Starlight (29 page)

“Mr. Christie, sir?”

“Yes? Wait, you’re Heath Gowan.”

“Yes, sir. Polly never came home.” The young man’s face flushed a vicious red, but he never broke eye contact. “My parents would like to know where she is.”

The early dawn air became infinitely colder. “She’s not here.”

“Did you see her last night?”

The boy’s eye was surprisingly astute—and critical. Alex kept his expression neutral. He was not proud of some of the things he’d said, but he would defend what he and Polly had shared with his dying breath. Behind his back, he cracked a thumb knuckle. “Yes, she was here. She left for your home in a hackney, about two o’clock.”

Rather than berate Alex, Polly’s older brother only nodded. “She’ll be with the police, then.”

“How do you know?” After their argument, Alex had suspected she might want time alone. But her last words had been a reaffirmation of what her family meant to her. “She has no other place she likes to go? To think or find a moment’s peace?”

“We’ve already checked our friends’ houses. No one’s seen her. After the fire last night, we can’t help but think the police got impatient.”

“I told them to leave her to me.”

Heath shrugged. He was nearly Alex’s height, but as thin as a colt. He would be a big man when he filled out those long bones with a man’s brawn. “As if they listen. We don’t want to check the station on our own, sir, if you get my meaning.”

“Wait in the foyer.”

Alex roused Griggs and ordered the carriage readied, then he informed Mrs. Doward of the situation. She nodded from the rocking chair in the nursery. Edmund slept, still feverish, but not with the same frightening heat.

Within ten minutes, Alex changed into his best approximation of a gentleman’s dress—just enough time to process his thoughts. And for his fury to grow into something fierce and stormy. The ascot he’d grabbed was barely tied and he couldn’t find two socks that matched, but he stormed back downstairs, walking stick and top hat in hand.

The drive to the constabulary seemed far longer than it likely was. A mile or two, at most. With Heath as company, Alex stared out the window, his head swimming in a stew of violence. He nearly wore a hole in the top of his shoe by spinning the tip of
his formal walking cane against the leather. What he really wanted to do was crack a few deserving teeth, starting with the constables who had likely embarrassed or even hurt Polly in ways that could not be forgiven.

His cane across their faces and against their kneecaps wouldn’t be enough.

Upon arriving at the constabulary, he stormed inside and grabbed the nearest lawman. “Who are you and where the hell is Polly Gowan?”

A slender young constable blanched. His words chopped out in a stammer. “I’m Plimshaw, sir. She’s being held until we can arrange transfer to Lock Hospital.”

“Was she injured, man?”

“No, sir.”

Heath leaned nearer, his voice hushed. “It’s not that sort of hospital, Mr. Christie. It’s more for . . . well, for women of a certain profession.”

Plimshaw nodded, as if relieved of the necessity of revealing that particular detail. “As mandated by the comprehensive Glasgow System for the Repression of Vice.” He recited the words as if from a manual on city policy. Maybe it was.

That didn’t mollify the rage gathering like molten rock beneath Alex’s low ribs. “I sent a woman in my employ home in a hackney cab in an attempt to safeguard her well-being, and she was arrested for prostitution? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“And assault on a police officer.” Plimshaw consulted his notes. “Her shawl was found at a pub by the docks. There were witnesses. The constables who
arrested her were only doing their duty to protect the city.”

Choice curses bounced around Alex’s brain. “Let me see her. And someone find Constable Andrews. I don’t care if you have to kick down his door and wake his children.”

The thin, officious constable led the way through the station. Alex truncated his strides lest he overtake the shorter man. Another officer behind a desk found the logbook. More fastidious attention to detail, without producing any answers.

“There’s no record of her, sir,” the man said. “Perhaps she gave a false name?”

“She was likely arrested because she
is
Polly Gowan. Why would she give a false name?”

“I cannot find the paperwork, sir.”

Alex slammed his fist on the desk. Pencils scattered. Even Heath looked taken aback.

“I don’t give a good goddamn about your paperwork,” Alex growled. “I’ve journeyed to this stink-hole to prevent an innocent woman from being locked up as a prostitute. Find me Polly Gowan. Now.”

“Sir,” Plimshaw began. “If you would—”

Keeping his temper was no longer an option. All Alex managed was not to use his walking stick as he’d imagined in the coach. Instead he pounded the tip against the wooden floor and stalked toward the holding cells. Heath followed with an equally determined stride, while Plimshaw sputtered without effect.

The women’s cell stank of urine and enough
cheap perfume to make his eyes water. The hairs on his nape and along his wrists stood on end. Woman after woman stared at him from behind the iron bars. Most were filthy, with brassy hair over dead eyes, and some wore the remnants of lip paint or rouge.

One buxom young chit presented her assets. “You can have your pick of us, master, but why not me?”

Alex ignored her words, as well as the implication that he was there to shop for flesh. The idea was reprehensible. More searching. More vacant stares. None of them revealed the lustrous red hair he would know from across a crowded room.

“This is worse than holding them in a latrine,” Heath said, hand over his mouth.

Rage gave strength to Alex’s voice. “Polly! Polly Gowan, show yourself!”

A muffled struggle from the far corner of a cell caught his attention. He grabbed Plimshaw’s lapels and dragged the man with him to investigate. Polly was pinned by two larger, older women, both in the process of stripping her lace-up boots.

Alex smacked the head of his walking stick across the bars, back and forth, until he had the attention of every inmate and constable.

