Page 4 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 4

T ENSION KNOTTED THE BACK OF Abraham’s neck as he trudged home in the dark from Dr. Pelton’s house. Informing the man that his daughter was at the station house wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d imagined. Dr. Pelton fully understood the seriousness of the situation even though Abraham had whitewashed the details of the night. Then, instead of threatening to have Abraham fired for not releasing the women, Dr. Pelton had thanked him, insisted on treating his monkey bites, and promised to commend him to Superintendent Carson. Not that Dr. Pelton’s influence would protect Abraham’s job. His choice to arrest Miss Pelton and Miss Plane would still come with consequences.

So would the fact the second burglar had evaded capture along with his stolen goods.

Abraham massaged the tightening muscles. A headache threatened.

More than likely, the rogue’s companions had aided him. Not that all circuses were spittoons of con artists and other criminals, but crime always increased whenever one rolled into town. Abraham just hadn’t expected the circus to be the victim of crime instead of the perpetrator.

The image of Lydia Pelton’s monkey-nested hair and wide, rich brown eyes set against a white-painted face flitted through his mind. What had possessed her to implement her friend’s outlandish scheme? She obviously wasn’t as zealous as her companion about saving the goat from “certain death.” Miss Pelton was a puzzle of conflicting traits. She’d behaved like a criminal one moment, then turned into a model citizen the next. The flirtation had been an unexpected twist to her solemn behavior. Either the turpentine had affected her brain or the woman suffered from multiple personalities. If the latter were the case, that would explain much.

Still, he hoped that Dr. Pelton wouldn’t commit Miss Pelton to Longview Insane Asylum after treating her hives. Abraham wasn’t sure how to accomplish it, but he’d like to know which Lydia Pelton was the real one. The one who was deeply ashamed of what she and her friend had attempted to do or the flirty criminal who batted her puffy red eyes?

When Abraham finally turned the key to his family’s home around three in the morning, all was dark inside. Mother, Father, and his younger brother and sister would have retired hours ago.

Or at least they should have.

A thin line of light shone from beneath his sister’s door across from his bedroom.

Oh, Clara. Not again. He shook his head as he knocked their secret code on her door. She needed to marry a man who either worked nights or tolerated a wife who read through the night. As it was, Mother and Father were so frustrated with their sleep-deprived bookworm, they were considering confiscating her books and banning her from the public library. Not that Clara wouldn’t sneak in visits whenever she could, but it would severely limit her reading time.

Clara opened the door and pulled him in with one hand. Her other hand stayed hidden behind her back, presumably holding her latest choice of adventure. She closed and leaned against the door. “Don’t make me go to bed. The hero is swimming across a swollen river to rescue the heroine. If I stop reading now, he might drown!”

“I don’t think your stopping will change how the story ends, Pages.” He tugged on the dark braid draped over the shoulder of her wrapper.

“How do you know? It might.”

At seventeen, she was too old to believe that, but he’d indulge her, just as he always did. “What’s the title? More than likely, I can tell you if he survives or not.” He tried to peek around her back, but she twisted away.

“But that will spoil the thrill!”

“Perhaps, but then you can go to bed and rest peacefully knowing that your hero will survive until morning, and that Mother and Father won’t empty your room of books. If you oversleep and miss helping Mother with the bakery again, you know they will.”

“But I won’t this time. I’m only fifteen pages from the end.”

“Sorry, Pages. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

He reached around her back and grasped the book. Rather than a thick cloth-bound cover typical of the classics, a thin leaflet with a paper cover met his touch. Clara wouldn’t, would she? He wrenched it away from her and frowned at the bright orange cover of a dime novel. There was a chance it was just a magazine that printed portions of treasured literature, but no Dickens, Austen, or Hawthorne graced the pages he thumbed through. It was one story, and—his attention caught on a passage describing a kiss—apparently a romance that no girl should be reading. When had Clara moved on from proper literature to this drivel?

“Where did you get this?”

Her chin jutted up. “From the newspaper stand while delivering bread to the Keppler Hotel.”

“Do Mother and Father know you’re reading this twaddle?”

