Wicked. Beth Henderson
he’d regret later.
“Listen, my name’s Galloway. I was on my way to visit an old friend who lives in the next house. If you can make it to Hannah’s rooms, you’ll not only be able to sit down, you’ll have that cup of tea.” Hannah had been known to add a warming dollop or two of whiskey to the pot when the situation merited it, as this one certainly did, to his mind.
The wren gave him a weak smile. “It sounds delightful.” Her chin lifted in a show of determination. “I believe I can make it that far.”
“Good girl,” Deegan approved, but he kept firm hold of her arm to support as well as guide her.
“Today was Belle’s birthday,” she said, as if driven to speak. “She was just twenty. I brought her a portrait I’d taken as a present. When he—” She broke off again, swallowing her fear before adding softly, “Belle dropped it.”
Not knowing how to comment, Deegan kept his own council and tried to hurry her along.
“I’m sorry to be such a burden,” she murmured.
“You’re no such thing,” he assured her. “My avocation is rescuing ladies in need.”
The glib quip brought her smile back into play, if but fleetingly. “I wish you could have helped Belle, then.”
“So do I,” Deegan said, although he doubted a murder had been committed. No doubt his wren had witnessed one of the all too frequent acts of domestic violence that happened in the district. Her inexperience in such matters would lead her to embroider the event in her mind, turning it into an act of murder.
“How are you holding up?” he asked as they reached the back entrance to Hannah’s building. “My friend is on the second floor. Can you make it on your own?”
She gave the narrow staircase a dubious look. Deegan wasn’t sure whether her concern was over its steepness or lack of cleanliness.
“Yes, I believe so,” she said, laying a hand on the banister.
Deegan fell back two steps, hoping the flimsy railing was strong enough to hold her should she feel faint again. She weighed the equivalent of two feathers, or so he had imagined when he’d tipped her off her feet earlier, but he doubted upkeep on the building had improved since he’d lived there, even then it had been an excellent candidate for the city aldermen to condemn.
Nearly every step creaked in warning to the residents of their intrusion. The game little wren kept her narrow skirt lifted just above the dusty treads, forging on at a steady pace. Trailing behind her, Deegan sensed rather than saw eyes follow their progress and wondered how much it would cost him to make sure news of their visit to Hannah didn’t reach the ears of the man in pursuit of the wren. Hannah had had enough grief in her life without him adding more to it at this stage. Deegan peered more closely into the shadows above them until he found the silent watcher—a boy of perhaps ten, lying flat on the third-floor landing, his nose pressed to the spindles of the stair rail as he spied on them. A boy much as he’d once been, only filthier.
“Say, pardner,” Deegan called up the stairwell to the child. “There’s two bits in it if you’ll tell Mrs. McMillan she’s about to have visitors.”
Unfazed over being discovered, the boy lifted his chin off the dirty floor. “Yer mean old Hannah?”
She was barely thirty-seven years old, six years older than Deegan, but the boy already considered her ancient. Had the Coast made Hannah a crone before her time? Deegan hoped not. His memory of her was of sweet, smiling green eyes beneath a glory of flaming red hair. Trusty had always called her the loveliest creature he’d ever seen. She was certainly the most even-tempered woman Deegan had ever met. Living with Trusty O’Rourke and him, she had had to be.
“If you don’t hustle, we’ll beat you to her door, pardner,” Deegan warned. “Tell her Dig’s come to visit.”
The boy bounded to his feet, taking the rickety steps from the upper floor two at a time. He was in full throat by the time he reached the second floor landing. “Hey, Hannah. Yer’s got company.”
“I hope Mrs. McMillan doesn’t mind the interruption,” the wren said softly. She glanced down at Deegan two steps below her, her cheeks burning but not, he thought, with exertion. “I mean, if she’s already occupied with a, er—”
“Hannah’s retired,” he snapped, and regretted it immediately when her cheeks brightened still more. It had been a logical assumption for the wren to make, but Hannah hadn’t been a doxy in a long time. At least he hoped she hadn’t.
Judging from the sound alone, the boy hadn’t waited until he got to the door of Trusty’s old lodgings, but was banging the flat of his hand against the wall to alert Hannah. It took three thuds before Deegan heard a door open and her voice answer.
“Gracious, child!” Hannah admonished lightly. “You’ll wake the dead with that racket.”
“Ya got company, Hannah,” the boy announced. “A woman and some fella says his name is Dig.”
There was a feminine gasp of surprise followed by the rustle of skirts. Deegan scarcely managed to set the unwieldy camera aside before Hannah threw herself in his arms.
“My God!” she whispered hoarsely. “Is it really you, Digger lad?”
“It’s me, darlin’,” Deegan said, holding her close as he breathed in the remembered scent of her perfume. “Miss me, did you?”
“Silly question,” Hannah said, and kissed him hard on the mouth to prove it.
Chapter Three
Lilly stood to one side, waiting until the moment when Hannah McMillan and Galloway parted. Although she had never actually witnessed such an event, she doubted that Hannah’s greeting was that of a bird of paradise to a customer—even a favorite customer.
The woman didn’t resemble the soiled doves Lilly had met during her visits to the Coast. Although flirtatious curls spilled free at the nape of Mrs. McMillan’s neck and around her ears, she wore her copper hair swept up in a prim knot at the crown of her head. Her dress seemed as proper as Lilly’s own, but was a deep emerald green trimmed with brocaded ribbon. Having grown accustomed to the paint that Belle and her friends wore, Lilly was pleasantly surprised to find that the only color in Hannah McMillan’s cheeks was the result of her pleasure in seeing the handsome Mr. Galloway.
The kiss the two shared was over as quickly as it began. “There can be only one reason you finally came to see me, Dig,” Hannah declared, turning an approving gaze on Lilly. “And I must say, if I’d chosen her myself, I couldn’t have found a more perfect wife for you. I approve most heartily.”
Lilly was sure her face turned as red as a ripened apple. “Oh, but—”
Galloway chuckled and put a fond arm around the older woman’s shoulders. “I might well agree with you if my acquaintance with this lady was longer than a few minutes,” he said smoothly.
The compliment implied by his words made Lilly even more flustered, so she was relieved when he rolled right into a brief explanation of their meeting and subsequent arrival on Hannah McMillan’s doorstep.
“Dear me!” Hannah murmured when he’d finished. “Please don’t take offense. As fond as I am of this rogue, it was truly meant as a compliment. But from the adventure you’ve had, I’d say the sooner you have a comfy chair and a cup of tea, the better.” She gestured to the filthy boy who stood observing them silently. “Run down to the baker’s, Otis, and see if he has some nice little cakes. Tell him they are for me, then get something for yourself and your mother, too.”
Although he looked anxious to depart on the errand, Otis didn’t manage to get away immediately. Galloway’s hand on the boy’s thin shoulder held him firmly in place. “Before you go, I think you and I have some business to contract, pardner,” he said, idly tossing