The Detective's Dilemma (17 page)

“You come home with me now. You can reassure him about all this yourself, ma’am.” Springfield sounded as if he grew closer to losing his temper.

“Oh, as to that, certainly. All right. But not at the moment. I’m waiting for Julianna, I mean Mrs. Walker, right here.”

“I think you should come with me. Now.”

“Mr. Springfield, I am well aware you are my husband’s friend as well as employee. However, you are neither for me.”

Springfield gave a startled laugh. “Well, well. Mrs. Pussycat is growing some claws. He won’t like that, you know. So where is this precious daughter-in-law of yours? She ought to come with us as well. You and the girl and I will take a ride back home. We’ve spent time and resources trying to get that girl under control. I think we’ll be able to explain a few things to her.”

“Well, her behavior isn’t our concern, now that she has a new husband.”

The door creaked when a body leaned against it. Julianna twitched when Springfield’s drawling voice came as if he stood next to them. “Well, gee, I don’t know if I believe that story.”

Caleb’s hand on Julianna’s shoulder seemed to clamp harder, and he slid silently so his other arm found her. Giving her comfort or taking advantage of the dark little room? She decided it was the former.

“Harriet! Harriet!” Mrs. Winthrop sounded almost panicked, and Julianna wondered if she should go out to protect her mother-in-law. But then the efficient maid’s footsteps clicked close.

“Ma’am?”

“Where did you hear about the wedding? Mr. Springfield doesn’t believe me. But Harriet heard about it before I did.”

“Which wedding, ma’am?”

Julianna bit her lip in anxiety, but her fear lasted only a second. Of course Harriet had been listening in.

Mrs. Winthrop said, “My dear daughter-in-law. Or would she be called that now that she’s Mrs. Walker? Will she still be my daughter-in-law?”

“I think she would be a former daughter-in-law now, ma’am. But I’ll consult with an expert if you wish.”

“Hoy!” Springfield’s impatient voice interrupted their babbling. “Who told you?”

“Sir? Told me what?” Harriet giggled. She seemed to be enjoying herself—at least someone was.

“Who the hell told you they were married?”

“Mr. Springfield, that sort of language is not necessary.” Mrs. Winthrop sounded tremulous with outrage, as usual.

Harriet answered him anyway. “The Parker’s maid told me, sir. She and the nursemaid, Master Peter’s nursemaid, I mean, were talking. I can’t recall that girl’s name. Anyway, Mrs. Walker—that was Mrs. James Winthrop—got married maybe last week? Last month? Gosh, I can’t remember, but recently. I thought my mistress certainly must know, so I didn’t bother to tell her until she told me who we were to meet today. So then I remembered what the Parkers’ maid said the Walkers’ nursemaid told her. I said, ‘No, we’re not meeting Mrs. Winthrop, we’re meeting Mrs. Walker,’ and ma’am was that surprised. She said, ‘Well then, certainly we don’t need to worry about Master Peter if that’s true. We’ll just check on that.’”

She likely would have prattled on, pouring out easy but tangled lies for quite a while, but Springfield made a growling sound.

The woman was a superb actress. Julianna breathed a long sigh of relief. Next to her, Caleb shook with suppressed laughter. A moment later, his whisper brushed her ear. “She’s good.”

“All right,” Springfield snapped. “Hard to believe the idiots from Mulberry Street sent over a husband to, uh, talk to his wife. But that bunch of clowns aren’t worth the money we pay. And that story about an abduction will have to change, I guess.”

“Mulberry Street? What do you mean? What do we pay them for?”

“It’s nothing to worry you, missus.”

“Mulberry Street generally means the police headquarters, isn’t that right, sir?” Harriet asked sweetly. “You have to pay the police, sir?”

Springfield gave another snarl that might have been “Never mind.”

“What do we pay them for?” Mrs. Winthrop chimed in. “I did hire two off-duty policemen to guard the wedding gifts the day James and Julianna were married, quite the normal thing, you know. Alas, but that wedding was such a small event, all due to Mr. Winthrop insisting it be held so quickly. But never mind that. We have been hiring the police? Whatever for? We’ve paid them for a man to talk to his wife? Very odd.”

