A/N: Once again, I appreciate the kind reviews. Thanks for sticking with my story. I'm glad you're here.
Chapter 4: Eliza and William and Moses
Clad in stocking feet, when he reached the bottom of the narrow staircase, William nearly slipped on the waxed wood floor, and Eliza gasped at the near catastrophe. At the last minute, he caught himself and only slid a little on his way to the back door.
"Where on earth are your shoes, William?" She asked, catching up to him as he stood on the back stoop.
The blood trail had run out, and he couldn't tell if their suspect had run toward the alley or out in front to the street. She stood behind him, breath coming fast at the sudden exertion. William wasn't even breathing hard.
"Pardon me, but I didn't stop to put them on when I heard your scream of terror."
"I did not scream—I—I yelped delicately in surprise. There is a difference."
But William was lost in thought, surveying the empty alleyway. "I reckon he ran to the alley, but we don't have time to waste chasing after someone we wouldn't know if we saw him—and the blood stopped at the foot of the stairs, so his injury wouldn't give him away. Dammit."
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, a bit untamed from lying in bed and the hurried descent from the crime scene. Eliza had the oddest impulse to brush the familiar errant curl from his forehead. William turned to Eliza, who had been standing closer than he'd expected, and he accidently brushed his arm against her breast. His eyes darkened a moment before he shook his head at himself. This new intimacy between them could prove very distracting to his work.
"I'll have to notify the station," he said. He opened the door for her again, and they ascended more sedately, Eliza ahead of him, her hips swaying unconsciously. William closed his eyes and grabbed hold of the railing so he could climb without gawking at her. On the second floor, they stopped again at the body, William squatting down to examine him. His open coat showed the man wore a shoulder holster—an empty shoulder holster.
"His gun is missing."
"Maybe the killer took it," Eliza suggested.
"You recognize him?" he asked her, as he began searching the man's pockets. He was a diminutive man, though bulky with muscle beneath his fashionably striped suit. His hair was dark, matching the man's mustache, his skin likely as pale in life as it was now in death. His top hat lay on the floor a few feet away.
"No, not at all. It's probably a coincidence that he dropped before my door…"
William withdrew a sterling silver case containing several business cards from the corpse's inside coat pocket, his eyes widening at the name embossed upon it:
Jules Bernard
Nash et Fils, Détective Privé
18 Rue de Louvre
Paris, France
He handed it up to Eliza.
"You might want to rethink that notion."
Eliza was at a loss. "I assumed the Paris office must have shut down when the London office did. Patrick must have someone running his office for him while he's in jail. I hadn't thought to ask him on my last visit."
William stood up. "You've been visiting Nash?" The gruff tone he used when referring to the private detective always betrayed him.
"He saved my life, William, and he believed in me when no one else—"she paused at William's lifted eyebrow—"well, when few others did." She gave an impatient sigh. "Anyway, this still could be a coincidence. No one knew I was coming to New York. It was very spur of the moment."
"Unless he's been watching you," he said ominously.
"I don't recognize him from the ship. If he was there, he stayed out of sight for the entire week." A thought occurred, but she stuffed it down. William, highly attuned to her every expression, narrowed his eyes.
"What are you thinking, Eliza?"
"I've another connection to the Paris office, as you well know."
William frowned. "Not that Jamaican bastard." He looked down at the dead Frenchman. "This looks like just the sort of tangled mess he would involve you in."
"That's not fair. I'm usually the one entangling him in my messes, as he would happily tell you."
"Ha. True enough. At any rate, I suddenly have been gifted with a murder investigation. If you'll stay here and guard Monsieur Bernard, I'll go downstairs and use Mrs. Harrison's telephone."
"A telephone? How very modern you're becoming, William," she teased. "After your year is up, I'll hardly recognize you."
He took a step closer to her, dipped down, and took her mouth in a quick, searing kiss. He raised his head to find her eyes still closed, her hand gripping his arm to steady herself.
"You don't know how many times I've wanted to do that whenever you've teased me."
She was flushed as she opened her eyes, as breathless now as when she'd hurried down the stairs. She reached up to brush aside that curl.
"You realize this will only encourage me," she said.
He grinned, then walked toward the main staircase. Of course, he had to leave her with one more order. "I know you have your gun in your purse. Use it if you must."
"Naturally. Oh, and William. You will look much more dignified meeting your supervisor with your shoes on."
He looked down at his feet, and chuckled. "What would I do without you, Eliza?"
She met his eyes from down the hall, unspoken feelings passing between them, for they actually already knew the answer to what should have been a rhetorical question. He nodded to her before slipping back into his room to don his shoes.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Monsieur Bernard was whisked away to the coroner (although it was clear he died of a stab wound to the heart) and Eliza was put in the uncomfortable position of explaining her recent life events to Deputy Chief O'Leary. They were ushered in to his private office (separate from the regular detectives in what they all called the bullpen), where they sat before his large desk, both of them feeling rather like they'd been brought before the headmaster.
