Her Defiant Heart (58 page)

* * *

Liam O'Shea delivered Beth to the suite and waited with Mrs. Brandywine at the window, watching for Susan. He stroked his mustache with his fingertips. "You should have let me contact other coppers," he told Christian. "We could arrest Stephen the moment he walks out of the bank."

Christian was hunkered in front of Beth, telling her what a fine actress she turned out to be. With very little in the way of rehearsal, she had still managed to play her part to perfection, crying on cue to give her mother an excuse to leave William's office. He turned his head to one side and addressed Liam over his shoulder. "We won't know until we have Susan's photograph whether or not any money was taken. And if it was?" His brows lifted a notch. "We can't be certain it isn't ransom. That money could lead us to Jenny. I won't have anyone stand in the way of that."

O'Shea pointed out the window and drew Mrs. Brandywine's attention. "Here's Susan. She's carrying the hatbox." He checked his pocket watch while Mrs. B's eyes darted to the pendulum clock. "I make the exposure time to be eight minutes. Is it enough?"

"It will have to be," Christian said.

O'Shea's nervous pacing was finally interrupted by Susan's entry. "I've got it," she said breathlessly, holding up the hatbox. "I think I just missed interrupting them when I barged back in to retrieve this. Everything was neat and tidy, but I'm almost sure that wasn't the case moments before." Her excitement caused her words to trip over one another.

After prying Susan's fingers from their tight grip on the hatbox band, Christian took if from her. "I'll develop the photograph," he said, gently removing Beth from his leg and pushing her toward her mother. "Keep an eye on the bank, Mrs. Brandywine. I assume Mr. Reilly and Joe Means are still in the lobby prepared to follow if either of the Benningtons leave."

"At the ready," Susan said. "I passed them in the lobby on my way up here."

"Good." He turned on his heel and disappeared into Jenny's makeshift studio and darkroom.

Susan took off her coat and hung it up. "I'm glad that's over," she said, taking a seat and lifting Beth onto her lap. "I wish Christian had asked the entire police force to be with us. I'm so afraid we're not going to corner the Benningtons. And Jenny..." She held her daughter closer.

"I said much the same thing before you came in. Mr. Marshall thinks that if Stephen has money it could be ransom. He doesn't want to jeopardize a chance to find Miss Holland."

"It can't be ransom," Susan said. "We know that neither Stephen nor William have not been contacted. William's been nowhere except the bank and home this past week. And Stephen's only been to Amalie's."

"And Madame Restell's," Liam said offhandedly, "but we're not going to find Miss Holland there now, are we?"

"What did you say?" Susan asked, frowning. The hand that was stroking Beth's hair fell still.

"I said we're not going to find Miss Holland at Madame Restell's."

"But Stephen was there?"

Liam nodded. "At her office. Yesterday morning it was."

"This is the first I've heard of it." Susan felt her stomach turn over as her thoughts began to race ahead. "Does Christian know?"

Liam shook his head. His brow furrowed at Susan's urgency.

"Why didn't you say something before now?" she asked.

"Is it important?" Liam looked at Mrs. Brandywine for some clue as to the cause of Susan's pale face. "It doesn't mean anything surely. Stephen's been a caller at Amalie's for a long time now. His visit to Restell's is a natural progression of things. Amalie doesn't like her girls carrying anything they shouldn't, if you take my meaning."

"I take your meaning," Susan said. "And it strikes me as odd that Amalie would send Stephen to take care of one of her girls. Wouldn't that be the girl's responsibility?"

Liam nodded slowly as he followed Susan's thinking. "Sure, and you don't really believe..."

"Jenny's carrying Christian's child."

It was Mrs. Brandywine's gasp that punctuated Susan's words. "Oh, no. You don't mean..."

Liam nodded slowly, his eyes bleak. "Sure, and it makes sense when you paint the picture for me. How would one of Amalie's girls know who fathered her child? Stephen wouldn't be going to see Madame Restell for a prostitute."

