Jo Goodman (45 page)

Graham finished his drink. He wanted another, but he didn't ask for more. The whiskey was only making him drunk, not numb. "I'm told he gave a good performance. His lies were convincing. They couldn't imagine that he would dare to give them anything less than the truth. He exceeded their best hopes. Seth gave them Falconer."

"Did someone tell him to do that?"

"No. It just happened. It was part of Michele's hasty plan that Seth should name someone in her house as his contact on the Railroad, but she never said he should identify the man as Falconer. She told me later that it simply spilled out of him. She was as shocked to hear him say it as the men who were escorting him."

Decker was envisioning the search of Michele's second-floor bedrooms. There would have been outraged patrons and indignant whores, and a cacophony of sputtering, squealing, and swearing. He almost wished he could have witnessed it. "I take it you were fully occupied when they came to your room."

"Cathy," Graham said with a certain fondness. "She made it look that way." The whore straddled him just moments before the door opened. When the sheriff poked his head inside, she arched provocatively and never stopped the slow undulation of her hips. Seth was given only a moment to see the same sight, but he didn't mistake the look that crossed Graham's face for passion. Unlike the sheriff, Seth recognized it as pain.

"When he didn't identify me, they moved on. All hell finally broke loose when they came to Willet's room. Not only did Seth identify Matt and call him Falconer, but he was caught in bed with two of Michele's whores. Young,
black
whores."

Decker's brow furrowed momentarily; then his features cleared and his quirky half-smile showed his appreciation. "The women who had been hiding in the attic," he said.

Graham nodded. "That's right. Michele stripped them down, made them up, and put them in that drunken sonofabitch's room. I suspect the first he knew they were there was when the screaming started. By all accounts he was three sheets to the wind. The sheriff recognized Willet, of course, just the same as he recognized me, but with Seth saying Willet was Falconer, and there being two lovely blackbirds in his bed, something had to be done. They couldn't lay any charges at Michele. She produced papers showing she had purchased both girls at auction and they were legally hers. As for Seth being in her attic, she swore she didn't know how Willet had managed it, but she accused him, quite effectively as it turned out, of doing it all on his own. If there was an accomplice, then it was one of her whores, she told them, and good luck to them in discovering which one it was."

Decker had no difficulty imagining Michele's arrogant, self-righteous anger. She would have been perfectly believable, careful not to overplay her hand. He wondered if she had used a few of the Gallic expressions he had taught her. She seemed to have an affinity for French swear words, if no appreciation for the language. "So Willet was taken away."

"They didn't have much choice," Graham said. "It seemed odd to them that Willet would come to a whorehouse to bed those girls when he could have had any that he wanted on his own plantation. In their mind the behavior was so unusual that it lent credence to Seth's accusations."

"And Seth?"

"As far as I know he was returned to his owner in Georgia."

"The girls?"

"Still with Michele. I had arranged for Seth to use the Railroad by way of Michele's because of the girls. Michele would not release them until they had an escort north. They both came from the same slaver."

"Salamander
?" Decker asked.

"No. Another reptilian ship." He paused, thinking. "I believe Michele told me it was
Chameleon.
In any event, the girls don't speak any English. They couldn't have made it far without help, even with papers of manumission. When it became clear that I would have to leave Charleston myself, I considered bringing them. Michele talked me out of it."

Decker shook his head slowly. There was no mistaking the regret in Graham's voice. He was still thinking he could have done otherwise. "Thank God she did, and thank God you listened."

Graham ignored that. "Michele bought the girls with my money. There was no other purpose for the purchase except to free them. Michele was right to demand an escort for them; I just should have planned it better."

Decker didn't argue. The sickly pallor of Graham's face only seemed to underscore his determination. Decker's eyes dropped surreptitiously to his pocket watch again. It was his opinion that the doctor couldn't arrive too soon. "I'll arrange for the girls' transportation the next time I'm in Charleston. It won't be difficult at all, not if they have papers. They won't have to stay in the hold, and I already know they'll be welcome here."

"I confess I was hoping you'd make that offer. I was going to ask if your wife would be agreeable. I recall that you said she hires freeborn blacks. This situation is different, but the young women are free."

Decker almost smiled. Graham would enjoy hearing his story about Jonna's secret Underground station, but it could wait until Graham himself was a more appreciative audience. Right now he looked as if it was all he could do to hold himself in the chair. "Is that why you're here?" asked Decker. "To ask me if I'd help those girls?"

Graham's unyielding blue-gray eyes had lost a large measure of their sharpness. "I'm responsible for them," he said.

Decker waited. As an explanation, it did not go nearly far enough. It might account for Graham Denison's presence in his home, but not in Boston. There was some more pressing reason Graham had had for leaving Charleston.

Graham didn't respond to his friend's silence. He was patient in his own right. "Do you think that my room might be ready?" he asked.

The question moved Decker to his feet immediately. "I'm sure it is. Come, I'll take you there." It was less of a suggestion than a command, but Decker didn't apologize for it. He watched Graham's awkward rise from the chair and realized he had probably left it too late already. Graham's balance was unsteady at best, and the whiskey he'd taken hadn't helped. Decker held out his arm, but Graham ignored it.

"I'll be fine," he said. Then he dropped like a stone.

Falling to one knee beside Graham, Decker barked out to Jack. He wasn't at all surprised when the man responded quickly, or that Jonna was only a few steps behind him. He didn't think they were listening at the door, but they hadn't been far beyond it. "Jack, help me get Graham upstairs. Take his feet. I'll get under his shoulders. Jonna, what room—"

"My parents'," she said. "It's really the most comfortable."

