Her Defiant Heart (57 page)

Christian raised one hand to shade his eyes. After the near-endless winter New Yorkers had experienced, this particular Wednesday morning was unusually sunny, bright, and cloudless. Christian was not generally superstitious, but now, after so many turns of luck against him, he found himself thinking that the change in the weather and the onset of spring must be a good omen.

A light breeze whispered across the back of his neck. He was standing on the balcony outside Jenny's bedroom at the St. Mark. He stepped back from the balcony rail and turned slightly, squinting to get a better view of the activity in William Bennington's office. Sunlight bounced off the high, arched windows and made viewing difficult. Worried that he might be seen and identified as well, Christian hunched his shoulders and raised the collar of his jacket. It was probably an unnecessary precaution. From what he could see, William and Stephen Bennington were too preoccupied with their own concerns to pay attention to anything beyond their windows.

Mrs. Brandywine opened the double balcony doors and poked out her head. "Mr. O'Shea says the guards are in place at the back of the bank. The last shipment should be here in minutes."

Christian nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Brandywine. I'll be looking for it."

"Do you see Susan?" she asked.

"I do. She's been retracing her steps along the block, Beth in tow, waiting for my signal. As soon as the payroll wagon arrives, I'll give it."

"She has the hatbox?" asked Mrs. Brandywine.

"She has it," he said patiently, soothing his housekeeper's frayed nerves. "Go back inside. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves." He turned away just as the payroll wagon rolled toward the alley behind the bank. Mrs. Brandywine disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the doors again. Christian checked his pocket watch. He would give the guards ten minutes, then signal Susan to proceed.

* * *

Amalie held a small white pill in the flat of her hand. She showed it to Jenny. "I've been patient," she said. "I could have insisted you take the first one yesterday when Stephen brought them around. I've given you time to accustom yourself to the idea. You probably think I'm being unnecessarily cruel. I assure you I am not. I had to be certain that Stephen meant to deliver the ransom. You will be pleased to know that early this morning he brought by a little over three quarters of a million in property deeds. Before noon he will have the rest. Since he has acted in good faith, I can do no less. I promised him I would get rid of the child. That's what has to happen. You really can't blame him for not wanting to be father to your child."

Jenny simply stared at the pill. Her eyes were vacant, her mind nearly so. Amalie's words seemed disjointed to her, nonsensical. More afraid than she had been at any time in her past, she had not slept since John Todd's murder. Eating was out of the question, as it was conceivable that Amalie would put the pills in her food. Jenny wished she had been as cautious about drinking, but her thirst was profound, and she realized too late that milk and sugar were not the only additions to her tea. She recognized the new danger only after she felt the effects, but upon feeling the effects, she did not care about the danger.

"Have more tea," Amalie said, closing her hand over the pill. She poured from the silver-plated pot and handed Jenny the cup and saucer. "Careful now. You do not want to spill any and burn yourself. Here, let me help. I'll tip it ever so slightly for you." Amalie's smile was warm, encouraging. "Take it slowly. There's a girl. Doesn't taste so bitter now, does it? I'll wager you're even coming to like the taste. I should have done this from the beginning. It was Mr. Todd who talked me out of it. He thought you could be managed without any help. But as it happened, it was my John Todd who couldn't be managed. I blame you for that, you know." Amalie drew back, studying Jenny with flat, cold eyes that were at odds with her smile. "It was pity that he felt for you. Nothing else." Amalie's smile vanished, and the placement of her full lips became as hard as the green glass light in her eyes. "Before you, I had no reason to doubt his loyalty. He never interfered when I had to discipline a girl, never failed me when I asked him to throw out a gentleman caller. I don't thank you for showing me his tender heart and softheaded side, Miss Van Dyke. I don't thank you at all."

Jenny blinked. Although she had little sense of the words, Amalie's sharp, bitter tone still stung. She recoiled from it and vigorously rubbed the gooseflesh on her bare arms.

