Reckless Wager: A Whitechapel Wagers Novel Read online

  Ben’s hands shook as he laid the document back on his boss’s desk. Before he’d found an opportunity to seek an appointment, Superintendent Ainsworth had sent word that he wished to see him in his office at Leman Street station. Now he’d delivered the last bit of news Ben ever expected to hear.

  “When was Penhurst committed?”

  “Just shy of a month after the Mary Jane Kelly murder. And shortly after you attacked him.”

  At one time Ben had been absolutely convinced of Dorian Penhurst’s guilt in the Ripper crimes. The news that he’d been committed to an asylum shortly after the most heinous of the Ripper attacks drained the air from Ben’s body. He slumped in the chair in front of Ainsworth’s desk.

  After questioning and investigating Penhurst and finding no hard proof of his guilt, Ben and other detectives assigned to the case had kept an eye on him, as well as a short list of other prime suspects. But unlike most men who withered under police attention, Penhurst adored it, taunting the police with letters sent to the press and cryptic messages left for Ben at the station.

  “I hope you know how much I regret that incident, sir.” Ben breathed deep and a bit of the tension eased from his shoulders. Could the hunt truly be over?

  “Now, let’s not discuss it again. I think we’ve done that one to dust. Bring it up again and my blood’s apt to boil. The missus insists I keep my temper in check. She was a nurse, you know. I must take her advice in such matters.”

  Ainsworth’s love for his family mellowed him. Ben considered the superintendent a stoic man, usually taciturn, and only occasionally given to spurts of ire when his officers did something outrageous—like attacking a suspect during the Ripper investigation. But talk of his wife and daughters turned Ainsworth into a man who was almost affable—almost.

  “I suspect it’s always best to listen to one’s wife.” Ben thought his mother would agree with the sentiment wholeheartedly, and he wondered if the late Mr. Guthrie had listened to his wife.

  Kate. The woman seemed a fixture there in the back of his mind. And he liked it far too much—liked remembering the taste of her and repeating her name in his head. Kate.

  “Thinking of acquiring one, are you?”

  Ben wasn’t keen on the notion of any woman as a possession. He’d seen too many bruised and battered women suffering at the hands of men who considered them a piece of property to be bought and sold, even offered for rent to other men willing to pay a price.

  “No, sir.”

  He’d rejected the notion of marriage years ago. After Anne’s rejection, the prospect had lost all appeal. The possibility of risking his heart for any woman was unfathomable.

  Until Kate Guthrie walked into The Ten Bells.

  “You should reconsider. Marriage changes a man, and from my experience, usually for his betterment. I’ve known men in the Met who believe they should remain unmarried. Because of what we see, the evildoers we hunt. Yet…”

  Ainsworth had never spoken to him so openly, advising him in an almost paternal manner. The moment seemed significant, as if his superior intended to impart great wisdom. Ben leaned forward.

  “Yet?”

  The superintendent’s gaze was cloudy, his thoughts far away.

  “Sir?”

  “Find yourself a wife, Sergeant. That’s my advice.” He handed Ben a slip of paper from his desk. “You are reinstated as of today. Several of my best sergeants will be considered for promotion to inspector in the coming months. You’re clever, Quinn. Tenacious. You will be among those I consider if you keep your wits about you. And your fists in your pockets.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” Ben surged to his feet, unable to remain still. His body shook as if stoked, ignited by a need to move, to get back on the streets and do the job he had chosen. Despite his father’s renunciation and his mother’s pleas, this was the work he’d been driven to choose. He was good at it, needed it.

  “Thank you, sir.” Had he already thanked Ainsworth? What if he had? It was worth repeating.

  Ainsworth managed what might have been a grin if it hadn’t looked so much like a grimace.

  “Any candidates, then?”

  “Candidates?”

  The rotund man rolled his eyes. “Listening more carefully to one’s superiors might be worth considering, Quinn. A wife, man. Have you any worthy women under consideration?”

  Kate. Marriage to her was impossible. She was lovely and spirited. She deserved so much more than he could offer. And she was betrothed. Yet with only a moment’s consideration Ben knew—with sudden and shocking clarity—that Kate Guthrie was the only woman he could imagine as his wife.