"Oh, Lord help us," Mrs. Brandywine said softly. "We have to tell Christian. It could mean our Jenny's being held at Amalie's." She looked nervously at the closed door to the darkroom.

Liam glanced at the clock. "We can't go in there now. What if we're wrong? We'll ruin the photograph, won't we?"

Indecisiveness wasn't Susan's strong suit. She moved Beth off her lap and stood. "Mrs. Brandywine? Will you watch Beth? I'm going to the hospital to get Scott. If we're right, then Jenny is going to need a doctor. We may already be too late to save her baby." She wouldn't permit herself to think that they might be too late to save Jenny.

"Wait a minute," Liam objected. "Shouldn't you ask Mr. Marshall?"

"Just tell him.
Everything.
Tell him through the door if you have to. He won't thank you for waiting. I'll bring Scott here first. If you and Christian have left by then, I will assume you've gone to Amalie's. Scott and I can find the parlor house." Susan turned a deaf ear to other objections. She gave Beth a quick kiss goodbye and hurried out of the room. Less than a minute later Mrs. Brandywine spied Susan hailing a hack on Broadway.

In the darkroom, an image was beginning to form on the photographic paper. Christian was thorough and deliberate in processing the paper. There would be no second chance and therefore there was no margin for error. The focus of attention was solely on the task before him. In the filtered yellow light of the darkroom the planes and angles of his face were sharply drawn.

He developed the paper in a bath of ferrous sulfate and began to feel more hopeful as an image appeared as though coming out of a fog. When he believed what he was looking at was as clear and sharp as it was ever likely to become, Christian quickly made it permanent by placing it in the fixing solution of potassium cyanide. Afterward, he washed the chemical off in a bath of water. Christian hung the finished photograph on a line with a clip and waited for it to dry.

Ten minutes later he walked out of the darkroom with the photograph. There was no smile, but the light in his eyes was brilliant with triumph.

"Mrs. Brandywine. Liam. Look at it and be critical." He laid it down on the oval walnut table near the window. "What do you see?"

Curious, young Beth sidled over to the table and stood on tiptoes to have a look as well. "Miss Holland," she said.

Christian saw she was pointing to the portrait behind William's desk. It had been photographed with remarkable clarity. "Yes," he said softly. "That's Miss Holland."

"There's no doubt that it's William Bennington at the desk," Mrs. B. said. "Stephen's not quite as clear. He looks like a ghost."

"That's because he was moving back and forth between the desk and the safe," explained Christian. "As a result, his image appears in two places and in neither place is it as clear as his father's. William, on the other hand, was relatively stationary."

"Those are treasury notes on his desk," Liam said. "No question. But I don't know if it's enough for a conviction."

"Perhaps not," Christian said. "But it just might be sufficient for a confession." He glanced around the room. "Where's Susan? I want her to see this." Silence greeted him. He watched the other exchange looks. "What's happened? What aren't you telling me?"

It was Liam who answered. He swallowed hard and recounted his conversation with Susan.

Christian's listened, his gaze alternating between Liam and this view of the bank. At the mention of Madame Restell's name, he plowed his fingers through his hair. He understood the implication before Liam told him the whole of it. He thrust out his hand, cutting the copper off as he saw Stephen Bennington entering the street from the direction of the alley behind the bank. Stephen was crossing in front of his father's office and heading toward Broadway. Under his arm was a folded newspaper.

Christian spoke and acted quickly. "I'm going after him. Mr. Reilly should already be moving to follow. Liam, take this photograph, Joe, and whoever else you need—a judge, a lawyer, another policeman—I don't care who it is, but get William Bennington to dig a hole for himself.
He
knows what this photograph means even if we can't be sure." Christian shrugged into a coat and checked that the Colt Dragoon he had concealed inside was still there. The .44 caliber revolver with its three and one half inch barrel was the aptly named Avenger. "Work the photograph to our advantage, O'Shea. Make him confess. Tell him the police are going to apprehend his son."

