Verity and the Villain Read online

  Tilly took a deep breath. “It’s not that. It’s just…well,” she looked around to see if anyone would hear. “It’s not proper for a young woman to concern herself with business.”

  Verity took a step back and looked at the customers piled around the counter and pushing through the door. Some waited quietly while others chatted. Many of the men flirted with the girls at the counter. It was hard for Verity to imagine a better scenario, unless, of course, she could add in Trent. She wasn’t sure how he’d fit into the mix, but he’d be a welcome addition. She suspected her aunt felt the same. “But Aunt, you’re in business.”

  Tilly dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m not trying to marry.”

  “I’m not—” Verity noticed her aunt’s expression and changed tactics. “I worked for you in the shop, surely that’s business.”

  Tilly took Verity’s hands. “But it wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t successful.”

  Verity bit her tongue so she couldn’t blurt out her thoughts and then she gave her aunt’s hands, clutching hers so earnestly, a gentle squeeze. “No one sees me,” Verity reminded her. “I’m strictly behind the scenes.” She knew that this appeased her aunt only a little, and while she liked pleasing her aunt, her real motivation for remaining in the kitchen had less to do with her aunt and more to do with her fear of Steele. Setting up a pie shop similar to her bakery in New York seemed as inconspicuous as a giant red flag bearing her picture and pies.

  Every minute of every day, she expected Mr. Steele to bust in to burst her bubble. Sometimes she wanted him to. She didn’t like lurking in the kitchen. Part of her itched for a showdown, but her reasonable-self told her to wait and watch for the opportunity to destroy Steele’s Lucky Island.

  A tall man with a hook nose poked his finger into his just purchased pie and a curl of warm fragrance lifted in the air. He inhaled deeply and said to Molly behind the counter, “Law Miss, will you marry me?” The customers burst out laughing and Molly flushed pink.

  Verity smiled and whispered to her aunt, “I don’t think our success will lessen my marital opportunities.”

  Tilly scrunched her face in concern and looked out the window; she apparently still had doubts. Verity followed her aunt’s gaze and saw a woman dressed in black standing across the street, watching the crowd clustered around the dry goods store. She turned away before Verity could see her face.

  #

  In the evenings, in an attempt to not draw attention to themselves, the girls left Tilly’s two by two in fifteen-minute intervals. The ten-minute walk from the shop to Georgina’s took them through Denny Park. There were six girls in all, some sullen, some frightened, some chatty. Each warmed to the shop and the work in their own way and in their own time. For some it took five minutes, others had needed days, but after nearly a month, the plan seemed to be working.

  Verity walked with Dorrie half a block behind the last pair of girls. Occasionally, she heard the prattle and laughter of the girls ahead of them. At first, Verity had tried to make conversation with Dorrie, but if the girl had any thoughts or ideas, she kept them to herself. Verity knew she was still badly frightened and was suffering from her past, but not forgotten trauma.

  By the time they reached the gates of Denny Park, the shadows had grown long and the sky had turned purple and pink. Large thunderhead clouds billowed in the sky and wind played with Verity’s skirt. She hoped the weather would hold until she reached the house on Lily Hill. If not, she carried her umbrella. Rain had been uncharacteristically absent and the dry brown grass gave proof that rain was overdue.

  In the park, they only met rabbits and squirrels, but Dorrie gave a sharp intake of breath and quickened her speed. Verity followed her gaze and saw a shadow move behind the obelisk where she and Trent had so many weeks ago startled the pheasant.

  Verity matched Dorrie’s pace without fear. She knew Young Lee lurked nearby. She’d spotted him on the corner of Main and First. At first, a few of the girls had seemed nervous around the two Asians, but most had relaxed as the weeks had passed.

  Verity flushed thinking of how successful her plan had proven. The girls, who had seemed willing enough at the beginning, had literally pinked with pleasure when the parade of customers, mostly men, had trooped into the shop. Verity didn’t know how long it could last. While Trent’s grandmother seemed to have ample jars of dried fruit and just as many bottles of cider she gladly donated to the cause, Verity knew the supply couldn’t be endless. On one day, they’d sold nearly thirty pies. Most days, they had to shut the door on a host of unhappy, hungry-for-pie people.

