CHAPTER TWENTY #2
The idea of continuing to live as they had sickened her.
Unraveling the mess they’d made held more appeal.
If this was what Gil wanted. God knows she didn’t want a man tied to her by duty and obligation.
She’d had his love once. She might still have it.
Helen belonged to Henry, but she loved men and flirtation.
Attention. Could she just be a passing infatuation, Henry’s desertion drawing them together?
Her grandfather shook his head. “You never give up. Just like—”
“You,” Leona said. “Just like an Earl.”
He made a grumpy sound. “Is he really what you want?” They moved forward at a slower pace. “Is it all worth it? We have the money at our disposal to hire an army of lawyers. I don’t think he’ll let you go easily.”
“I want to know what he wants first,” Leona said. “Then I will work on what to do next.”
The bullying wind tugged at the umbrella, as if urging them to move faster.
They turned onto the street where Gil had his office.
He stood before the door, working his key into the lock, his back to them.
Because of the sleet pounding the umbrella, he could not fail to hear them approach.
He turned and smiled at her, but he frowned immediately. Had he been expecting someone else?
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Leona took a deep breath. “Gil. I need to know. I need to ask you—”
“Who’s that?” He craned his neck to look around her.
She lowered the umbrella and peered over her shoulder at the man in the military overcoat reaching into a pocket. Tom Perley at last.
Her grandfather grabbed her by the shoulders. “Leona!” He shoved her against the brick wall, shielding her with his body as three shots rang out.
***
“M Y HUSBAND MIGHT HAVE seen the man who shot him. My back was to him. But I looked over my shoulder a moment before the man fired.” The bullet struck Gil in the upper arm.
The surgeons were trying to remove it. “You’ll have to wait until he wakes up from surgery to ask him if he recognized the man who shot him. ”
“No other witnesses, m’um?” the policeman with the notebook asked. “Begging your pardon, and I know it’s Christmas. The Yiddish fellas didn’t see anyone, they said. You saw no one else?”
“No. Just the men who came to help us.” The fierce anger faded away, leaving her tired and wanting to cry. “The street was empty before that.”
“Your husband has enemies? Received any threats?”
“His business partner, Henry Caldwell-Jones,” she said, regretting it instantly because she didn’t want to have to explain why else he came to mind. “He left town with all our money a month ago. We thought he went out West.”
“Why would he return to kill your husband then, ma’am?”
Because my husband is having an affair with the man’s wife . She had no intention of offering this as an explanation, however. “I don’t know. But as far as I know, Henry is his only enemy.”
The policemen exchanged eye rolls, as if to say how could a mere woman possibly know how a man lived his life.
“I truly believe Henry is the man you’re looking for.” With the grinding return of the hot anger following her from home to her husband’s office, she said, “Ask his wife. He left her behind. She lives on Cobble Hill. Helen Caldwell-Jones. Maybe you’ll find him there.”
The older policeman turned to his partner. “Artie, go on and take a look out that window and tell me what you see.” Once Artie moved out of earshot, he said, “You sure that’s all there is to the story, m’um?”
Heat burned her cheeks. “Yes.” She couldn’t believe it was anybody else, not unless another of Gil’s business dealings had also taken a deadly turn. But if he owed money, it made absolutely no sense to kill him.
“All right, thank you, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his cap. “We’ll keep in touch. Sargent wants one of us to watch your house, since the assassin is still at large and might try again.” He snapped his notebook shut and buttoned it into his top pocket.
Artie returned from the window. “There’s some reporters out there, not too many. And, m’um, if you think of anyone or anything else that might help us find this man, you just send a note around to the Fourth Precinct, and we’ll be there.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, grateful for their sincerity. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
They left her waiting for the orderlies to bring Gil back from surgery. Though she knew it was foolish, she feared her wish had brought Henry back. He had returned to his wife.
“God, bring Gil back to me,” she breathed into the damp, chill air. “I can’t take another day of this.”
The memory of Gil’s crumpled body, his hand reaching for her as he moaned, flashed over and over in her mind.
Leona, Leona, I’m shot. She’d kneeled beside him, trying to stop the bleeding with her shawl.
Grandfather ran down the street until he came across a fire bell and rang it with all his strength.
It still echoed painfully in her ears. Men came from a nearby warehouse and one of them brought a cart.
They loaded Gil as gently as they could.
Leona climbed up beside the driver and pounded him on the shoulder.
She’d shouted at him that if he did not hurry, she’d throw him down from his seat and drive her husband to the hospital herself.
With a rumble and a squeak of wheels, a line of carts with covered dishes, pushed by orderlies, processed down the hospital hallway.
They passed before her, then turned off to go into the wings where more wards lay, leaving behind the smell of burnt porridge.
Last in line came her grandfather carrying a bundle of clothing and a basket of food.
He was panting and flushed, his eyes too bright.
Leona made him sit on the nearby bench, and she sat beside him.
He wiped a hand across his eyes and swallowed hard. “I have bad news. Someone has broken into the house.”
She jumped to her feet. “What!”
He stood with her and took hold of her hands. “They broke down the front door. They didn’t have a chance to take anything because I had one of the policeman with me when I went to the house for your things. They ran out the back.”
“You didn’t recognize them? Could they have been those men from...?”
He shook his head. “It was dark, I didn’t see. But I suppose it’s possible.”
An inarticulate groan rose in Leona’s throat. He put his arms around her and squeezed. She barely felt it.
“The nurse showed me a room you can change your clothing in, just down the way here. I asked her to bring some water, so you can get the blood off your hands and face.”
Leona gathered the fresh clothing into her arms and went off to where he directed her.
She changed in a windowless room under a flickering gaslight, tempted to leave her bloody clothing there.
She wiped her face with a cold damp cloth and scrubbed at her hands.
Bundling her clothing together in as small a ball as possible, she stuffed it into the sack that had held the clean clothing.
Trying not to think of Gil or the broken front door of their home.
Dread settled on her, made her limbs heavy, and shifted low in her stomach.
She groaned. Hands to her belly, her back bent with the weight of it.
She’d had to identify Jack’s body. Seven months pregnant, her grandfather and Jack’s sister Clara joined her on the terrible journey.
She’d foolishly thought she’d seen it all, felt it all on the battlefield, but this turned out not to be true.
“Leona?”
This endless empty road led only to a bottomless pit of utter black despair.
She straightened and smoothed her skirts, adjusted the bustle, and drew on the coat he’d brought her. “Yes. I’m coming.”