6. Chapter 6
“Did you really almost die?” Wilhelmina Davis blinked at Zane from across the table at Forbes’s Confectionary, her brown eyes rounded in fascinated horror as she blinked at him above the rim of her ice cream soda glass.
“Yep.” Zane fit his mouth to the straw of his chocolate soda, hoping the young woman would take the hint and pursue a different avenue of conversation.
His brush with death had made him annoyingly popular.
When Max had shown up at Zane’s door with Miss Davis and Miss MacArthur in attendance, his mother couldn’t shoo him out the door fast enough.
Go have some fun, she said. It’ll be good for you, she said.
A rather odd turnaround in attitude since she’d sent Max away earlier that morning when he’d shown up on horseback to invite Zane for a ride along the beach.
Mother had insisted Zane needed his rest. Yet when his friend returned with females in place of horseflesh, Mother suddenly pronounced him recovered.
To be fair, treating a pair of ladies to a trip to the soda shop required much less physical stamina than riding, though his mental stamina was draining with alarming speed.
Probably due to the fact that Wilhemina and Constance were eyeing him with the same morbid fascination one entertained when beholding a sword swallower.
Constance MacArthur scooted her soda glass aside and bounced forward to the edge of her seat. It seemed she’d only been consuming her ice cream out of polite courtesy and was now ready to establish her true purpose in coming—interrogation.
“Did you see heaven? What was it like? Was it shiny? Were the streets really paved with gold?” Questions shot out of her like notes from a music box that had been wound too tight.
“My mama says heaven is filled with pearls and all manner of gemstones. That’s why she loves visiting the Shaw Jewelry Company.
Says it makes her feel closer to heaven. ”
Zane blinked, his mouth growing lax over the straw. Had she really just compared heaven to a jewelry store?
He gave his head a little shake, thankful that the throbbing from his injury no longer plagued him after a full week of recovery. “I’m afraid I can’t comment on the aesthetics of heaven, Miss MacArthur, as I didn’t actually visit. While I came close to death’s door, I failed to walk through it.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped and her bottom lip protruded in a pout. “That’s a shame.”
“Constance!” Wilhemina’s shocked gasp reverberated in the air like a Chinese gong.
“What?” Constance frowned then rolled her eyes as she realized her faux pas.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Willie. I didn’t mean anything by it.
Obviously I’m glad Mr. Erickson didn’t perish.
I simply thought it a missed opportunity to learn about the afterlife.
There’s no harm in wishing he’d crossed over to the great beyond before safely returning to the physical plane.
” She looked to Zane and batted her lashes in a flirtatious bid for amnesty.
“You didn’t take any offense, did you, Zane?
” She reached across the table and touched his hand.
He ordered his fingers into a strategic retreat, tasking them with napkin retrieval to avoid prolonged capture. Ever the diplomat, however, he offered his encroacher a friendly smile. “No offense whatsoever, Miss MacArthur.”
And his mother wondered why he’d never shown interest in any of the young ladies of his acquaintance. What could possibly go wrong with marrying a woman who had no qualms about a man visiting the great beyond if it meant appeasing her curiosity?
Zane caught the apology in Max’s gaze a heartbeat before it turned to amusement. Zane had to look away from his friend as his own amusement ballooned in response. Laughter begged to erupt, but he doubted the ladies would take kindly to such a reaction.
“Well, I heard that you were saved by a mermaid.” Wilhemina batted her lashes in a way that did nothing to help him squelch the laughter inside him.
“I’m sure it’s just the superstitious ramblings of a drunken sailor, but wouldn’t it be remarkable if it were true?
Max told us that you don’t know who rescued you.
Is that still true? Surely, as you've healed, some level of memory returned.” She leaned closer and more eyelash batting ensued.
“Tell me, Mr. Erickson. . . Have you remembered anything about your rescuer? Anything at all?”
So she could add whatever he revealed to the already churning rumor mill? The amusement he’d been battling died a swift death as the need to protect his mysterious rescuer rose with surprising ferocity.
Zane shook his head, hoping the ladies couldn’t detect the clenching of his jaw.
“Nothing substantial, I’m afraid.” Which was true.
All he had were hazy impressions. Strong hands.
A lilting voice. A comforting touch. And the red hair.
“By the time my grandfather arrived, my rescuer had disappeared.”