Eliza still maintained Bernard's death at Harrison House could be a coincidence, considering Nash and Sons was known to pursue its subjects all over the world if necessary, but the more she thought of it, the more she knew the pieces of this puzzle would somehow involve her. She hated discussing Moses, knowing at least some of his history with leaving Jamaica and living in London for three years. She didn't want him to be the subject of this investigation, but William insisted on dropping his name into it.
"Moses has proven himself loyal to me," insisted Eliza. "If he is in New York, it was not to harm me, I'm certain of it."
"While I would agree with that," said William, "Moses is known to Scotland Yard as a scoundrel, and a close associate with many unsavory characters."
"But he has worked with both of us in the past, dear husband, and he's never betrayed either of us, has he?"
"No," William admitted grudgingly. "But the man is dangerous, and I've never approved of your working with him, darling wife."
Eliza's lips quirked, but she managed to keep up her earnest expression.
"Well," said O'Leary, "It appears you both have an interest in finding the possible connection to this Moses person, as well as in discovering the murderer of the Frenchman, even if they are one and the same. I suggest you work together to solve the crime that you two Londoners have brought to my city."
"Thank you, Mr. O'Leary; I appreciate your confidence. My husband and I have worked many a case together in London, and I'm certain we'll discover who killed Monsieur Bernard."
William could find no objection that would not sound like he either had no faith in his wife's abilities, or in his own to be objective in solving this case. "Yes sir, thank you sir," he said. "We'll get on this right away." He and Eliza rose, but O'Leary put up a staying hand.
"One last thing before you go." He'd remained in his big leather chair, steepling his fingers as he eyed the pair of them. Eliza and William sat again. "I noticed, Mrs. Wellington, that your wedding ring is now in the most unusual location of being on your right hand"—Eliza automatically covered her right hand with her left, the placement of her ring forgotten in all the excitement—"I was also amazed to hear that you are staying at Harrison House under the name of Miss Eliza Scarlet, and that it was in front of your single room that our victim was murdered. Now, I've known Mrs. Harrison for years, and I know she only rents to unmarried people. As a matter of fact, you've been staying there for months if I have it right, Scotty. So, could you kindly explain why you are not staying with your wife, and why you felt the need to lie to all of us about it."
O'Leary's seemingly casual tone had a hint of steel in it, and William felt the color slowly draining from his face. They were well and truly found out, and the humiliation of it had him momentarily at a loss for words. He glanced at Eliza, and could almost see the wheels turning in that beautiful, exasperating head of hers.
"Mr. O'Leary—"
"That's Deputy Chief O'Leary, Miss," he corrected, and William inwardly cringed.
"Of course. Deputy Chief O'Leary, please don't blame Inspector Wellington for my falsehood. I know he was merely trying to spare me the embarrassment of being caught in a lie when I pretended to be his wife to get back here to see him—"
William suddenly found his voice. "No, sir, it was my fault for going along with her, regardless of why. The truth is sir, we left things…uncertain between us back in London. While it's true we have since formed a more personal attachment, I had no right to mislead everyone, even for her sake. I hope you can forgive me sir. I promise to come clean with the men…"
He regarded the pair of them seriously for a moment, then, to their surprise, he began to laugh, loudly and uproariously.
"You Brits! So overly concerned with propriety. No wonder the Americans thrashed you in the Revolution! Do you think I give a fek whether you and she are shaggin' in yer own time?"
William began to rise at the crass language in front of a lady, but Eliza's hand on his arm made him pause, and he sat down again, fists clenched to stop him from punching the man and losing his job.
"Next time, don't fib about it," continued O'Leary, oblivious to the beating he'd narrowly avoided. "Now, go on about it then."
Still chuckling, O'Leary waved them out of his office.
William grabbed his hat from its hook and without a word to anyone, took Eliza's hand and led her through the police intake and out the main door. Outside, William was shaking with anger. He took a deep breath, redolent with the fragrance from the horse-dung littered street. It was getting dark, and Eliza looked around, amazed at the electric lighting that made the city seem nearly as bright as day.
"I've heard worse language, William," she said. And then she smiled wryly. "Some of it from you."
"Damned Irish dobber," he muttered, totally missing the irony. "Just one more reason I don't belong in this God-forsaken place."
They began to walk down the sidewalk so William could cool down. Eliza shook her head at William and men in general. "At least you weren't sacked for lying to him. Let's forget about it for now, and try to find our murderer. If Moses is responsible, I'm sure he'll try to find us and explain. It may well have been self-defense."
"I know you have a certain blindness where Moses is concerned, but what possible evidence could you have that Bernard was killed in self-defense?"
