Redeeming the Rogue (40 page)

“Sergeant . . .” She spotted a certificate framed on the wall behind him. “Sergeant Morrison, you have no basis for holding my husband. Even if he did have a role in this foul circumstance—which he did not—you can’t hold him as he’s a foreign delegate. He has diplomatic immunity against arrest.” The sergeant put his pen down as if he were preparing to listen, which was good, as she had plenty to say. “I’m sure President Garfield’s secretary of state, Mr. Blaine, would tell you the same if he were here, but he’s rightfully at the president’s side and thus unavailable. However, I’m not asking for my husband’s release. Given the crowd outside, he’s safer in your custody, but he does need a doctor’s attention.”

Sergeant Morrison looked dubious.

“You can have a guard watch him,” Arianne insisted. “He’s a doctor, not a magician.”

The sergeant considered, then pointed to the same officer as before. “Show him back.” He turned to Arianne. “But you stay here. Only one visitor at a time.”

 

THE POLICEMAN RATTLED HIS TRUNCHEON ACROSS THE bars. “Doctor here to see you. Stand back.”

The cell door was opened, and Phineas, in the guise of a concerned physician with a black bag, gained admittance.

Rafferty glanced at the policeman who stood near the bars, watching them. “Dr. Connor. Did my wife call you? How is she?”

“She’s concerned about you and said there’ll be no garden parties until the president recovers.” Phineas wriggled an eyebrow at him. “Now then, where do you hurt?”

Rafferty grinned. “Everywhere.”

The guard softly snorted. Phineas pretended to peer into Rafferty’s eyes.

“I think the lock is the same,” Rafferty murmured, knowing Phineas would know he was referring to Baltimore.

“Um-hm,” Phineas agreed. “Take off your shirt. Your wife said something about ribs.”

Rafferty moved cautiously, because it did indeed hurt, though he suspected he’d only bruised his ribs. “I need tools,” he murmured. Phineas moved across his chest, pushing in various key spots, pretending to look for tenderness.

The guard squinted. “He sure does have a lot of scars on him for a diplomat.”

“Difficult negotiations,” Rafferty answered with a raised voice. “The scars were the easy ones.”

Phineas pulled a roll of some sort of bandage from his bag and started to wrap it around Rafferty’s ribs. “There was a time when you’d already have the tools,” Phineas said, keeping his voice low.

“Different tailor now,” Rafferty answered.

Phineas wrapped the bandage over Rafferty’s shoulder and secured it. “That should help,” he said. He made a grand show of putting his supplies away and rummaging in his bag. “You should be okay in a couple of days. You won’t look too pretty, but I imagine that wife of yours won’t mind.”

Rafferty started to reach for his shirt. Phineas picked it up instead. “Let me help you with that.” Phineas held out the shirt while Rafferty backed into it. “Evans is gone,” Phineas mumbled.

“Not surprised,” Rafferty replied. “Check New York.”

While Rafferty buttoned the front of his shirt, Phineas picked up Rafferty’s jacket and brushed it off. “You certainly have a nice tailor, Mr. Rafferty. I’ll hang up your jacket.” He looked around the cell. “Or I’ll just lay it here.” He put it back where it originally was.

“Thank you, Dr. Connor,” Rafferty said.

“I’d like to leave you with something for the pain.” He tapped out a pill from a box and turned to the guard. “Can we get some water here?”

“Not while you’re in the cell.”

Phineas handed the pills to Rafferty, grabbed his bag, and waited on the other side of the bars while the guard went to retrieve a dipper of water.

“I’m not planning on breaking out if I can avoid it. They don’t have a reason to hold me, and I don’t want to give them one,” Rafferty said. “But it’s good to know I can if I have to. Keep Arianne safe. With Evans on the loose, he might try to do more harm. Tell Bedford to keep checking; I want to know who he really is. The answer may be with Mary O’Shay.”

The guard came back with a dipper of water to pass between the bars.

Rafferty looked at the tablet in his hand. “What is this?”

