The din increased to a roar. People pushed the others around them. He heard more cries for money, actual sobbing, and his gut clenched. Someone shoved him, and he struggled to keep his balance before going down into a sea of feet. Someone yanked him up, then planted a fist in his face and another in his stomach.
He welcomed the pain. A kick landed against his thigh, and the agony spread up to his waist and down to his ankle. Then another slammed into his head, and fog rolled across his vision. He fought his way through the blurry vision and reached for support. A hand grabbed his and hauled him to his feet. He reeled, and a hand seized the back of his collar and pulled him free of the kicks and punches still aimed in his direction.
“Lieutenant North, are you all right?” Paul propelled him down the hall while the other teller blocked access.
John nodded, and sharp pain circled his neck at the movement. “Thanks, Paul.”
“What are we going to do now?” the older man asked.
John buried his head in his hands. “Only God knows.”
Edward’s inheritance was gone. Addie’s too.
Addie’s hands perspired inside her gloves. When the policeman had called today to tell her they were releasing Josephine’s body to the mortuary, she’d called Katie to accompany her. This visit wasn’t one she wanted to make alone. Addie sat on the buggy seat beside her friend and adjusted her hat.
“Is there anything I can do?” her friend asked.
“Pray for me,” Addie said.
“Of course.” Katie gathered her skirts and clambered down from the buggy.
Addie did the same. “Stay,” she told Gideon. Edward had a cold and was napping, so she’d been allowed to take the dog. The plate glass of the mortuary windows gleamed. When she stepped inside, not a thread or a crumb was on the carpet. A light scent hung on the air. Cinnamon perhaps? A man in a suit came from the back to greet them. His muted smile added to the atmosphere of quiet competence.
“Miss Eaton?” he asked, his gaze flickering from Addie to Katie.
“Yes,” Addie said. “I’m here to pay for Mrs. Sullivan’s preparation.”
“Of course. The body is not quite prepared yet. We only received Mrs. Sullivan from the police this morning. But if you come back tomorrow, she’ll be ready.”
Addie couldn’t restrain a shudder at what faced her. “My friends have offered to have the funeral in their parlor. Would you deliver the casket to the Russell home?” With the preparations for the ball in full swing, having the funeral at Eaton Manor was out of the question.
“Gladly.” He handed her an invoice.
She counted out the money for the coffin and embalming. “What about a burial plot?”
“I’ve arranged for her to be buried at the church at the top of Mercy Hill, as you requested.”
“Thank you. The viewing will be Sunday and Monday. I’d like the burial to be Tuesday.”
“That’s all been arranged,” he said in a soothing voice. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I think that’s everything,” she said. “I appreciate all you’ve done.”
He gave a small bow. “I’m here to serve you, Miss Eaton. Let me know if there is anything else I can do.”
She murmured her gratitude and escaped into the fresh air, with Katie on her heels. She stood on the sidewalk with her chest heaving.
Katie touched her arm. “Are you all right?”
Addie nodded. “I couldn’t have borne it if you hadn’t been with me.”
“So many things hitting you all at once,” Katie said.
Addie linked arms with her friend. “Papa always said when I’m blue to find something to do for someone else. I’d like to buy some food and take it to the Whittaker family.”
“I love the idea! The market is down a block. Do you have enough money?”
“I have plenty.” She’d found the bankbook for the money her adoptive parents had been paid for her upkeep. The vast sum in the San Francisco bank had left her speechless. Nearly thirty thousand dollars. Unbelievable.
She and Katie filled bags full of groceries, then packed the buggy and went to the tenement row. Lifting two bags of food, Addie whistled for Gideon, then went to the front door. Climbing five flights of stairs with her burden would be a challenge, but it had to be done. With Katie behind her, she started up the steps. Gideon ran on ahead, turning to look back at her as if to ask why she was so slow.