Wilhemina giggled softly. “Perhaps it was a mermaid, and she swam away before—”
The rest of Wilhemina’s sentence failed to register in Zane’s mind, for at that moment a woman with striking red hair passed by their window. He shot to his feet. Glasses rattled and females squeaked, but he barely noticed.
It was her. Certainty resonated in his soul despite the fact he had not a shred of evidence to support his assumption.
He half-tripped over his chair in his hurry to extricate himself from the table.
“Zane?” Max tossed a curious look his way as he steadied the soda glasses in front of the ladies to ensure nothing spilled upon their summer-white gowns.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I saw someone I need to speak to.” And she was nearly out of his line of sight. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
He rushed to the door and out onto the boardwalk. Stretching his stride as much as he dared, he wove through the stylish folk meandering along Market Street, offering frequent apologies when he clipped an elbow or kicked the back of someone’s shoe in his hurry.
There! She stood at the corner, her smiling profile visible as the woman at her side pointed to something across the street. Zane glanced in that direction. A music store. Of course that would make her smile. Because she was the siren from the shoreline.
He grinned as he hastened forward, his gaze fixed on the woman in the simple shirtwaist and dark blue skirt. He had no idea what he’d say to her but he’d figure it—oomph.
Something rammed into Zane, or rather, he rammed into something. A portly fellow exiting a cigar shop. The unsuspecting bystander teetered on his heels, a hairsbreadth away from toppling backward onto his rump. Zane grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Terribly sorry, sir. I’m afraid I didn’t see you there.” He tugged the middle-aged man forward until he caught his balance, the smell of pipe tobacco wafting up from the man’s coat.
“Goodness me. That was a near miss.” The fellow offered a good-natured smile as he straightened the hat that had collided with Zane’s shoulder.
At least that’s what Zane suspected had happened, judging by the narrow, brim-shaped bruise that seemed to be forming along the top of his upper arm.
“No harm done, though, thanks to your quick reflexes, young man.” He clapped Zane’s shoulder, directly atop the bruised area.
Zane winced slightly but quickly turned the grimace into a smile. “Glad you came out unscathed, sir.”
He craned his neck to peer around the man, and his stomach clenched. Where was she?
“Yes, well, I should have looked before leaping, I suppose.” He chuckled.
“Reminds me of the time I nearly found myself flattened by a runaway wagon. The owner had failed to set the brake, you see, and it started rolling backward down the cobbled street . . . I say, you might want to slow down a bit.” His voice rose as he realized Zane had darted around him mid-sentence.
“There are women and children about, you know. Have a care!”
Zane did have a care—a care for finding his missing redhead.
He reached the corner where he’d last seen her standing.
He peered ahead to the next block but spied no one wearing a simple dark blue skirt.
Most of the ladies wore ruffled pastels and carried parasols.
He glanced to his right, down Twenty-First Street.
No sign of her. He turned to his left. Nothing.
His heart pounded a frantic rhythm. She must have gone into a shop. But which one?
“I tell ye, Muriel. These fancy folk get the strangest notions.” Alana shook her head as she scoured the shelves of the third bookshop they’d visited that afternoon.
She kept her voice low, but nothing could dim her exasperation.
“Five copies. Five! Who on God’s green earth needs five copies of a book called The Haunted Hotel?
” Her finger halted on a spine bearing the name Wilkie Collins.
“As if working at the Beach Hotel wasn’t strange enough already, now Liam has to endure a gaggle of gothic, ghost-lovin’ grannies. It’s ridiculous!”
Muriel slapped a hand over her mouth to mute her guffaw. “Gothic, ghost-lovin’ grannies? Oh, Alana. Yer too funny.”
A reluctant smile twitched the corners of her sister’s mouth as she pulled a thin volume from the shelf then reached for a second copy.
“Well, next thing ye know, they’ll be asking Liam to supply bedsheets to hang from the ceiling of the private parlor where they plan to discuss their—Ow. Muriel? What is it?”
Muriel’s fingers dug into Alana’s arm, all thoughts of gothic grannies evaporating the moment a dark-haired man with strikingly familiar features stepped in front of the shop window.
“’Tis him.” The whispered words echoed like a shout in her mind.
“Him who?”
