From This Moment (7 page)

Freddie shook his head. “Not that I could see. I rowed alongside her and turned her over to be sure she was dead, but I didn’t do more than a quick look-see. Her skin was ice-cold and not a drop of color on her face. I rowed ashore and summoned the coppers.”

Stella pulled the shawl tight against the chill as she scrutinized the area. The bridge was made of rock, which held heat and took longer to ice over than a wooden bridge would. There were no boulders or other obstructions in the river that Gwendolyn would have hit her head on. Stella analyzed every detail and committed it to memory before saying a silent prayer for Gwendolyn.

“Okay, let’s go back,” she said softly.

She and Romulus were both cold and hungry by the time they reached the shore. They had to hurry to catch the last streetcar heading back into town, but as soon as they arrived in Stella’s neighborhood, Romulus guided them to an Irish pub he swore had the best corned beef and cabbage this side of the Atlantic. She didn’t care for cabbage, but she’d gladly eat weeds if it made Romulus happy, for she was about to ask him for another big favor.

She needed his help getting into the medical examiner’s office. Based on what she’d learned from Freddie, she was even more convinced that Gwendolyn did not drown. She needed to see the autopsy report, but the medical examiner’s office refused to release it to anyone but the police, citing departmental protocol. All she’d been able to see of the postmortem documentation was a terse summary in the official police report, but she wouldn’t be satisfied until she saw and read the original document itself. She also wanted to question Dr. Lentz, and Romulus could help her cut the Gordian knot and get straight through to him.

Inside the pub, the air was thick with the scent of pipe tobacco and yeasty beer. A fiddler played a rousing tune near the back of the pub, prompting Stella to take a seat as close to the front as possible. She didn’t want to shout to be heard.

It wasn’t the type of place she normally dined, but the sheer normalcy of the pub was comforting. People laughing, the clinking of glasses, the thump of footsteps banging in time to the music. Perhaps there was truth to the adage that one couldn’t appreciate the wonder of the ordinary until it had been snatched away.

And this pub was wonderful. Not because the décor was exceptional or the music anything beyond commonplace—it was wonderful because
life
was wonderful, and she had full view of it here from this scarred and pitted bench. It was in
these ordinary hours she could appreciate the hearty laughter of men relaxing after a day’s labor, the blessing of familiar food, company, and music. It was in ordinary places that the human spirit was unshackled and free to enjoy the gift of life, transcendent in a way that was almost holy.

Romulus had gone to the counter to order food for them and returned with two tall steins of cider.

“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was until downing half the mug.

“Perhaps you can thank me by making a few lithographs for the next issue of
Scientific World
,” Romulus said. “You can have your choice of topics, and I have a new rotary lithographic press that will tempt the birds from the sky.”

She smiled in reluctant admiration, for Romulus was nothing if not persistent. “I’m sorry. I can’t concentrate on anything until I find out what happened to my sister.” She felt churlish refusing his request, but there was no point in quibbling. On this topic, Romulus had always been relentless, and she knew he would pounce on any opening unless she slammed it firmly closed.

“I would appreciate it if you continued calling me by the name of West,” she said. “If anyone at City Hall knew my name was Westergaard, it would raise all kinds of questions I don’t want to answer. I need to remain as inconspicuous as possible.”

He glanced at her plain wool frock. “I confess that you seemed quite different from what I predicted for an artist. Are the plain clothes part of your attempt to blend in with the staff at City Hall?”

If he could see the clothes she usually wore, it would be quite obvious why she could not wear them to a clerical position. Even among London’s avant-garde set, she was always a little forward when it came to dress.

“Yes. When I went shopping for clothes, I gravitated toward
anything that looked like my grandmother might have worn while digging up potatoes.”

She took another sip of cider, trying to think of a delicate way to wrangle a meeting with the medical examiner, but then Romulus fired a question she hadn’t seen coming.

“How long have you been afraid of water?” he asked.

She set down her mug. “Was it that obvious?” She’d thought she’d been flawless, masking her anxiety with a string of questions to Freddie about his work.

“To anyone with eyes in his head.” The way Romulus lounged in the hard-backed chair was outlandishly attractive. With his long legs stretched forth and a hand casually twirling his mug on the table, he gave the illusion of a man at leisure, but Stella knew it was only an illusion. His languid pose masked a fierce curiosity on his face, and it was oddly appealing. She liked a man whose eye for detail was as sharp as her own.

Which was a problem. She couldn’t afford to let this man’s magnetic attraction lure her away from her goal.

“I’ve always been afraid of water,” she confessed. “One of my earliest memories is standing beside the lake near our house. I was six years old, and Gwendolyn was only four. My mother put us in little sleeveless tunics so we could learn how to swim. My father stood in the lake and tried to coax us in. He told us what fun it would be, how he’d teach us to float like ducks.” She smiled, remembering the squawking duck noises he’d made to encourage her.

“Gwendolyn couldn’t wait, diving in and splashing around like an otter, but I held back. I remember crying so much that my mother gave up and walked me back home. I never did learn how to swim. I’ve avoided water all my life.”

Romulus had been wolfing down his corned beef and cabbage while she spoke. How could men clean their plates so quickly?
She’d barely taken three bites, and even though she’d been hungry ten minutes ago, she had entirely lost her appetite now.

“Here. You finish this,” she said, and he gladly pulled the plate toward him.

“What I find curious,” he said as he cut into a juicy slice of corned beef, “is that the first set of lithographs I ever saw of yours was about sea life, with manta rays and conger eels. I specifically remember the delicacy of the way you illustrated the tentacles of the sea anemones. I could almost sense them wafting in the ocean currents. So I am astonished you have such insight into those creatures without firsthand experience.”