Caleb pulled Julianna closer and whispered, “Oh, and she is just as good. They might hire themselves out as a music hall act.”

That the man actually felt amusement at the moment made Julianna realize he led a very different life from hers.

Silence, and then Mrs. Winthrop asked again, “Mr. Springfield? Tell me, why would we have to hire the police?”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Nothing you need worry yourself about.”

“It had to do with that silly story my husband told. All that nonsense about taking dear Peter from his mother—so irksome. And you may tell him I said so. It put a real fright into me this morning when I heard that poor Peter might be in danger. What do you think, Harriet?”

“Perhaps some silly rumors reached Mr. Winthrop’s ears, and he overreacted.” The maid gave a small hum. “But that he had to hire the police for that job seems most peculiar, ma’am.”

“Enough nonsense.” Springfield sounded more annoyed than ever. “I’ve been sent to fetch you, so let’s go.”

“No, I will stay here.” A quaver entered Mrs. Winthrop’s voice.

Where was Mr. Sawyer, for pity’s sake? Why wasn’t he rushing up to aid Mrs. Winthrop? Julianna rose to her feet and dusted off her gown. Next to her came the rustle of cloth—Caleb stood as well.

“No.” He pulled her against his chest and whispered in her ear. His hot body pressed to her back. His whisper brushing her earlobe made her shiver, and his arms around her tightened. “Stay here and stay safe,” he said. “There’s another door at the back of the room.”

“Let me go, then.” She wiggled away and, in the process, thumped against the door.

She froze, but apparently no one outside their small space had heard, because now Mrs. Winthrop was telling Mr. Springfield all the things she had to do that evening rather than return home. Her voice had again that quavering note as if she were at the edge of tears.

Julianna wished for a hat and gloves, or at least a mirror to check her hair, because she wanted to face Mr. Springfield looking as dignified as possible. He was expecting her, after all. Time to make an appearance.

She grabbed the doorknob and pulled open the door, closing it quickly behind her so Caleb wouldn’t stop her and so Mr. Springfield wouldn’t notice she’d emerged from a storeroom. Fortunately, he had his back to her. Unfortunately, she brushed up against him to get past him.

He whirled around, ready for battle, his hands raised. “You,” he said.

“Good evening,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m so late, Mother Winthrop. I lost track of time.” And that was certainly true. She had thought it the middle of the night, but the sun was still up.

She caught sight of motion near Mr. Springfield—Caleb had silently left the storeroom by the rear door and now snuck through the bookshelves. Now she wished she’d been less hasty.

Mr. Springfield grabbed a wooden chair, swung it around, and shoved Mrs. Winthrop into it.

Harriet gasped. Mrs. Winthrop squeaked, “Ow. You’re hurting me.”

“I’m losing my temper here, Mrs. Winthrop,” he said, glaring at Julianna.

She stared into his face rather than risk shifting her gaze to Mr. Walker, who crept past to the next shelf of books.

Mr. Springfield’s pug nose, high cheekbones, and cold blue eyes intimidated her. He kept his gray hair short and his clothes tidy, but one wouldn’t mistake him for a gentleman. As usual, he wore a faint smile. She used to think that perpetual smirk obsequious. Now she thought it far more sinister.

She gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “I can see you’re growing impatient.” A moment later, she added, “And I’m Mrs. Walker now.”

“Yeah, I heard. That loser Walker is going to be in big trouble. But not you. Not anymore. You’re fine now.”

Why would he say those words with such relish? The air seemed to buzz, and her head swam. She guessed what he would say next.

His self-satisfied leer widened. “We have the boy.”

Julianna would not faint, but her gasp seemed to come from outside her body.

“And your pretty friend Mr. Brennan is in jail. He attacked a police officer.” Mr. Springfield still had his hand on Mrs. Winthrop’s shoulder.

Julianna shook her head to clear it. “You have no right to take my child.”

“Mr. Winthrop has been worried about the boy. You spoil a little child, he might end up like James.”

Her temper and her voice rose. “There was absolutely nothing wrong with my late husband.”

Near her, Mrs. Winthrop gave a small glad moan. Before Springfield spoke, Julianna continued, almost shouting, “Mr. Winthrop sent agents to try to intimidate me in my own home, and he has kidnapped my son.”