Huffing, she finally reached the fifth floor. She paused to drag in a lungful of oxygen, then led the way to the door. It hung open, and the smell of cooked cabbage wafted out. A child’s plaintive cry tugged on her heartstrings.
“Mrs. Whittaker?” she called. “It’s Addie Sullivan. Can I come in?”
When the child only wailed louder, Addie stepped through the doorway. She saw the kitchen, so she carried the bags to the table and set them down. Katie unloaded the parcels while Addie went in search of the distressed child with Gideon at her side. The dog bounded ahead, his tail straight up and his ears alert.
“Mrs. Whittaker?” she called.
The older girls would still be at work, so the child must be one of the younger ones. Addie stepped into a small bedroom. The drapes over one tiny window blocked all light from the room, and she squinted to make out a small girl crouched by the side of the bed. Addie glanced at the bed and saw Mrs. Whittaker’s pale face on the pillow.
Gideon rushed to nose the little girl. The child threw her arms around the dog and cried harder. Addie knelt beside her, but the girl flinched when Addie tried to touch her. She rose and touched the woman in the bed. Mrs. Whittaker’s breathing was labored, and her eyes were closed. Her color was bad. Pasty.
Addie smoothed the woman’s damp hair. “Mrs. Whittaker, can you hear me?”
When there was no response, she opened the drapes and struggled with the sash until she managed to raise the window. The woman needed fresh air. She went to find Katie, who was putting groceries away in the few cupboards and the ice chest.
“Did you find her?” Katie asked.
“She needs a doctor. She’s unconscious.”
Katie closed the cupboard door. “I’ll fetch him.”
When her friend was gone, Addie went back to the bedroom. There’d been no change in Mrs. Whittaker’s condition. The little girl still had her face buried in Gideon’s fur, so Addie sat beside her and began to sing “In the Good Old Summertime” to her. The little one began to sniffle, and the sobs stopped. She finally lifted her head and peeked at Addie.
“Hello,” Addie said, smiling. “I’m Miss Eaton. This is Gideon. We came by to help your mama. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Mama won’t wake up,” the child said.
Addie guessed her to be about three. “How long has she been sleeping?” Probably a useless question. A child this young had no conception of time.
“A long time. She didn’t fix me anything to eat. I’m hungry.”
There was nothing Addie could do for Mrs. Whittaker until the doctor arrived. “I can fix you something to eat.”
“We don’t got no food. My sisters went to see if the neighbors could give us some bread and milk.”
“I brought some.”
Addie held out her hand, and after a brief hesitation, the little girl took it. Addie led her to the kitchen and prepared the child bread and jam, then poured milk from the glass bottle in the ice box. She pulled out the rickety chair and lifted the little girl onto it to eat.
“What’s your name, honey?” she asked.
“Goldie.” The little girl took a huge bite of her bread and jam. She looked like a squirrel with her cheeks puffed out.
“You eat while I check on your mama.” Addie went back to the woman’s bedroom, where Gideon stood watch.
No change. Five children. What could be done for them? Mrs. Whittaker was going to have to go to the hospital. She needed a sanatorium, though the nearest one was in San Francisco. Someone would have to care for these children. The
oldest was ten. Addie could only imagine the expression on Mrs. Eaton’s face if she brought home these dirty children.
Maybe Katie could help.
She turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Katie rushing through the door with the doctor in tow. He sped back to the bedroom without asking directions, and Addie knew he’d been here before. She followed him and stood back while he examined the unconscious woman.
“I’ve instructed the ambulance to come,” Dr. Lambertson said without turning from his patient. “I’ve been trying for two weeks to get Mrs. Whittaker to go in for treatment. She’s in a very bad way.”
“What can you do for her?” she asked, turning to view the woman’s white face. If Mrs. Whittaker wasn’t struggling so hard to breathe, Addie would think she was dead.
“She needs rest, good food, clean air. She won’t get it here. Not with five children to feed.”
Addie bit her lip. She wanted to offer to stay with the children, but she had to get home. Her family would be enraged.