“It’s not twaddle. It’s a moral tale of love, danger, and marriage.”

“Are they married when they kiss here?” He held it open to the kiss midway through.

“Don’t be prudish, Abraham. You’ve kissed a woman before, and you aren’t married.”

That was not the point. Putting false ideas of what romance and love entailed created unrealistic expectations for her future husband. “Men do not rescue their future wives from danger to prove their love or heroism. Nor do they have to be athletic, handsome, or secretly wealthy. If you keep reading that claptrap, it’s going to compromise your morality.”

Clara rolled her eyes before making a successful grab for the book. He held tight, but the front cover tore off, leaving him with a sheet of paper and Clara with pages of unwholesome subversion. He glanced down at the sheet, and his frowned deepened.

The Lady’s Terrible Secret by Lydia R. Pelton.

Surely not.

“Abraham! That book cost me fifteen cents!”

He ignored Clara and continued to stare at the name printed along the bottom. It could not be the same Lydia Pelton he’d arrested tonight. Dr. Pelton was too respectable to allow his daughter to write such scintillating stories.

Except she did attempt to steal a goat from the circus.

And her flirtation? Was that a truer depiction of her character? He was tempted to grab the dime novel back and read exactly how detailed that kiss scene had been. And was it just kissing she’d included, or had she gone further? Danger to a woman’s virtue inevitably came up in these stories, but Abraham had too much experience with his job to find entertainment in such depravity. And that was just one reason these books should be banned, especially from young, undiscerning readers.

“Give it back. She’s my favorite author.”

He released the cover but scowled at Clara. “You didn’t answer me—do Mother and Father know you read this?”

“I don’t hide it from them. Mother even likes Miss Pelton’s books. She says as far as romance novels go, they’re pretty tame.”

As far as romance novels went? Did his own mother read this fire kindling? How else would she know how Miss Pelton’s stories compared? “Hand over the book, Clara. I can’t, in good conscience, allow you to continue reading it.”

Clara backed up to her bed and sat on the thick leaflet. “No. If Mother gives me permission, you can’t take it away. Once I finish, I’ll gladly give you the opportunity to read it. Or if you are so impatient to know whether Miss Pelton’s writing can be trusted, grab any copy of her works from that stack on my desk.”

He glanced at the stack of dime novels she indicated. There must have been a dozen. “You’ve read all of those?”

“Multiple times.” She arched a brow in defiance. “You cannot judge my reading choices without first having read them yourself. In fact, I dare you to. I bet when you’re finished, you’ll love her as much as I do.”

Abraham considered shoving Clara over and stealing her current read, but with fifteen pages left, she’d probably fight him to the death. At least if he accepted her challenge, he could remove the rest of the perversion from the room and protect her.

“Fine, but I’m taking them now.”

“As long as whatever you take, you read, and you finish them by the end of the month. After that, I’m calling your bluff and confiscating them back.”

He snatched the stack and stalked to the door. “Go to bed, Pages. Your hero will survive until you next open the book.”

She didn’t turn off the light immediately, but by the time he’d changed into his nightclothes and checked the hallway again, the light was out. She’d probably just shoved a blanket against the base of the door to disguise the light. He grunted and climbed into bed. Clara was old enough to contend with her own consequences, and he needed to get what little sleep he could muster. It might be his day off, but he intended to attend the last circus show and catch his fugitive aerialist.

Well before it was time, someone knocked on his door.

“Wake up, Abe. Lucian’s here and says they want you at Central.” Jake’s nine-year-old voice hollered through the door.

Grit bleared Abraham’s vision as he checked the clock on his side table. Barely eight in the morning. He groaned. Word about last night’s arrests must’ve already reached Superintendent Carson’s ear. It’d been foolish to think the consequences would wait until tomorrow’s shift to make themselves known.

“I’m up. Coffee, please?”

“Will do!” Jake’s feet raced down the hall.

It was far too early for that much energy. Abraham crawled from bed and dressed in his last clean uniform. At least catching Clara last night meant she’d wash his clothes for the upcoming week in exchange for his silence.

She met him downstairs with a mug in hand. “Are you going to tell Mother and Father about my staying up last night?”

