Page 33 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)
C HAPTER 33
L YDIA RUBBED HER STOMACH TO soothe the aching muscles. She hadn’t laughed this hard since she couldn’t remember when. Abraham would no doubt kill his friend Lucian once he discovered how many embarrassing stories Lucian had shared with her and her friends.
“You should have seen the look on that cad’s face when he realized he wasn’t propositioning a woman but a hairy-limbed man.” Lucian’s exaggerated face brought another round of laughter from Lydia, Nora, Theresa, and Flossie.
“Lucian! That is not an appropriate story for young ladies!” his wife, Verity, admonished as she came in bearing a tray of midnight snacks.
He waved her words away before he snagged a wedge of cheese from the top. “Miss Pelton’s the daughter of a coroner. I’m sure she’s heard worse.”
That was true, although Papa would be horrified to know she had overheard the stories he shared with friends.
“The man took off at such a pace that Abraham had to hike his skirts up to his thighs in order to catch up and tackle him.”
The image of ankle-high boots and bare, hairy legs both incited embarrassment and laughter. The next time she saw Abraham, she’d have to work exceedingly hard not to peek at his legs and recall the picture her imagination had conjured.
“But I tell you, Abraham saved the day for the women of George Street. That scoundrel had a bad habit of beating his women near to death and leaving them in the gutters to suffer their fate.”
The levity died instantly. Those poor women. How many times had she observed them from afar or read about them with disgust? They had chosen that life, hadn’t they? Greed over virtue? At the sick twist of her stomach, she knew herself to have been judgmental. Some of the women might have willingly chosen that career, but what sort of life had they lived to believe that was their only or best option? She could not know the heart of a person, and condemning them only served to show her own lack of mercy.
Lord, forgive me. Keep teaching me to see people through Your eyes, to allow You alone to be Judge.
She released a sigh and stroked Harold’s soft fur. “Abraham is a true hero to stoop to wearing a dress in order to save those whom society would rather pretend didn’t exist.”
“If that is your view, then I have been a good friend to Abe.” He winked. “Can’t have his future bride thinking of him as anything less than a hero.”
The heat climbed up her neck to the roots of her hair. The idea of being Abraham’s future bride was incredibly enticing, even if a bit too soon. And to have his best friend declare such a thing? Oh heavens.
Flossie, bless her, shifted the conversation. “Once Poe has been caught, do you think Cincinnati will leave Lydia alone?”
Lucian shrugged. “It may take a week or two, but I’d imagine their anger will shift to the actual murderer rather than the inspiration for the murder.”
Lydia winced, but there was no denying her part. What a twisted dream—to want to be an inspiration to others, only to have it lead to the destruction of so many lives.
“Well, girls. It’s nearing midnight. What do you say to going to bed?” Verity couldn’t be more than a year or two older than them, but apparently becoming a married woman meant every unmarried woman her age was to be considered a girl in need of mothering.
By the exaggerated roll of Flossie’s eyes behind Verity’s back, Lydia wasn’t the only one to be annoyed by Verity’s behavior.
Nora rose from the settee and offered a gracious smile. “Thank you, Officer Atwood and Mrs. Atwood, for your kindness in staying tonight. If you need us, we’ll be sharing my room.”
Lydia knew what her friend really meant was We’re happy to leave you two alone so we can go upstairs and begin our real plotting to capture Billy Poe should Detectives Lawson and Hall fail.
Before they made it to the stairs, someone beat on the front door.
Lucian’s demeanor immediately shifted from relaxed and jovial to tense and serious. He retrieved his gun and gestured for his wife to move behind a wall, then for Lydia and her friends to go to the top of the stairs. Once he was sure they were out of immediate danger, he slid to the side of the door and raised his voice. “State your business.”
“Lawson here. Let me in.”
Lucian’s body visibly relaxed. Still, he didn’t put his gun away until the detective entered the house and the door was closed and locked.
Though she’d much rather Abraham be the one to bring news, Lydia rushed down the stairs. “Does this visit mean you’ve caught Billy Poe?”
The look Lawson gave Lucian did not inspire confidence. “We’ve caught one Billy Poe, but unfortunately we believe he has a partner.”
“A partner? But who was Billy Poe? And who do you think his partner is?”
“Marcus Monroe has a burned hand and your manuscript.”
Though she’d suspected Marcus, the news still came as a wallop to the gut. They’d been friends of a sort and, for a brief moment, potentially more than friends. She’d often written of betrayal, but she’d never really tasted it until now. What a poor job she’d done of depicting it. Yes, it tasted of bitter disappointment, but there was something more. A loss so deep it made her chest ache and her limbs heavy. If she felt this for a man she would only claim as a close acquaintance, how much worse must it have felt for her characters when a loved one had driven the dagger into their backs?
“We believe his partner could be James O’Dell, Eugene Clemens, or even someone unknown.” Detective Lawson hesitated a moment before adding with gravity, “There was also a note with Miss Davis’s address on Monroe’s desk. There is a chance his partner knows where you are and is even now coming to collect you.”
“Then let him come.” Theresa’s voice carried with challenge. “We’ll be ready for him.”
Lydia smiled at her friend’s confidence. With all the booby traps they had planned, Marcus’s partner didn’t have a chance. It would take some time to rig them, but soon the house would be as impenetrable as a fortress. Yes, the betrayal hurt, but eagerness to prepare a defense had her rubbing her hands together. Which plan should they implement first: the swinging pots over the doors or boards with nails beneath the windows?
“Out of an abundance of caution, I’m taking Lydia to a hidden location that has no connection to her.” Detective Lawson selected the wrong shawl from the hall tree and handed it to her. “Officer Atwood will stay with you ladies in case Monroe’s partner decides to make an appearance.”
Nora stepped forward and switched the shawl with the correct one. “But where are you taking Lydia?”
“I am afraid I cannot disclose that. Detective Hall and I believe it is safer for her if only the two of us know.”
Lydia regarded her three friends, each held a troubled countenance. “If Abraham thinks this is best then we’ll go along with it. Booby-trap the house for your safety, and then I’ll see you tomorrow. Just consider this your chance to catch the villain. It’ll make a great story to tell our children and grandchildren one day. I’m jealous that you get to have all the excitement.”
One by one, they hugged her tight.
Nora was last and held on a little longer, keeping her voice to a low whisper. “Remember, knee to the groin, fingers to the eyes, then run like hell’s hounds are on your heels.”
Leave it to Nora to give fighting advice. “Thank you, friend. Soon, we’ll celebrate the end of Poe’s reign.”