Kissing Comfort (43 page)

Although Alexandra's nostrils tightened with her sharply indrawn breath, she maintained her composure. “Do not concern yourself that I will kill the messenger. If it turns out that all my fears can be explained because Bode has suddenly decided he must have secrets from me, I will deal with him. And no, it will not be pleasant for either of us.”

Alexandra raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Is there anything else?”

“No. Not right now.” He cleared his throat again. “I would like speak to Mr. Abraham DeLong if that's convenient.”

“It's convenient for me. I cannot say that Bram will find it so. He is unapologetically disagreeable. Bed confinement does not suit his temperament in the least.”

“I understand.” He stood as Alexandra came to her feet.

“I'll have Hitchens escort you.” She tapped her temple suddenly. “Ask my son about Samuel Travers. He was Bode's valet before he was Bram's man.”

“Perhaps I should talk to Mr. Travers.”

“I'd like nothing better, but none of us know what's become of him either.”

 

 

Making the transfer to the
Artemis Queen
did not involve crossing a gangplank set between the two ships. Instead, Comfort, Bode, and their belongings were lowered in a boat over the side of the
Demeter
and rowed sixty yards to the sister ship. Bode insisted the other crew was going to use a cargo net to hoist her aboard, but when they got alongside the
Artemis
, it was the boat that was raised, and Comfort's arrival was uneventful, not the tangle of skirts, netting, and immodestly displayed limbs that she had been imagining.

When Bode stepped on deck beside her, she pressed her elbow into his side and kept it there while he introduced her to Mr. Benjamin Kerr, the master of the
Artemis.

They were welcomed aboard as if there were nothing at all unusual about their arrival. Mr. Kerr did not ask for any explanation beyond what had been communicated to him by the
Demeter
's semaphore flags, but Bode offered a brief one before they were shown to their quarters. Because the stateroom was occupied by a passenger who had paid very well for that accommodation, Bode and Comfort accepted quarters that were considerably less spacious than what they'd enjoyed on the
Demeter
.

Comfort looked around the room in a single glance. The bed fixed to the wall was narrow. There was no separate room for bathing, only a commode that held a basin on top and a chamber pot below. There was no wardrobe or table. No window bench because there was no window. The sailor who escorted them to their cabin lighted the lantern that hung by the door before he helped the two men that followed carry in Comfort's trunk and Bode's large valises.

Comfort thanked them. She thought they did a remarkably good job of avoiding looking Bode in the eye on their way out. “It will be like living in a teacup,” she told Bode. “Really, I don't mind.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I mind for you.” He took in their new quarters much as she had, in a single glance. Her teacup analogy was accurate.

Comfort faced him and took his hands in hers. She gave them a small shake. “Consider this, Bode. If this cabin is the best Mr. Kerr can show us, it means that all of the adequately appointed rooms are occupied by people who paid. Put another way, we are victims of your successful commerce.” She saw that he was unconvinced and was likely regretting that he had turned down the master's offer to vacate his own quarters in favor of them. “It isn't forever,” she reminded him. “We'll be home within the week. I've lived in a tent before. This is much better.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek before she let him go. “You know it, too. You must. You marched with Sherman.”

“You're right.” It was only on Comfort's behalf that he took issue with their quarters, but she managed to make him believe she found them tolerable. “There is a lounge for the passengers, and you are welcome to use it as freely as you like. I'll take you there now, if you wish. I need to speak to Mr. Kerr.”

Comfort knew Bode was less interested in a conversation with the shipmaster than he was in inspecting the damage to the
Artemis Queen
. It had taken them longer to cross paths with the
Artemis
than either Bode or Mr. Douglas had anticipated, and Bode wanted to know the reason why.

“I'd like to visit the lounge,” she said. “You'll come for me when you're done, won't you?”

“Certainly.” He gave her his arm. “We'll spend time on deck afterward. There's no reason for us to hurry back here.” Her arch look momentarily arrested him. “On the other hand,” he said, returning her look, “perhaps there is.”

 

 

The moment Bram heard footsteps approaching his room, he corked the bottle of laudanum in his hand and slipped it into his hiding place between the splints. Occasionally the precaution was unnecessary, but he'd noticed that in the past week he was being visited more frequently by either his mother or a steady parade of servants sent by his mother. He realized Alexandra remained suspicious of his laudanum use and was trying to catch him out. Thus far, he'd been alert enough to keep anyone from seeing him with a bottle, and the servant who purchased the drug for him in Chinatown had not yet betrayed his trust.

He settled back against the headboard, picked up the folded copy of the
San Francisco Call
from the bedside table, and dropped it in his lap. He was not surprised to see that it was Hitchens at the door; however, the man standing just to one side of the butler surprised the hell out of him.

Hitchens announced the visitor, asked Bram if there was anything he needed, and then took his leave.

Bram flung the newspaper onto the floor. “What are you doing here?”

James R. Crocker smiled thinly. He approached the bed and looked over the weights and pulleys attached to Bram's splinted leg. “What happens if I knock this out of the way?”

“I can't stop you, so if you came here with that in mind, then have at it.”

Crocker eyed Bram's raised leg for a long, contemplative moment before he turned his attention to Bram. “It's tempting,” he said, pulling the nearby chair even closer to the bed. He sat. His knees bumped the mattress. “I'm still not convinced it's broken. Regardless, it's been a good strategy. Whether by intention or happenstance, you've made yourself difficult to reach.”

“What do you want?”

Crocker lifted an eyebrow. “You're not in a position to make a single demand. Consider your tone, and consider whether or not you want the use of your other leg.” He cleared his throat and absently touched his collar. “Your mother's hired Pinkerton to find your brother. Please tell me you appreciate the irony.”