Polly’s expression had frozen around a mask of terror. She breathed his name.

“Unhand her. Now. Or I’ll be forced to learn whether the bones in your hands are as sturdy as these bars.”

The pair of prisoners backed away from Polly, who scrambled to her stocking-clad feet and met Alex at the bars. He saw only a woman who needed
him. Over the years he had come to expect such a stripped, beseeching look from Mamie. Seeing it from Polly put an end to the logical foundation of his life. He felt it go. And he didn’t fight to get it back.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he whispered.

“Someone found my shawl at Old Peter’s.”

“I heard. But say nothing more. Understand?”

She nodded. “Heath, dear God. What are you doing here?”

“Aiding your avenging warrior.” He shrugged. “Not that he needs much by way of aid.”

“And what of Edmund?”

Alex clasped her fingers where they gripped the cell bars. “Mrs. Doward has him. Griggs is waiting for us outside to take us home.” He straightened to his full height, channeling every measure of his father’s arrogance and authority. “Constable?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Listen closely and pray to God you get it right.” Polly watched him with expectation, Heath with awe, and Plimshaw with fear. Alex’s voice never wavered as he issued the command that would change everything. “I want you to procure whatever paperwork, keys, and officials you require to set my fiancée free.”

A
re
you mad?
”

Polly kept her voice low as they fled the hideous police station. She had been brought in for questioning before, and had always walked away without charges. She’d never been there without the protection of the union men. Tommy, Hamish, Les, and especially Da when he was well—they had intervened when the law thought to offer a little harassment. But to be attacked by desperate female strangers was more upsetting than Polly could comprehend. The shock was enough to render her momentarily dumb.

She had always done her best to lighten the burdens of others. This night was proof that some people didn’t want to be helped. Why was she so surprised? She even felt somewhat . . . betrayed, as if her good works might not amount to much.

To be accused of prostitution was even harder to face.

The line of Alex’s proud jaw bunched. “I got you out of there.”

“And now this ends, Alex. Enough of your bullying. I’m not a constable to be ordered about.”

Heath had already departed for home, to relieve the worry Ma and Wallace must have suffered all night. Polly walked with Alex toward his carriage as the pastel light of dawn began its gradual rebirth. He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her close.

“Do you still work for me, Miss Gowan?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll step just as quickly as those corrupt bastards.”

“
You’re
the one acting like a bastard.”

“So you’d like to return? To see how the judicial system here treats poor, unmarried women?”

She sneered. “Blackmail, is it?”

“No, this is intimidation. Blackmail is when I say that I’ll inform your parents of our dalliances if you continue to protest. Shall we learn your father’s opinion about our marriage?”

“Do I get no say in this?”

Grim lines cupped either side of his mouth. “None at all.”

No emotion. No acknowledgment that they had tempted the potential for more—a deeper connection. He seemed unable to consider the options he’d stolen when he barged into that jail.

“I knew you were a master,” she said with a sniff. “All along, I knew. But I let myself be fooled by your differences. You actually seemed ready to listen and help and . . . ”

Care.

But she held that word back. Barely. It had no place in between them now.

He yanked open the carriage door. Griggs already sat atop his bench, with the horses hitched, their necks bowed low. Polly could relate. She was exhausted. No thought stayed in place long enough for her to catch hold.

Alex practically shoved her in with a hand on her rear, and then climbed in to follow. “You insist on behaving as if survival in such a world is the same as thriving. When, Jesus, Polly—you could be so much more.”

“That’s what you think. Fine. Your opinion. But thank you very much, I’m what I want to be.” She exhaled, hoping to banish her outrage and speak rationally. Alex was so cool, so calm about what felt to her like a catastrophe. “I appreciate what you did. I can’t imagine the gossip to follow, but we can salvage most of the situation. Maybe I can convince everyone this was just what is was—a sham, to get me out of a bind.”

“It wasn’t a sham, Polly. I
am
going to marry you.”

A secret place inside her went very quiet and very still. Then it burst to life, fluttering like a bird frantic for flight. She backed into the bench, as far from Alex as she could. But she couldn’t escape the finality in his unyielding expression.

Clear of the stink and the wretched eyes of the jail, she welcomed back the quick return of ordered thoughts. “That’s absurd.”

“We’ll marry. That will be the end of all this confusion.”

Her jaw opened but no sound emerged. The fluttering sensation intensified, becoming the fast, hard whip of a thunderstorm’s first winds. Marry Alex Christie. It was too strange to even imagine.

But that secret place whispered,
What would it be like to have this man as my husband?

“Confusion?” she croaked.

Alex waved his hand. “This disorder. I’ll give you a safe place. I’ll ensure that your family is cared for. And in return, Edmund will have a stepmother and I’ll have a marital partner.”

He didn’t even blush at the latter. No heat in his eyes. The man she’d made love to was nowhere to be found. He was capable of a great deal of passion and even honor. He obviously loved his son, too.

But his words held no promise of affection for
her
.

She’d always hoped, quietly yet fervently, that she would be lucky enough to marry for love, as had Da and Ma. Alex made it sound like nothing more than a business transaction. They were pawns to their respective causes. The totality of his loyalty was to Edmund, which would never be enough for her. Wasn’t it the role of a husband to be loyal to his wife, too? Did he not see how this would steal the respect she’d earned? It would be more than a loss to her pride; it would mean the loss of herself.

And she was still hiding Tommy’s whereabouts. A marriage built on intimidation and lies? No hope in that.