The Bachelor Girl's Guide to Murder (23 page)

Merinda pulled Jem under a suitmaker's awning and they caught their breath, standing like sardines against the wall. Merinda peeked outward far enough to see their pursuer. He was searching the crowd, and Jem prayed he would look the other way.

He didn't.

“Well,” Forbes said, approaching them out of breath and with rumpled clothes and tousled hair. “Not so ladylike now?”

“And we were ladylike before?” Merinda spat with a pointed look at his wounded shoulder.

Forbes yanked them out of the covering and onto the street, his grip bruising Jem's elbow. As Merinda was on the other side of his bulky frame, she couldn't lock eyes with her companion. They tripped along at his stride.

“Say there,” a thin man said, stepping away from his lady companion to confront Forbes. “What is the meaning of this? What are you doing with—”

“Back to your silver spoon, mate,” Forbes said with a snarl. “Morality Squad business.”

The man's eyebrows rose and he evaluated Jem and Merinda afresh. Their red faces and tousled hair betrayed them. “I see,” he said. “Well, if you're sure… ”

Forbes yanked the girls along the street. A few other passersby noticed them, but they all seemed to reach the same conclusion. This citizen was in his jurisdictive right, their faces seemed to say.

“Is this really about our being at the dance hall?” Merinda asked.

“What do you think?” Forbes seemed to be enjoying the height he had over them.

“You hit her!” Merinda accused, wanting to jab him somehow.

“You stabbed me!”

Jem's face was flushed red and a bruise pricked on her cheek from the force of his hand. She kept her eyes on her feet. If they ended up detained, fine, she thought. The sooner the better. That at least would be better than being promenaded down Yonge, injured and tired, at the whim of this brute's every muscle-tugging move.

“Hello, Forbes,” said a man in a heavily accented voice that drove Jem and Merinda's eyes immediately upward to make out Ray under a street light. “Got a quote for the
Hog
?” Ray readied a pencil over his notebook.

“I found these two unescorted females… ” Forbes grunted.

“Misses Herringford and Watts.” Ray inclined his head cordially. “Warm evening, is it not?”

Forbes was distracted and his grip slackened. Jem took the opportunity to rub the spot.

Ray watched and his face darkened, his eyes narrowing in on the side of Jem's mouth. “Roughing up innocent ladies, Forbes?”

“These two? Not innocent.”

Ray folded his arms across his chest. “The longer you hold them there, the more time I'll have to figure out who put you up to this.”

“The Morality Squad.”

“Rubbish.”

“I'm doing my job. I'm seeing them to Station One.”

“For what?” Ray asked, pencil poised. “Walking?”

“This one,” Forbes jutted his jaw at Merinda, “was making forward gestures at a dance hall. This one too.” Forbes leaned over Jem. Her lip trembled and she shied back.

Ray chuckled darkly. “Yes, she's obviously the worst sort of criminal. You can tell by the whimpering. I'll tell my readers how expert you are at assaulting women.”

Forbes grinned and nodded at Jem. “She's a pretty little piece, isn't she? Wouldn't mind holing her up in a cell for the night.” His smirk gave away his meaning.

Forbes didn't have time to react before Ray closed the space between him and drove his fist deep into the fellow's nose. Forbes, twice the size of Ray, buckled back with the force. Merinda, impressed, dashed out of the way, pulling stone-still Jem with her.

“You will not speak of a lady like that,” Ray was hissing.

“Don't be out alone at night,” Forbes finally said, lamely, holding his palm to his nose and looking between the girls before turning and heading into the night.

Jem's knees nearly gave way under a wave of relief. She hugged her arms around her chest, shivering.

Merinda put her arm around her and pulled her in. “All right there, Jem?” She examined the side of Jem's face.

“I'll be fine.” Jem's mouth shook. She didn't want Ray to see her cry.

Ray stepped closer. “You're pretty foolish, Merinda.”

“I know.” Merinda sounded almost guilty. Their eyes locked a moment and faced off.

Then he turned to Jem: “And you.” He said it softly, but Jem ducked her head ashamedly. He reached an ink-stamped thumb and forefinger to her face and tipped her chin up. “Let me see.” He stepped back, eyes still on Jem. There was blood on his knuckle.

“Well,” Merinda said, sounding like herself again, “you're a rare breed of scrapping gentleman, aren't you, DeLuca?” She whistled. “Come with us. Let's see if Mrs. Malone can rustle up some lemon curd so we can thank you properly.”

“I was on my way somewhere,” Ray said distractedly.

“You just saved us from jail!” Jem's voice was tremulous. “We should repay you.”

Ray didn't seem to hear her. Instead, he motioned for a cab. “Taking a taxi would have saved us all a lot of trouble tonight.” He opened the door and motioned for Jem and Merinda to get into the backseat. Then he shut the door and strode away.

Reverend Ethan Talbot and Ray DeLuca met once a week at the St. James parsonage. They spoke of everything from the weather to poetry to whatever questions were plaguing Ray that week.

