Oh dear. Now David Vanderslice was flirting with her. “I’d like that very much.” Too bad she wouldn’t be around long enough to actually do it.
“It’s a shame you’re here in the winter. I’d love to take you to Central Park or out on the ferry to the Statue of Liberty, but at least there are the museums.”
“You must take Miss Miles to see some plays, too,” his mother said, looking up from her sewing.
“You’ll never see better theater than in New York,” he said.
Elizabeth could have agreed, since she’d lived in New York her entire life, but she said, “That sounds lovely.”
“I hope you’re planning to stay for a while,” he said.
“I promised Anna I would stay until you grew tired of me.”
David gave her a devastatingly beautiful smile. “Then you’ll be here forever.”
Elizabeth had to force herself to smile back.
? ? ?
She’d been afraid she would have trouble finding a time she could slip away without anyone noticing and insisting that she needed a companion. Fortunately, the opportunity came the very next day. Mrs. Vanderslice had some sort of committee meeting after lunch, and Anna’s doctor, who had come to examine them both that morning, had recommended an afternoon nap for both of them for at least two weeks.
With Anna tucked away, Mrs. Vanderslice out of the house and David at his office, Elizabeth made her escape. She was pretty sure even the servants hadn’t noticed her departure. What day was it? She’d lost track, but the bite of the wind told her winter was closing in, and she hastened her step.
The street was busy, and she saw no sign of Thornton’s goons. He was probably satisfied with knowing where she was now and didn’t need to continually have her watched. She hoped that was true, at least. Just to be safe, however, she hopped on a trolley car at the very last minute and switched cars several times unnecessarily until she finally arrived at Dan the Dude’s Saloon in Chelsea. The streets in this neighborhood were even busier, and she melted into the crowd of working-class people moving down the sidewalk until she reached the alley. She ducked into it and hurried to the side door. When she raised her hand to knock, she realized it was shaking. But she had nothing to fear now. She was safe.
Her coded knock brought someone to open the sliding panel to see who might be outside. The eyes peering out widened in surprise and the mouth beneath muttered what was probably a curse before the door flew open. Spuds was the best lookout in the business, but he hadn’t even bothered to close the spy panel.
“Lizzie!” He glanced around to make sure she was alone, then grabbed her arm and hauled her inside. “Are you all right? Nobody knew what became of you, girl!”
“I’m fine, Spuds, and what became of me is a long story. Is the Old Man here?”
“Of course he is.” He hesitated. “Best you wait here, though, so I can prepare him. The shock . . .” He looked her over one last time, as if making sure she was really there, then hurried down the short hallway to the large room in the back of the saloon that served as the hangout for the Old Man’s crew.
Spuds was a fireplug of a man of indeterminate age who had earned his moniker because his face resembled a dried-up potato. Elizabeth couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t known him. He threw open the door at the end of the hall and called, “Boss!”
Then, “It’s the Contessa . . .”
Contessa? They’d never used that term of honor for her before.
“No, it’s her,” Spuds said. “She’s here.”
Her breath caught when she saw him, snagging on something sharp in her chest that was half joy and half dismay. He came toward her, tall and dignified as ever, his silver hair neatly brushed, his suit exquisitely tailored, his handsome face displaying an emotion she’d never seen him wear.
“Lizzie,” he said when he reached her. He threw his arms around her and crushed her to his chest. Tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn’t remember that he’d ever hugged her before, not in all the long years she’d known him. “Thank God,” he whispered. “We thought you were dead.”
He released her then but kept his hands on her shoulders as he studied her face. His eyes were suspiciously moist, and she marveled. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him express a single genuine emotion. “Are you all right? Did the mark get you?”
“No, I got away, and I’m fine.”
“Texas John came right away to tell me what happened. He brought your suitcase, and he thought you’d be here waiting for it.” Texas John, the man they’d called Coleman for the con. “We thought for sure they got you.”
“Let the Contessa come inside, where it’s warm,” Spuds said, using that term again. “She said it’s a long story, and she can tell all of us at once.”
“Of course.” He released her shoulders and took her by the hand, as if she were a child, to draw her down the hallway.
“Wait, first . . .” She had to swallow before she could ask. “Jake?”
“Jake will be glad to see you, too.”
Relief flooded her, but he was coaxing her along, willing her to move, and before she could even make sense of it, she was in the big room with the rest of them. About a dozen men had been sitting at tables, playing cards and swapping lies. She knew every single one of them.
At the sight of her, they stood, all but one.
“Jake,” she said, hurrying over to where he was struggling to rise. His arm was in a sling and his face was a patchwork of fading bruises. She laid a hand on his shoulder to hold him in his chair. “I thought they’d killed you.”
He gave her a lopsided smile that seemed to hurt him. “I thought they’d killed you, too, Lizzie.”
“What happened? How did you get away?”
“Those two goons of Thornton’s, they left me when he called for them. He told them to go after you. I would’ve gone after them, but . . .”
“You wouldn’t’ve caught me, either,” she said, making him smile again. “Did Texas John find you? He said he would.”
“Yes, he had to carry me out of the alley. He took me to a doctor he knows. They patched me up and let me hide out until I could travel.”
“He’s only been back three days himself,” the Old Man said. “But at least we knew where he was all that time. Now we want to know where you were and why you didn’t send us word.”
Elizabeth grinned. She knew they liked nothing better than a good tale, and she had one to tell. “I couldn’t send you word because I was in jail.”
“Jail?” Spuds cried. “How on earth did you end up in jail?”
“Don’t you boys read the newspapers? For obstructing traffic at the White House. I’m now a suffragist.”
That made them laugh, all except the Old Man. He was looking at her in a completely new way, as if he’d never really seen her before.
“Somebody get the Contessa a chair and something hot to drink,” Spuds said, “and we’ll get the whole story from her.”