The doctor straightened. “The children will have to go to the orphanage overnight at least. Maybe several weeks. And Mrs. Whittaker may not survive.”
He turned a kind eye on Addie. “You’d better run along, Miss Eaton. This isn’t a healthy place for you to be. Your father would have my head.”
“What about the children?”
“I’ll take care of delivering them to the orphanage.”
It wasn’t what Addie wanted. She stood in the doorway, trying to decide if she dared buck the Eaton’s expectations. She was trying so hard to fit in. To be part of the family. She couldn’t risk it.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE DOCTOR STEPPED back. “I think you’ll live, John.”
John wasn’t so sure. Every muscle ached, and his gut throbbed from the kicks. “Thanks, Doc.” He slipped off the examining table.
“I’ll give you a packet of pain powder. Take it with food. And rest.”
“I’ll try.”
The doctor’s smile vanished. “How bad is it, John? The bank, I mean?”
“Bad.” He still hoped to be able to call in some loans and stay afloat. He’d spent two hours going over the books and trying to find a way to avert further catastrophe. The chances were slim to nonexistent.
The doctor’s worried frown deepened. “Did my wife show up?”
John buttoned his shirt carefully over the bandage. “Yes, sir. She was one of the first in line. Your money is safe.”
The doctor leaned his head back and sighed. “Thank you, God.”
“Hundreds more weren’t so lucky,” John said. He put on his hat and thanked the doctor again before limping out to his buggy.
People on the street glared and stepped around him. News traveled fast, especially bad news. He suspected Henry might have already heard by the time John got back to the manor. In fact, he expected his father-in-law to be waiting for him at the door. It astounded him that Henry hadn’t come to the bank.
He left the town limits behind and breathed easier as the cool shadows in the trees fell across his face. Birds chirped overhead, and the babble of the river running beside the road soothed his spirit. He wanted to hold his boy in his arms and forget today had ever happened.
Not likely he’d be allowed that privilege. Henry would want a complete description of the day and a plan of attack for pulling them all from ruin. And though John could throw it back on Henry’s shoulders, the reality remained that this disaster affected his son as well.
At the manor, he turned the motorcycle over to the groom, then strode inside. The servants scurried up and down the stairs with armloads of decorations and chairs for the ballroom on the third floor. The ball was tomorrow night.
Clara greeted him at the door. She was paler than usual. “Is it true?” she demanded. “Is our money all gone?”
“The bank failed,” he said.
Her lids fluttered, and she sagged. He caught her and half carried her to the sofa in the parlor. “Sally, get some water,” he called to a servant he saw passing by the doorway.
He fanned Clara with his hand until Sally returned, then held the glass to Clara’s lips. She swallowed, then sputtered. Her eyes opened. Daze changed to panic when her gaze locked with his.
“What are we going to do?” she shrieked. Her hands went to her hair, and she yanked on it until it came free from its pins.
“Hush, Clara.” He pulled her arms down. “Henry has more assets. You’ll be fine. It’s the common people in town who have lost their life’s savings.” Even if the other businesses were mortgaged, they were bringing in money. Henry’s kind always made out.
He pushed her back against the sofa. “Rest. Where’s Henry?”
“On his way home.” She moaned again. “We must put on a brave front. It’s too late to cancel the ball.”
Saturday night, Addie stood in a corner of the third-floor ballroom in her borrowed finery. The space glittered with gaslight from the chandeliers and sconces around the gilded room. The gleaming wood floor bounced back the brilliance. The tray ceiling rose to a skylight that allowed moonlight to filter into the room as well.
The luxurious fabric of the dress she wore rustled with every movement. Behind her black velvet mask, she could observe without fear of people watching. She tried to imagine herself as Alice Roosevelt, confident and in control. But no amount of mind trickery persuaded her to move from her corner. Her hands perspired inside the gloves that came past her elbows.