Though it was dark and he'd just put Jem and Merinda in a cab, Ray was on his way to one of these meetings. He picked up speed down Yonge and cut across Victoria and Court Street until St. James was in view. He strode past the cathedral and went instead to the manse. There, he thrummed the doorknocker several times until the housekeeper appeared.

She summoned her employer, and a few moments later Reverend Talbot joined him. “I was wondering where you had gotten to,” he said with a smile.

“I'm sorry.”

Talbot ordered tea and then motioned for Ray to follow him into his study.

Ray stared at his hands. “I came to ask your advice.”

Ethan folded his hands over his desk. “And I am willing to listen.”

Ray exhibited his bloody knuckles and related the story of his evening. “I feel that my writing—my articles—have endangered these girls. I've been their biggest advocate, but all I've managed to do is draw attention to them… and put them in harm's way.” He shook his head. “They're women. They may stomp about in pants, and Merinda has some sort of stick she uses as a weapon. But none of it matters, none of their spirit or courage. You should have seen them in the arms of that brute. They were like twigs ready to break when pitted against a big man like Forbes.” Ray looked down. “I don't want them to get hurt.”

Reverend Talbot nodded. “You allowed them to be warriors. Women in the Bible didn't sit at home braiding mats for the men in battle. They went to battle too. Look at Deborah. Look at Esther.”

Ray studied his hands. “But they couldn't fight this battle. So I interceded and punched a man in the face.”

“You've a temper, Ray. I know that much from our time together.” Ethan Talbot plucked off his spectacles, polished them on his shirt, and replaced them. “You see your sister in every woman, Ray. It's a wonderful quality. You want to protect women. There's not just one way to do that. These girls are trying to advocate for the less fortunate in the best way they know how. But, like you, they are on the side of right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Ethan, “that once in a while you can stand back and let them fight their own battles.”

Ray studied his hand, the knuckles swollen from hitting Forbes. “Your wife must think you're a radical,” he said.

“Please,” Ethan snorted. “Where do you think all my brilliant ideas come from?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The greatest error a bachelor girl can make is in admitting feelings for a man. Act aloof and conservative. Send slight, mystifying hints to tempt him and, believe me, he will follow. There is nothing more crass than a woman in pursuit of a man. He must be the one to take the lead, and she must make him work to win her.

Dorothea Fairfax's Handbook to Bachelor Girlhood

Y
ou're in need of a little outing,” Gavin proclaimed on Sunday after the service had ended.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Luncheon. Come.”

They walked in a silence that was far from companionable to the Maple Tea room. Soon dishes were spread out over the white linen, boasting some of Jem's favorite foods. Gavin was more attentive than she had given him credit for.

When he reached his teacup to his lips, she remarked, “You're left-handed.”

“You're just noticing this now?” he joshed.

“I always forget somehow,” she said. That was one of the first things Sherlock Holmes would have noticed. She clearly wasn't as observant as a lady detective ought to be.

“My parents never forgot,” Gavin said shortly. “They had me try to correct it. Even had a tutor come in and tie my left hand behind my back so I was forced to write and eat with my right hand.”

“How horrible,” Jem sympathized.

“Now I use both.” He demonstrated, lifting a forkful of food with his right hand.

Soon, they had exhausted the conversation topics of Toronto politics and the night at the opera. Jem knew that Merinda wanted her to press further and ask about the Corktown Murders, but Jem couldn't help but feel guilty for stringing this poor man on, no matter what her friend's suspicions were. So she asked about his job, he persisted in teasing her about her gem-like eyes, and he leaned for a kiss that she easily refused. They were in public, after all.
*

“Tell me more about your family,” she said after a bit of a silence.

“You tell me about yours first.” Gavin reclined in his chair.

“They disowned me,” Jem said simply. “Respectable shopkeeper and his wife in London, none too pleased with a daughter unwed and following Merinda Herringford around while ignoring their list of proper suitors.”

“Until I came along.”

Jem tugged uncomfortably at the collar of her dress. “I suppose so.”

When the outing finally drew to a close, Jem returned to King Street determined to make an adamant plea to be spared from spending time alone with Gavin any longer. But, upon arrival at King Street, she found Merinda occupied with their Baker Street Irregulars.

Kat and Mouse had plenty to report. Gavin's checkbook was full of missed payments and drafts of owed money. Merinda entrusted Kat and Mouse with trailing him to see where he'd turn up. The
Globe
was so busy with coverage of the election that Gavin was kept busy at official functions. But Merinda wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to throw back the curtain on how he spent his time when he wasn't in pursuit of his next story.

“The Danforth Races!” she announced to Jem early the next morning, as her friend affixed a brooch to her shirtwaist in the front hall
before setting out to work. “I'm going to find out everything I can. According to Kat and Mouse, Gavin is always either on his way there or coming from the track.”