Love Between the Lines (3 page)

He definitely smiled again.
“Inadequacy, eh?”

Now she did blush, darn it all.
“I imagine you know the sort of thing. It’s not usually mentioned in mixed company. It was very kind of you to defend me,” she added quickly. “That’s twice today you’ve rushed to help me.”

“
Neither time did you require my aid.”

She shrugged.
“I wasn’t actually in danger with Wilkins. He’s all talk and no action. The ones who’ve backed me against the wall are far more disturbing.”

“
Policemen?” He sounded disgusted, yet not as surprised as she’d expect most gentlemen would be.

“
Yes, among others. What did you mean just now when you said you’ve been gone a long time? You’ve visited New York before?”

He ignored her question and demanded,
“What do you do to the worst offenders—threaten them with your empty revolver?”

“
Worse. I threaten to write about them. I try not to advertise my profession unless I have to, but when I lose my temper, I inform them it’s not a good idea to act offensively in front of a newspaper writer. That does the trick with quite a number of men, and not just public servants. If that is not an option, Oyster helps. I would never ask him to do that with the police, though. He doesn’t need any more trouble with them.”

“
Tell me about the captain.”

“
He was military and loathes anything frivolous. I have to be mighty careful around him, because reporters and women seem to be high on his list of what he considers frivolous.”

“
Is he honest?”

She considered ignoring his barrage of questions, but she want
ed answers from him soon, so she’d give some now. “My guess is he is only fair to middling corrupt. All the captains have to pay their way. But I haven’t seen anything.”

Wilkins returned and, without looking or speaking to them, led them to Captain Kelly
’s office.

He
’d been a handsome man once, Captain Kelly, with a slightly hooked nose and gray at the temples. If he’d been a little less unbending, Lizzy might try to get him to smile, but she’d had trouble enough getting him to listen to her.

Kelly didn
’t offer any of them seats so the three of them stood in a semicircle around his desk while Oyster, who’d actually managed to slip past Wilkins, slouched near the door. The captain nodded at Lizzy. “Go on, Miss Tildon. What’s the latest?” He pushed back his chair, folded his hands over his middle, and waited.

Next to her, Kendall pulled out a small book and a pencil and began to scribble. She ignored him
, and in a few unembellished sentences, she described what had happened in the café.

Kelly scowled at her, his dark brows heavy.
“It’s that sort of nonsense that’ll get you killed. We got enough on our plates without having to rescue you from yourself.”

She waited in silence. She
’d learned a while ago there was no point in arguing with Kelly.

He straightened and arranged some papers into a neat pile in the middle of his desk.
Without looking at her, he said, “Send word next time you try anything like that. Someone will be watching out for you. Someone other than…” He jerked a thumb in Oyster’s direction.

She looked into Kelly
’s face, trying to judge how far she could go. “No one in uniform, if you don’t mind, sir. And not someone obvious like Doncaster. He’s the worst actor ever born.”

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed as usual.
“All right. We can send fly boys now.” Reasonable as usual.

Kendall nudged her.
“What are fly boys?” he muttered.

“
Plainclothes policemen.” She turned her attention back to the captain. “I don’t understand why there isn’t more of an outcry, sir. I mean that is twice now they’ve tried for me. There has to be a huge number of girls vanishing.”

“
Not more than a couple, and that’s nothing new. We always have reports of girls going missing. The only difference is these are turning up again, untouched. They seem to be going for a type and you’re it. Short, pretty females with blue eyes.”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. He called her pretty? Good golly. Maybe she
’d misheard him. Maybe he’d said petty or prickly.

“
Well?” He turned his attention to the two English gentlemen. “Let’s see this drawing she said you made. You know you’re damned fools for stepping into the business.”

Mr. Kendall
ripped out a page of his book and handed it over without a word. He looked amused, not intimidated, but he seemed to have figured out that with Kelly, chatter got you nowhere.

As he flipped the book shut, Lizzy saw he still had the drawing he
’d sketched—he’d made a copy to give to the captain. Another sign this Mr. Kendall was more than a good-looking sightseer who was interested in Trudy Tildon. He required some more digging. Drat, she wasn’t sure she could manage it.

Kelly stared down at the drawing and sucked in air between his teeth.
“You’re good. I’ll bet you it’s Louis Gottshield.”

Lizzy had heard that name before.
“Is he a confidence trickster from uptown? I thought he was harmless. Basically.”

Kelly nodded.
“Never heard of him trying for girls before.” He put the drawing on the desk. “I’ll keep this, if you don’t mind.” It wasn’t a question. He looked at Lizzy. “You saved a sample of the coffee?”