Louder might work. Perhaps Mr. Gordon or Mr. Sawyer would do something. Anything—other than summoning the police, because who knew if any summoned officers would help her or Mr. Springfield.

Mr. Springfield seemed to read her mind. “Well, we have the power of the law behind us today, even with that funny story the missus told me about Walker marrying you. He’s one of Gregory’s boys and we count on them to do their job.”

“Their job is aiding and abetting corruption.” Her voice trembled as much as her mother-in-law’s often did. Julianna had a flash of understanding that the lady’s anguish had been created by years of helplessness as she watched the cruel indifference she felt helpless to change. But she didn’t have time to think of Mrs. Winthrop or of the police or anyone but her baby Peter. “You are mistaken if you think that fair-minded gentlemen will tolerate Mr. Winthrop’s abuse of power.”

He laughed. “Impressive speech. Too bad a girl can’t get a job as a prosecutor.”

“You admit it, then? You and my father-in-law hired corrupt policemen to break the law for you?”

“Oh, get off that high horse and maybe Mr. Winthrop will let you visit little Pete now and then.” He leaned close and whispered, “If you make trouble for us, that cop husband of yours—if he really is your husband—will vanish. You might too. And we’ll pay to make sure no one will investigate a thing.”

He moved quickly, pulling Mrs. Winthrop up from the chair. “We’re going home now, ma’am. You, the maid, and the other Mrs. Winthrop here. Oh, beg your pardon. Of course I mean ‘Mrs. Walker.’”

She would go with him. She had to see her son—and trust that even the terrible Mr. Springfield and Mr. Winthrop wouldn’t try to eliminate three grown women.

He clutched Mrs. Winthrop’s upper arm and crushed the delicate fabric of the gown.

Julianna moved close to Mrs. Winthrop, who trembled. The older lady’s mouth was tight and her eyes wide.

“I’ll come with you, but we must take care of Mrs. Winthrop. She looks ill,” Julianna told Springfield.

“Then let’s get her home and…resting.” The mocking tone, the pause before the word resting made Julianna more nervous. But he did like fear. Surely he would only escort them to the Winthrop’s mansion.

Caleb stood directly behind Mr. Springfield. He carried a piece of wood, the plank from a bookshelf, probably, and began to raise the wood—obviously about to strike a blow to Mr. Springfield’s head.

Julianna hadn’t thought she could grow more afraid, but now the nightmare grew worse. He must not hit the bully, not yet. She must go to her son. Stopping Springfield might give them all a sense of satisfaction, but stopping him would make going into the Winthrop house more complicated—and she had to see Peter now. As soon as humanly possible.

Springfield turned and ordered Harriet to collect her mistress’s purse, and he didn’t pay attention to Julianna. She took the opportunity to shake her head at Caleb and mouth the word
Peter
.

He rolled his eyes to heaven—another sign that he didn’t take this situation as seriously as he should—but he lowered the board. With unexpected grace, he slipped away, toward the front door, and she lost sight of him.

It took Harriet quite a while to find the purse, which looked heavier than usual. Mrs. Winthrop looked almost relieved when she took the bag from her maid’s hands. Julianna wondered where her own bags had gone. She had left them somewhere during this endless day. The revolver sat tucked against some books on a shelf, utterly useless to her. James’s journal lay heavy in her pocket.

“You go ahead of me,” Mr. Springfield directed Mrs. Winthrop and Harriet. “I’ll walk next to Mrs. Winthrop-Walker.”

They left the shop, and Julianna gave a fast, discreet glance around. No Danny and no Caleb and no Mr. Sawyer.

“The carriage is waiting around the corner,” Mr. Springfield said.

“Why didn’t you let it wait out front?” Julianna asked.

“If you are feeling faint, I can carry you. It would be my pleasure,” he said, and his customary smirk looked more like a leer.

Harriet supported Mrs. Winthrop’s elbow as they walked, but at Mr. Springfield’s words, Mrs. Winthrop pulled away and turned to face him. “That is enough. You are too familiar, sir, and even vulgar.” Mrs. Winthrop’s voice shook, but she raised her chin.