Reckless Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novel (12 page)

“She invited all of these ladies?” Kate was incredulous, grateful, and unreasonably suspicious. She tried to keep the suspicion, at least, from her tone.

A rich, pleasant voice rang out above their whispers. “I did indeed, Mrs. Guthrie. Perhaps it was rude of me to take the liberty, but I was so enthusiastic about your plans. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Jane quickly made the formal introductions.

“Of course I forgive you, my lady. Indeed, I thank you.” Kate smiled at her newest benefactor and studied the young woman before her.

She was beautiful. Was this countess the woman Benjamin Quinn called for in his dreams? Her hair was dark, but, not unlike his, mixed with strands of rich mahogany. And her green eyes shone with energy and intelligence. She met Kate’s gaze as she spoke, but then returned to examining everyone and everything around her.

“No need to thank me yet, Mrs. Guthrie. First, let me help you with your worthy project and encourage my friends to do the same.”

“Please, call me Kate, my lady.”

Lady Davenport smiled, appealing dimples appearing on each cheek, at the invitation to informality. Kate loathed herself for wishing only to know if the countess would ask to be called Anne.

“It would be my pleasure. And please, you must call me Annabel.”

She smiled again, but crookedly, more of a smirk. Was the recognition mutual? Did Lady Davenport know she was the woman who’d chased after Detective Quinn like a mad fool? The dark-haired beauty held her gaze. And winked.

“Kate, it’s nearly time. Sally and I will see about refilling teacups. Are you ready?” Ada didn’t wait for her reply before bustling off to the kitchen with Sally.

Jane Tennant began making her way back to the settee, but Lady Davenport remained at Kate’s side. The queasiness in Kate’s stomach had eased, and her legs felt surprisingly solid. Lady Davenport’s confident demeanor seemed contagious.

She felt the countess’s eyes on her and Kate turned to face her. She couldn’t hold her tongue, though she knew the woman’s relationship with Benjamin Quinn was none of her business. Still, she needed to know.

“You are acquainted with Detective Sergeant Benjamin Quinn, my lady?”

The smirk appeared again. It seemed to suit her bow-shaped mouth. “Oh yes. I have known him all my life.”

A throbbing ache began in Kate’s chest, like the gnawing pain of an old wound. Such a long acquaintance surely meant Lady Davenport’s bond with Ben was deep, significant.

Annabel giggled, a throaty, vibrant sound. Most unladylike. “He’s my brother.”

Her brother. The moment Annabel said the word Kate began noticing the resemblance—the shape of her face, the glint of red in her hair, the sprinkling of freckles across the arch of her nose and cheeks.

“Your brother.”

“Mmm. My only brother, and also my favorite brother.”

Kate lifted a brow at that, and Annabel grinned.

“I’m certain if I had ten brothers, he’d still be my favorite.”

With only one brother who’d become more friend than sibling, Kate decided Annabel’s declaration made perfect sense.

“I believe they’re ready for you.” Annabel reached out a gloved hand and patted Kate’s arm. “I know they’ll see the value of your idea, just as I do.”

Ada had entered the sitting room to call the ladies to attention and urged Kate forward with the sweep of her hand.

Kate strode to the center of the Aubusson carpet in front of the fire. She’d made notes, practicing what she would say, but she had no urge to lift them from her skirt pocket. Her passion, her belief in the possibilities of a settlement house in Whitechapel welled up the minute she gazed at the ladies assembled around her. There was no need for notes. She spoke from her heart. There would be costs and challenges, and she was honest about every detail she could foresee. But most of all she spoke of the good they could accomplish, the lives that could be changed. She spoke of Rose, not giving her name or exposing her to judgment, but offering the example of a woman with few options who might find a safe and useful place at the settlement.

When she’d finished, the enthusiastic applause sent her pulse soaring. Their eagerness for her idea gave her something she hadn’t felt in years—hope in a future for herself, a purpose, a belief that the next day and the coming year might be different, and better than the last.

As her mind raced with possibilities and challenges, she couldn’t keep thoughts of one very tall, very broad detective at bay. She glanced across the room at his sister. Now that she knew they were siblings, she found the resemblance between them striking. But did the similarities extend to their natures?

While there was no question she’d gained a powerful patron in Lady Davenport, Kate wondered what Benjamin Quinn would think of her plans for a charity in Whitechapel.

December 13th, 1888

“I truly hoped we’d see you again, Mrs. Guthrie.”

Alice Cole’s hug was as firm and fierce as the woman’s personality. She didn’t seem to want to let Kate go.