“
Not much. Just what I could soak up with a cloth.” She knew he’d have her bag searched if she said no.

He was silent for a moment, drumming his fingers on the desk, frowning at her.
“Your connections will do a faster job than our blasted police surgeon, so I’ll let you keep your evidence. You let me know what your friend finds in the coffee.” It was practically begging on his part.

“
It has that sharp, sweet smell,” she said. “So I think it’s the same stuff as last time. Hoffman might be able to figure that out.” She quickly added, “Of course I’ll let you know. Maybe that would be helpful?”

Kelly nodded slowly.
“Useful,” he said after a long pause. “Damned useful. You too. I wish they’d let me hire a female.”

She beamed at him and he scowled back. That was basically two compliments in one visit—the man was going soft. All right, she
’d push her luck. Ridiculous demand first. “Sir, will you let me talk to one of the kidnapped girls?”

“
Tildon—”

“
Yeah, I know. Stupid question.” She held up a hand and for once he actually stopped midbluster. “But maybe you’ll put out a warning to the public? If you do, let me have the story.”

“
You know there will be no story. I’m going to haul in Gottshield. Or try to.”

“
Let me listen when you talk to him?”

“
What do you think?” He made a disgusted noise.

“
Yes, or I won’t press charges against him.”

“
Tildon,” he started. “Fine. You listen behind the screen. No notes, and if you publish anything I tell you not to, or anything at all until I tell you to, I’ll toss you in jail so fast your head will spin.”

Yes. The triumph was sweet.

“What’ll you write in the meantime? Something about them?” The captain waved a hand at Kendall and Brinker. Kendall watched with amused eyes. Brinker wore the glazed look of a man who wished he was elsewhere. She couldn’t blame him. This must be appalling for a real gentleman.

“
Maybe,” she said.

Kelly grunted and bent over the papers, a pen in his hand, the inkwell uncovered. They were dismissed.

As they walked down the dim corridor away from the office, Lizzy heard a familiar voice bellowing in the public area.

Oyster heard too. “Thatcher,” he said and rolled his eyes.

Lizzy clutched Kendall
’s arm. Her hand was bare because her glove was stained with the drugged coffee. She couldn’t help noticing how smooth and fine the wool jacket felt and how hard the arm underneath. She rarely touched such quality cloth—far finer than most men wore for a day by the docks. “Say, listen,” she whispered. “Mind if I use you as an excuse?”

“
Pardon?” He murmured and leaned closer. He smelled like expensive cologne along with the hint of something warm—that must be clean male, a rarity in her world these days. She swallowed and wondered what he’d do if she gave in to her urge to press her nose against him and pull in a deeper breath. He’d be horrified, but he was British, and so she supposed he’d be polite about it, which was a strangely comforting thought.

“
There’s someone out there by the desk sergeant who might start asking questions.” She spoke quickly before he could interrupt. He made a habit of that. “I’m going to lie to him, and I hope you don’t mind if I use you as an excuse. That all right?”

He pulled away and grinned at her.
“I’d be delighted to be of service. Brinker and I will remain mute and allow you to do what you wish.”

Mr. Brinker, who
’d heard the quiet conversation, nodded, but his thin mouth went even thinner. More disapproval.

For a brief time after he left Liverpool, Gideon had covered the Old Bailey as a reporter.
He’d spent enough time with reporters to recognize them when he saw them in their usual crime-and-punishment habitats. They frequently traveled in packs and either looked bored, or their eyes shone with the hungry curiosity of spectators—minus that apologetic air of most voyeurs.

When the group walked out to the front of the station, it was easy to spot them. They were the young men lounging against the walls. One of them, a gangling fellow with a sad attempt at side-whiskers spotted Miss Drury. He nudged his companion, a plump man with a bright yellow waistcoat that strained across his stomach.

“Trudy!” The fatter one had a grin like a cupid’s, all dimples and goodwill. “What’re you up to? More sob stories about poor babies?”

“
Helping these gentlemen,” she said blandly.

“
Helping them to what? You never helped anyone,” he bleated.

“
Never helped another journalist to one of my stories, no.”

The fat man snorted.
“Journalist? Who you kidding, you’re just a stunt.”

She went pale, but the smile was back in a second or two.
“Yeah, maybe,” she drawled, “but it takes talent to pull off a good stunt. It’s not just copying from the next fellow.”

The thin one fingered his whiskers. He narrowed his eyes and said,
“I don’t believe it. You’re not just helping those two. What are you up to?” The voice was the one Oyster had identified as Thatcher.

“
She did indeed aid us.” Gideon decided to go for pompous. “I had lost my watch and Miss Tildon helped me find my way to the police station. I fear I was the victim of a pickpocket. Your city is marvelous, but the crime here is quite astounding. You might write about that subject, Mr….ah.”