Eliza sighed. Moses had told her about the general reason he'd left Jamaica years ago, and she hadn't told William about it, knowing that Moses had told her in confidence. But now, many things had changed, not least of which was her new closeness with William. She knew that if their relationship were to work, she had to be more open and honest with him.
"Eliza?" William prompted.
"Not long before he left London, Moses told me he'd left Jamaica a wanted man, though for what he did not say. He'd been on the run for years, never settling in one place for long. When that insufferable Inspector Hudson came last year to investigate the bombs we'd all received, Moses feared he'd expose what had happened in Jamaica and tip off those who were after him. This was likely the main reason he took Patrick's job offer in Paris."
"And why didn't you tell me about this before?" he asked, annoyed and a bit hurt she'd kept this secret from him.
She shrugged. "Neither of us have been known for our complete honesty, William, especially regarding our work. Moses was a business associate of mine—"
He grumbled unintelligibly, though Eliza got the gist.
"Well, I'm telling you now, even if I feel like I'm betraying a friend."
"Fine. But if he didn't tell you what happened in Jamaica, how do you know he didn't murder someone, or worse?"
"Worse?"
"I've seen the horrors desperate men can commit, Eliza. So have you, for that matter."
"Yes, but until we know otherwise, don't fault me for not thinking the worst. Besides, Moses may have nothing to do with any of this, and may still be far away in Paris."
They walked a ways more in silence, their arms linked as carriages passed them on their way to dinner parties or balls or fine homes. She began to lean a bit more heavily against him.
"You never got that nap, did you?" he said, feeling calm enough now for small talk.
"Or dinner."
"I'm sorry for the late hour. I'll hail a cab and we'll eat, then you can get to sleep. We'll start work on the case in the morning. Nothing that can't wait, I suppose. I've no idea where to begin anyway. The police searched Harrison House, questioning all the residents. No one saw or heard anything. Most were gone to work in the middle of the afternoon."
"We should go to the docks, check on ships' passenger logs coming from Paris recently," she suggested. "And the train station. Maybe Bernard came from somewhere else first. Maybe this will lead us to something."
"Good idea."
An empty cab came upon them, and William put his fingers to his mouth and let go a shrill whistle, making Eliza jump. "This is how they do it here," he explained with a grin.
"Very undignified," she said as the cab instantly stopped. She looked up at William. "Can you teach me to do that?"
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They didn't go to the nice restaurant William had envisioned, but settled on a pub he frequented near the boarding house, where they could get good Scottish or English food. It had been a place of comfort for him these past months. Afterwards, they walked back to Harrison House, where William was pleased to see the uniformed policemen he'd ordered earlier to stand guard were waiting by the front and back doors. Mrs. Harrison looked upon their arrival with a frown. He'd already apologized to the lady earlier, for bringing such disconcerting disruption to her home, so he and Elizabeth merely smiled and went upstairs to their rooms. William insisted on checking inside her room before he left her, in spite of Mrs. Harrison's rules. He would explain that this was official police business, that he was only looking out for her tenants' safety. Uniformed policemen would guard all the entrances to the house.
Before he left for his room, he looked up and down the hallway. Seeing no one, he bent to kiss Eliza goodnight. She clung to him, tasting the fine whiskey he'd had with dinner, reveling in the feel of his strong arms about her. He pulled away before anyone happened along to catch them.
"Despite all my whinging, I am very glad you're here" he told her. "I didn't realize how much I missed all the excitement and drama you always bring to my life," he finished dryly.
She dimpled prettily at him, and William felt his body responding to her on a deep, primal level.
"I do believe I was put on this earth to keep your from a staid, boring existence, Inspector Wellington."
"Among other things," he said before capturing her sassy mouth. "Now tempt me no further, woman, and let us both get some sleep." He steered her backwards until she stepped over the threshold to her room.
"I certainly haven't missed all this bossiness in my life," she said, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.
"I love you too, Eliza." Sure enough, her sleepy blue eyes grew round at his words, and she stood there, speechless.
"I'm glad it still works," he said with a grin. "Good night, love. Keep your gun handy."
He pulled the door to, waiting until he heard her turn the key to lock it. He walked down the hall to his room, whistling softly to himself.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Despite how shaken she was from William's kisses, Eliza was asleep the moment she hit the pillow. Unfortunately, a noise from outside on the street woke her in an hour or two and she lay there, suddenly wide awake. When sleep didn't come, she began thinking about Monsieur Bernard and the strange circumstances surrounding his death. The thought of Moses's possible involvement made her realize how much she had missed his sardonic counsel, made her concerned for his welfare if he was the one who had killed Jules Bernard. Knowing that sleep had momentarily illuded her, she longed for someone with whom to talk through the clues. Naturally, there was only one person who could help.