Decker nodded. "Ready, Jack?" He did a three-count, and they lifted Graham between them. He had a long, lithe frame, but it was well muscled and unconsciousness made him a dead weight. Decker expected it. Jack staggered a bit. "Careful," Decker said. "Don't drop—"

Jonna's gasp cut him off. One hand immediately rose to cover her mouth, the other pointed to Graham. Where his jacket had fallen open a dark red blossom of blood was visible on his vest.

Jack looked over his shoulder to see what she was pointing at. "Damn if I knew that was the problem," he said under his breath.

Decker didn't comment though the injury startled him, too. "Let's take him up there now, Jack. Jonna, will you hold the door?"

She preceded them into the hallway and up the stairs. Once they had Graham in his room, she quickly turned down the bed and rang for help. She waited outside while Jack and Decker stripped Graham out of his clothes. When Rachael and Amanda arrived she kept them in the hall and passed to Rachael Graham's soiled clothes, then sent Amanda off for hot water, towels, and bandages. "And bring the doctor here as soon as he arrives," she called after them as they hurried away.

Jonna stepped inside the room again. Jack was standing at the foot of the bed, his hands behind his back as he surveyed the scene, while Decker was sitting in a chair he'd moved closer to Graham's side. Jonna went to Decker and laid one hand lightly on his shoulder. Graham lay very still, his breathing labored. Against his dark hair, his face was nearly bloodless. Even his lips were pale. There was a small flower of blood seeping through the sheet that covered him.

"Jack says his name is Graham Denison," Jonna said. She hesitated before she went on, unsure if she should breach the subject at all. "We have a contract with some Denisons in Charleston. Is he—"

"Yes," Decker said. "He's one of them."

"But Jack's never met him before tonight. We've been doing business with that family for years."

"Graham's grandfather is the one Jack knows. And there's a younger brother."

"How is it you know him?"

Decker didn't answer immediately. He glanced at Jack first, his eyes darting once toward the door. "Would you mind?"

Jack grinned at the less than subtle hint. "I'll be outside if you need me."

When they were alone, Decker looked up at Jonna. She had drawn in her lower lip and was worrying it gently. "I met him in Charleston at the home of Michele Moreau," he said. "She invites gentlemen to play cards there from time to time. Graham is a frequent guest."

"And you?"

"Just filling in at the table for someone else."

Jonna's hand fell away from his shoulder and folded in a loose fist at her side. "It's a brothel, isn't it? That's why you sent Jack out. You knew he'd recognize the name and give it away."

Decker started to explain, but the door opened and Jack poked his head through. "Dr. Hardy's here." Decker nodded in acknowledgment and stood. "We can talk about it later, Jonna."

"I don't think I want to." Her voice was barely audible.

He kissed her lightly on the mouth. Her lips were cool and dry, and she didn't respond. "Don't assume you know what it means," he told her. "Don't rush to judgment." He placed his palm against her cheek and lifted her chin slightly. She respected him enough to look at him and listen. Now, if only she would trust him. "And don't think the worst of me."

Jonna stared at him. It had been a very long time since she had thought the worst of him. Not that he would have any reason to believe it, she realized. She had never told him differently, and she had often acted in ways that fostered that impression. She wasn't at all certain what she thought about him frequenting a brothel. She had always known there were women in his life, even if she chose not to think about them.

Decker let his hand slide away from her face. She hadn't said a word, yet he believed he had captured her promise. He hoped so.

Hardy's entrance into the room separated them. Jonna stepped back from the bed and took the chair with her to give the doctor space. While he was examining his patient, Amanda arrived with hot water and linens. Jonna took the basin and directed Amanda to put the bandages and towels on the chair. When the girl continued to hover uncertainly near the fireplace, Jonna sent her away. The less that was known about the nature of Graham's injury, the better.

Dr. Hardy did not see many gunshot wounds in his practice. He was familiar with gout, influenza, and setting broken bones. He treated migraines and fevers and stomach ailments. His patients were more likely to fall through the ice in the Charles River than come to him with a lead ball in their flesh.

Hardy turned Graham over just far enough to look for an exit wound. The puckered hole was there, surrounded by dried blood and loose skin. He nodded to himself, satisfied. It meant he wouldn't have to probe for the ball. He doubted this patient would survive that kind of imprecise exploration.

The physician looked from Decker to Jonna. "Which of you is going to help me?"

"I am." They spoke simultaneously, and nothing in their tones suggested that either of them would back down.

"Very well," Hardy said. "There's something for both of you. Jonna, bring the water here. Decker, you hold his legs down in the event he starts to thrash."

They worked silently for the better part of thirty minutes. The wound had to be thoroughly cleaned and sutured. The doctor found bits of thread in the puncture from the shirt Graham had been wearing when he was shot. He drew them out with tweezers and each gentle extraction started the bleeding again. He applied more alcohol after the flesh had been stitched; then Jonna helped him wrap Graham with a fresh bandage.

"He needs to rest," Hardy said solemnly as he collected his things. "The ball didn't hit any vital organs. There was evidence of healing, but the injury was aggravated again. The bruising around the hole suggests he was hit hard there. Probably by a club, perhaps just a fist, but the blow couldn't have been more on target. Serve him liquids today and tomorrow, food as he can tolerate it after that. I'll stop back in a few days unless you come for me before then."

Nodding, Jonna took in all the doctor's directions. "Thank you, Dr. Hardy. I appreciate your efforts on this man's behalf."

"Oh, you'll get my bill, Jonna," he said good-naturedly.

She smiled and added softly, "I'd also appreciate it if you keep this to yourself. If it should come to anyone's attention that you were here this evening, I'd rather you'd say it had something to do with me."

"I can't think why anyone would want to know," he said.

"Or why I would tell them. Just the same, you can rest assured that I won't say anything out of turn." He dug in his black leather case and pulled out a small amber bottle. He handed it to Jonna. "Take this tonic in the morning with your tea."