Laughing couples swung by as the live band played. None of them looked familiar in their fancy attire and masks. She hoped no one would ask her to dance until her nervousness eased. This was her first time at a ball, and she would likely embarrass herself and her family by stepping all over her partner’s feet. A sumptuous display of food was spread on white linen-covered tables along the west wall. She scanned the crowd for John but knew she wouldn’t recognize him if she saw him.
Just as well. Her thoughts kept going back to the plight of the Whittaker family. She should have done more. And the entire family was in an uproar about the bank failure. John had been grim and distracted when she got back from town, though she’d longed to share her day with him. She’d seen him and her father engaged in serious conversations throughout the day, but she’d been distracted with Clara’s demands for final arrangements for the ball.
Every muscle tightened when she saw Lord Carrington approaching—without a mask and dressed in his suit. She glanced away from his determined face to see if she could find help from any quarter. Behind her was a door to the hall, so she turned and slipped through it.
She heard Carrington call, “Miss Eaton.” She closed the door, then rushed away.
She should never have agreed to come. Her father was going to try to auction her off to the highest bidder. Her vision blurred, and she lifted her skirts to hurry. When she heard a male voice call out behind her, she put on another burst of speed. Then she recognized it as John’s voice. She turned to see him striding toward her in a black tail coat and pants and white bow tie. He wore a black velvet mask, but she would have recognized those broad shoulders anywhere.
“Not leaving so soon, are you?” he asked when he reached her.
“Lord Carrington was in pursuit,” she said.
He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “And you ran like a rabbit.”
“Like a jackrabbit,” she agreed, smiling. “How did you know it was me?”
He touched a curl hanging to her shoulder. “No one else has hair like that.”
His comment brought her pleasure. “Thank you. I think.” She smiled up into his face.
He put her hand on his arm and turned back toward the ballroom. “It’s necessary for us to face our fears. I promise to protect you.”
“How easy for you to say,” she said. “You aren’t out of your element like I am mine. I don’t even know how to dance.”
“We can remedy that.” He laid his right hand on top of hers, where it rested on his left arm. ??
?I’m not the best dancer in the world, but I can waltz without breaking your toes.”
“I can’t give you the same promise,” she said. “You’ll be risking your feet if you dance with me.”
“I do believe it would be worth it,” he said, leading her back into the crowd.
Her father hailed her before they’d taken three steps toward the dance floor. “Julia, come here, please.” He stood in his tails with Clara on one side and Lord Carrington on the other. “Lord Carrington has been looking for you.”
The Englishman bent over her gloved hand. His blue eyes shone. “Please, call me Thomas,” he said. “You look lovely, Miss Eaton.”
“Addie,” she said without thinking.
“Julia,” her father corrected with a warning glint in his eye.
“It will take me some time to get used to that,” she said. She caught John’s smile, then bit her lip and glanced away.
“Would you care to dance?” Lord Carrington extended his arm.
Before she could admit she didn’t know how, John interrupted. “We were on our way to the floor when Henry called us over,” he said. “Shall we continue?” he asked her.
She placed her hand on his arm, and he led her to the center of the room. “What do I do?” she whispered.
He slipped his hand on the right side of her waist and took her left hand in his. “Follow me.”
The warmth of his hand penetrated the silk layers of her dress. His spicy scent filled her head. If she leaned forward, she could put her ear against his chest. Would his heart be pounding as hard as hers?
He counted off the rhythm in her ear. “One, two, three.”
Awkwardly at first, she let him guide her around the floor. Her skirt billowed around her in a most delicious way, and she couldn’t stop the smile that sprang to her lips as she figured out how to do it. “I’m waltzing!”
“And quite beautifully,” he said, smiling down into her face.
She rested her head against his chest and felt him wince. “Did I hurt your bruises?”
“It was a most delicious pain,” he said, smiling down at her.
She stopped in the middle of the dance floor. “I have a poultice to put on them. If I’d known of your injuries last night, I could have prevented much of your pain today.”