Thorne said. “We’ll need to keep our rooms a little longer than planned, Mrs. Montgomery. I trust that won’t be a problem?”
“Not at all,” the proprietress said cheerfully as she pushed back her chair and arose. “Save room for dessert. Our Charity baked two delicious apple pies this afternoon and I think they’re almost cool enough to serve. I’ll run and fetch ’em.”
Watching the matron scurry away, Thorne wondered how such delicate hands as Charity Beal’s could have spent much time in the kitchen, let alone have fashioned a pie worth eating. When he was served his portion and tasted it, however, he almost purred.
“Mmm, this is delicious. Are you sure Miss Beal really made it?”
The young woman bristled. “I beg your pardon? Are you insinuating that I would lie?”
Thorne couldn’t help chuckling in response. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing. I was just so impressed with your culinary prowess I was momentarily at a loss for words.”
“Ha! That will be the day,” she said. “It has been my experience that you have plenty of words for every occasion, sir, whether they are warranted or not.”
Across the table, Emory Beal broke into cackles. “Atta girl, Charity. You tell him.”
Thorne was laughing so heartily he covered his mouth with his napkin and nearly choked on his bite of pie.
When he glanced around at his fellow diners, however, he was struck by the taciturn expressions on some of the other guests’ faces. It appeared that several of the younger men were particularly upset with him, perhaps because they had their sights set on wooing Charity Beal. Not that he blamed them. If he were seeking a wife, she would certainly be worth a second look.
Later, when Emory cornered him and thanked him privately for lifting the girl’s spirits and helping to restore her gumption, he was so surprised he truly was at a loss for words. According to her father’s insinuations, Charity had been through some unspeakable experiences which had caused her to become withdrawn and often to brood.
Thorne had no idea how his presence had elevated her mood but he was nevertheless glad to hear of the improvement. He liked her. And so did Jacob, which was even more important. The poor boy had been through plenty already and their arduous journey was far from over. A little sunshine in his short life was certainly welcome and the woman who had cheerfully provided it ranked high on Thorne’s list of admirable people.
In the street outside the hotel, a small group of men had gathered to discuss the situation.
“They’re leaving in a few more days,” the tallest, youngest one said. “That means we have a little more time to plan.”
There was a murmur of agreement before their portly, red-haired leader spoke. “We won’t need much. We’ll move tonight.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Slip this note under Ashton’s door, then leave the rest to us.” He handed a folded slip of paper to his wiry cohort and glanced at the other two burly men who were standing by waiting for their orders. “Just make sure you’re not seen when you do it.”
“I have the room just down the hall from them. Nobody will catch me. Is that all?”
“Yes.” He started away. “And if you see any of us on the street afterward, you don’t know us. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good. Now go back inside and try to act natural. The hardest part will be over by morning.”
Charity couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she arose, pulled on a lawn wrapper and tied the sash before she peeked out the door of her room to be sure no one else was up and about. The hallway was deserted.
She quickly lit a small oil lamp and tiptoed to the stairs, intending to help herself to one of the leftover cookies in the kitchen. She paused to listen intently. There were no sounds coming from any of the rooms except for Mrs. Montgomery’s familiar, loud snoring at the far end of the hotel.
Proceeding, Charity was halfway down the staircase when she overheard muffled voices and stopped in her tracks. It sounded as if the parties involved were in the sitting room, which meant that her path to the kitchen was blocked unless she chose to dart around the newel post at the ground floor and hope her passage down the side hallway went unseen.
That idea didn’t please her one iota. Dressed in a floor-length white wrapper and carrying a lit lamp, there was no way she wouldn’t be noticed.
She was still standing there, trying to decide what to do, when one of the parties below raised his voice.
“I’m not going back with you,” he said.
A response that sounded like a growl followed.
“No,” the initial speaker replied. “It’s not open to discussion. You won’t harm me. You don’t dare. Now get out of here.”
This time, the growling voice was intelligible. “I have my orders and I aim to carry them out.”
Charity wished she were back in her room, blissfully sleeping, but curiosity held her rooted to the spot. She did have the presence of mind to dim her lamp and cup her hand loosely around the glass chimney, however.
Soon there was the reverberation of a smack, followed by a heavy thud. Her heart began to hammer. It sounded as if someone—or something—had fallen.
Furniture scraped across the bare floors. Glass broke, or perhaps it was crockery, she couldn’t tell which. There was more stomping and crashing around just before the rear door slammed.
Afraid to move, she waited and listened. All she could hear was the rapid pounding of her heart and the shallow rasping of her breath.
Above her, a second door opened and closed. Footfalls echoed hollowly on the wooden floor. She sensed another presence on the stairs.
Someone grabbed her arm before she could turn and look. She started to scream. A hand clamped over her mouth and a male voice, a familiar voice, ordered, “Hush.”
Recognizing that it was Thorne, Charity nodded and he eased his hold. Instead of trying to explain what was going on she merely pointed in the direction of the parlor.
“Shush,” Thorne hissed in her ear. “Stay here.”
Grasping the banister she watched him descend as gracefully and quietly as a cat. He crouched, then whipped around the corner and disappeared.
In moments he returned. He had tucked the tails of his nightshirt into his trousers and was pulling his braces over his shoulders. “There’s no one there now,” he assured her. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” She was trembling like a silly child, but couldn’t seem to hold the lamp still even by using two hands. “I was hungry so I came down to get a cookie. The ground floor was dark. I heard voices. It sounded like an argument.”
“Men arguing?” Thorne asked.
“Yes. Two of them, I think. There was something rather familiar about one and the other was almost too faint to hear. I thought he sounded very menacing, though. I suppose I was just nervous because I expected to be alone.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing much. One was talking about having a job to do and the other told him he wouldn’t dare, or some such nonsense. They sounded like two schoolyard bullies.”
“Then what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see a thing from up here on the stairway. I guess there was a fight but it was over so quickly I’m not certain. I did think I heard dishes breaking just before the door slammed.”
“There