Part 2 (1/2)
Francesca stood, staring at Bragg, who stared back. ”Darling,” she said, clasping Bridget's shoulder, ”you think your father is here, in the city?”
”I swear I saw him!” Bridget was in tears. ”But if Mama finds out, she will be more afraid than she is now!”
Francesca knelt before the child, clasping both of her hands. ”Why do you think your father hates you? Why was he in jail? And why would your mother be afraid if your father were here in the city?”
She bit her lip. Finally she whispered, ”Mama says I am not allowed to speak of it.”
”This is a police matter,” Francesca said gently. ”You cannot withhold information from the police. It is against the law.”
”I can go to jail?” she gasped.
”No one is sending you to jail,” Francesca said firmly. ”But surely you wish to obey the law?”
Bridget nodded glumly. Then, in a rush, she spoke. ”Papa tried to murder Lord Randolph!”
Francesca stood. She didn't have to ask. Bragg said, ”Who is Lord Randolph?”
Bridget covered her face in her hands. ”The man Mama loves.”
As he took the steps in the narrow stairwell two at a time, Evan Cahill was well aware that his heart was racing. He could not shake the conversation he had just had with Francesca from his mind. But his leaping pulse had nothing to do with romantic matters. He felt sure of it. He was very fond of Maggie and the children, but his adrenaline was the result of fear and determination, nothing more.
Still, he had not visited her and the children in some time and he was eager to see them all.
He was equally aware of that.
He paused before her door, noticing that it was freshly painted a cheerful shade of blue. As he finger-combed some pieces of hair back into place, he wondered if she had painted the door herself. He hoped that Joel had done it for her. She worked herself to the bone as it was. The last time he had been there, the brown paint on the door had been flaking and peeling away from the wood.
He straightened his tie and knocked. As he waited for a response, his heart tightened unmistakably, and then he heard Maggie's voice on the other side of the door. He felt himself smile.
”Paddy, stop. You know we do not open doors until we know who is on the other side,” she scolded.
Paddy was five and a mischievous handful. He looked just like Maggie, except that his red hair was far brighter. ”It's Joel,” Paddy cried in protest.
”Probably,” she said. ”Who is it?” she then called.
He felt his smile increasing. ”Evan Cahill.” An image of her pretty blue eyes filled his mind and he could imagine Paddy pressed against her skirts.
And he felt her surprise and could almost see her hesitate. A moment later the door opened and she stood there in a simple dove-gray skirt and white s.h.i.+rtwaist, her hair swept back into a bun, her eyes wide with surprise. She appeared breathless.
”h.e.l.lo,” he said. And even as distressed as he was with the circ.u.mstance of the Slasher striking two doors down, he held a paper bag filled with cakes and cookies in his arms. He knew Maggie would refuse a sack of groceries.
Her mouth trembled. ”h.e.l.lo, Mr. Cahill. I...I'm sorry, we were not expecting company. The flat
is a mess!” And as she spoke, Paddy cried out in delight and tackled him about the knees, hugging him there.
”Mrs. Kennedy, please do not stand on formality with me. I was in the neighborhood and I thought to bring the children some treats.” He made no move to step inside but he could see from the corner of his eye that the flat was as clean as a whistle and as tidy as always. He did not know how she fed and housed her four children so properly. His admiration for her knew no bounds. ”Paddy, my boy, if you do not loosen up I may keel over.” He was joking and he winked at Maggie.
But she did not smile now. ”Please, come in,” she whispered nervously.
As he did, Mathew whooped and barreled over to hug him, too. Evan set the bag down on the kitchen table, draped in a blue-check tablecloth, and he slapped the seven-year-old on the back. ”How are you, buddy?” he asked with a grin.
”Great,” Mathew grinned. ”I got an A in arithmetic!”
”That's wonderful,” Evan said, meaning it and feeling oddly proud of the child. ”And what grades did you receive in reading and writing?”
”Bs,” Mathew said earnestly, eyes wide. Like Joel, he had midnight-black hair and the dark eyes to match.
”Good job,” Evan said softly, pulling him close for a moment. Then he felt Maggie come to stand behind him and his entire body tensed. Slowly, he released the boy and turned, uncertain now of why he reacted to her so. He felt somewhat breathless.
”I'll put up some tea. Lizzie just went to sleep and Joel is out,” Maggie said, her eyes wide and riveted on him.
He gave up. There was something so pretty about her, and why deny it? That meant nothing, of course, as he was very involved with Bartolla, whom he would probably one day marry.
And Bartolla was the kind of woman he was insanely attracted to-gorgeous, bold and far from innocent. But Maggie was lovely and he had always had an eye for attractive women, so of course he would notice her. But there was something else about her, something he could not put his finger on. In a way, she was like a ray of the purest light.