She threw off the covers and padded barefoot (because she'd forgotten to pack her slippers) and put her blue coat on over her lawn night rail (because she'd also forgotten her dressing gown) before looking down the hall to see if anyone would see her going to William's room. She was pleased to see a light beneath his door, and she tapped softly, her heart suddenly picking up speed at the temerity of visiting the man she loved in the middle of the night.
"William," she said once, before she was greeted by his immediate opening of the door. He stood before her, bare-chested, barefoot, in only his trousers, slung low on his hips. His beard was damp, his hair slicked back, and on his well-defined chest, water droplets still glistened from his night time ablutions. She hadn't much time to dwell on his manly figure, however, before he'd summarily dragged her into his room.
"What's wrong?" he asked tightly, thinking the worst.
"Your room is much larger than mine," she commented in annoyance, taking in his more comfortably furnished space.
"Eliza," he growled. "What are you doing here? Has something happened?"
"No. I just wanted to talk." In the dim light of his room, she could see the scar on his chest from the gunshot wound of six months before. She reached up to touch the puckered skin, her thoughts drifting back to her long vigil watching him, pale and unmoving in a hospital bed.
"It looks like it's healed well. Does it still hurt?"
"No."
He covered her hand where it rested against his heart. She could feel the steady, reassuring beat of it, the heat of his skin, the springy softness of his chest hair.
"You nearly died," she whispered.
Now that he knew she was all right, his face softened, the intimacy of their surroundings occurring to both of them in the same moment. Beneath her hand, his heart accelerated.
"Why must you insist on rushing into danger without a second thought?"
Her eyebrows knit. "Danger? I'm here with a police inspector. How much danger could I possibly be in?"
He took a step closer to her, and she flushed as she realized what he meant. "I'm in no danger, William; you're a gentleman."
"You forget I'm still a Glasgow lad at heart, and seeing you here, with your hair down about your shoulders, I'm painfully reminded of it."
"I'm not afraid," she said weakly, her knees like India rubber at the predatory look in his eyes. He moved even closer, their hands caught between their bodies. He became aware of how thin her nightgown was as the back of his hand met the gentle swell of her breasts. He swallowed hard.
"I'm frightened enough for the both of us then," he told her. "You don't understand the effect you have on me."
"I know I tend to make you very angry."
"Frustrated is a better word for it. In so many ways."
"The feeling is mutual, Inspector," she stammered, struggling for levity as her brain began to shut down.
"Is it now?"
Tired of talking, he gave into desire and kissed her. His tongue moved past her full lips to find the hot interior of her mouth, tasting the sweet mint of her toothpowder and inhaling the headiness of rosewater and jasmine.
Eliza's pulse was deafening in her ears, her breath halting as he kissed her-deep, drugging kisses that emptied her mind of everything but him and the smell of bay rum and the taste of the expensive whiskey he loved so much. Her hands moved up to his wide bare shoulders and slid over muscled biceps, while his slipped beneath her coat to skim over her body, pleased when she didn't stop his brief exploration of her small breasts, trim waist, shapely hips. She trembled against him and he embraced her tightly, his mouth moving to her flushed cheek and on to nuzzle the soft hair near her ear. He breathed there a moment, his senses whirling, loving too much the way she clung to him.
"Eliza," he said, struggling for control. "Go back to your room before I decide to keep you here forever."
"And what if I don't want to leave…?"
He groaned into her ear. "I don't think you know what you're saying, lass."
"I've read Grey's Anatomy from cover to cover, and some girls at school once had a copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover…" Her face flamed as she spoke, mortified that there was something so fundamental that she knew so little about.
William barely stifled a bark of laughter, and he pulled back to look into her florid cheeks, lovingly caressing their unbelievable softness.
"Don't be embarrassed, love. Honestly, I'd be disappointed if you knew more."
She was ready with an argument, but a knock on the door had them freezing in place. William put a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to stand behind where the door would open. She moved out of his arms.
The single knock came again, and then a voice, low and familiar and quintessentially Jamaican: "Inspector Wellington. It's Moses. We need to talk."
William looked over at Eliza in disbelief, then moved quickly to open the door. Eliza, of course, came out from her hiding place to face their visitor.
Moses appeared as dapper as usual, and seemingly unharmed. Hat in hand, he took in the sight of the occupants' state of dishabille. His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise when his gaze rested on Eliza, his eyes dropping to the gap in her coat, then up to her unbound hair. He gave them a speculative leer.
"Miss Scarlet. When did you get to New York?"
"We should be asking you the same bloody question," countered William, not missing Moses's expression. He stepped protectively in front of Eliza.
"Did you kill Jules Bernard?" Eliza asked frankly, peeping over William's shoulder.
"Bloody hell, Eliza, do you not know by now how to conduct a proper criminal—"
"I did," interrupted Moses, "and I've come to turn myself in."
A/N: FYI: I'm a big fan of cliffhangers. Thanks for reading. More to come.