“Not if you agree to the usual payment.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pile still in the corner of your room?”

“Of course.” He kissed her cheek. “I assume you woke up on time?”

“Yes, I did, and they lived happily ever after.”

“And here I’d hoped he’d drown.”

Clara smacked his arm, splashing coffee on the floor.

“Quit teasing your sister. We need to get to the station posthaste.” Lucian stepped forward, rigid as an iron gate. “Carson’s in a mood, and you’re the source of it.”

Abraham took two large gulps before passing the mug back to Clara and following Lucian to where a hack waited.

“Is he so angry that you had to hire a cabbie?” Abraham settled inside next to Lucian.

“He’s the one who ordered it. Said he’d have sent a patrol wagon if the city had one.” Lucian tapped the roof and then placed his domed hat in the space between them. His mussed blond hair indicated he’d been fretting the whole way here. “What’d you do last night? Take his missus out on the town?”

“I arrested someone I’m sure he thinks I should’ve released.”

“Awww, Hall. I know you’re as straight as a die, but can’t you bend to politics a little? I rather like having you around.”

“I didn’t have much choice in the matter. The circus owner wants to press charges.”

“Circus owner? Friend, I don’t know how you get all the fun chases, but I’m glad to have missed this one.”

“You have no idea.”

“So who was it?”

Abraham shook his head. He was no gossiping hen. Lucian was his best friend, but he wouldn’t reveal Miss Pelton’s identity or role in last night’s escapades.

When they reached the City Building, instead of taking the basement stairs to Central Station, they joined the mix of bureaucrats and civilians entering through the main doors. Unlike the rest of the force, who were relegated to the basement stink hole, Superintendent Carson conducted his business aboveground, with a window all his own.

Unfortunately that blessing appeared to do little in lessening his ire this morning. Carson’s rants carried to the tiled front foyer. Curious government officials and visiting citizens peeked from offices toward the noisy hall where the courtroom and superintendent’s office were housed.

Rather than join Abraham in his walk to Carson’s office, Lucian stopped beside the building directory board and doffed his hat to hold it over his heart. “Alas, poor Hall! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite nobility, of most excellent detective skills; and now, how I mourn his impending death.”

Abraham punched him on the arm. “Your Shakespeare stinketh.”

“Not as much as you will after you’re done sweating it out with Carson.”

Lucian dodged Abraham’s next shot, then saluted before disappearing out the front door. His shift was long over, and the newlywed was not one to linger more than necessary.

Abraham straightened his uniform before making his execution walk to the superintendent’s office. He’d done the right thing, but doing what was right didn’t always guarantee a fair result.

Civilians waiting their turn in court filled the hallway, either engaged in lively chatter or sitting in grim silence.

He halted outside the superintendent’s door and drew back his shoulders. Best to get this over with. He’d take his punishment and walk out with his head held high.

The door yanked open after his rap. The burly former butcher with a graying mustache as wide as a gun barrel shot a finger toward the punishment chair. The rickety thing had a split seat that pinched with blood-blistering force. Refusing to sit in it would only further incense Carson, so Abraham adjusted his jacket and sat as far back as possible.

“Did you arrest Lydia Pelton last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you know that she is Dr. Pelton’s daughter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why did you not release her at once?”

“Mr. Beadle is pressing charges for her part in stealing a goat from his menagerie.”

“The circus owner? That man will be out of town in less than twelve hours. He won’t be around to see those charges pressed.”

“Even so, sir, it was the right thing to do.”

“The right thing—” Carson ran a hand over his face and sat on the edge of the desk. “It’s a wonder you’ve made it this long.”

“I assume Dr. Pelton wants the charges dropped?”

“Of course not. You both have unyielding moral codes. Mayor Jacobs wants the charges dropped. Worse still, he wants the circus to surrender the escaped burglar. Fail, and he demands you be transferred to the Fifth Ward.”