“I'm beginning to.”

“At first I thought it would be a simple matter to put someone on the household staff here, but every person I sent to inquire about a position was turned away. The only outside visitors to get past the front door were your brother, your fiancée, and your doctor. This is not a welcoming home, Bram.”

“What do you mean about the visitors? Are you saying I've had others?”

“You didn't know?” Crocker's smile was derisive. “You aren't master here at all, are you? Alexandra controls everything.”

“Mrs. DeLong,” Bram said. “Call her Mrs. DeLong.”

Crocker chuckled. The sound was vaguely hoarse. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a red-and-white tin of lozenges. He opened it and, out of habit, offered one to Bram. When Bram waved the tin aside, Crocker merely shrugged. He flicked a lozenge into his mouth and cheeked it. “So here I am,” he said, putting the tin away. “Granted access at last because your brother's disappeared. Or so your mother thinks.”

“He's avoiding her.”

“She doesn't like that idea. I can tell.”

Bram pressed one hand to his forehead. He was regretting the last dose of laudanum. He couldn't think clearly. In spite of the danger that James R. Crocker presented to him, Bram wanted nothing so much as to close his eyes and go to sleep. “Bode's working on something. A new ship design, I think. He hasn't said much about it to me and apparently has said even less to Mother. He doesn't want to be disturbed.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “How is it that you were assigned to this? The agency could have sent anyone. Why you?”

He shrugged. “Good fortune favors the prepared. I happened to be there when your mother's inquiry arrived, and since I've already met your brother, I was the obvious choice.”

“You met Bode? When?”

“Twice, actually. The first time was at the opera house. I attended the opening night performance of
Rigoletto
because I'd heard you'd be there. I also heard you'd invested in the production. You understand I had reason to hope that it would be a successful venture for you.”

Bram merely stared at him from slumberous, heavy-lidded eyes.

“My companion pointed out your family's box,” Crocker said. “You weren't there. I learned from someone else that the person occupying it was your brother. We had an . . . an encounter, I think you'd say . . . during the break. Quite by accident.” He patted his jacket over the place where the tin of lozenges was pocketed. “I dropped my tin, and your brother returned it. An uneventful moment by anyone's measure, except that the young lady on his arm fainted dead away. I discovered afterward that she was your fiancée.” He smiled thinly, revealing the gap in his front teeth and no humor. “It turned out to be . . . providential.”

Bram stirred uncomfortably. He looked away.

“Nothing to say?” asked Crocker. “Perhaps later. The second time I met your brother was intentional. I went to Black Crowne and asked after him under the pretense of doing business. The introduction was made on the
Demeter Queen
. He recognized me immediately from the opera house. I believe I was flattered. After all, he had his hands full that night.” He chuckled quietly at his own joke. “Full of your fiancée.”

“I understood,” Bram said without inflection. “Very amusing.”

Crocker made a small whistling sound as he sucked hard on the lozenge. After a moment he tucked it back against his cheek. “I wouldn't have pursued a meeting with your brother if I could have learned anything substantial about Miss Kennedy. I thought I knew her routine, and then she suddenly veered from it, staying at home for an entire week by my reckoning. You were helpful there, of course, as you should have been.”

Crocker watched Bram's eyes dart away again. “You don't like to remember that, do you? But I find that threat of pain or death prompts people to act in ways that might otherwise be abhorrent to them. You have nothing to regret. It could have been your mother, Bram. It could have been you. I think everyone but your fiancée and her uncles would agree you made the only choice you could have.”

Bram clenched his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache.

“It isn't your fault that the money didn't follow. I may have overstepped, and I take responsibility for that. Naturally, you are responsible for everything else. It's your debt, Bram. I think I've proven I'll do whatever it takes to collect it. That's what people expect when they hire me. Your associates in Sacramento sent me here because they know my reputation for results. They don't care how I do it; they want what they're owed. You'll want to consider how you're going to make this right. I require nothing at all from you about your mother's comings and goings. Thanks to your brother, I can reach her anytime I like.”

Crocker's last statement sharpened Bram's dulling senses. “Do you know where Bode is?”

Crocker pointed to himself. “Do
I
know?” He chuckled. “It's a compliment that you think I might.”

Bram rephrased his question. “Did you have something to do with Bode's disappearance?”

“According to you, he hasn't disappeared.” He saw Bram's fists clench. The ineffectual threat made him smile. “And between you and me, I don't have much incentive to find him.”

“What about Miss Kennedy?”

Crocker didn't answer immediately. He made a show of checking his pocket watch. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “I made a wager with myself before I stepped in here. I didn't think you'd ask about her welfare quite so soon, but I'm wondering if you don't feel quite as guilty as I would in your place.”

It was almost laughable to hear James R. Crocker speak of guilt. The man had no conscience. “There was nothing in the papers following the first report of the attack. My mother received a note from Miss Kennedy's uncles indicating that she was recovering and resting at home. She wanted no visitors.” The note had also said that as far as they were concerned, the engagement was ended and that Comfort wished to have nothing further to do with the DeLong family. Bram didn't share any part of that. It was still to his advantage to allow Crocker to believe he and Comfort were engaged.

Crocker nodded slowly. “That's what I've heard also. No one's seen her, but that isn't unexpected. She had a harrowing experience.”

“You made certain of that.”

“I did? Didn't I say that you were responsible, Bram?”

“I have the note you delivered the night she was abducted. Your threats were very clear.”

“I didn't deliver anything like that.”

“You tried to see me that night. You left a message for me when Hitchens wouldn't let you in.”

“I've never been to your front door before. Ask Hitchens. Don't you think he would have said something to your mother when I arrived to meet with her?”