However, Maggie and he were from different worlds. They both knew it. The gulf of cla.s.s and economy that separated them was as wide as the Atlantic Ocean. So even if Francesca was right-which she was not-any feelings on his part, other than the n.o.ble ones of admiration, respect and friends.h.i.+p, were entirely inappropriate.
”Thank you,” he said very quietly. He was uncharacteristically shaken.
”Joel and your sister are on a case,” Maggie said, hovering over the kettle she had just set to boil.
He stared for a moment at her slim back. Most women who had had four children had long since gone to fat. Maggie remained slender. Not for the first time, he thought her a touch too thin. But then, he knew her rather well now and he knew she gave the best of everything, including their meals, to her children. He saw a pot on the stove. Now curious, he wandered over.
She whirled and they were face-to-face, mere inches separating them, her back to the stove.
For one moment, he did not move, impossibly aware of her, realizing that she wore the faintest scent, floral and sweet. Then he stepped aside. ”I beg your pardon,” he murmured, glancing into the pot. She was making a stew, a few potatoes and onions simmering with some bones. There was no meat to be seen.
Maggie had scurried to the kitchen table and grasped the back of a chair. ”Have you had supper?” she said very breathlessly. ”I mean, we do not have much, but you are welcome to dine with us.”
He knew he had made her nervous and he hated that she was so skittish around him.
Maybe she sensed his admiration could have been something more, if the circ.u.mstances had been different. Suddenly, he wished that the circ.u.mstances were different.
Confusion stunned him.
”Mr. Cahill?” she asked. He leaped away from the stove, smiling. But he remained shaken. ”I'd like to take you andthe children to supper,” he said. Her eyes widened. Now that he had spoken, he liked the idea. He'd put a huge meal into them all. ”You want to take us to supper? You mean, to a restaurant?” ”Yes, that is what I mean. We should wait for Joel,” he decided Maggie hugged herself. ”Ican't accept.” His smile vanished. ”Mag-Mrs. Kennedy, please. I'm hungry, and not in the mood for soup.A nice beef roast would do.” He smiled encouragingly now and could almost feel her mouthwater. ”Surely you did not come all this way to take my family to dinner?” He became sober. ”Francesca told me about your neighbor.” Then he glanced at thechildren. ”I'd like to find a private moment to discuss this with you.” She bit her lip, also glancing at the two boys, who were playing with some toy soldiers, all inConfederate gray. ”It is very unsettling,” she whispered. He walked directly to her and took her hand. He also lowered his voice. ”Two doors down,Maggie? It's not acceptable. I must insist that you take my sister up on her offer.” A mulish expression appeared on Maggie's face. ”I know that Francesca means well, as doyou, but we are not a case for charity.” Her tone rose with some anger. And he was as angry. Still, he fought to keep his voice down. ”This is not about charity. Thisis about the safety of your children and your own safety, too.” ”I have thought about it. On Monday we will stay with my brother-in-law.” He started, surprised. And while he would prefer her to be safe and sound in the Cahillhome uptown, this was better than nothing. ”Where does he live?” ”A bit farther uptown, right on the East River at Twentieth Street. He won't mind. Since myhusband died, he is the only family we have here in the city. He's a good man and very fondof the children,” she added. ”You would be safer uptown,” he said, and by that he meant Fifth Avenue and Sixty-firstStreet where the Cahill mansion and his own home, now abandoned, were. ”I heard that all of the victims lived between Tenth and Twelfth Streets. My brother-in-law'sflat is far from this vicinity,” she said stubbornly. He sighed. ”I can hardly twist your arm.” ”No, you cannot.” And then she softened. ”Do not misunderstand. I truly appreciate yourconcern. Really.” ”I will surrender-but only if you agree to have supper with me,” he said. The moment herealized how flirtatious his tone had become, he tensed. ”With the children,” he addedquickly. She stared. ”I...I don't know,” she said helplessly. He had been chasing and seducing women his entire adult life. Taking her hand was sheerinstinct. ”It's only supper, Mrs. Kennedy. One you and your children shall thoroughly enjoy.”The same instinct widened his smile and intensified his persuasive stare. Her cheeks turning red, she tore her glance away. ”While we wait for Joel,” she said, low, ”I'dlike to tidy up the children.” He had won. Grinning, he realized he held her hand and almost lifted it to his lips. Instead, hereleased it. ”I'll go see if I can find Joel,” he said, still smiling. Maggie nodded, slipped past him and called for the two boys.
”Can I give you a lift home?” Bragg asked as they paused before his motorcar. Night had fallen, a pleasant warm evening filled with winking stars and the remnants of last night's full moon.