Cora (Southern Hearts Book 3) Page 3

  The sound of footsteps had him drawing back. Camouflaged against the wall, he stared in stunned silence as a woman emerged. Frederic shook his head and returned his gaze to the alleyway. The figure had disappeared. He knitted his brow. What was going on? Had Cory met up with a possible mistress of the night then escaped by the opposite end of the alley to keep from being seen? Was the young lady Cory’s sister or a lady friend meeting to exchange funds, information, or something of a non-nefarious nature?

  Even before his brain was otherwise engaged, his feet moved. He followed the mysterious woman until she entered a rundown tenement a couple of blocks away. Secured behind a tree, he tapped his foot against the stone walkway and waited. No candles burned behind the drapes, and he assumed she'd gone to bed.

  For an hour he considered his next action, and then the young lady stepped onto the porch, heaved a sigh, and took off down the street.

  He followed her to the church. She shook hands with Chance O'Malley before disappearing inside. So the rumors of O'Malley's conversion were truth. Wonder when that happened? And how? And… He shook his head. The revelation of O'Malley's character shift could baffle him later, for now he had a new mystery.

  Who was this woman who hid in alleyways with Cory and shook hands with the local priest? Could she be the mastermind behind the opium ring? Could a woman be at the helm controlling the entire operation?

  ****

  "I believe we should cancel class," said Father O'Malley.

  Cora’s heart sank. "Oh, no, why?"

  "Because quite frankly I'm afraid my teacher is going to fall over from exhaustion."

  She bowed her head. He nudged her chin upward. A kind smile tugged his eyes. Cora couldn't help note how handsome he was. Tawny hair lay in waves and caressed his collar. Pale blue eyes graced his strong angular face. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she turned away. She must be tired to ogle a priest.

  "You see? Your face is all flushed."

  She groaned and tried to push past him.

  He stopped her. "You need a break. Today the children will recite verses with Sister Angus. You go home, sleep, and come back tomorrow."

  "Thank you, Father."

  He nodded and left her in the narthex.

  Following his suggestion, she went home. The tiny cot never looked so inviting. Lying on her side, she gazed at the desk. The two letters still lay there unanswered. Time was her biggest enemy. When did she have a free moment to reply and express her intentions? If she wrote a response now, when would she sleep?

  She stroked the pages. How would she express her desire to be on her own? Her hope to find someone new and exciting to live her life with? She rolled over and punched the flat pillow. She couldn't fault her family for not understanding. She barely understood herself.

  The ceiling warped and sagged above her. The tenement room was in sharp contrast to her bedroom at the plantation. Plain and dull verses colorful and exciting.

  She sighed. Even if she wanted to go home she couldn't. Most of her money was gone, and the money she made at her two jobs barely paid for her survival. Finding funds to travel from New York to Louisiana seemed impossible. On that thought, she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to overtake her.

  ****

  Frederic rushed to follow the young woman from the church back to her home. Her stint inside had been brief. Perhaps her confession of sins was short? Or perhaps she went to the church for a meeting with O'Malley, which fit the theory that she was the leader of the group and men were wooed by her charms.

  He huddled against the building. A young man shuffled past, shooting a curious glance over his shoulder. An elderly woman rocked back and forth on her porch, widening her eyes and staring at him. He looked away and whistled, trying to appear less suspicious.

  "If you want to talk to the young girl, I would change my mind. She is an ornery sort." When he didn't reply the inquisitive elderly woman from a few doors down bellowed, "Boy! Hey you? I'm trying to tell you something."

  Frederic turned. She had inched forward and wagged her gnarled finger. Strands of graying hair wisped around her wrinkled face. She pursed pale red lips and narrowed her eyes. He pointed at himself, raising an eyebrow in query.

  "Yes, you. Mimee knows a stranger when she sees one. Do you have a letter for Miss Beaumont?"

  Frederic frowned at the name. Like Miss Amelia Beaumont from Bayou Sara, Louisiana? Perhaps she had cousins or other relatives in the city. Louisiana didn't have the Beaumont name cornered.

