London's Calling. Elysabeth Williams
* * * *
She awoke to the sound of pounding on her door.
“Cleaning service, madam,” a female voice called from the other side.
Delilah jolted upright, and looked at the clock. Half past eleven. “Damn!” Check-out was in thirty minutes. “Damn. Damn.”
She struggled to get dressed in a half sleep and sweetly explained through the door to have the maid to give her just a moment. Gathering her things back into the trunk, she found her reticule missing from the side of the table where she'd tossed it previously. With a curse, she flung the contents of her luggage back and forth, trying to find it. She dropped to the floor and scanned under the vanity, bed, and dresser, with no luck. “Bloody hell.”
“Madam, I must clean the room before the next guest arrives,” the maid pounded again and shook the doorknob.
“Just a minute, please,” she said with more force than intended. The rattling of the doorknob stopped. Delilah got to her feet and flopped down on the bed with her head in her hands. Her savings were gone, nowhere to be found. Had someone entered while she slept? She stared at the door’s locks. All unfastened from the inside. She felt her throat start to close with the idea of someone being in the same room. Glassy eyes and a rotten smile came to mind and she covered her mouth and screamed into it.
The rap on the door came again, harder this time. “Are you all right?” The doorknob started to jiggle again and Delilah bolted from the bed. She snapped the clasps closed on her luggage and threw the door open to a very concerned looking woman.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She forced a smile and all but ran down the hall to the lift. Passing by corner where she saw the pale gentleman, she breathed deeply trying to keep from losing her wits. She stabbed the down button of the elevator with her finger repeatedly, hoping it would come faster that way. The gate opened and the bellhop waited for her with a smile.
Once on the lobby floor, Delilah brushed past the bellhop as she exited as quickly as possible trying to dodge the clerk from the nightshift and anyone else who might recognize her. Delilah held her head high and strode purposefully out the doors and down the street as if the building were to catch fire at any moment.
She hated the idea of leaving the hotel without paying, but given the circumstances and now, missing money by an unknown source, she was without alternatives. Delilah made a promise to herself that when she arrived in a better situation she would anonymously return the money for the night kept, even if it were just a few hours.
Now she was without the ability to purchase food. As if it knew, Delilah’s stomach growled and panged. “Oh be quiet,” she muttered to her stomach. Gaining a few blocks’ distance from the hotel and herself, she slowed her pace and wondered what her grand master plan was now. She could return to Miss Merriweather’s and sell her costuming to the remaining performers. They were the only ones who had any use for the things now. If she moved on to another troupe, she'd more than likely have another array of clothing. She cursed under her breath to the person who stole her purse. It seemed like nothing was planning on going right today. Delilah turned around on her heel and began to walk back toward the building of Miss Merriweather's.
* * * *
Dante woke with the new day’s light pouring into his dingy room. He pulled the covers over his head and groaned at the soreness that overtook his body. His head throbbed and his throat was dry. When he rolled over, his stomach rebelled and he gagged. Giving up on sleep, he threw the covers back and threw his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up.
He glanced down to his bare chest and saw the remnants of dried blood on his now bruised stomach. Recalling the night before, he cursed and stood to stretch and take inventory of his injuries.
He shuffled to his armoire, opened it and cautiously peered at the mirror. Dark purple bruises covered his ribs. He touched them gingerly and recoiled at the pain. Broken, most likely. The left side of his face matched the mottled color. His eye was bloodshot and swollen. Not wanting to see more, he closed the armoire door and returned to his bed.
Dante slowly sat down on the bed’s edge and looked out the window. He recalled the woman he’d met the night before and wondered if she found a room to let. He didn’t want her to go alone, but insisting otherwise would have been foolish. She was a grown woman, a very independent one, obviously, and of course, not all women wanted saving. And he couldn’t figure out why he cared so much over a stranger. Was it because he’d already seen her mostly naked? Was it because she seemed like she needed saving? Like a lost puppy she was—waiting for someone to pick her up and carry her inside out of the cold.
He scoffed. Delilah Knightly was no lost puppy. She was strong. There was no doubting it. He didn’t have to know her for more than five minutes to know that much.
The doorbell rang downstairs. He waited for someone to open the door, but heard nothing. The doorbell rang again. Dante tried to ignore it, hoping the butler, or anyone, would open it. After the third ring, Dante growled. With a grimace, he attempted to pull on a shirt, padded to the door with bare feet and threw open the door.
“Good morning, Heller. You look like hell.”
Sebastian Kendall stood on the doorstep with a grin not meant for morning.
“What do you want, Seb? It’s barely daylight.” He opened the door wide enough for the man to bound inside as if he’d had a perfect night’s sleep.
“I was just bringing the paper around for you. Thought you’d be interested in it.” He tossed the rolled up newspaper to Dante, who caught it in midair with one hand–and hissed at the pain it caused his ribs. “What happened to you, mate?” Sebastian asked.
“I was accosted last night. Assaulted. Knocked out.” He shuffled into the parlor and sat down in a chair by the fireplace.
“Mugged?” Sebastian asked, following him into the room.
“Not exactly. They didn’t take anything. Someone shoved me out into the street in front of a cab while exiting Miss Merriweather’s last night. When I got up to chase after the culprit, I was led into the alley and beaten unconscious.”
“Did you call for the police?”
“What an odd thing for you to consider, Sebastian. You don’t agree with the police most of the time. What’s the change of heart?” Dante chuckled, only half-kidding. He didn’t mean to call his bluff, but the notion did strike him as odd, coming from him. Sebastian stayed as far away from the law as possible.
“I certainly don’t want someone out there harming my friends…and well, I want to know if it’s someone I know.” He laughed back.
Dante smiled, knowing Sebastian was far from kidding.
The butler entered the parlor where they stood. “Care for tea, sirs?”
Sebastian was the first to answer. “Yes! That would be wonderful. I’m starving.” He took a seat across from Dante, who scowled. He didn’t want Sebastian to be here. He didn’t want breakfast. Dante wanted to go back to bed.
“Yes, Bickers, breakfast would be fine,” Dante answered his butler, who stood waiting for the orders. Bickers bowed and exited.
Dante returned to the newspaper Sebastian threw to him. He unfolded it to read the headline.
Entertainment Manager of Popular Nightspot ‘Miss Merriweather’s’ Slain.
He scooted to the edge of his seat and narrowed in on the specifics. The body of Mr. Arthur McGinnis, long-time entertainment manager of the famous Miss Merriweather’s club was found with his throat slashed in his office. It is suspected that a recently unemployed entertainer may have murdered Mr. McGinnis. Coworkers of Miss Delilah Knightly state she and the manager were heard arguing before the homicide occurred. There have been no reports of witnesses to the actual crime. A stagehand, Mr. Charles Grum states he walked in to speak with Mr. McGinnis regarding her dismissal the night before and found