Page 28 of Olive Becket Plays the Rake (The Seattle Suffrage Society)

Olive stared at the faucet. It didn’t drip, even when she turned it on and off again.

She pursed her lips, perplexed. Was she still under the effects of the laudanum?

Surely, a faucet couldn’t have fixed itself overnight, especially one she had spent countless hours fighting with a wrench.

And what was that smell? She sniffed again, unable to place the unusual aroma.

“Your Mr. Anderson fixed the leak,” her mother said, appearing at her side. “That and a half dozen other things.”

Olive leaned back against the counter, blinking rapidly. “How…?”

“Don’t you remember him bringing you home yesterday?”

There was a hazy memory of figures moving, of low voices and laughter, but she had assumed it was part of her dream.

A heavenly dream where Sir Emil had carried her home on his great steed.

Her cheeks heated. God. What had she said to him?

If even a fraction of those slurred, half-conscious confessions from her dream had spilled out in real life, she would have to make her widow’s veil a permanent feature.

“You were right about him. He’s a kind man.”

Olive stared at the toes of her warm slippers peeping out from beneath her wrapper. “Oh. Yes.”

“I see why you enjoy spending time with him,” her mother prompted gently.

She looked up, examining Anna’s face for any signs of worry or unease. But there weren’t any. The lack gave Olive a glimmer of hope. “Then you approve?”

“He was exceedingly gentle with you, and he took Robbie under his wing as soon as we put you to bed. How could I not?”

“He can be charming when he wants to,” she said faintly, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck.

“And then there’s the package that arrived early this morning. Robbie could barely lug the thing upstairs.”

“A package?” She pushed off the counter. “Why didn’t you wake me? Where is it?”

“You walked right past it,” Anna said with a small laugh.

She rounded the corner of the dinette, and her eyes widened.

The box on the kitchen table was enormous.

In two steps, she was digging through the contents.

Milk, sugar, flour, a dozen eggs, a pack of thick sausages—her heart swelled with each item.

And on top of it all lay a bouquet of fresh herbs wrapped in brown paper and secured with twine.

The pungent aroma of lavender and mint infused the air, dispelling the cloying mildew walls to the background.

So that was what she had smelled. It would be so easy to be embarrassed that he’d noticed the issue, but she was overwhelmed by the kindness.

What sort of man sent fragrant herbs to a woman?

A man who saw a problem and didn’t rest until it was fixed.

A man who noticed all the things she couldn’t share.

A man who was slowly, methodically, inveigling his way into her heart.

She released a long, slow breath. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“It is, but somehow I doubt he cares.” Anna pressed the herbs to her nostrils and inhaled with relish. “There’s a note for you on the table.”

She reached for the small envelope, her fingers trembling ever so slightly.

What could he possibly have to say after such an ignominious event?

Teasing seemed inevitable. A few kind words to soften the blow?

Perhaps. A directive masked as a suggestion?

Undoubtedly. A smile ghosted across her lips.

It was disarming, knowing how a man might think.

And yet, with Emil, it wasn’t guesswork.

Somehow, against all odds, she knew him.

O—

I hope you’ve recovered from yesterday’s excitement. You make a terrible, though humorous, dope-fiend. I’ve sent all the ingredients for a hearty meal. Make sure your mother tries the sausage. And tell Robbie to check the dial on the pipe. He’ll know what I mean.

—E

P.S. No need to worry—you were adorable in a sensual, powerful sort of way.

Laughter bubbled past her lips. She’d been right on the mark—only Emil could somehow be both high-handed and kind. Presumptive and doting. The man was a romantic, even if he used commands to show it. She carefully refolded the note and slipped it into her pocket.

“Your first love letter,” Anna whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Mama, please,” she groaned, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

She was the type of woman who attracted men like Emil, after all.

How else could his actions at the procession be explained?

There was the fact that he’d noticed she was in pain before anyone else—and he’d been downright surly about it, too.

Then he’d accompanied her to the doctor’s office while her wrist was treated.

He could have gone anywhere, done anything else, but he’d hovered outside like he was concerned.

Things got a bit blurry after that—dratted laudanum—but the way he’d made her feel had permeated the drug’s haze and stayed long after it wore off.

Supported. Protected. Like she wasn’t alone in the world.