“Me too, Alice.”

When the nurse finally released her, Kate pulled back and swiped at her eyes. “It’s only been a week, but I’ve missed you and the clinic.” Tears were out of order when she had such good news to share. At least she hoped the settlement house would seem like good news to Alice. If all went well with the property she’d selected, the house’s location would be quite near the clinic. Kate had a notion the women at the settlement could volunteer at the clinic and learn caretaking and nursing skills that might lead to employment.

When they were settled in front of the cast iron stove, Kate related her ideas about a settlement house in Whitechapel and her decision regarding marriage to Mr. Thrumble. Alice Cole’s eyes held no trace of surprise at that bit of news.

“You knew I’d refuse him.”

Alice’s eyes widened and she fiddled with the neck of her gown. “No, I just…”

The nurse looked guilty, as if she harbored some secret. A patient on the clinic floor cried out in pain and Alice moved as if to tend to him, but another volunteer nurse stepped in first. When she settled herself again, Alice would not meet Kate’s gaze.

“What is it? Please don’t worry about my feelings on the matter. My answer was the right one.” Kate leaned toward Alice and lowered her voice as she spoke. What was it the young woman did not wish to say?

“Well, you did not seem truly settled on the notion of marrying him, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Kate smiled. “I tried very hard to be for a long while, but I couldn’t convince myself. Or you, apparently.”

Alice returned her smile, but she wasn’t finished. “And then that detective called here, and I knew—”

“Detective Sergeant Quinn.”
Ben.
Kate’s smile faltered as she spoke his name aloud and then, more intimately, in her head. A wave of dizziness forced her back in her chair. The man lingered in her thoughts, and she’d fought the desire to see him, to seek him out, every single day since refusing Mr. Thrumble. Even as she sat speaking with Alice, her body hummed with a strange energy that ignited the moment she’d entered Whitechapel. She told herself excitement over the settlement and seeing Alice was the cause, but she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. There was also the prospect of seeing Detective Sergeant Quinn passing on the street, being just a mile away from him, and knowing an inquiry at his lodgings or the police station would lead her to him.

When Kate’s pulse settled and she pushed thoughts of Ben to the corners of her mind, she focused on Alice’s knowing grin and the naughty glint in the woman’s eyes.

“So it’s as I thought.”

“I am afraid to ask what you think.”

Alice laughed, a lighter, more feminine sound than Kate expected from the fearsome woman. “Well, when I look at your face just now and recall the expression on his face when he spoke your name, it’s clear as day.”

Kate opened her mouth to deny it, to tell Alice that nothing was as clear as day where Ben Quinn was concerned, but with her cheeks flamed with heat and her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Instead she asked the question on her heart.

“Have you seen him?”

Alice took a sip of her tea before replying, a sly smile still tugging at her mouth. “No, not at all. Last I saw Detective Quinn he’d come to question Rose.”

“How is Rose?” Kate had intended to ask about Rose and was determined to see her before leaving Whitechapel. “I would like to pay her a visit. Do you where she’s living?”

“Yes, a lodging house on Flower and Dean, but it’s not a place you should go alone.” All the teasing had fled from Alice’s tone and her expression turned grim.

Kate smiled at Alice’s warning. Was there a place in Whitechapel a woman should go alone?

But Alice didn’t share Kate’s mirth. “Rose was back here two nights ago. Bloodied and bruised, but she didn’t try to blame it on the Ripper this time.”

Kate sensed there was more and waited while Alice stood and glanced out onto the clinic floor. Most of the cots were full, but there was a young doctor from the Samaritan Hospital volunteering his skills and several nurses tending to patients.

“She’s taken up with an awful man. Takes his fists to her whenever he’s been at the bottle, which is most days.”

“If only the settlement was already open.”

Kate imagined the house could provide a safe haven for women such a Rose.

“It’s a fine thought, but I’d wager she wouldn’t stay. She disappeared again this last time, just like the night you tended to her.” Alice lifted her cup to her lips and tilted her head back to consume the last dregs. When she rested her cup on the desk beside her, she flashed Kate a glance filled with sadness and fatigue. “We must tend to those who want our help. It’s enough to keep us busy.”

“Miss Cole, can you assist me with Mr. Bailey?” Rachel, one of the volunteer nurses, stood holding a set of clean linens next to the cot of an inordinately large man. She was a diminutive young woman and would need help managing his girth if she meant to change his bedding.