  “The only candidate is engaged to another man.”

  Ainsworth truly did smile now, the expression lifting the edges of his mustache and revealing a span of white teeth above his neatly trimmed beard. Why Kate’s engagement should inspire mirth, Ben had no idea. He certainly felt nothing like pleasure at the thought of her shackled to the angry, pompous fellow he’d met in her sitting room.

  “So you are as tenacious with matters of the heart as you are on the job, eh, Quinn?”

  Tenacity had nothing to do with his feelings for Kate Guthrie. He would not hinder her happiness, nor her chance for a future. He’d never met a woman who seemed more capable of making up her own mind. She wished to marry Mr. Thimble. Tumble? Thrumble—whatever his bloody name was.

  “I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.” Even as he spoke the words, doubt gnawed at the corners of Ben’s mind. Why had she kissed him? And then wagered another kiss? Perhaps she was not set on the Thumble fellow after all. He’d never asked her, never had the chance.

  More than anything, he wanted that chance.

  “Is it? Then I wonder why you have that look in your eye.”

  “What look is that, sir?”

  Whenever he’d glimpsed himself in a window’s reflection or the broken square of looking glass he used to keep from cutting himself while shaving, Ben saw nothing but the haunted aspect he’d taken on during the long autumn months of tracking Ripper suspects.

  “You look like a man who knows exactly what he desires, or who he desires. A man with a purpose.” Ainsworth grinned and reached his hand out to Ben. “Good luck, Quinn.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Ben took his superintendent’s hand as firmly as he grasped the truth of his own feelings.

  He wanted her. There was no use denying it. And perhaps he could offer her something now, with his position secure and the Ripper investigation waning. He might be fit for promotion soon and able to afford accommodations in a finer part of town. But could he provide anything like the life she was used to?

  No matter how he yearned for her—craved her nearness and the opportunity to know her, love her, cherish her—Ben suspected he’d need Ainsworth’s luck and much more to win Kate Guthrie’s heart.

  ****

  “You didn’t tell me there would be so many.” Sally twisted her apron in her hands and uttered little moans of distress as she peeked around the doorway of the Selby’s sitting room.

  “I can’t believe the number myself. I only invited five ladies, yet each of them seems to have brought a guest. Or two.” Kate offered the maid a crooked smile and felt her mouth quiver. She bit her lip to stifle the tremors. Sally worried over serving so many, but Kate’s knees shook at the thought of speaking before the large gathering, convincing them to offer their support for her settlement house idea. Though she had sufficient funds to purchase a property and begin the venture, maintaining it over time would require charitable donations.

  “Everything will be fine. We have teacakes and biscuits enough for twenty. The bigger question is where we’ll seat them all.” Ada stood behind Kate and Sally, craning her neck to see past the two women. “You’ll be sure to receive ample support now, Kate.”

  Her sister-in-law’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Kate forced herself to take a deep calming breath. All would be well. She could do this. She’d faced down a raging Scotsman
more days than she cared to remember. Surely she could face ten ladies, tell them about her idea, and convince them to support the cause.

  “Who’s the lady in yellow?” Ada’s curiosity caused them all to turn their attention to the lovely woman sitting near the fireplace.

  She had the largest hat of any of the finely dressed ladies in the room, a grand, elaborate feathered confection with pearls dangling in delicate strands on each side. Though Kate imagined herself looking ridiculous in such a creation, the dark-haired woman looked unbearably elegant. And strangely familiar. As the woman turned to speak to her companion, Kate’s longtime friend, Jane Tennant, a flash of recognition struck. It was her—the mystery woman in her sitting room was the same young lady she’d seen speaking to Detective Quinn on the pavement that day she’d foolishly chased after him. The day she’d ended her engagement to Solomon and started on this exhilarating, nerve-wracking course of starting her own charity house in the East End.