"But—"

"Lie,
O'Shea. Do whatever it takes." Christian opened the door to the suite and partially stepped into the hallway. "Send Scott on to Amalie's, and tell him to arm himself. I need a soldier first, a doctor second."

Christian's limp didn't impede his progress down the stairs or crossing the St. Mark's lobby. He passed Joe Means and told him to go to the suite and follow O'Shea's directions. From Joe he learned that Mr. Reilly had left the hotel as soon as he saw Stephen on the street.

By the time Christian reached the thoroughfare, there was no sign of the butler or Bennington. Trusting his instincts now, Christian hailed a cab and gave the driver Amalie Chatham's address. He sat back in the scarred leather seat. One hand absently massaged his wounded leg. The other was thrust into his coat pocket and curled around the engraved ivory butt of his short-barreled Dragoon.

* * *

William Bennington leaned forward in his chair. His elbows rested on the edge of the polished mahogany desk. His head rested heavily in his hands. He stared at the photograph that Liam O'Shea had placed in front of him. He wondered if he could destroy the picture before the copper stopped him. He'd been wrong to put his money in the pockets of an Irish copper. Of course, O'Shea would work both sides of the street, loyal to the man who paid him the most. That man seemed to be Christian Marshall. William sighed. Anger was out of place at this juncture, a waste of energy. He was tired, very tired.

"What is it you want?" he asked, looking up. His eyes met Liam's first, then moved on. He felt the accusing gazes of Mr. Charles Vorhees, and Mr. Henryk Vandermeer, both directors of Hancock Trust and old friends of Charles Van Dyke. Behind them, at the door leading to the bank lobby, stood two coppers from Liam's precinct. Standing beside the safe was a small, wiry man William did not know, but who had the smell of horses about him. The man's gnarled hands were fisted at his sides.

"Your resignation will suffice for now," Mr. Vandermeer said. He leaned forward ever so slightly and stayed there as if restrained by some invisible hand.

"It seems that I am to be convicted without a trial," William said. "Is that the way it's to be then?"

"You would prefer a trial?" asked Vorhees. His heavy jowls sagged over the stiff collar of his shirt. "Is that what you really want, Bennington, to bury the bank? Because that's what will happen, although I suspect the investors will lynch you before the matter is taken up in court. O'Shea tells us Christian Marshall opened this investigation. That means the
Chronicle,
and that means a very public hearing."

William Bennington closed his eyes briefly. The tension at the back of his neck was unbearable, and a steady, pounding pressure was building behind his eyes. "It was Stephen," he said finally, resigned. It did not seem as if it was the worst thing he had ever done. He was weary of the pressures that had been his burden of late. "It's been Stephen's idea from the very beginning. I did it for my son." He thought of Caroline's portrait hanging behind him. It was easy to imagine that her faintly secretive smile had widened. She had won after all.

* * *

Christian met up with Reilly outside Amalie's. They stood on the sidewalk beyond the hedgerow. No one in the parlor house could see them. "Is Stephen already in there?"

Reilly nodded. "He came straight from the bank, no stopping. He was still carrying the newspaper."

"There is a fortune inside it."

"The photograph showed it then?"

"Yes."

"Are we going to confront him?"

"I am. It would be better if you waited here."

"But—"

"I'm almost certain Jenny's in there, Reilly. The embroidered handkerchief? That probably belonged to John Todd. He's Amalie's peacekeeper, her partner. Not a man to cross without a weapon."

"You have one?"

Christian showed Reilly the Colt. Instead of replacing it in his pocket, he tucked the barrel in the waistband of his trousers. "Susan went after Scott, and he'll be coming here. There is a chance that Jenny's been given something that... she might have already lost the baby."

Reilly paled. "Are you certain you don't want me with you?"

"Certain. I know the layout of the house, so I have an idea where to begin looking. It's relatively early for most of the girls. Many of them will be in their beds. They're the least of my worries."

As Christian turned away to begin his route to the back of the house, Mr. Reilly touched his sleeve. "Good luck, sir."