  Mimee leaned back in her chair and resumed her rocking. "The girl gets lots of mail these days. I speculate her family wants her home. Why no parent would be happy knowing their child runs around at all hours. Why I can't figure out when she sleeps." She mumbled under her breath then blurted, "So you ain't got a letter for her?"

  "No," he said, struggling to keep up.

  "A message then?"

  "No."

  The lady drew her brows together. "I think you're lost."

  Frederic almost argued with her but changed his mind. Better to leave now and pick up the trail later than to risk calling attention to himself. He tipped his hat. "I believe you're correct."

  "You can see your way out?" she asked, crossing her arms over her ample chest in a protective gesture.

  "Yes, thank you." So the old biddy was also the neighborhood guard.

  Frederic left the neighborhood determined to find answers. Perhaps a search through the town archives would do the trick. Now that he had a name to work with it should be a simple matter to find the information he sought.

  Chapter Five

  The afternoon arrived all too quickly. Cora woke, still groggy, and prepared for her afternoon job. The sidewalk was empty except for Mimee, who rocked back and forth humming under her breath.

  If she was lucky, she could just slip past. Cora increased her pace.

  But Mimee was a lot more alert than she appeared. "He sure is a handsome fella."

  Reluctantly, Cora slowed and faced Mimee. "I'm sorry…what?"

  "The man who followed you home twice yesterday."

  Fear entered her gut, and her chest tightened. Man? A man had followed her?

  The old lady kept talking, apparently not noticing Cora’s distress. "He was right handsome. Had long dark brown hair and bright green eyes. I bet he ain't bad in the bedroom either with that figure of his."

  Cora's jaw dropped.

  "Scoop your chin off your chest, girl. I'm old, not dead."

  Obediently, Cora shut her mouth.

  "As I was saying, the man must be shy because he trembled outside your door." Mimee scrunched her lips into a warped smile. Then her expression changed and she drew her brows into a serious expression. "I don't know what name you've been given to people but he seemed rattled when I told him the truth."

  Mimee continued but Cora didn't listen. A thousand questions plagued her mind. The whistle of a steamboat rent the air.

  "Here I have been jawin' and you're going to be late. Better get going. And don't you worry, if that handsome feller returns I'll keep him occupied until you get home." Mimee shook her head and guffawed.

  Baffled by who could be following her, Cora scooted along the street, every sound catching her attention. She cast furtive glances into the shadows but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  By the time she reached the alley, sweat had gathered along her neckline and ran a course to the valley of her breast. On the street she was exposed, but in the alley she would be vulnerable.

  Her pulse beat a rapid tattoo against her neck as she looked around. Assured no one watched, she slipped into her hiding spot and changed clothes.

  ****

  Frederic stood back and watched as Miss Beaumont entered the alleyway for the second time in two days. What business could she possibly have in the alley? He'd been there all afternoon and no one else had entered or exited the miniscule space. If she was having a meeting with her cohorts then they would be arriving after her.

  The d
ay had been horrendous. Discovery of his surveillance by the old lady had sent him back to the office empty handed. Collecting information on the Miss Beaumont had proven futile. He'd composed telegrams and wired them to his contacts. But with no first name and only his memory to go on, it was like a needle in a haystack.

  He'd given up, ate, and tried to rest. But no matter how hard he tired he couldn't stop his mind from working. Disguising himself he had waited opposite the alley. At the sound of the factory steam whistle he feared he'd missed her. Timid steps had echoed and he had found her sneaking inside.

  Again the whistle rent the air, and the young lady exited dressed as a he. Frederic blinked and did a double take. Miss Beaumont was Cory! Why hadn't he seen the resemblance before? The small frame. The delicate feminine features. The thick hat which he now knew covered lengths and lengths of light blond hair. He slapped his forehead, searched to make sure no one saw him, and then took off in a run. He kept up with her until she entered the fish house. Now he had a few hours to strategize before she appeared again. This time he would be ready for her.