“
Never you mind my name,” Thatcher said.

“
No, I most certainly won’t,” Gideon said. The man had a good reputation as a writer, but Gideon had already crossed him off his list of possible hires.

They went out into the day, which had grown considerably warmer now the sun had come out from behind the clouds and the wind had died down.

“Where to now? Shall we visit your Mr. Hoffman the chemist?”

She looked around the busy intersection.
“All right. He’s just around the corner. And then we’ll go to lunch?”

“
You’ll want to change your gown first,” he pointed out.

She looked puzzled.
“Yeah,” she said. “It does smell like bad coffee.” Surely that horrible, oversized green thing was part of her disguise. He longed to ask her but decided against it.

Dr. Hoffman
’s laboratory proved to be at the back of a ramshackle wooden building. The room was jammed with shelves of glassware and long tables but after a moment of looking around the clutter, Gideon could see there was a strict order to it. The doctor was obviously delighted to see Miss Drury and took her bottle at once. Short and skinny, the doctor had a startlingly deep voice. His dark eyes twinkled and his mustache bristled as he made a small, happy huffing sound in his throat.

Gideon supposed the thrill of helping catch criminals excited the doctor, but the man had another reason. He put the bottle on a shelf and said,
“She is the one person I know who will pay on time. I’ll have results for you within days. Send your large man around.”

When they left Hoffman’s, Gideon waited to see what she’d do next. “The streetcar isn’t far off,” she began.

“
We’ll take a carriage,” Gideon announced. “No, don’t worry. I’ll pay.”

With a shrill whistle, Oyster hailed a cab. Brinker and Oyster sat with their backs to the horses, staring out the window. Miss Drury leaned forward and in the voice of a hostess asked,
“Mr. Brinker, I hope you are enjoying your stay in New York and weren’t too upset by this morning’s events.”

Brinker reassured her he enjoyed the city. She began a series of tentative questions. To her query about his reason for visiting New York, Brinker answered,
“I’d rather not say, miss,” and didn’t so much as glance at Gideon. Good man—he was getting the hang of prevarication.

Miss Drury hurriedly moved on to the topic of family and they learned that Brinker had followed in his father
’s footsteps in career choice.

Gideon waited. At last the truth would come out—Brinker was a gentleman
’s personal gentleman. Yet he didn’t provide more of an answer and she didn’t push when Brinker didn’t give details. Now why was she so polite with the man? She had no trouble acting impertinent with Gideon.

Despite the fact that she seemed
to take care not to offend the stiff-necked Brinker, she managed to pry out quite a few facts.

Gideon learned more about Brinker than he
’d discovered over the man’s four years of service. Of course he wasn’t sure if he much cared that Brinker had grown up in a suburb of London or that he liked cricket better than football.

In exchange for the confidence that Miss Drury
’s middle name was Miriam, they’d learned that Brinker’s given names were David Oliver.

Gideon was amused that she went at the question of his career again, sideways this time. Not everyone had a profession, she said. She had heard that many gentlemen in England didn
’t need to pursue a living. Brinker admitted that he did have to make a living and that, yes, his job was involved on this journey to the States.

Miss Drury delicately inquired if he
was traveling with an employee perhaps?

Gideon burst into laughter. The woman apparently thought he, Gideon, worked for Brinker.

She shot him an odd look but didn’t have time to ask any more questions,because the cab pulled up in front of a battered wooden hous
e
—
her boardinghouse, she told them.

Miss Drury jumped down before Brinker or Gideon could help her. She turned and said,
“You gentlemen might as well wait here. You can’t come into the building.”

Gideon climbed down anyway.
“There’s not even a parlor for gentlemen callers?” he asked.

“
No. My landlady, Mrs. Percy, is very particular.”

The carriage
swayed slightly as the horse shifted. Gideon pushed away from the side to stand next to her. “Why would you pick such a place?”

Miss Drury glanced up at the driver. She lowered her voice
. “If you read about me, then you might know I have a reputation as someone who gets the story.” She sounded matter-of-fact, not boastful.

“
Yes,” Gideon said. “You do.”

For some reason
, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Anyone knows a reporter stops at nothing to get a story. For men that would mean climbing fences at midnight or waiting around in the rain, or risking a politician’s rage and, well…”

He said,
“Ah. Not the same for a female.”

She blushed and said,
“Exactly. When you say that about a woman—that she stops at nothing—there is only one meaning. Isn’t there?”

The fact that she could still blush—and managed to so often—charmed him, but he took pity on her and finished the thought.
“So you must live an exemplary life whenever possible to avoid that reputation.”

