All in Good Time (33 page)

The scent of smoke on the breeze wrapped itself around Henry’s leaden heart, tugging it further into the pit of his stomach. What if Pierson House was burning? What if Dessa was in the midst of all the trouble?

“Let me off here,” Henry shouted, pounding on the roof of the carriage with his fist. He’d left behind his walking stick. Traffic was so thick his carriage crawled far more slowly than the pace of his heart. With a hand on the door latch, he spoke to Tobias. “Tell
Fallo to take you to the nearest precinct. If the police aren’t already on their way, demand that they come—and bring help.”

“Right,” Tobias said, but just as Henry was about to jump free of the slowing carriage, he grabbed Henry’s wrist. “Careful as you go, Henry.”

He nodded, but only once. Then he ran toward the ruckus.

“That you? Miss Caldwell, that you?”

Dessa wiped away her tears at the sound of Nadette’s voice from the other side of the wooden slat. “Yes! Are you in there? Are you with the girls?”

“Come around to the door, Miss Caldwell.” Though her voice was not loud, it mirrored Dessa’s urgency.

“I tried. It’s stuck solid.”

“That’s ’cause we got it barred on the inside. Mr. Dunne fixed it up fine. You come round and I’ll let you in.”

Dessa trampled grass and weeds around the carriage house to get back to the front door in time for Nadette to open it barely wide enough to let her slip inside.

“Oh, Nadette!” Dessa hugged her close after the girl had barred the door again. “Where are Liling and Mei Mei?”

Nadette pulled herself away, waving for Dessa to follow. Dessa looked around. The carriage house was empty, looking as it always did—dilapidated and deserted. The only difference was that the blanket at the foot of the cot was missing.

In the center of the square structure, Nadette stopped. She reached down to the dirt-ridden floor and pulled on something. To Dessa’s surprise a hatch appeared, opening to a cellar below.

“Watch that first rung on the ladder, miss,” Nadette warned. “It’s broke.”

Dessa peered below, where the meager light of a single candle
illuminated not much more than its immediate surroundings. Then a rounded shadow appeared at the foot of the ladder.

Mr. Dunne held out an arm, as if to assist her in her descent.

“Hurry on down, Miss Caldwell!” Nadette whispered. “Who knows what them men out there are gonna do next. At least some of them still want Liling and Mei Mei.”

Dessa grabbed Nadette’s arms, hope bursting through her gloom. “They’ll never find them here!”

She made her way through the narrow opening, down a ladder that felt anything but secure.

At the bottom Mr. Dunne was fairly shoved aside as Jane rushed for Dessa with a cry and hug. Over the girl’s shoulder Dessa saw Liling and Mei Mei clinging to one another in the far outreach of the candle’s dim glow.

None of Henry’s shouts were heeded. Men grappled with each other as if in a bizarre dance, choreographed for a blood-lusting audience. Henry kept to the edge, not eager to get involved on either side—unless he found Dessa and she needed his protection.

But she was nowhere to be seen, not even among the line of women with linked arms who stood in front of Pierson House. The only face he recognized was Remee’s. Much as he wanted to know where Dessa was, he was glad neither she nor Jane was out here with all these anger-crazed men.

The brawlers were precariously close to the women, so making his way through without receiving—or swinging—a punch was nearly impossible. Even those women in the line were involved in their own way, kicking away wrestling pairs with the heels of their shoes if any came too close. Over the fighters went, too caught up with the men they fought to pay heed to the women toppling them.

“Remee!”

It took three calls and a half-dozen more steps through the throng before Henry caught her attention. She said something, but he couldn’t make out what.

“Where’s Dessa?”

She shook her head, but whether she didn’t know or hadn’t heard, Henry couldn’t tell. He squeezed closer.

“Dessa! I can’t find her. Where is she?”

“Not here!”

“What about Foster? Turk Foster?”

Without loosening her hold on either girl at her side, Remee pointed with her chin toward the mass of men. Henry turned in time to receive a blow to his nose that sent him reeling backward. He fell against Remee and the woman next to her, who pushed him back without breaking their line. They were like the rope around a boxing ring, and he was in the melee whether he wanted to be or not.

Henry rammed through, ducking another punch, thrusting away a man with a precarious foothold as the fighter leaned back to swing in the other direction. The street was still wet from an afternoon rain; men in every direction were covered in a mix of dirt, mud, sweat, and blood.

From what Henry could see, Foster was also trying to stop the fight. Henry made his way closer while doing the same thing: grabbing lapels, shouting for the brawlers to quit, thrusting some outside the circle of rage. Henry thought he heard Foster warning about the police or the fire coming closer. Smoke continued to mingle with the nearly overwhelming scents around them, but Henry could see it was fruitless to try stopping the fight without a brigade of whistling cops behind them.

“It’s no use!” Henry shouted in Foster’s direction, but the man didn’t see him. He yelled again, with no better result. Stumbling
over a fallen man, Henry nearly collided with Foster—who grabbed him by the lapels and might have thrown him aside if he hadn’t seen Henry’s face.