  ****

  Working with practiced motions that required little thought, Cora slit the fish. Waste was discarded in one bucket while usable parts were sliced into filets and placed in another. Young Irish lads, their hats tilted sideways, ran the aisles and hauled the buckets to the ends. There the fish was ground for fertilizer. Grating sounds of the hand shredder echoed above the noise of flinging parts.

  Jeffers entered the floor and stared at her. Cold fingers of dread wandered up and down her spine, and she trembled.

  "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost," whispered Michael.

  "I'm fine, just a little chilled." She looked back at the fish in her hands.

  "Do you want my coat?"

  She shook her head. "No, thank you." She forced the gruff tone she used as Cory. She daren't forget her deception, not for a moment.

  "I don't mind. All this movement keeps me warm."

  Cora opened her mouth to reply but shut it as Jeffers gaze lingered on her and she turned away.

  Since the first night of her employment, she’d suspected he knew the truth of her identity. He was always a little friendlier with her, always a little touchy. Why he kept her secret left her baffled.

  Focusing on the fish, she cut and pulled its entrails, working to control her fears.

  "Hello, Cory," whispered Jeffers in her ear.

  She swallowed and gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

  "Would you come with me?"

  Cora wanted to say no, but he squeezed her arm and she relented with a last look around the processing floor.

  Michael stiffened beside her so she straightened her shoulders and pretended bravery as she marched to the corner office. The door clicked shut. Candles burned in the dark office. Cora stood in the middle of the room and clasped her hands in front of her. The scent of fish was more pronounced in the enclosed space and Cora fought the urge to gag.

  Jeffers settled in a chair behind the scarred desk and crossed his ankles on the corner He narrowed his eyes. "Where are your manners? You should remove your hat in my office."

  How many men had she seen clutch their hats in their hands when they entered her father's office? But if she removed her hat then…

  "Is there a reason you aren't complying with my order? I think my request is simple enough."

  "Was it an order or a sign of respect?" she asked, licking her lips and fighting a fresh wave of fear.

  Jeffers slammed his palms on the desk and pushed upward. Between gritted teeth, he said, "Do you think you're clever?"

  "Not particularly." She'd done it now.

  A blood vessel throbbed on his forehead. "Let's get something straight. I know what you are, yet I allow you to work here out of my good graces."

  Cora tried not to tremble.

  "If you want to keep this job you will do exactly as I say."

  Chapter Six

  When the employees left the next morning, Frederic struggled to find Miss Beaumont amongst the crowd. Frantically, he searched. She was his only lead to the opium ring's leader and he wouldn't lose her. Disguising herself as a boy was good, but he was better. He would find her.

  There she was! Michael Doyle held his arm about her shoulders as her body shook with sobs. "Let me help you lad. I'm sure I can find you another job."

  Hiccup. "I didn't lose my job."

  "You didn't? Then why are you crying so?"

  The wail grew.

  "There, there, I hate to say this, but most lads your age are at least trying to act manly. Maybe you should…"

  Frederic thought it impossible, but the agonized wail grew even louder. She busted free from Michael's grasp and ran. Frederic hastened to keep up. As before, she stopped at the alley and he followed her, finding a spot along the corner to wait. Sounds emitted from within seemed odd, different. Back against the wall, he slid inside.

  "Give me that!" whispered Miss Beaumont.

  "What for? What are you hiding?" barked a strange male voice.

  "Why are you asking since you already know?" she replied, her voice trembling with fear, or perhaps it was rage.

  "Call it a curiosity," the stranger replied, his tone soothing as if he was trying to cajole an injured party.

  "There is nothing more to tell," said Miss Beaumont, her tone defiant.

  "I don't believe you. No one works at the fish house for money." Now the stranger sounded curious like a reporter on a fact finding mission.

  "I do."

  "Hand it over now Cory, or whatever your real name is."