  What could she do? The girls were delighted to work, the customers were eager to buy, but the fruit and flour would soon be exhausted. Verity’s thoughts wandered to the other contents of her aunt’s shop before landing on the cocoa and vanilla beans in the basement. She didn’t know anything about confectionaries, but she’d tasted a chocolate tart. Once. Tasting and creating were two very different things. Could she make the chocolate without the tart? She didn’t know.

  Dorrie tucked her hand beneath Verity’s elbow as the shadow reemerged from behind a lilac tree. The tiny purple flowers shook as someone or something scooted through the foliage. Verity patted the girl’s hand and walked her across the street. She stood on the sidewalk outside Georgina’s house and watched as Dorrie paused at the door.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Dorrie asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Verity assured her, smiling and waving goodnight. Her plan had met success at nearly every corner except for one. None of the five girls had remembered meeting Gracey. She had shown each of them Trent’s cousin’s likeness and now carried it in her bag. She felt for Trent and Mrs. Michaels. She knew that they must be disappointed to have come this close without any sign of Gracey. She couldn’t imagine the horror of losing a loved one without ever knowing why. Also, no one fit the description of Belle or Melanie.

  Could it be possible Steele had other brothels? Perhaps an entire chain, up and down the coast? Especially now since she’d met the girls and they’d become more than anonymous, the thought made her ill.

  Knowing Young Lee followed, Verity decided to take a shortcut through a pasture. Most of the town had been relegated to a checkerboard of clearly defined blocks of businesses and residences, but, occasionally, a farmer held his ground, or rather, his property. Mr. Roblinski owned a small patch of land that he shared with a handful of pitifully thin cows that he refused to relinquish to businesses or buyers.

  Tired from her long day with a rolling pin, Verity hunched her aching shoulders and dreamed of a bath as she followed a well-worn path through the cow pasture. She saw the dark outline of the barn in the distance and heard the cattle’s low mooing. After spending her entire life in New York City, the sights and smells of rural Washington sometimes still surprised her. She wrinkled her nose as she drew closer to the barn and the stench grew stronger.

  The moon brightened as the sky darkened. The sun, fading like a memory, was nearly invisible behind the falling clouds transforming to wispy fog.

  A flash of white caught her eyes. Something ran across the Roblinskis’ cow pasture. The creature looked mythical and surreal in the misty moon. Verity’s shoe sunk into muck. She lifted her skirt and shook off her shoe. What was she doing out here? She watched the white horse prancing in the empty pasture. Taking the shortcut had turned into a poor idea.

  The shadow returned and Verity hoped it’d belonged to the horse. “Hello?” she called. Her voice echoed in the dark; a low mooing answered from the nearby barn. A pin-pricking sensation of being watched tingled down her back. What if she were being followed by someone other than Young Lee?

  She stood and watched the pasture. Young Lee must have returned to the shop. She hadn’t commissioned him to play her bodyguard. He hadn’t any reason to follow her through a cow pasture. Nor had anyone else. “Young Lee?” she called out. No one answered.

  Ducking between the slats of a split rail fence, she continued across t
he pasture. The cows had retreated to the barn hours ago and the white horse had disappeared. Verity found the pasture’s stillness unsettling. Simultaneously, she tried to watch the ground for cow pies and the horizon for a glimpse of the horse.

  Verity followed the cow path to the barn, and took the dirt track that led back toward a city street. Dew coated the tall blades of grass that grew along the side of the road. Drops of water glistened on the green shoots that brushed against her ankles and calves. Although she could no longer see it, she knew the moon hid behind the fog. She caught a final glimpse of the horse. It swished its tail and turned into the woods.

  A low growl came from the other side of the road. A mutt with stringy fur matted in patches and missing altogether in others stood in a patch of moonlight. Yellow eyes, sharp bared teeth, he didn’t look healthy, or sociable. Verity slowed, spoke quietly, and when the dog didn’t respond in a neighborly fashion, Verity hurried through the sty to the street. And then she saw the shadow again.

  The clouds blew away from the moon and the shadow turned into a woman in a long dark cloak standing in a shaft of moonlight.