“
I can’t avoid it,” she said, still matter-of-fact. “But I keep trying anyway.”

“
We’ll wait here for you.” Gideon said. Brinker silently stepped out of the cab and stood near him.

Oyster also got out and, without looking at any of them, trotted up the stairs.

“He’s allowed to visit? Why is that?”

“
He’s probably going to try to call on the parlormaid. I think he likes her. If Mrs. Percy spots him, she’ll chase him out.” She started up the stairs after Oyster.

After a couple of minutes of waiting, the cabbie, an amiable man, twisted in his seat to explain to Gideon how much better the weather in New York was than in London.
Gideon obligingly listened and admired the blue skies, while Brinker stood with his arms folded.

“
You mentioned Delmonico’s this morning, sir,” Brinker muttered. “I fancy our plans have changed?”

Gideon recalled the silver chandeliers, the frescoed ceilings
, and the fountain in the center of the first floor. “Yes, I think that won’t do for Miss Drury.” Not yet.

It was a good thing Gideon changed his luncheon plans, for she emerged less than five minutes later in yet another drab, loose-fitting polonaise top—blue this time—over the moss-green skirt. A battered straw boater was jammed onto her curls. He considered hauling the girl to Fifth Avenue and finding clothing to suit her coloring…not to mention her slender figure.

Oyster followed soon after, thumping down the stairs in his heavy boots.

They ended up going down some stairs into a little German Ratskeller not so far from the Lower East Side. “The ambience isn’t the best, but the food’s decent and they give you a lot.”

The restaurant, another single room, had the dank smell of beer and old smoke
, but the rickety table had a cloth covering it, and the waiter wore a snowy-white apron tied around his middle. His hands looked clean.

It was a step up from the diner where they
’d met only a couple of hours earlier. As they sat, Oyster informed them that though the food was good, they’d have done better from pushcarts. “The tater wagon’s got the best ever.”

They were given a choice between stew or sauerbraten. The waiter growled when Brinker asked for a cup of tea, but he brought it along with the beers for Gideon and Oyster and coffee for Miss Drury.

When the food arrived, Miss Drury dug into her plate of sauerbraten. Perhaps she wasn’t hunched as protectively over her plate as Oyster was, but she ate quickly, taking large mouthfuls and occasionally making small sounds of joy.

Gideon watched her eat and frowned. He told himself it was because he wanted someone who could blend in at all levels of society. Not because her eagerness for food roused his imagination. He wondered if she showed enthusiasm for other physical activities.

He forced his mind back to consideration of her as a professional.

Stunt reporter, they
’d called her. The phrase had stung her, and he suspected she only wanted to be seen as a genuine journalist. After all, she’d managed to avoid the only sort of stories writing females were expected to cover—flower shows and society functions.

“
Miss Drury. Or rather I think I should address Miss Tildon.”

She put down her fork and patted her lips with her napkin.
“They’re both me. I didn’t lie, you know.”

He nodded.
“Yes, I understand.”

She glanced at Brinker. Gideon saw the manservant wore his best stuffed
-owl expression. He clearly did not like sitting down with his employer. Sharing a meal at the same table seemed to give him indigestion.

“
It’s just that I took on Tildon because I needed to use another name,” she told the unmoving Brinker. “It’s common. Almost expected.”

“
Yes, miss,” he said.

“
You understand that I don’t feel like Trudy Tildon, don’t you? I mean she’s fearless and does ridiculous things.”

Gideon interrupted.
“Like allowing herself to be abducted?”

She grinned at Gideon.
“Exactly. Have you ever done that? Taken on a false identity for convenience sake or perhaps to make yourself feel braver?” She was talking to Brinker again, not Gideon.

Trying to draw the man out again. She
’d done a fair job, all things considered. “No, miss,” Brinker said. “I do not enjoy trickery.” He didn’t so much as wince when Gideon kicked his shin. “On the other hand,” he added, “I understand the necessity on occasion.” He lifted his tea mug and stared at the far wall.

Gideon wished she wouldn
’t beam at Brinker like that. He wanted to draw her back to being Trudy Tildon—and to pay attention to him.

“
Miss Tildon,” he said. “Do you know approximately how many females have been abducted and not reappeared?”

She picked at the sauerbraten again.
“Two? Five? There might be more, because the girls gone missing apparently have few connections in the city.”

“
So you’re not the only one who believes there’s a pattern. Do the police think it could be a scheme and not just the usual random disappearances?”

She looked at him for almost ten seconds before shrugging and forking another small potato. She studied him again. He forced himself to return her steady examination.
“Mr. Kendall, why are you asking about this story?”

“
It’s interesting. I think audiences in England would think so too.”