a wee girl and isn’t always able to tell her plainly what she should do. Or not do.”

Phillip looked down at his shoes as he did not want his employer to see a blush bloom on his cheeks. He cursed himself for ever mentioning Greta Adamsen that night. Had he not, he would not have to choose between pleasing the company’s owner and perhaps forever being in his black books. But there really was no choice, was there? He needed the job, liked the work—other than Everly, and certainly needed the pay. And hints had been dropped over the years that he would have chances for promotions. Perhaps he should look at this duty as just that. An opportunity.

“I would be happy to make sure that Miss Wiest is safe and comfortable. I’d rather pay for my own clothes, though.”

“Don’t be stubborn over a coat and pair of pants, Brown. You wouldn’t in your normal course be attending this event, but as your employer, I’m asking you to be there. If I were to send you out of town on company business, you would be reimbursed for your lodging. Consider this in the same way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Phillip tucked the envelope and invitation in his coat pocket and closed Wiest’s door behind him. He was met by an agitated Everly.

“Who do you think you are?” Everly whispered.

“Eavesdropping doesn’t become you, Mr. Everly. Excuse me. I’m due to cover a shift change.” Phillip squeezed past Everly, who was acting as if he could stop him in a physical confrontation. He would admit he’d enjoy pummeling Everly to the ground, even if the consequences were unpleasant.

Turnbull arrived promptly at seven on the evening of the Waters’ ball to take him to Shellington to pick up the Wiests. Miss Wiest was handed in by her father. Her eyes widened when she saw him sitting with his back to the horses.

“Mr. Brown. Whatever are you doing here?”

“I was asked—” he began.

Mr. Wiest plopped in his seat beside her and interrupted. “I thought it was time Brown met some of our colleagues and business associates.”

“Really, Father. Are you sure you did not ask him in order to have someone keep an eye on me?”

“And why would I do that, Ginny? You’re a woman grown and well able to take care of yourself.”

Brown glanced at Wiest. There was no dissembling in his words. If Phillip didn’t know exactly the opposite, he would have never suspected the man of lying, or at least bending the truth. From the look on Miss Wiest’s face, she was accustomed to her father’s manipulations and did not believe him for a minute. She cast her eyes at him. Virginia Wiest was not happy.

The carriage rolled to a stop in a line of carriages all waiting to discharge their passengers. Phillip was not looking forward to the evening, although Sarah had told him to enjoy it, as how often would he get invited to a fancy party and get a brand-new suit to wear to it?

She’d insisted he go to a real barber, not just let Eliza hack off his curls. Haircut and a shave and then a bath in the big tub in the back room near the kitchen. Then a new bright white shirt, gray pants with a tight crease down the front of the legs, a dark gray-and-red-plaid double-breasted vest with red lapels—the tailor called it a waistcoat, as he was originally from London—all topped with a black coat of the finest wool he’d ever seen. His tie was dark red, as was the silk scarf that hung around his neck. He felt a little ridiculous. And his new low leather boots pinched his toes.

A servant handed Miss Wiest out of the carriage after finally stopping at a carpet laid down over the cobblestone street that had been cleared of snow, extending to the portico of a massive home, lights shining from every window. Her father climbed down, and Phillip jumped down, ignoring the hand of the coachman. Mr. Wiest took his daughter’s arm as they followed the line of women in sparkling gowns with feathers and jewels in their hair. The men looked much as he did, although they mostly wore top hats, which he had adamantly refused, even though it was on the detailed list Mr. Wiest had had him deliver to Rosenblatt, the tailor. Once inside, Miss Wiest was helped from her icy-blue satin cloak, revealing a form-fitting shimmering gown in the same color. Her hair was held up with combs twinkling with diamonds. He couldn’t help but stare as he followed her and her father. She was slight but shapely in all the right places, shown to advantage in her costume, especially the low-cut bosom.

“Mr. Wiest! Ah, yes! Just the gentleman we’ve been waiting for,” a tall man exclaimed as soon as they walked to the top step leading down into the massive room where hundreds of guests talked in small groups or strolled, nodding to acquaintances.

Phillip could not stop himself from looking around in awe, his mouth hanging open until he realized what he must look like, standing with the Wiests, appearing as if he was raised in a cow pasture. The room was lit with gaslights and decorated with towering plants and flowers in pots and wrapped around columns; he could only imagine how expensive they had been to procure in January. To his relief, no one pointed at him and stared, and he had to admit that Mr. Wiest was likely right to insist he had a new rig. The men surrounding Mr. Wiest nodded and greeted Miss Wiest as they slowly surrounded her father and led him away.