  CHAPTER 15

  Melt cocoa with butter over low heat. Take care, if overheated, chocolate can develop a grainy texture.

  From The Recipes of Verity Faye

  A thick, sensuous aroma filled the kitchen. It had a heady odor that Verity had never before encountered. By mixing cocoa, butter, sugar, and cider she’d created something that had seemed to conjure every stray animal in Seattle. Dogs and cats lined the alley behind the shop. They stood shoulder to shoulder, each jostling for position outside the open the door.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cassie said, wiping her forehead with the end of her apron before returning to the pie crust.

  Verity shook her head at the gathered menagerie. “Do animals like chocolate?”

  “They certainly seem to think so,” Hilda said, scooping out a cup of sugar and adding it to the vat of lard.

  “I can’t imagine it’s good for them,” Verity said, wiping her hands on her skirt before brushing her damp hair off her forehead.

  “That doesn’t mean that they don’t like it,” Cassie said considering the animals. “There’s plenty of pleasurable poisons.”

  “Like that scoundrel Drake,” Hilda said, as she stirred a long-handled wooden spoon through the concoction bubbling in the pot on the stove. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as each of the girls seemed to remember where they’d been and how they’d gotten there.

  He was the one thing all the girls had agreed upon. Drake Wallace had been their poison. None of them had seen Gracey or recognized a description of Steele, but they’d all been intoxicated by Drake Wallace, the cleft-chinned man whom she’d first met on the ship and later spied in Seattle’s card-house.

  “I wonder if he likes chocolate,” Cassie said, her hands on her hips.

  Hilda stopped the flour cup midair. “What are you thinking?”

  Cassie laughed and folded her arms across her chest. “We wouldn’t kill him…”

  Dorrie spoke up for the first time. “We wouldn’t?”

  Cassie got a funny glint in her eye. “No, we’d just render him…useless.”

  “The violence sucker?” Hilda asked.

  Verity stopped stirring. Of course, she should have thought of it earlier! “So, you girls know Dr. Merry?”

  “WeallloveDr.Merry,” Cassie muttered in a fair Dr. Merry imitation.

  #

  In the smoky room that reeked of tobacco, cheap whiskey and sweat, Trent fingered his cards and tried not to swear. A pair of threes, a jack, a nine, and a two—some things just couldn’t get worse. His gaze slid to the man beside him, the evening’s objective. Trent had come to win, although not necessarily at cards.

  For once, Steele didn’t have a female attached to him. The man lounged back in his chair, legs extended, ankles crossed, the cards close to his chest, the pile of chips near his elbow. Steele flicked his attention to Lector and Orson who stood as sentinels at the back of the room, arms akimbo across their barrel chests.

  A girl came by with serving glasses and bottles of whiskey on a tray. Steele winked at her and she bobbed her head at him before giving him a fresh bottle. Steele slid a coin onto her tray. A hefty tip. Trent wouldn’t have thought it, although, considering the heap of chips at Steele’s disposal, he could afford to be generous.

  When the last man folded, Steele sat up and scooped his winnings.

  Trent’s hands itched and his lips turned into a smile that stretched across his teeth. He hoped he played the part of a good loser when all he really wanted to do was throw Steele across the room and demand, where’s Gracey? He hated the cat and mouse game.

  “Well, that’s all for me, boys,” Steele said, pushing away from the table and leaning over his chips. He nodded at Trent. “I’ll see you tomorrow at your ranch. Demmed fine of your grandmother to invite me.”

  Trent shrugged into his coat and stood. “It’s just a small, informal weekend.”

  “I hear you got some of the finest trout swimming in your streams.” Steele also stood, an asinine smile on his face, but Trent’s attention had shifted to a potted fern across the room.

  Tan breeches, loose cotton shirt buttoned high, a neckerchief tucked in around her neck, probably to hide her smooth, satiny skin, free of shaving nicks or beard stubble. What was she doing here? Did she really consider herself disguised?

  He kept his eyes on her, but she didn’t notice him. Her attention shifted between a tall blond man and someone outside the window. In the gathering dark, he saw the shadow of someone small in a dark cloak standing on the boardwalk. One of the Asians, he guessed. His temper rose to match his frustration. She’d promised him she’d stay away from Steele.