  It had been nearly a week since she’d dashed after him, though he’d lingered in her dreams nearly every night since, dreams far more pleasant than her night terrors of Andrew. The detective was elusive in her dreams. She sought him out, just as she had that last day. Sometimes she found him arm in arm with the woman. Was she the Anne he’d call out for that night in his lodgings? And in one dream, Kate found him alone on the pavement and rushed into his arms.

  Kate caught Jane’s gaze and waved her over to the doorway. Her friend spoke a moment to the regal woman in yellow and then approached the sitting room door.

  “My goodness, what a crush! This bodes well for your cause, my dear.” Jane kissed Kate on each cheek.

  “My thoughts exactly, Mrs. Tennant.” Ada’s voice rang with a confidence Kate wished to borrow for herself. “May I ask the name of the lady who accompanied you today?”

  Jane leaned in and whispered, as if the woman’s identity was a secret.

  “That is Annabel Drummond, the Countess of Davenport. My Alec and her husband are members of some club or other, and we’re often thrown together while they speak of nothing but cigars and horses. When I mentioned your settlement, the countess insisted on coming today. She is a great benefactor to several worthy charities, and I’ve long considered asking her to join our ladies’ society meetings too.”

  Annabel. It was too much of a coincidence to doubt she was the woman Benjamin Quinn called for upon waking from his nightmare. Had he loved this young woman? Did he still?

  Jane turned back and smiled at Lady Davenport, who seemed to take the gesture as an invitation and rose from the settee.

  As she approached, Jane leaned in to whisper again. “She was so taken with your idea of the settlement house that she insisted on inviting several friends to attend your tea and donate funds to the project.”

  “She invited all of these ladies?” Kate was incredulous, grateful, and unreasonably suspicious. She tried to keep the suspicion, at least, from her tone.

  A rich, pleasant voice rang out above their whispers. “I did indeed, Mrs. Guthrie. Perhaps it was rude of me to take the liberty, but I was so enthusiastic about your plans. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Jane quickly made the formal introductions.

  “Of course I forgive you, my lady. Indeed, I thank you.” Kate smiled at her newest benefactor and studied the young woman before her.

  She was beautiful. Was this countess the woman Benjamin Quinn called for in his dreams? Her hair was dark, but, not unlike his, mixed with strands of rich mahogany. And her green eyes shone with energy and intelligence. She met Kate’s gaze as she spoke, but then returned to examining everyone and everything around her.

  “No need to thank me yet, Mrs. Guthrie. First, let me help you with your worthy project and encourage my friends to do the same.”

  “Please, call me Kate, my lady.”

  Lady Davenport smiled, appealing dimples appearing on each cheek, at the invitation to informality. Kate loathed herself for wishing only to know if the countess would ask to be called Anne.

  “It would be my pleasure. And please, you must call me Annabel.”

  She smiled again, but crookedly, more of a smirk. Was the recognition mutual? Did Lady Davenport know she was the woman who’d chased after Detective Quinn like a mad fool? The dark-haired beauty held her gaze. And winked.

  “Kate, it’s nearly time. Sally and I will see about refilling teacups. Are you ready?” Ada didn’t wait for her reply before bustling off to the kitchen with Sally.

  Jane Tennant began making her way back to the settee, but Lady Davenport remained at Kate’s side. The queasiness in Kate’s stomach had eased, and her legs felt surprisingly solid. Lady Davenport’s confident demeanor seemed contagious.

  She felt the countess’s eyes on her and Kate turned to face her. She couldn’t hold her tongue, though she knew the woman’s relationship with Benjamin Quinn was none of her business. Still, she needed to know.

  “You are acquainted with Detective Sergeant Benjamin Quinn, my lady?”

  The smirk appeared again. It seemed to suit her bow-shaped mouth. “Oh yes. I have known him all my life.”

  A throbbing ache began in Kate’s chest, like the gnawing pain of an old wound. Such a long acquaintance surely meant Lady Davenport’s bond with Ben was deep, significant.

  Annabel giggled, a throaty, vibrant sound. Most unladylike. “He’s my brother.”

  Her brother. The moment Annabel said the word Kate began noticing the resemblance—the shape of her face, the glint of red in her hair, the sprinkling of freckles across the arch of her nose and cheeks.