“Salicin,” Phineas said. “From willow bark. It works. I’ve taken it. It does reduce the pain of sore muscles, but it’s hard on the stomach.”

Rafferty grimaced. He drank the water but palmed the pill. He handed the dipper back. “Tell Arianne I love her,” he called.

“Tell her yourself,” Phineas said. “They can’t hold you very long.”

 

“I DIDN’T EXPECT TO SEE YOU HERE.”

Rafferty glanced up to see Officer Simmons, the policeman who’d worked the murder of Lord Weston. Rafferty grimaced. “I won’t be here long. I had no part in that attack.”

Simmons twisted his lips and leaned casually on the bars. “I’m tempted to reply that they all say that, but in this case I believe you.” He narrowed his eyes at Rafferty. “Why you? Why did he point to you as part of his plot?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself. I have a theory. I think this attempted assassination is linked to the murders of Lord Weston, Mary O’Shay, and another, Rosalie Murray.”

The policeman whistled low. “People die around you, Mr. Rafferty.”

“I’ve noticed. I’m in the center of this. I’m the one to put the pieces together, but I can’t do it here, and the person responsible knows that.”

Simmons nodded. “So you’re saying Guiteau is responsible for all those deaths?”

“No,” Rafferty responded. “The man behind Guiteau is. The one who pulls his strings.” He had no doubt that Toomey would be that master manipulator.

“Interesting theory. Can I help?” Simmons asked in acknowledgment.

“Get me cleared from these false allegations and let me do my job.”

 

ARIANNE HAD COME BACK TO THE STATION THAT NIGHT with a pillow and the several special editions of the newspaper. They told her it was too late to see him, and they wouldn’t allow the pillow, but the papers were approved. Rafferty suspected the sergeant read them before they were brought back to his cell, but it did give him something to do while he was waiting for release.

President Garfield still lived, but the doctors were having difficulty finding the bullet, believing it to be lodged near the spine. Rafferty felt truly sorry for the man who had only been in office for four months. He’d impressed Rafferty as dedicated and appreciative of the responsibilities entrusted to him. After several hours on the railroad station floor, he’d been moved to the Executive Mansion, together with a whole host of doctors.

In another article, Vice President Arthur was accused of being party to Guiteau’s scheme. It apparently hadn’t helped that Guiteau had proclaimed him president after shooting Garfield. That argument lacked substance. As did the accusations that Arthur conferred with a foreign diplomat who could do the deed without consequence because of diplomatic immunity. The foreign diplomat was being held for questioning. “I wish they’d get around to actually asking me something,” Rafferty muttered. All interrogations were focused on Guiteau.

By Sunday, a few protesters remained outside of the police station. He overheard some of the policemen say that Guiteau was talking, wouldn’t stop talking, in fact. He admitted he was angry that he was passed over as a French ambassador and so shot Garfield. It didn’t seem to matter that Guiteau couldn’t speak French and had no diplomatic experience. Rafferty wondered why the man would want such a position. Being a diplomat had brought nothing but trouble to him so far, except for Arianne. He would be eternally grateful for that introduction.

The police released Rafferty. While some grumbled that he was still a suspect, the captain had to bow to the principles of diplomatic immunity and the support of Officer Simmons, who argued there was no hard evidence against the British minister. For his own safety, he was led out a back door and placed with Simmons in a police transport to take him back to the legation.

They arrived at the legation the same time as a messenger with a telegram. Rafferty ripped the envelope open in anticipation that Phineas had urgent news regarding Evans.

 

RETURN HOME STOP TO BE CHARGED WITH TREASON STOP

LORD HENDERSON

“TREASON!” ARIANNE READ AND REREAD THE TELEGRAM. “Is this some cruel jest? There’s no logic. Even the Americans couldn’t press a charge of conspiracy to murder.”

“His diplomatic immunity will only go so far,” Bedford said. “The Americans could still deport him if they found sufficient evidence that he was a party to that crime.” He tapped the telegram. “This is coming from England.”