“Him.” Muriel sighed her answer, which was really no answer at all. Yet her sister must have deduced her meaning, for Alana grew still and joined her in staring out the window.
Mercy, but he were a handsome lad. Lookin’ far better than he had upon their last meeting.
Fine color in his face now, black hair wavin’ about in the breeze instead of plastered to his head, and his eyes .
. . Ah, those eyes. They were captivatin’.
Hard to tell the color from several feet away and through a pane of window glass, but they gleamed with life, a fact that stirred gratitude in her heart.
And not a little longing. His gaze swept the area in search of someone.
Someone important to him, judging by the intensity etched into his features.
How she wished she could be the one he sought.
His face turned her direction, and her heart leapt.
She held her breath. Would he see her? More importantly, would he recognize her?
If he did, what would he do? Muriel’s breath shallowed as she imagined his eyes widening with delighted surprise.
He’d hold up a hand, signaling her to stay where she was, then he’d charge into the bookshop and find her among the shelves.
He’d take her hand and place a kiss of heartfelt gratitude upon her knuckles.
Then he’d peer into her face and confess his undying—
“Ack!”
Alana yanked Muriel downward so hard, she lost her balance during her plummet and fell against the bookcase, bruising her hip.
The unit wobbled precariously, and Muriel thought for sure the gothic grannies were about to gain two new ghosts for their collection—a pair of shelf-squashed sisters.
But the bookcase steadied and spared them a ghastly demise.
Muriel shot Alana a scowl. “What’d ye do that for?”
“I was protectin’ ye, ye gooseberry.”
“Protectin’ me? Ye nearly bludgeoned me w’ a bookcase.” Muriel rubbed the sore spot on her hip as she tried to rise, but her daft sister yanked her back down.
“Not yet. He might still be there.”
She prayed he was. Muriel tugged her arm free of her sister’s grasp and gained her feet.
Giddy anticipation pushed a smile onto her face as she searched the boardwalk outside the shop window, but he was gone.
Her smile fell. She ducked around the shoulder-high shelves, made her way to the window, and peered out in all directions.
A triumphant shout nearly escaped her when she spotted the back of a dark-headed man in a pale gray suit crossing the street toward the music shop.
Perhaps he’d found who he’d been looking for. She should be happy for him. So why did instinct demand she give chase?
She stepped toward the door, but Alana blocked her way.
“Ye can’t go after him, Muri.” The sympathy in her sister’s eyes did little to soothe Muriel’s rising temper. “He could ruin ye.”
“He wouldn’t do that!”
“How do ye know? Ye know nothin’ about him.
” Alana kept her voice pitched low, but fervency wove through every word she uttered.
“Did ye see the suit he was wearin’? I see suits like that every day when I visit Liam at the hotel.
He’s from money, Muriel. Above our station.
He might be a gentleman who would thank ye fer savin’ his life, or he might be the type to take advantage of a girl with stars in her eyes and romantic fancies in her heart.
I know ye’ve been spinning daydreams about the man, but ye need to let him go. Nothin’ good can come from it.”
“Ye don’t know that.” Muriel jutted her chin. “Ye think I’m silly and na?ve, but I felt something when our gazes locked before he fell overboard. Something powerful. I can’t explain it, but I can’t ignore it, either. I won’t.”
Alana sighed. “I know that look. Ye’ll not be talked out of this folly, will ye?”
Muriel shook her head.
“Be careful, pet. People aren’t always what they seem.”
“I know.”
Alana clasped Muriel’s palm and squeezed. “Hold tight to the Lord’s hand, Muri, wherever this takes ye. And if ye need me, I’ll be there. No matter what. Yer me sister, and I love ye.”
Muriel squeezed her sister’s hand in return, her voice thick with emotion. “I love ye, too, Alana. And I promise I’ll keep my wits about me.”
Alana smiled a gentle, motherly sort of smile. “See that ye do.”
Muriel gave her sister’s hand a final squeeze then dashed out of the bookshop and hurried across the street to the music store. She searched the entire store, even climbed to the second floor where the pianos were displayed, but her quarry had disappeared.
Undeterred, Murial exited the music shop and turned right on Market Street.
She might have missed him today, but all was not lost. She’d learned something valuable about him, something to aid her search.
Muriel might not possess the connections to find a gentleman living among the East End elite, but she knew someone who did.