Alice seemed eager to return to her work. “What was I saying about keeping busy?” She stood and arched her back, as if sitting caused her more discomfort than the hours she spent on her feet tending to the sick and wounded.

Kate stood too. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

As she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and secured it at her neck, Kate noticed the admittance ledger lying open on Alice’s cluttered desk. Nurse Cole told her what street Rose was lodging on but not the number, and she wondered if the answer was in the open book.

Alice was right, of course. Visiting Rose alone would be a foolhardy endeavor. What if her man was there and in the midst of a drunken rage? But who else did Rose have? Of all the memories that haunted her from her marriage to Andrew, the sense of being alone, helpless, that nothing, no one, and certainly she herself could never change her circumstances. Looking back, she saw choices she could have made—telling Will, running away—but while living in the center of the maelstrom her overwhelming emotion had been hopelessness.

Kate’s head was full of plans for the settlement, and she wanted to tell Rose about them. She prayed Rose might come to live or work there. At least Kate wanted to give her that option.

She leaned toward the desk and turned her head, scanning for Rose’s name. The house number on Flower and Dean Street was clear, written in Alice’s bold looping script.

****

“Another visit from you doesn’t bode well, Detective Sergeant Quinn. What can I do for you?”

Ben wondered if William Selsby wore the same unwelcoming expression with all of the visitors to his Moreton Terrace townhouse. The man looked less pleased to see him than the first time Ben had foolishly darkened Kate’s doorstep.

“I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Guthrie.”

Selsby led him to room on the left side of the entry hall, opposite the sitting room doorway. The sting of astringent burned his nose as Ben entered the room and took in the examination table and neatly arrayed medical supplies.

“Since I started my medical practice, I found it useful to refurbish my father’s old examination room.” Selsby offered the explanation while indicating a chair in front a massive wooden desk. “Shall we speak plainly, detective?”

Ben nodded, but Selsby gave him no time to reply.

“What is your interest in my sister? Precisely.”

How should he answer? Ben had no notion what Kate had revealed to her family about her work in Whitechapel or her encounter with him over Rose’s attack. Never mind that his interest in Kate had nothing to do with Whitechapel or Rose or anything but an inexplicable thread that seemed to draw him toward her from the moment he’d met her.

“She’s an extraordinary woman.”

Selby’s wide eyes and open mouth captured Ben’s own shock at hearing his foolish declaration echo against the walls of the small, wood-paneled room.

Kate’s brother looked down, seemingly studying the desk in front of him. When he lifted his gaze to Ben, his expression was dubious, not unlike the look Ben gave a suspect who’d said something completely out of order.

“Are you trying to avoid my question or win my approval?”

Ben closed his eyes a moment and gripped the arms of his chair. All he wanted was to see Kate—he had no answers to offer until he spoke to her. “Speaking plainly, Dr. Selsby, I must speak to your sister, to Mrs. Guthrie, before I can state my intentions.”

Selsby squinted and examined Ben a moment, as if weighing his words, and then deflated on a long sigh.

“Then I wish she was here to speak with you. My wife tells me she’s in Whitechapel visiting a young woman she’d tended to at a charity clinic there. Rose? Yes, I believe that was her name.”

Ben shot out of the chair, nearly tipping it behind him.

Selsby stood too. “What is it? Is she in danger?”

“Not if I can help it. Good day, Dr. Selsby.” Ben tipped his head to Selsby as he backed out of the exam room door.

He grabbed his hat from the hallway table and jerked the front door open. He’d had the good sense to ask the hansom cab driver to wait on him this time and shouted Rose’s address up to the cabman before leaping inside. Heart racing, breath billowing out in wispy gusts, Ben knocked on the carriage walls to urge the driver faster.

Dusk brushed the sky with shades of blue and amber as the carriage wound its way through the clog of London traffic. Trapped in the confines of the too-slow-moving cab, Ben made a vow—he’d kiss Kate Guthrie again, fiancé or no fiancé. And once he’d finished, he’d set her straight about venturing out into the streets of Whitechapel at night. Had the woman no sense when it came to her own safety?

Her carelessness rankled Ben, but it was nothing like his impulse to protect her. If Jack Sharp so much as touched her… He blinked away thoughts of Sharp attacking Kate, though he couldn’t ease the ache in his chest or the acid in his stomach at the notion of her coming to harm. Nor could he deny the deep vein of possessiveness tangled with his protective impulse. He didn’t merely wish to safeguard Kate. He wanted her, needed her, as he’d never desired anyone in his life.