  “Your brother.”

  “Mmm. My only brother, and also my favorite brother.”

  Kate lifted a brow at that, and Annabel grinned.

  “I’m certain if I had ten brothers, he’d still be my favorite.”

  With only one brother who’d become more friend than sibling, Kate decided Annabel’s declaration made perfect sense.

  “I believe they’re ready for you.” Annabel reached out a gloved hand and patted Kate’s arm. “I know they’ll see the value of your idea, just as I do.”

  Ada had entered the sitting room to call the ladies to attention and urged Kate forward with the sweep of her hand.

  Kate strode to the center of the Aubusson carpet in front of the fire. She’d made notes, practicing what she would say, but she had no urge to lift them from her skirt pocket. Her passion, her belief in the possibilities of a settlement house in Whitechapel welled up the minute she gazed at the ladies assembled around her. There was no need for notes. She spoke from her heart. There would be costs and challenges, and she was honest about every detail she could foresee. But most of all she spoke of the good they could accomplish, the lives that could be changed. She spoke of Rose, not giving her name or exposing her to judgment, but offering the example of a woman with few options who might find a safe and useful place at the settlement.

  When she’d finished, the enthusiastic applause sent her pulse soaring. Their eagerness for her idea gave her something she hadn’t felt in years—hope in a future for herself, a purpose, a belief that the next day and the coming year might be different, and better than the last.

  As her mind raced with possibilities and challenges, she couldn’t keep thoughts of one very tall, very broad detective at bay. She glanced across the room at his sister. Now that she knew they were siblings, she found the resemblance between them striking. But did the similarities extend to their natures?

  While there was no question she’d gained a powerful patron in Lady Davenport, Kate wondered what Benjamin Quinn would think of her plans for a charity in Whitechapel.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  December 13th, 1888

  “I truly hoped we’d see you again, Mrs. Guthrie.”

  Alice Cole’s hug was as firm and fierce as the woman’s personality. She didn’t seem to want to let Kate go.

  “Me too, Alice.”

  When the nurse finally released her, Kate pulle
d back and swiped at her eyes. “It’s only been a week, but I’ve missed you and the clinic.” Tears were out of order when she had such good news to share. At least she hoped the settlement house would seem like good news to Alice. If all went well with the property she’d selected, the house’s location would be quite near the clinic. Kate had a notion the women at the settlement could volunteer at the clinic and learn caretaking and nursing skills that might lead to employment.

  When they were settled in front of the cast iron stove, Kate related her ideas about a settlement house in Whitechapel and her decision regarding marriage to Mr. Thrumble. Alice Cole’s eyes held no trace of surprise at that bit of news.

  “You knew I’d refuse him.”

  Alice’s eyes widened and she fiddled with the neck of her gown. “No, I just…”

  The nurse looked guilty, as if she harbored some secret. A patient on the clinic floor cried out in pain and Alice moved as if to tend to him, but another volunteer nurse stepped in first. When she settled herself again, Alice would not meet Kate’s gaze.

  “What is it? Please don’t worry about my feelings on the matter. My answer was the right one.” Kate leaned toward Alice and lowered her voice as she spoke. What was it the young woman did not wish to say?

  “Well, you did not seem truly settled on the notion of marrying him, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Kate smiled. “I tried very hard to be for a long while, but I couldn’t convince myself. Or you, apparently.”

  Alice returned her smile, but she wasn’t finished. “And then that detective called here, and I knew—”

  “Detective Sergeant Quinn.” Ben. Kate’s smile faltered as she spoke his name aloud and then, more intimately, in her head. A wave of dizziness forced her back in her chair. The man lingered in her thoughts, and she’d fought the desire to see him, to seek him out, every single day since refusing Mr. Thrumble. Even as she sat speaking with Alice, her body hummed with a strange energy that ignited the moment she’d entered Whitechapel. She told herself excitement over the settlement and seeing Alice was the cause, but she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. There was also the prospect of seeing Detective Sergeant Quinn passing on the street, being just a mile away from him, and knowing an inquiry at his lodgings or the police station would lead her to him.