Phillip held out his arm as she was poised to begin down the marble steps to the main floor. “Allow me,” he said.

She glanced up at him. “My father’s plan has worked beautifully. He is with his cronies, and yet I still have an escort.”

“I am honored to be that escort.”

“Oh, please. You look as though this is the very last place on earth that you wish to be. Have you spoken anymore to Miss Adamsen?”

He nodded. “She told me someone pulled her into an alleyway two days before she arrived on Wolfe Street, covering her nose with a rag that was doused in something that made her fall asleep. She said she was told to copy papers in Mr. Durmand’s study and leave them for a groom. They told her they would get her son from Bucciarelli if she did as she was told.”

“Did she have any idea who the person was?”

“None that she said.”

He glanced down at her, doing his best to not let his eyes stray to the edge of her gown, where a large sapphire lay between her breasts. “I’m not accustomed to this,” he said and looked out over the crowd of fancy guests.

“You shouldn’t worry, Mr. Brown. You look very well this evening.”

He grinned at her as they came to the bottom of the steps. “Do I look well?”

“Of course you do, and you are quite aware of it. I’m sure your sister told you the same.”

“She did say I looked huge in this coat and vest, and handsome too.”

Virginia looked around the room. “She was not wrong, I suppose.”

“Why, Miss Wiest! Do you think I look handsome rather than just well?”

“I was thinking more of her comment that you looked huge.”

Brown tipped his head back and laughed out loud. Heads turned, but he was unaware of how out of place it was in this crowd to show any real emotion or attitude. Except he was uncommonly handsome—yes, she would admit it—and undoubtedly the young women here would soon be surrounding him.

She saw her friends discreetly waving to her and headed their direction, Mr. Brown following. She turned to him just before she came to Mary and Gertrude. “You do not have to stand here with me while I chat with my friends. I’m sure I’ll be quite safe.”

“Virginia!” Mary Hernsdown said, smiling and glancing at Brown. “We’ve been wondering when you’d get here.”

She kissed Mary’s cheek. “You look so beautiful tonight! Will Mr. Akins be here this evening? Maybe I’ll finally have a chance to meet him.”

“She hopes so,” Gertrude Miller said. “But we haven’t seen him yet. As usual, you put us all to shame in that beautiful pale blue. While my mother insisted I wear pink, and we all know it doesn’t do anything for me.”

“You will be independent very soon, Gertrude, and then you can wear any color you’d like,” Virginia said. Both of her friends were glancing at Brown in all his “huge” glory. She would admit that he looked wickedly handsome with his hair trimmed and a new suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. There was no way she could not introduce him. “Mary, Gertrude, this is Mr. Phillip Brown. Mr. Brown, my friends Miss Hernsdown and Miss Miller. Mr. Brown works . . . with my father.”

He looked at both women and smiled. “It’s a pleasure, ladies.”

There was a little hum of satisfaction from both women and then several hellos and waves from acquaintances, all with glances at Brown. Soon they were swarming around him, asking him about his family and where he spent his days. She heard him say he was a floor manager at the cannery and poured beer at a brewery on the occasional night. At least he hadn’t made up any ridiculous story about himself, although the women circling him were giggling, clearly disbelieving that he worked in a brewery.

“But where is your estate, Mr. Brown?” Edwina Hopsfelter asked as Virginia slowly moved to the back of the crowd surrounding him.

She slipped away, allowing Brown to drown in the accolades of the young women with a new handsome stranger to flirt with. There was a man she wished to speak to, but her father would have an apoplexy, and Brown would bluster and make a great show of being as big as a draft horse. She laughed to herself, thinking about the ridiculous comparison. She stopped and turned slowly and spotted her prey at the refreshments.

“Oh, Geoffrey,” she said to the man accepting a glass of champagne from a servant. “It’s been an age.”

Geoffrey Morehead turned to her with a practiced, and not flattering, eye. “Virginia? I was told to never speak to you again by your father, with your approval. Should I expect a scolding from Mr. Wiest?”

“Oh, Geoffrey. Do be serious. I’m not a child, and I can speak to whomever I choose.”

“And you very clearly did not choose me.”

Geoffrey had escorted her to several functions some years ago, making himself useful as a reliable arm to hold or as a partner in charades or other parlor games. She’d never felt more than a liking for him, although she’d often felt guilty for accepting his escort, knowing he was hoping it would be more, and she knowing it never would be. Some unflattering information about Geoffrey had come to her father, prompting him to take a hard look at his finances and background. What was discovered did not show her escort in a positive light. He was prone to have friends and associates that were not only on the fringe of society but were also known to consort with Baltimore citizens who were less than upright—criminal in some cases—and shysters all. His finances hinged on the latest scheme he was involved in.

