P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

He turned to his bodyguard. “Remy.”

“Yessir.”

“Fetch Clive Johnson and bring him to my hotel room.”

“Yessir.”

“And, Remy?” The bodyguard turned back. “Don’t be gentle about it.”

Remy’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “How much time do I got, Mr. Seavey?”

“One hour should be sufficient, I believe.”

The Rescue Plan

TWENTY-FOUR hours later, Hattie sat in the second-floor parlor, sewing a hidden pocket into the skirts of her evening gown. She’d already pricked her fingers with the needle more times than she could count.

No ransom note had been delivered, as she’d prayed would happen. At least a ransom note would’ve cast a different light on Charlotte’s abduction, raising doubts as to her presumption about Seavey’s plans to use Charlotte as leverage. With no such note forthcoming, she’d been forced to accept the worst.

Sleep had been impossible, eating even more so. All she could hope was that the plan she and Mona had devised would be successful.

“Give me time to gather information regarding Charlotte’s location,” Mona had told her the day before at the Green Light.

“But the longer we wait—”

“Acting in haste, and in the absence of a solid plan, will be even riskier,” Mona had pointed out. “Think with your head, not your emotions, Hattie. Charlotte’s life is more important than whatever temporary discomfort, or even abuse, she experiences at the hands of her captors.”

Hattie had forced herself to nod her agreement. “How long?”

“Twenty-four hours, at least. You must also attend the soirée tomorrow evening—it will be your cover.”

“To expect me to act normal, as if nothing has happened, as if Seavey and Greeley, who are bound to be in attendance, haven’t had a hand in this … no . You ask too much.”

“If anyone asks later, dozens of people will say that you were at the party, that you couldn’t have been involved,” Mona had insisted.

Though Hattie had been forced to admit the wisdom of Mona’s plan, she’d been incapable of more than a shudder by way of response.

Mona had taken her silence as acquiescence. “Slip out no earlier than midnight, and make certain no one sees you. Come to the alley door—we will proceed from here.”

So she had come home to wait, firming her resolve for what she must do. Struggling to assure Sara and Tabitha that all would eventually be well, that Charlotte would return home safe.

Hattie closed her eyes for a moment, then bent over her sewing once again. She would never forgive herself for her own naïve actions that had brought about this chain of events.

She heard a slight movement and turned. Frank stood, one shoulder propped heavily against the doorway, his face white with pain. Setting aside her sewing, she leapt to her feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed—whatever were you thinking?”

Frank shook his head, working to get his breath back and, she realized, to keep his balance. “Willoughby said I could walk around as soon as I felt well enough.”

“Yes, I’m certain you’re feeling fine at the moment,” Hattie said, her tone acerbic. Though his improvement had been rapid since his awakening, he was by no means miraculously cured of either the concussion or the broken ribs. She grasped his arm. “Let me help you back up the stairs.”

He didn’t move, instead gazing down at her grimly. “The walls have ears, Hattie. I heard Tabitha’s screams, and her sobs late into the night. And Sara informed me of your plans for this evening.”

Hattie stiffened. “I gave Sara no such permission.”

“I was persuasive in my arguments.” Hattie watched him deal with a new wave of dizziness before continuing. “She’s concerned, as am I. I’m asking you to reconsider.”

“There’s no other way.”

She began to turn away, but Frank placed his hand on her arm, halting her. “I can’t … be there to protect you.”

She covered his hand with her own. “I must do this—I’m Charlotte’s only hope.”

“Take Seavey’s offer,” he urged. “I could accept that before I could bear seeing any harm come to you.”

“And you don’t believe he’d harm me?”

“At least you’d be safe. He’s a hard man, but I don’t think he’d mistreat you.”

“And what of you?” she argued, unaccountably angry. “Do you truly believe I’m capable of trading Charlotte’s life for yours? If so, you must think very little of me.”

After a long moment, Frank sighed, dropping his hand. “At least give me assurances that Mona is taking adequate precautions for your safety.”

“Yes, Booth will be accompanying us, along with two hired bodyguards.”

“Very well.” His tone was grudging.

“Please, allow me to help you back to bed—”

“No.” He ran a hand through his hair, his expression rife with frustration. “I’ll await your return in the library.”

* * *

AT precisely eight o’clock that evening, Hattie presented her engraved invitation to the butler at the door of the Canby Mansion. While he studied it, she slipped a hand into her pocket to assure herself the roll of cash she’d taken from the library safe was still there.

“If you’ll follow me, Mrs. Longren.” The butler ushered her inside.

Eleanor stood with her husband in the mansion’s spacious front entry hall, receiving guests. She wore an eggplant moiré gown trimmed in creamy white Venetian lace that Hattie couldn’t help but admire. The gown’s rich fabric bespoke of the wealth Eleanor and her husband enjoyed, while its subdued color had been carefully chosen so as not to eclipse the outfits of her guests. Hattie knew she’d never possess a fraction of the social skill Eleanor so effortlessly exhibited.

She moved forward, injecting as much warmth into her voice as she could. “Eleanor, thank you for allowing me to attend this evening.”

Eleanor noted the dark green velvet trim on Hattie’s mourning gown, pursing her lips. “Hattie.” She inclined her head. “I believe my invitation included Charlotte. Is she not attending this evening?”

“I’m afraid my sister came down with a severe headache this afternoon and is quite indisposed,” Hattie lied.

“A pity. I’ll send my maid over presently with a powder that may ease her discomfort.”

“ No … that is, no, thank you, Eleanor. Sara has already prepared a tincture for Charlotte, and she’s gone to bed for the night. I’m certain she’ll be fully recovered by morning.”

If Eleanor noticed her agitation, she didn’t remark upon it. “Very well, I’m sure you know what’s best.”

“Yes.”

“May I present my husband, Alexander? Alex, this is Charles Longren’s widow, the lady I’ve mentioned to you frequently of late.”

“Mr. Canby,” Hattie managed politely.

After a quick glance in the direction of his wife, Canby bowed over her hand. “Mrs. Longren. I hope you enjoy the evening we have planned.” She caught the barest hint of a twinkle in his eye. “The music promises to be entertaining.”

“Yes, I look forward to it,” she replied. Casting about desperately for an appropriate topic of conversation, she seized upon the design of the grand, three-tiered staircase behind them that was the talk of the town. “You must be quite proud of your home, Mr. Canby. The architecture is astonishing.”

“Why, yes, my dear!” Canby smiled, looking relieved. “Do note the eight panels of the domed ceiling—the frescoes of graces and nymphs depict the Four Seasons and Four Virtues. You’ll have to return for a visit during the first few days of a season—sunlight shines through the ruby glass of dormer windows, causing a red beam to point at the appropriate season—”