Amalie raised the china cup to Jenny's lips again. "Here, just a few more sips. It helps, doesn't it? Gives the world a rosy glow. Whatever happens, you won't mind so much; maybe you won't even remember." Amalie took away the cup, placed it on the table, and unclenched the fist that held Mrs. Restell's special pill. She waved her open hand in front of Jenny, showing it to her. "You'll take this now, won't you? Open your mouth. I'll put it right under your tongue."

Jenny nodded. The voice that commanded her now was soft with a gently cajoling cadence.

Jenny wanted to please. Fatigue, even more than the tincture of laudanum, made it difficult for her to keep her eyes open, yet she still harbored the notion that sleep was her enemy. It was wakefulness that kept her connected to Christian. If she slept, how would he find her? She tried to hold onto that thought even as her lips parted. She moistened them with the tip of her tongue.

"That's right. A little wider and I'll put it in. Right in." Amalie raised her hand, holding the pill between her thumb and forefinger. "Just under your tongue. Good girl. Just—ow!" Amalie sucked in a breath and jerked her fingers away from between Jenny's teeth. "You little bitch!" She slapped Jenny hard across the cheek. Jenny's head snapped back, and she spit out the pill. It disappeared into the wrinkled sheet.

Amalie groped for the pill, thought better of it, and put distance between herself and Jenny. "It doesn't matter," she said, examining her hand. Teeth marks were clearly visible, but Jenny had not drawn blood. "There are more." Amalie patted down her hair and straightened the neckline of her gown. "We are not done. Do not think for a moment that we are."

Save for Jenny's blank stare, there was no response.

* * *

Christian took the embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and held it up as though studying it. He parted his fingers and allowed it to slip through. It snagged on the edge of the wrought iron rail and briefly fluttered in the breeze before it fell to the balcony floor. It was fitting that the delicately stitched J was still visible when the handkerchief landed. Christian stepped on it and ground it with the heel of his shoe. The satisfaction was too fleeting.

His attention returned to Susan Turner. He watched her loosen the ribbon securing her bonnet and then tie it again. It was her acknowledgment that she had seen him drop the handkerchief. She bent down, said something to Beth, and then took her daughter in hand. They turned the corner and walked into the bank.

It seemed an eternity before he saw her again. Much of that time he spent reminding himself to breathe. So many minutes passed that he feared she hadn't been able to convince anyone of the necessity of personally seeing William Bennington. The bank president certainly would not have appreciated the interruption. He was sitting at his desk, a stack of ledgers before him, concentrating, Christian imagined, on hiding the evidence of the loans he had made to himself. It was the simplest method of stealing from the bank. The false loans were written off as bad investments. William's trail was covered in black ink tracks among accounts payable and accounts receivable. He took the loan money directly, removing it from the bank in the manner Jenny had suggested—between the pages of the daily paper.

Once again, the breath Christian hardly realized he was holding was released softly when he saw Susan take a chair in front of the senior Bennington's desk. William had stood briefly upon her entry and now he sat, sliding the ledgers to one side. Stephen, standing near the open safe, remained there. As near as Christian could tell, Stephen seemed untroubled by the interruption. His pose remained casual.

Christian silently ticked off the instructions he had given to Susan. Hold the hatbox in your lap. Make certain the ribbon is over the pinhole. Don't dislodge the paper. Talk to William about a loan as if there was nothing else to occupy your thoughts. Complain to him about the error in your account. Remind him how long you've been a customer and how the small investor values Hancock Trust. Be sincere. Be earnest. When you hear Beth crying for you from the lobby, stop talking. You are anxious now, unsettled. Uncover the pinhole with your fidgeting fingers. Stand up. Place the hatbox on the table beside your chair. Leave the office quickly; make your apologies as you go. Pretend you don't hear them if they remind you to take the hatbox. Take Beth in hand... get out of the bank.

Christian permitted himself a small smile when he saw Susan and Beth emerge from the bank. Liam O'Shea was waiting on the corner to take Beth. The small girl wiped away her crocodile tears, smiled brightly for Liam, and placed her hand in his. They crossed the street together toward the hotel while Susan went in the opposite direction, marking time as she walked.