“Oh, I had firsthand experience,” she said grimly. Literally. She had held the sea anemone in her hand and seen dozens of marine specimens preserved in formaldehyde at a marine research institute in Portsmouth. The specimens had been floating in tanks, and she had walked among them to scrutinize everything at eye level. Walking down the aisle of tanks caused a suffocating, strangling sense of panic as she studied the long-dead sea creatures trapped in a tank with no oxygen, submerged in water. The logical piece of her brain told her the massive tanks of liquid were no danger to her, but some raw, primitive fear was stoked to life and impossible to ignore.

But not impossible to overcome. Under the guidance of the marine biologist on duty, she had reached into a tank to lift out a starfish and feel the musculature just beneath its grainy skin. She studied all the other specimens she’d be drawing with equal care, as she had accepted a lucrative commission from the marine society and wouldn’t let irrational fears drive her away. She’d learned long ago that courage was not the absence of fear, but the willingness to confront it.

“I took the commission as a way to face my fear,” she told Romulus. “By signing the contract, I obligated myself to the
task, and there was no going back on my word. I hated every second of it, but I got the job done.”

“I wish I could have been there to see it.”

“Then you’re insane. The specimen room stank, it was a literal icebox, and it was full of dead creatures suspended in their perpetual graves.”

“I don’t care about the specimens. I wish I could have seen
you
. Even now, the expression on your face is like Boudicca facing down the Romans. I would have loved to have been there.”

She managed a smile, but the challenge of the marine aquarium was paltry compared with other things she had endured. She had buried her sister. She had held her father while he sobbed so hard she feared he couldn’t keep breathing. Reviewing her sister’s postmortem report was merely another task that had to be done. It was time to ask for the favor she needed.

“Thank you for going with me tonight,” she began. “Rowing out to the spot where Gwendolyn died was terrible for me, but I could have done it on my own. What I really need from you is access to Dr. Lentz.”

Romulus stiffened. She supposed she could have been more diplomatic, but they’d gotten along so well she’d assumed she could be frank.

“And what do you hope to gain by such a meeting?” His tone was ten degrees cooler than it had been a moment ago.

“I intend to rip away the veil of secrecy and expose the incompetence that has been clouding the investigation into my sister’s death.”

“Ah,” he said delicately as he set down his fork and pushed the plate away a few inches. “Sadly, I value my association with Dr. Lentz, a man whose professional credentials, character, and friendship I hold in high regard.” He dried his fingers on a napkin, wiped his mouth, and stood. “Good evening, Miss West.”

“Wait!” Her only link to the medical examiner’s office was slipping from her grasp, and she needed to salvage it. “You can’t leave. I need—”

“But I don’t.” He tossed a few coins on the table. “Your boardinghouse is two blocks south, I trust you can find your way.”

His smile was pleasant, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She stood in mute bewilderment as he turned his back and walked out the door.

Well! If there was one thing Stella was inexperienced with, it was men turning their backs on her. Perhaps it was arrogant, but she was well aware of the effect she had on the opposite sex. She alarmed timid men, but dazzled the confident ones.

It seemed Romulus White was defying her expectations.

4

O
ne of the reasons Romulus liked living at the Jamison Hotel was the fine restaurant on the first floor. He had no time for or interest in maintaining a proper household of his own. The hotel had everything he needed. It was two blocks from his work, plus it had a restaurant, laundry, and a clothes-pressing service. What more did a man need?

This morning, all he needed was Otto Stallworth’s signature on a one-year contract for full-page advertisements in
Scientific World
, but Stallworth was reluctant to commit.

“I’ve already bought advertisements in your rag for the next three months,” Otto growled as he cut into his omelet in the Jamison Hotel’s restaurant. “That will carry us through planting season. No need to advertise fertilizer once the fields are planted.”

Romulus didn’t particularly enjoy hearing the proudest accomplishment of his life called a
rag
, but he couldn’t afford to alienate a major advertiser. “Planting season will be over in America, but not in Brazil or Australia,” Romulus said. “Our
magazine is distributed all over the world. Do you know how many farms are in Russia alone?”

Romulus could tell by his furrowed brow that Otto was considering his options. Finally, he set down his fork. “I’ll sign a contract for a year of advertisements, but I want a discount.”

“How much of a discount?”

“Seventy-five percent.”

Romulus took a sip of coffee to hide his appalled look. He wanted a long-term contract with Stallworth’s company, but he wasn’t going to undermine his entire pricing structure to lock in a single contract.

“A thirty-percent discount is the best I can do,” he said. “It is a steal, actually. I can hear my managing editor howling in agony as we speak.” Which was true. Evelyn controlled the budget because he was a shameless spendthrift and her frugal mind was needed to keep the magazine afloat. It was his job to attract advertisers and negotiate contracts, and Evelyn’s job to decide how the revenue was spent.

He continued to idly twirl his cup of coffee—anything to avoid looking at Otto Stallworth’s flushed face. Talking business inevitably got Otto’s temper up, and engaging in a staring contest would only make matters worse. Besides, he had Otto over a barrel. There was no other magazine to rival
Scientific World
in terms of prestige, circulation, and influence.

Otto’s voice was gruff when he finally spoke. “Thirty-percent discount, paid in installments, and I want one of your designers to come up with the advertisements. I want a fancy ad, like that series I saw for Bell Telephones.”

“Deal.” Romulus rose and shook hands on the agreement. He actually preferred control over the advertising designs, for he wanted no cheap artwork littering his magazine.