“You! What are you doing here?”

Henry gasped for air. “Dessa! Where is she?”

Foster cocked his head toward Pierson House. “In there!”

“Let’s get out of here, Foster,” he shouted. “There’s nothing to be done about the mob.”

Another man blasted into them both, propelled by a punch. Henry heaved him off, forcing his way through the enraged cluster of men. Why hadn’t he thought to check inside first? Surely the impenetrable line the women made out front would have broken for him.

When they were barely to the edge of the crowd, a flashing light gliding through the air caught Henry’s attention. He stopped, arrested in horrified fascination. The arc of a torch twirled past the line of women, sweeping harmlessly over their heads—only to crash straight through the Pierson House parlor window.

The curtains—ones he was sure Dessa had sewn—went up in a quick burst of flames.

“Dessa!”

Incensed with rage and terror, Henry shoved through the tangle of men, landing a fist on anyone standing in his way. “She’s in there!”

Those were the first words—or perhaps it was the stark dread on his face—that anyone paid heed to. Or perhaps it was the age-old fascination with fire. One by one, the fights around him stopped as men turned to watch the flames lick the inside walls of Pierson House.

The immovable line of women set on protecting it parted when Henry finished his scramble forward—but even as quick as he was to get there, he knew the front door was already impassable.
He shot back down the porch, darting around the side and up the steps to the back door. Once inside the kitchen, he could already see flames outlined around the swinging door.

“Dessa!
Dessa!
”

Snatching a towel from the sink, he covered his face and plunged through the door.

Dessa sat on an upturned bushel basket with one arm around Jane, the other around both sisters, who pressed into her and each other. She’d seen the fright on their faces and knew only one way to attack such overwhelming emotion.

Even as the hymns she sang rose as prayers, Dessa’s heart sped through a labyrinth of her own emotion. Besides the fear, the guilt, the regret, new resolve took hold with a grip so tight she knew this night—the result of her actions—was something she would never, ever forget. Every decision she’d made in haste had led to one disaster or another.

True, she couldn’t imagine refusing to shelter the innocent girls she looked over now. But why had she taken this on all by herself? Because she hadn’t thought it through or shared her concerns with others. Perhaps the authorities wouldn’t have done anything. But the church? Surely Reverend Sempkins would have offered help, if she hadn’t so hastily agreed to carry this burden on her own. And Henry—he’d been willing to help. If only she’d gone to him sooner.

Never again would she act without thinking first.

She was just leading a third soft hymn as, at last, she took a moment to look around at their surroundings.

It was—or was meant to be—a cold cellar. Even now, it was somewhat chillier down here than above. Shelves lined the dirt walls, which were haphazardly covered with wood and painted
with tar in hopes of keeping at bay whatever critters might wish to take up residence among the fruits, vegetables, and preserves that had likely been stored here.

Now most of the shelves were empty—but for several jugs of what she guessed must be whiskey.

Her gaze fell upon Mr. Dunne, who gave her an abashed smile. Then he raised the volume of his voice to join in the chorus of “I’m Redeemed.”

     
“I’m redeemed, praise the Lord!

     
I’m redeemed by the blood of the Lamb;

     
I am saved from all sin,

     
And I’m walking in the light.

     
I’m redeemed by the blood of the Lamb.”

“I’m gonna go up and take another peek outside,” Nadette said when they finished the song.

Dessa reached out a hand to caution her. “Are you sure you ought to, Nadette? That mob out there is dangerous!”

“I won’t go farther than to crack open the door up there. Just for a peek.”

Dessa was about to warn her again to wait, but Mr. Dunne spoke first.

“No, little miss, you leave it to me.” He stood, though the ceiling barely accommodated him; then he burped. Though he’d sat mainly still on the old bench opposite them, Dessa wondered if he’d been drinking again.

“Are you sure you’re up to it, Mr. Dunne?” she asked.

“That I am.” He made for the ladder, but Nadette stepped in between, arms folded obstinately over her narrow chest.

“Yer breath alone will torch the place if we let ya go up!”

“Stand aside, little miss,” said Mr. Dunne, attempting to
circumvent the very small obstacle she’d made of herself with a light brush to her shoulder. “’Tis neither the time nor the place to discuss me grooming habits.”

But when the man teetered as he grabbed for the ladder, Dessa stood too.

“Perhaps you should let Nadette take that peek, Mr. Dunne. Your job is to protect the girls. If you go up and are spotted, you may fail in that duty.”

“Now, now, miss, I’ll be careful, that I will.”

He reached again for the ladder, but it seemed to be a moving target. His hand missed the rail and he nearly fell into it.

Nadette scooted in front of him, squeezing onto the rungs. “Not as careful as I’ll be. Stay put.”

He accepted the decision more easily than Dessa expected, reclaiming his seat.

The door at the top must have opened easily for Nadette, sending in a new wave of air—one mingled with more smoke.