  He looked around the room to see if anyone else took note of the girl pretending to be a man, but most ignored her. He sighed and tried to not acknowledge that when it came to Verity, he had a heightened awareness.

  He’d wanted to visit her as soon as he’d returned to town, but he knew he had to catch Steele at the tables to extend his grandmother’s invitation. Make it look casual, his gram had said, but nothing about the upcoming weekend had been left to chance. Everything had been carefully orchestrated.

  “Tomorrow then?” Steele said as he counted his winnings.

  “Hopefully, I’ll be luckier on the river,” Trent said, his voice strained with goodwill.

  “How could you not?” Steele laughed as he left. Orson and Lector followed, but to Trent’s surprise, Verity did not. What was she doing? He looked around and noticed she had her eyes trained on Wallace. She flinched away from his gaze. Good. She saw him and he’d made her uncomfortable.

  Why did she have a penchant for following men? Trent wandered over to the bar, ordered a drink and sat down to watch. He tried to catch her eye, but she kept herself studiously turned from him, giving him a rather lovely view of the back of her breeches.

  For the past few weeks, the need to see her had been like an itch in the dead center of his back. He saw her face whenever he closed his eyes. He loosened his collar, uncomfortably warm in the close, smoky room.

  #

  Verity took a deep breath of the night air. It felt good after the smoke and stench of the gaming salon. The huddled figure beside her handed her a small box tied with a red ribbon.

  “Shall we go then, mith?” Dorrie asked, lisping. Even though her lips had stopped bleeding and the swelling had long gone, she still talked slowly and breathed rather than hissed her Ss.

  “Soon, I think,” Verity said. She took another deep breath and her spine loosened a fraction. Being in the same room with Drake, Steele, and Trent had strung her nerves until she felt like a fiddle ready to snap its strings. When had Trent returned? Why hadn’t he been to see her? Had she misread their relationship? Possibly. She drew Dorrie into a dark, unlit doorway when the doors of the gaming room pushed open.

  Both girls held perfectl
y still as Drake passed. They followed him. With Verity in her breeches and Dorrie in her cloak and bonnet, Verity hoped they looked like a young married couple. Dorrie had one hand tucked around Verity’s elbow; the other carried a small basket. Verity held her back straight and stiff, hoping that neither Trent nor Steele had seen or recognized her. The two girls walked in the soft evening light, silently, as if strolling and enjoying the gloaming, but the tension in their arms told a different story.

  #

  The sun settled on the edge of the Sound and cast a pink haze over the horizon. The long shadows trailed behind the two girls, and although Verity wore breeches, she wasn’t nearly as disguised as she thought. No one, Trent thought, could mistake the swing of her hips as masculine.

  Not wanting to take his eye off the quarry, he managed to scout out the tired buildings lining First Avenue. No sign of the small Asian. Of course, the man specialized in invisibility, as well as other forms of black magic, but in the dark and increasingly prolonged shadows, Trent couldn’t see Young Lee. He only had eyes for Verity and her clinging breeches.

  He wished he could see her somewhere safer than the dilapidated street, somewhere no one else could see her and he could keep her to himself. True, there wasn’t anyone, Asian or otherwise, about. Still, he hated the thought of anyone ogling Verity.

  When the street turned down the hill, Trent saw a lone figure several paces in front of the girls. Wallace stopped and coincidentally, so did the girls. They turned to each other and Verity adjusted Dorrie’s bonnet, pulling the hood forward, obscuring the girl’s face. Were they following the same man that Verity had attempted to follow the night she’d told him of Lord Bren?

  Wallace turned down a residential street where the boardwalk turned to mud covered bricks. Trent paused a beat and then trailed after the girls. When Wallace climbed a few steps leading to a townhouse, the girls lingered on the brick path. Trent couldn’t hear what they said, but they whispered over the ribbon tied box and held it between them like a shared amulet. Then Verity hugged Dorrie and said something in her ear. Dorrie took the stairs slowly while Verity lingered on the sidewalk.