London's Calling. Elysabeth Williams
He looked down the alley and then back to her. She caught her breath at the piercing stare. “No, madam. I don’t know what happened, exactly. Someone pushed me into the street upon exiting Miss Merriweather’s. I followed the man into this alley and then…” He trailed off, looking behind him into the darkness. “I safely assume a scoundrel attacked me.” He frowned down at the dirty handkerchief offered and looked again to her face. “Thank you, Missus…”
“Knightly. Miss…Delilah Knightly,” she finished for him. She offered a hand to shake, which he took and delicately kissed her knuckles, despite his injured lip. His thumb lingered for a moment, circling her ring finger. She was lost for a moment at the intimate gesture. For a second, she sincerely hoped he wasn’t one of the brash men at Miss Merriweather’s who offered money for a night in return. Yet there was something innocent in his gaze, which made her inwardly scoff at the notion. If he were interested in her paid time, why would he have left before the end of her performance? Why did he appear disinterested? It didn’t seem right. Deciding to be a little more trusting, Delilah smiled.
“My name is Dante Heller. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Knightly.”
He cradled his stomach with an arm. The bleeding had finally slowed from his lip and she found herself unable to resist dabbing the remnants of it with the handkerchief she still held. She watched as the corner of his mouth turned upward in a grin and she gasped, realizing what she’d done. Delilah jerked her hand away.
“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Heller.” She thrust the material into his hand and stood, looking around for any sign of a carriage. Hearing the shuffling behind her, she glanced to see him stand and dust his coat.
“Miss Knightly, I live relatively close if you would like to share a cab with me. I can wake my butler and have him escort you home.”
Delilah swallowed hard, tears returning to her eyes, remembering her lack of a home.
“No, that won’t be necessary, but thank you for the offer. I do hope you recover quickly from your misfortune,” she replied, hoping he wouldn’t hear the catch in her voice. She righted her fallen steamer trunk and began to walk toward the gas lamps in front of the hotel.
“Are you well? I hate to intrude, but you seem a bit distraught.”
Delilah did her best to smile and waved him away. “Oh, I am perfectly fine. Just a sudden change of plans is all. Everything will be fine in the morning,” she choked out, fighting the urge to spill the whole sordid story out to him. Why? She wondered. What made him so easy to talk to? Was it the lack of companionship or friends that made her want desperately to just vent her plight?
“Of course,” he said, narrowing his eyes on her.
Delilah was well aware her subterfuge skills were terrible. She couldn’t convince anyone she was all right–it didn’t help that tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks. She stamped her foot and huffed. “I was just released from my position at Miss Merriweather’s. I’m not sure if you realized, but I was performing there earlier. My unfortunate–” She felt the color rising in her cheeks, “extra showing, cost me my job. My employer decided it was time for me to go. I explained it wasn’t my fault but the fault of the seamstress and he struck me.” She stopped and hastily wiped her face clear of a stray tear. Feeling better by talking, she continued, not checking if Mr. Heller was indeed still listening. “I packed my belongings, said goodbye to a coworker and here I am. In addition to my glorious day of losing the only lengthy employment I’ve had in half a decade, I’ve also lost my home. My proprietor deduced where I was employed and decided she did not want that type of person living in her brownstone. So here I am.” She took a deep breath as she stopped. It felt as if a weight were lifted from her shoulders. She glanced up briefly to see Mr. Heller’s reaction. His brows were furrowed and his jaw was set.
“I am very sorry to hear of your misfortune, Miss Knightly. I realize I have only known you but mere minutes, but I must say there’s no reason for someone to treat a woman in such a manner. There simply must be a better way for him to have addressed the situation. Were you able to speak with the owner? Is it still a viable option? Is there someone to champion you in such matters?”
His genuine concern startled her. Delilah shook her head. “I refuse to return. I would rather remain homeless before I set another foot in that establishment.”
Dante nodded. “I understand. It would take a lot for me to return as well. Yet, if there’s a way to right the situation…”
“No. There is no righting this situation, as you say, Mr. Heller. I am finished with Miss Merriweather’s. I’m finished with that terrible Artie McGinnis and everyone else who works there. I can only wish he would get what he deserves.” Delilah suddenly felt remorse for having vented her problems to a stranger and began to walk toward the lights of the hotel. She heard his limping footfalls, trying to catch up with her.
“Might I ask if you’re going far? I would hate to think of someone doing you more harm as they have to me,” he asked from her side. “I would like to at least escort you safely to your destination.”
Delilah stopped, unable to comprehend this stranger’s kindness. She looked to his strong but gentle hands to see he still held the handkerchief she’d given him. He was obviously in more pain than she was, given the recent assault. She immediately felt abysmal for turning the conversation around toward herself. Perhaps she was as attention grabbing as Artie had suggested. She bit her lip.
“Thank you, but no. I will be quite all right. Have a good evening, Mr. Heller. It was a pleasure to meet you. I wish it had been under different circumstances, and I apologize for blurting out such information when you are in your own state of shock.”
She thought of their moment that seemed to stop time–when he’d looked into her eyes from the audience. The same intense piercing stare was there this time, yet now the warmth of his concern made it even more personal. She blinked hard to break eye contact. She shook her head and skipped a step as she sped up to the welcoming lights surrounding the hotel sign. Focusing on it, she didn’t hear him again as the distance between them grew.
* * * *
Artie McGinnis shut his office door and tossed his wool cap on the hat rack. Flipping a few pieces of paper in his hand, he flopped down into a chair behind his desk. He dipped a pen in a nearby inkwell and began the tedious work of the end-of-night finances. A light rap on the door brought him out of concentration and he cussed under his breath.
“Go away. I’m busy.”
The door opened slightly, but no one entered.
“What is it?”
No one answered. He looked up, only seeing the dim light from the hallway. A shadow drifted just in glow from the lamp outside.
Artie stood, grumbling and complaining on his way to the door. Throwing it open further, he looked out into the hall. It was empty. He stepped out of the room, completely into the hall and peered down–first left, then right. Only the one lone lamp occupied it. Artie frowned.
“Who’s there?”
Only silence returned his question. He walked a few steps in either direction and looked into the nearby dressing rooms. Finding them empty, he walked back to his office and left the door open.
He returned to his desk. With a yawn, he rubbed his eyes and worked on the papers. The hallway light flickered and the slamming of his office door jarred his concentration.
“What the bloody hell?” he yelled, jumping from his seat. He scurried around the side of his desk and ran to the door. Just as he grabbed the knob, the lantern in his office blew out and only dim moonlight shone into the small room. Artie had no time to react as cold hands wrapped around his arms and pulled him back to the middle of his office. He tried to wrestle free from the tightening grip. From the darkness, came a shocking strike to his face, stomach and then face again. The inhuman sounds of growling and snarling petrified him and he tried to scream. Clammy hands clawed at his legs. Groaning