  Her voice shook. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "The sack."

  "My smelly fish clothes?" she asked. Frederic could imagine her behaving like a thousand other ladies, lashes batting incredulously as she thrust her hip out.

  "No, the sack. Give it." The cajoling tone, turn curious, had now transformed into a no-nonsense voice.

  Light filtered between the two buildings highlighting a rotund shadow. Miss Beaumont didn't move.

  "Jeffers, what is taking you so long?" The question came from the opposite end of the alleyway.

  "Sorry boss, but she's being stubborn." Now the cocksure voice trembled, as if Jeffers experienced his own amount of fear.

  "Then unstubborn her and get my package. The cold ain't good for me."

  Miss Beaumont's voice took on a probing tone. "Little Tommy Watkins, is that you?"

  "I don't know any Tommy Watkins. Now give Mr. Jeffers what he wants or you're going to get it."

  A scuffle ensued and Frederic didn't move. This was his chance. This was it. They were fighting over the opium. All he had to do was wait, and he could take all three of them down. Maybe he should return to the street where he could alert an officer. He might need the help.

  ****

  Jeffers grabbed the bag and pulled. Cora pulled back. What did he want with her clothes?

  The struggled continued. Jeffers arrested the bag from her grasp and raced out the opposite end of the alleyway at the heels of the known stranger. Cora followed as they ran through the streets of the Irish community. Several people strutted from their homes as they prepared to go to work.

  The gown she'd barely had time to change into whipped around her legs and threatened to trip her at any moment. If only she'd gotten a good look at the shadowy man's face then she could have ran to the police station and reported the theft. Then again right now it was more important her secret not be discovered. If Jeffers revealed she was a woman, the men she worked with would cast her aside. Her funds would dry up and her cupboard would go bare. But worst of all the lies she'd told could mean Michael would cease to be her friend.

  She hitched her skirts higher and ran past gawking neighbors.

  "Hey, Cora where are you going?" shouted Little Tommy Watkins.

  "He stole my clothes," she yelled over her shoulder.

  "Let me help."

  He joined her
and together they traversed the empty streets. Her hat flew from her head and her hair cascaded down her back. Her lungs ached as she pushed herself to keep up. The two men skidded to a halt and entered an abandoned building. Tommy and Cora entered behind them, stopping just inside the doorway. Shafts of sunlight drifted through the pane less windows, but still darkness prevailed.

  "I can't see a thing. Where did they go?" asked Tommy.

  A shadow passed overhead as someone raced around the mezzanine.

  Chest heaving, Cora squinted. Off to the side appeared a set of stairs. Walking as fast as she dared in the dark room, she made her way to their base.

  "Be careful, Cora. You might fall," said Tommy, his voice taunt with apparent worry.

  She heeded his warning as she climbed the rickety apparatus. The wooden steps bowed beneath her weight. In more than one spot the railing was missing and she hugged the wall and prayed she didn't fall.

  The stairway ended at a square platform and the lighting improved. The pair of men stood at the end of a walkway. Silently, she approached. The closer she drew the louder her heart thumped in her ears.

  The men neared a collapsed wall. Jeffers held his hands, palms up, and backed toward the opening. He yelled, "What are you doing?"

  "What I should have done a long time ago," replied the stranger in a cold and calculated voice.

  A burst of light, the crack of a shot, a piercing wail, and then silence. It happened in an instant and an eternity. A dark stain blossomed on his chest as Jeffers threw his arms skyward in a wind-milling motion and tumbled backward over the edge of the missing wall. A thud echoed upward, and Cora cringed.

  The gunman faced her. Smoke wafted from the tip of the barrel and blurred his features. Frozen like a stature, Cora held her breath.

  He didn't speak as he picked up her sack and tossed it over his shoulder. Calmly, he reloaded the pistol. The smoke cleared and tears clouded her vision. He raised his weapon.

  "Duck!"

  The shout had come from behind. She turned on her heel and crumpled to the ground.