She practically floated to the bathroom to wash, and she hummed while she pulled on her thick underclothing and wool skirts. The dull throb in her wrist didn’t stand a chance against the joyous skipping in her chest. Someone liked her!

While she washed her face, she planned her own note.

She would thank Emil for his kindness, of course.

Perhaps even tease him back. Then she paused—had she told him that the man with the silver cane had been at the procession?

She couldn’t recall. Well, better to let him know, just in case.

She wasn’t sure what that meant, but maybe Emil would know.

At the very least, he would be able to assure her the man’s presence had nothing to do with her.

Nodding resolutely, she dried her face. She had just maneuvered her arm through the sleeve of a warm sweater when the building pipes sounded.

Her pulse leapt—could it be Emil already?

Tugging the sweater into place, she darted to the slim window and pressed her nose against it.

Three floors down, a woman stood on the building landing.

She rolled her eyes at her eagerness. Of course, it wasn’t Emil.

It was a workday. He would be thoroughly occupied with his business.

Not to mention their home wasn’t set up for visitors, least of all men.

Then the hat tilted back, and a freckled redhead was gazing up at her.

“It’s Winnie,” she said to her mother.

“Goodness, she must be freezing,” Anna exclaimed. “Invite her in.”

Olive waved at Winnie, then hurried to the front door.

She paused beside the coat rack. She had some questions for Winnie about the day before.

Questions better asked out of earshot of her mother.

She pulled on her heavy coat, wrapped Emil’s scarf around her neck, and tucked her hair under a wool cap.

“We’ll be up in a few minutes, Mama.”

She descended the dark stairwell, her footsteps echoing on the wooden steps, until she reached the cramped entryway.

She swung the front door open. Winnie stood on the walkway, half-facing the street.

She wore a stylish coat that complemented her figure, and her hands were tucked into a white muff that matched her tam hat.

“Is that a new coat? It looks—” Her words cut off when Winnie turned. Her friend’s lips were pinched together, her normally dancing eyes shadowed with worry. “Winnie? Are you all right?”

“I’m all right,” Winnie said, but her serious tone was anything but reassuring. “But we have a problem.”

“About…”

“About yesterday.”

Olive glanced around quickly. Mrs. Spinelli was pushing a pram down the uneven sidewalk, little Walter toddling after her.

The milkman was deep in conversation with the owner of Gould’s Market, his draft horse chewing patiently on a handful of straw while he waited.

Neither posed an issue. But when she glanced over her shoulder toward her own building, she stilled.

The curtain on Mrs. Drake’s windowsill twitched unnaturally.

The dragon was probably pressed against it, doing her best to eavesdrop.

“Why don’t we take a walk to the park?” she asked loudly, then added in a much quieter tone, “I think my landlord is watching us.”

Winnie caught on at once. “A morning stroll would do me good.”

Olive leading the way, they walked in silence until they were halfway down the block. “What’s going on? Did I do something—”

“Oh no, it isn’t you. It’s Rhoda. Have you heard from her, by any chance?”

She frowned. “No.”

“I was afraid of that.” Winnie sighed, a quick gust billowing in the cold morning air. “Something has happened to her, but we aren’t certain what. Apparently, Rhoda was acting oddly after the accident.”

“She hit her head. Could it have been worse than we thought?”

“That’s what Clem thought at first, but it didn’t explain why Rhoda sat in silence, biting her nails. Almost like she was nervous. Or afraid.”

“That doesn’t sound like Rhoda.”

“No, it doesn’t. Clem tried to convince her to go to the doctor, but she wouldn’t leave the auto behind.

Clem sent Jude instead, and while he was gone, Mr. Carlisle arrived.

He isn’t a nice man, by all accounts, but Mack said his demeanor was stone cold.

And Clem was disturbed by his grip on Rhoda’s arm when he led her away.

She tried to follow them, but with her limp, she couldn’t keep up. ”

A pit gnawed in Olive’s stomach. She’d known something was wrong with Rhoda. “That’s awful.”

“Then, late last night, a packet was delivered to Longfellow House. No note, only one of Rhoda’s hat ribbons.

We threw our coats over our wrappers and piled into Judith’s auto, but no one at the Carlisle House would talk to us.

The butler insisted the family was out for the evening, but I’m convinced I saw someone watching us from the upstairs window. ”

“Do you think it was Rhoda?”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going to stop searching until I find her.”

“I want to help.”