Alistair Wiest had a pointed conversation with Geoffrey after having discussed the situation with his daughter. She’d made no objection to her father’s conclusions and encouraged him to be clear to her would-be suitor that she was not interested in him as a life partner. She’d only seen him a few times since then, when they both acted with brief and perfect courtesy.

“I did not, Geoffrey, but that does not mean we cannot speak as friends to each other,” she said and accepted a glass of champagne. She glanced at him then, not an unattractive man, of average height and looks, but beginning to show signs of the drinking and gambling that dominated his life according to her father’s investigator. “I need some information, and you are the only person of my acquaintance who may know or be able to find out.”

Geoffrey turned to her quickly, a hard mask on his face. “Ah. I am good enough now that you want something. Did anyone ever tell you that you can be a spoiled brat on occasion?”

“More times than I can count. Sometimes it is true. But not this time.”

“What do you want, Miss Wiest?”

“I want to know where a man named Bucciarelli would hold a child away from his mother in order to make the mother do his bidding.”

Morehead took her by the arm and led her none too gently to a deserted alcove, smiling and laughing to anyone they passed. When alone, he turned to her, his eyes glittering. “Do you want to get one of us killed? Do not mention that name in front of others. There are men here, and a few women, who owe him a favor or two, and would think nothing of mentioning what they overheard.” He glanced around her shoulder and gave a tight smile to whomever he’d noticed looking their way.

Virginia saw real fear in his eyes. He was not being dramatic or trying to impress her with his insight. He was frightened. “I’m sorry, Geoffrey. That was clumsy of me. I never meant?—”

“Of course you didn’t. You live a very secluded life, free from the drama and danger. But that is not the real world.” He paused to take a deep breath. “My apologies. I have no business speaking to you in that manner.”

“I deserve a shaking once in a while, but there are very few people who are willing to be honest with me. Do not apologize for being truthful.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes closed. When he opened them, he smiled, patted her hand, and turned them to the rest of the guests as if they were having a friendly chat. “Smile, Virginia. And then tell me what you need.”

“There is a woman, Greta Adamsen, who was left to freeze to death on a friend’s front stoop. She is terrified and doing the bidding of a man, who she cannot identify, and who has told her he will get her son back from Bucciarelli if she does as he says.”

“Laugh,” he said and smiled broadly at her as if he’d just told the grandest joke. Virginia laughed then, bringing her gloved hand to her mouth to cover her mirth.

“The man she doesn’t know, who I am guessing is a rival of Bucciarelli, is most likely Edward Campbell. He is ruthless, newly arrived from Scotland, with plenty of gold and clansmen. He’s looking to plant his flag in Baltimore, and there’s a prime piece of harbor property for sale he wants to buy, but Bucciarelli wants it too, and the seller has been secretive in the extreme about the purchaser who supposedly has already signed agreements.”

“Why the secret? Won’t it be public knowledge eventually?”

“It will, but I imagine the buyer wants to give himself enough time to get out of Baltimore.”

“Why?”

He stared at her for a few long moments.

“Does this person anticipate threats from Bucciarelli or Campbell?” she asked and waited again for a response. “How do we get this child back to his mother?”

“I’ll see what I can find out, but it may not be much. I don’t want to ask too many questions,” he said and nodded to Brown, who was making his way toward them. “Who is this massive plowman staring daggers at you?”

“He works for the cannery.” She watched him pardon himself several times, never taking his eyes from her face, only glancing once at Geoffrey. There was something annoying about his proprietary gaze, but . . . there was also something elementally satisfying. He looked as if would throw her over his shoulder and push his way through the crowd. It was an odd feeling conjured in her stomach, one she was not familiar with.

“Mr. Brown, where are your admirers?”

“I managed a getaway without any help from you, Miss Wiest,” he said and looked at Geoffrey. “Won’t you introduce me?”

“I’ve known Mr. Morehead for years. We’re just catching up,” she said. “This is Mr. Brown. He works for the cannery and is here at my father’s behest.”

“Mr. Brown.”

“Mr. Morehead.”

Geoffrey glanced at Brown and then at her. “I’ve got to be going, dear. We can continue this rousing conversation later.”

Virginia watched Geoffrey walk away and turned to Brown. “Well, let’s see what the Waters’ buffet includes.”

Brown stared at her and didn’t move. “I don’t know anything about that man other than that he is trouble.”