The muscles in Abraham’s legs tightened as if he already stood on the dreaded Hunt Street and needed to run. Being transferred to the Fifth Ward, where the Deer Creek Gang reigned, was worse than being fired. The violent gang traveled in crowds of ten to forty. Almost nightly, the sharp crack of pistol shots and the curses and moans of wounded men filled the air. Officers patrolled in groups of four, revolvers ready and prepared to confront death. Being a patrol officer anywhere was a risk, but to be one in the Fifth Ward was a guaranteed fight for one’s life.

All Carson’s bluster died away, leaving behind a man in his late fifties, visibly exhausted by the political bureaucracy that plagued his job. Little could be done when the mayor held the power in who served as an officer—and superior—within the force. The failed attempt at a board of commissioners had ended in January, and police appointments were turned over to the mayor. It was a setback, but Abraham still prayed for a better system that would limit unscrupulous political influences. Even if he didn’t live long enough to see it.

“You have one chance to make this right. The circus’s last show ends around six, at which time Mr. Beadle will be brought in to formally press charges. Find a way to force him to hand over that aerialist and drop the charges against Miss Pelton and Miss Plane. I hate losing good officers to the whims of a politician.”

“What do you propose I do, sir?”

“You’ve got the mind of a detective, Hall. I propose you use it. You’re dismissed.”

He’d issued a challenge, and Abraham wasn’t one to back down.

Abraham strode from the office, formulating a plan as he went. He had two goals. First, convince Mr. Beadle to betray one of his own. To do that, he’d have to make the man more concerned about self-preservation than aiding and abetting a criminal. Mr. Beadle was a businessman, and if there was one thing Abraham understood about business, it was that money ruled. Circuses were notorious for breaking ordinances and incurring fines. If he found enough, it might shake Mr. Beadle’s confidence.

He’d need more though.

If two criminals had been caught in Cincinnati, it was likely other crimes had occurred in previous show locations. Maybe Abraham could cripple Mr. Beadle’s show by hauling in those with bench warrants. It was a long shot, but he had to try.

His second goal—getting Mr. Beadle to drop the charges against Miss Pelton and Miss Plane—would be near impossible.

One problem at a time, Abraham. God will see you through, no matter the outcome.

By the time he left the circus hours later, he’d found enough infractions to impound key animals and equipment until those fines were paid. The Cincinnati Zoological Gardens even agreed to house the elephants. Given how much work he’d seen the elephants do in setting up tents and performing during the show, losing those two would be a crushing blow.

After a few more hours wiring other towns, he had a handful of warrants for circus members who’d jumped bail. Most were for petty crimes, but Mr. Beadle himself was wanted for questioning in the disappearance of several adolescent boys. The boys had likely run off to join the circus of their own volition, but the parents insisted the man had kidnapped them. It was enough to hold Mr. Beadle and delay the circus’s departure. A delay which would cost the man dearly.

That left Abraham facing his final goal.

Mr. Beadle wasn’t likely to drop the charges against Miss Pelton and Miss Plane, especially with the charges and fines lobbed at him. However, paying fines required money, something that keeping that goat would never provide.

Abraham visited the three-legged goat in the stables and did a thorough examination of the animal. He was no veterinarian, but he could tell Tipsy wasn’t long for this world. If he had to guess, he’d say the goat had gotten too close to the tiger cage and almost become a meal. The deep gashes festered, and dull eyes barely acknowledged his prodding.

“Hey, Tackett.”

The stableman who cared for the horses poked his head out of a stall.

“You used to live on a farm. What’s the likelihood of this creature surviving?”

Tackett set his shovel aside and squatted next to the goat. After a cursory examination, he shrugged. “Personally, I’d put her out of her misery, but if someone were determined, it’s possible.”

“Do you think it would survive traveling?”

“Maybe for a day or two.”

“How much do you think it would cost to care for the animal and bring it back to health?”

His incredulous look said it all. “Only a fool would try. It’d cost more than she was worth at her best.”

“Thanks, Tackett. That is exactly what I needed to hear.”

It would be in Mr. Beadle’s best interest to accept Miss Plane’s payment for the goat and drop the charges. A much more appealing choice, once slapped with the fines.

Abraham checked his watch. Five thirty. It was time to return to the station and discover if he’d spared Miss Pelton a future as an inmate and himself as a walking target for the Deer Creek Gang.