“Someone in England knew I would be indicted in some sort of conspiracy regarding the attempted assassination,” Rafferty said, deceptively calm. “Their argument would be that I’ve helped to topple a political structure for one more favorable to an Irish uprising.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Bedford shook his head. “The American government is unchanged, is it not? Garfield still breathes and might survive that onerous attempt to take his life. There’s been no new Irish uprising. It’s been years since the last Fenian bombing.”

“Precisely. My opponent has played his hand prematurely in hopes of stopping my investigation. I must be close.” Rafferty shuffled papers on his desk just to keep his hands occupied, otherwise the walls might suffer the consequences.

“So this is a good thing?” Bedford asked, confounded.

“No. It’s not a good thing.” Rafferty gritted his teeth. His stomach soured. “But it is an indication of the treacherous lengths they will go to stop me.” Of all the methods Barnell could have employed against him, this was the most low, the most foul. Treason! To question his loyalty, to brand him as a traitor for his dedication in finding the murderous bastards who killed innocent English citizens must be an act of desperation. Yet the consequences to his reputation could be long-lived. And Arianne didn’t deserve to suffer those consequences.

“You do realize you will be dragged through the mud over this,” Bedford said. “Most likely your name has already been sullied in the press. Your name and that of my sister by implication.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Rafferty said quietly.

Arianne quickly glanced up, her eyes wide. “No, Rafferty.”

“What?” Bedford asked, wary. “Why doesn’t it have to be that way?”

“Lady Arianne can always return to London after an extended holiday abroad in America,” he said, focusing on Arianne. “Her reputation would be untainted by association to me, and she still has Sanctuary.”

“Good Lord, man. What are you saying?” Bedford retorted, aghast. “She’s your wife!”

“No.” He wished he could say otherwise. “She isn’t.”

He supposed had he not been watching Arianne so intently, he would have seen Bedford lunge for his throat. The two wrestled on the floor, Bedford attempting to pummel him, Rafferty trying to stop him. Finally, Rafferty trapped Bedford facedown on the floor. The struggle hurt his recently bruised ribs like the devil. Thus Rafferty was content to just hold him still awhile.

“Get off of me, you lying son of a whore!” Bedford yelled.

“William, leave him alone!” Arianne cried. “It’s not his fault.”

“Not his fault!” Bedford shouted. “He’s slept with you. I’ve seen him go to your room every night.” He struggled unsuccessfully to shake Rafferty off. “Good Lord, I even heard you three nights ago. How can you say it’s not his fault? He took advantage of you.”

“I was ruined before, William.” She stooped down close to him. “Ruined before I ever boarded the ship to come here, and not by Rafferty. I was running away from London, but Rafferty gave me something to run toward.”

“You
will
marry my sister, you Irish bastard. Then she’ll be a respectable widow once I’m through with you.” His face turned red from his exertions.

“I’ve asked her twice,” Rafferty said. “She keeps refusing me. The last time I asked for her hand was three days ago when you told me to have my way with her without benefit of marriage.”

“I did no such thing,” Bedford protested.

“Ah, but you did. I wanted marriage first, but you said to apologize and give your sister what she wanted.” He smiled over at Arianne. “And I did.”

His lack of attention gave Bedford an opportunity. He managed to shake Rafferty off his back and go for his throat. They rolled on the floor again until Rafferty gained his feet and allowed Bedford to find his.

“William, stop this!” Arianne yelled. “This isn’t helping.”

“It’s making me feel a lot better.” Bedford threw a punch that just missed.

“Bedford, I love your sister. I truly do. I’ll marry her whenever you like, wherever you like.” Rafferty put a hand to his bandaged ribs, breathing hard. “But she’ll be marrying a traitor if I don’t solve this puzzle.”

That seemed to penetrate Bedford’s thick skull. He lowered his fists, and Rafferty followed. He kept his focus on Bedford. “Or you can take her back to London and pretend none of this happened.”