People were only in the wrong place at the wrong time in the penny dreadfuls, and then they only acted recklessly when involved in such villainy because it was fiction.
Besides, she lacked every characteristic the yellow novels clearly showed were necessary traits in a heroine. She was neither of a pliable temperament, fashionably beautiful nor was she an orphan. She was a spinster past her majority, with family responsibilities. Even if it lacked excitement, doing as Deegan planned was the best course to pursue. The important thing was for her to reach the police and have them find Belle. And after that, to get home as quickly as possible.
Lilly lifted the widow’s veiling from before her face and checked the time on her lapel watch. She needed to be on her way, with or without the casual attendance of Deegan Galloway during her getaway.
“I don’t know how I can possibly thank you sufficiently for opening your home to me, Mrs. McMillan,” Lilly said, turning away from the mirror. “The tea was delicious, the cakes delightful and this…” She waved the trailing tail of whatever animal had given its life to adorn the heavy cape. “This…”
Hannah grinned. “It is frightful, isn’t it? But it is Mrs. Chandler’s most prized possession.”
“I’ll take good care that it is returned to her unharmed,” Lilly assured her.
“By which she means without incurring further bullet holes,” Deegan commented, appearing in the open doorway. One shoulder propped against the molding, he slouched there, managing to look like an upper-crust dilettante despite the rough quality of his clothing. “That poor critter has seen more than his fair share of buckshot.”
It was fortunate that her acquaintance with Deegan Galloway would be of a brief duration, for Lilly was quite sure she would never get used to the easygoing charm of his grin. He was such an attractive man, and an attractive man of the right age had never noticed her existence before. Having his smile turned her way made her feel flustered and all too aware of her many shortcomings.
It had begun to rain outside, and a slight sheen of misty dampness dusted the comforting breadth of his shoulders, and fresh, telltale marks of puddled water marked his boots. His tawny hair and luxuriant side-whiskers were dry, though, probably the result of being sheltered from the elements by the broad brimmed hat he had probably discarded upon entering the outer room.
He looked, Lilly felt, like a man without a care in the world. Like a man who doubted a load of buckshot would be loosed in their direction when they attempted to leave the Coast. Which meant that he had found Belle alive, and Lilly’s own brush with danger had been merely the result of an overactive imagination. She sat down abruptly, both relieved and a bit disappointed that her adventure was over.
“You found her,” she said softly. “Is she all right?”
Before he answered, his gaze skittered to Hannah, as if flashing a silent message to her. “I don’t know. I didn’t actually find her.”
Her hope of discovering Belle alive already weakened by the secretive exchange, Lilly clenched her hands together tightly in her lap. “You mean her…” she swallowed convulsively before adding, “…body.”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
“But if you didn’t find her, Dig, that could mean Belle’s all right,” Hannah declared, offering a carrot of hope. “It could simply mean that she returned to her crib.”
As much as she wished to believe it was true, Lilly knew it was a false hope. She shook her head slightly, making the weight of her borrowed hat shift so that she had to save it from toppling off with a judicious touch of her hand. The comfort of believing she might have been wrong slipped away quickly, leaving the horror of the lone alternative.
“Belle isn’t in hiding somewhere,” she said. “That man killed her. I saw him do it. If her body isn’t there now it’s because he had her moved.” Lifting her chin, Lilly met Deegan’s eyes determinedly. “I want him caught and punished for what he’s done.”
She expected Deegan to agree with her. To leap to take her to the nearest police station so that she could tell her story, describe Belle’s murderer and thus start the wheels of justice rolling to avenge the unhappy prostitute.
“It isn’t that simple,” he said.
Lilly got to her feet. “Of course it is. Once the crime is reported, the authorities can arrest that man and—”
“And what?” Deegan demanded. “Accuse him of a crime when there is no evidence that one has been committed?”
“But—”
He held a hand up, indicating that she should hear him out before arguing. “Consider the circumstances, Miss Renfrew. We are not, as you seem to believe, in God-fearing San Francisco. We are on streets even God himself thinks twice about treading. The police in this neighborhood frequently look the other way when their neighbors break the commandments. At least they do if they want to live a long and healthy life.”
“I’m sure they do,” Lilly said. “I have had to gird myself against the brutality of this area since the first time I stepped down from my hired cab with my camera.”
“Full of crusading zeal, no doubt,” Deegan muttered under his breath, apparently so that she wouldn’t hear the comment.
But she did and as a result stiffened her backbone and climbed on her figurative soapbox. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Galloway, that the photographs I take and the likenesses I give to the women and children who sit for me bring a smidgen of cheer to their sadly wretched lives.”
“I apologize for wounding you, little wren. It’s just that I’ve rubbed shoulders with do-gooders before,” he said, “and the experience didn’t bring me a ‘smidgen of cheer.’ Perhaps I am jaded.”
“Perhaps you are, sir,” Lilly declared sharply, her chin raised unnaturally high to show him her disdain.
“And perhaps,” Deegan added, “you have another use for the photographs, such as publishing them to enlighten others to these people’s plight.”
She had considered it. Her brother, Edmund, wrote such stories for the newspaper. Reading them had given her the idea in the first place.
“Do you think it would succeed, Mr. Galloway? It isn’t only the scent of soot and sin breathed daily on these streets, in these buildings. It is hopelessness.”
“Very true, my dear,” Hannah said, crossing herself devotedly, as if completing a prayer.
A prayer she herself should be saying, for Belle in particular, Lilly thought sadly. Then she squared her shoulders. “The photographs I take have nothing to do with what happened to Belle Tauber,” she said. “That man murdered her and—”
“Perhaps he did,” Deegan agreed calmly, cutting off her diatribe. “But murder is as common as dirt in this place, Miss Renfrew. If such was Belle’s fate, let her rest in peace. We may not know the truth of what happened to her, but I think we can all agree that if she is dead, she’s in a kinder place now.”
“No!” Lilly cried vehemently. “That’s not true! She—” Lilly caught herself and stopped short. She took a calming breath. “Belle’s death is monstrous, criminal. The man who did this to her must be found, caught and punished.”
“Perhaps that is how things happen in your world,” Hannah said quietly. “But not in mine.”
Appalled at the woman’s resigned acceptance, Lilly got to her feet quickly and faced Deegan. “Surely you don’t subscribe to such a philosophy, sir.”
He shrugged elegantly, the graceful, masculine beauty of the movement so out of keeping with his rough clothing that it appeared exotic. “How can either you or I say, Miss Renfrew?” he asked. “We are only visitors to the district, not residents. Who’s to say that Hannah isn’t right?”
Lilly drew herself up. “The law, sir. The law.”