The sun reflected brightly off the windows of William's office. Shielding his eyes against the glare was ineffective, so Christian left the balcony. He had to trust that Stephen and William would be forced to move quickly. The guards at the back of the bank would be waiting for their orders. Gold and silver bullion needed to exchange hands, but William and Stephen would take their money in federal treasury notes that could be invested later.

Christian glanced at his pocket watch. Four more minutes before Susan had to return for the hatbox. Was it enough time for William and Stephen to incriminate themselves? Christian stepped into the sitting room. Mrs. Brandywine had moved away from the window where she had been watching, and was waiting by the door for Liam and Beth to return.

Events were proceeding smoothly, he thought, yet he could find no cause for rejoicing. It was still too early to be sure of success. And then there was Jenny. Victory would have a bitter taste if she wasn't here to share it.

* * *

"It was only a matter of time," Amalie said to Maggie. She pointed to Jenny, who was sleeping now, the shadows beneath her eyes proof of her exhaustion. "She couldn't fight the opium forever."

Maggie hesitated at the entrance to her own room. She had not been allowed in it for nearly a week. She hadn't wanted to know why, and she still didn't. Maggie doubted that anything good would come out of being involved in one of Amalie's schemes, and if she could have refused her employer and still found work in a good house, Maggie would have said no. Having no real choice, she found herself being pulled into the room and drawn closer to the bed.

"Why, it's her... that girl... the one who was here New Year's Eve," she said a shade breathlessly. "Do you mean to say that she's the reason I've been shut out? I don't think that's fair. She's attractive, I suppose, but to go to this trouble to have her be one of us? It seems excessive when there are girls quite willing. That's why she's here, isn't it? To work?"

"Of course it's why," Amalie said. "Marshall enjoyed her. Why wouldn't someone else? She's just a thief from the Five Points, Maggie. No one is missing her."

Maggie was thoughtful as she began to sort through the odd bits of information that had come her way in spite of not asking for any of it. "Stephen Bennington wants her, doesn't he? That's why he's been here so often lately. He was watching that night when she was with Christian, and now he's decided that he wants her."

"Clever girl," said Amalie, preferring to let Maggie believe whatever she liked. "Now, will you help me take her to the cellar?"

"Take her to the..." Maggie stopped as Jenny turned in her sleep and she saw the iron manacle. "Amalie! Why is she chained? Surely that's not—"

Amalie's tone sharpened. "I can find someone else. I thought—this being your room and all—that you'd be happy to get it back. Are you going to help me or not?" Amalie sat down on the edge of the bed, withdrew a skeleton key from between her breasts, and unlocked the shackle.

Maggie remained uneasy. Her eyes darted around the room. Other than the chained balcony doors, she could see nothing that had been changed. "Wouldn't it be easier to wait until Mr. Todd returns from Baltimore? Surely he doesn't plan to be gone much longer. He could move her easily."

"I want her moved now. I wouldn't have asked otherwise. We'll take her by the back stairs. And, Maggie, this is between you and me. No one—
no one
—else is to know."

Maggie found swallowing difficult. She raised one slender hand to her throat as if that would erase the lump. It did not help what with Amalie's eyes boring into her. Whatever arrangement Amalie had made with Stephen Bennington regarding this girl, Amalie was taking her part very seriously. Maggie wondered now about all the questions she had been told to ask Stephen about his stepsister. She glanced at the young woman on the bed again. Was it possible that... No, she thought. She didn't want to know. "All right," she said. "I'll help you. We can make a hammock of sorts with one of the sheets and carry her that way. I suppose we can manage."

In the twenty minutes it took to transport Jenny, she never stirred. The fruit cellar was dark, so dark that Maggie never saw the raised mound of dirt marking John Todd's final resting place. Jenny found it later when she woke and began searching for a way out of her damp, airless prison. She felt the freshly turned dirt with her hands, judged the length and breadth of the mound with her extended arms, and understood what she had stumbled upon. She removed herself to one corner of the room then and folded her arms protectively in front of her and pressed her nails deeply into her flesh. The pain was good. It grounded her and kept hope alive. Christian would find her. She closed her eyes and held onto that single thought. He would find her.