Eight

Torey’s heart leaped in her throat as the hackney neared the bank where Simon worked. Mrs. Crawford had insisted Torey take the day off to buy herself a suitable outfit for church. Over Torey’s protests, the woman had also insisted upon Nat accompanying her. Torey was sure Simon would be furious when he discovered that the newly hired bodyguard was protecting her instead of his mother. In order to hurry back to the house, she had entered the first dress shop in sight and purchased the first gown that looked like a decent fit. Much to the salesgirl’s chagrin, Torey had waved away the suggested hat, shoes, and handbag.

She could have gone to town and back much more quickly if not for Mrs. Crawford’s request that she stop by Simon’s bank and deliver his forgotten lunch.

As the carriage slowed down, she glanced out the window. A sense of familiarity fluttered over her as she stared at the brick building. The pewter plaque on the outside of the bank boasted Savings and Loan in gold lettering. She’d been here before.

Searching her mind, she recalled waiting in the carriage while Amos went inside to conduct business just days before that fateful night at the theatre. Torey shuddered, pushing the vivid images from her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t completely push back thoughts of that poor man Amos had killed. The memories were never far away.

The carriage came to a complete stop, and Nat hopped down from the driver’s seat where he sat next to the driver. He opened the door. “We’re here, Miss Torey.”

Torey gathered a deep, steadying breath, snatched the basket with Simon’s lunch from the seat next to her, and stepped out.

“Don’t you worry none, little girl,” Nat said. “I’ll be standing right here, watching you like a hawk. Anyone bothers you, I’ll come running lickety-split.”

Tenderness filled Torey. She smiled at the giant of a man. Even with her height, she had to look way up to meet his gaze. He had no way of knowing that she felt completely safe with him. It was Simon she dreaded facing.

“Thank you, Nat. You’ve no idea how that eases my mind.”

The black man beamed with pleasure.

Anxiety seized Torey as she reached the door to the bank. Resisting the urge to run back to the carriage and thus force Simon to go hungry until supper, she pulled on the handle and went inside.

The bank bustled with people. Smartly dressed men and women clerks stood behind counters, conducting business with equally well-dressed men and women customers.

Torey scanned the room. In one section of the bank behind a swinging gate sat several wooden desks. She peered closer, recognizing the area as the place Mrs. Crawford had told her she’d find Simon. Squaring her shoulders, she clutched the basket tightly in an effort to still her trembling hands and forced her legs to move forward.

Her heart skipped a beat. She located him sitting at the third desk on the left side of the area behind the swinging gate. Intently studying documents on his desk, Simon had failed to notice her. Wishing he’d look up, Torey stood still for a moment until a man walked toward her and paused, obviously needing to get around her. Her cheeks warmed. She smiled her apology and stepped through the gate.

Simon looked up as she approached his desk. His brows rose in surprise, and he stood quickly, nearly tipping over his chair. He raked his hand through his thick, dark hair. “Miss Mitchell! What brings you downtown?” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Does my mother know you’ve come?”

Torey scowled. “Well, I certainly didn’t take it upon myself to deliver your lunch. Don’t worry, I’m headed straight home.” She slammed the basket onto his desk and spun around to leave.

“Wait.” Simon caught her by the arm, gently nudging her back around to face him. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

The little-boy appeal of an unruly lock of hair across his forehead combined with the pleading in his gray eyes softened Torey. She gave him an indulgent smile. “I forgive you.”

A look of relief slid over his face. He smiled. “Did Mother really send you all the way here just to deliver my lunch?”

“I–I was coming to town anyway. To, well, to purchase a suitable outfit for Sunday services. But you needn’t worry; I’ll work late to make up the time.”

“I’m not worried about the time. That’s between you and my mother. Look, since you’re here anyway, why don’t you allow me to treat you to lunch? There is a wonderful little establishment just around the corner. They have an Irish cook who makes the best corned beef and cabbage I’ve ever eaten.”

“What about your lunch?” Torey pointed toward the basket.

A smiled twitched Simon’s moustache. He lifted the lid and peeked inside. “The chicken sandwich you never got to eat last night.” Mischief gleamed in his eyes as he caught her gaze. “I’d rather have the corned beef. Katherine never has to know.”

Torey felt torn. A part of her ached to spend the time alone with him—as long as he continued to display this charming side of his character. The other side of her realized the danger of allowing herself to grow any fonder of him. She didn’t want to lose her heart to a man whose station in life was higher than hers.

Obviously recognizing her hesitation, Simon cocked his head to the side. “The only thing in life more enjoyable than discovering a wonderful restaurant is sharing it with someone.”

She knew he exaggerated. Lifting an eyebrow, she showed her skepticism.

“All right,” he said, that boyish grin nearly her undoing as he switched tactics. “Allow me to make up for my heretofore inexcusable manners.”

No one could doubt his sincerity. Torey felt her resolve weaken and crash. She smiled. “All right. I’d enjoy it.”

His face lit with pleasure. “Just let me grab my jacket, and I’ll be right with you.”

He grabbed the basket and walked a few feet before stopping beside another desk, where a man worked diligently. Simon cleared his throat to gain his attention. “Robert, I’m about to escort this lovely lady to lunch. Would you care to take this off my hands so that it doesn’t go to waste?”

“I don’t understand,” the man replied. Torey noticed his shirt, though pressed and clean, was worn thin. His face was gaunt, and she realized nourishing meals were more than likely few and far between.

“This lady brought my lunch all the way downtown, but I’d rather treat her to Mahoney’s around the corner. You’d be helping me out if you’d take this off my hands.”

“Why, I suppose I can do that for you,” the man replied. “Thank you.”

“I should thank you. If you didn’t take it, I’d be forced to forego my engagement or be wasteful.”

The man eyed the basket hungrily, and Torey could almost feel the aching in his stomach. Compassion filled her. How could a man work in a bank and not have enough food to sustain him?

She watched Simon walk across the room. Another man stopped him and held out a stack of papers. Simon took them and glanced back to Torey. He smiled and held up one finger to indicate he would just be a moment. Torey smiled back. Feeling conspicuous in the middle of the bank, she motioned to him that she would wait for him by the door. He nodded his understanding, then returned his attention to his work.

Torey stood watching the comings and goings with interest. How Simon must enjoy such a position. He appeared to be efficient, and she could imagine that someday he would be a very important man. Unease gnawed her at the thought. How long would he be interested in the likes of her?

“Miss Mitchell? How lovely to see you.”

Torey jerked her head and gasped at the sight of John Shepherd, friend and partner of Amos. Dread clenched her gut, and her heart began to race.

“M–Mr. Shepherd,” she stammered. “I–it’s a pleasure to see you again as well, Sir.”

His gaze slid over her, and Torey had the uncomfortable sense that he was looking at her as hungrily as Robert had eyed the chicken sandwich Simon had offered him. The old lecher slid his tongue over his thin lips and smiled a nearly toothless grin. Torey fought to keep from shuddering in revulsion.

“What brings you into town?” the old man asked.

“I’m, um. . .” Torey darted her gaze back to Simon, but he was too busy to notice.

“Does your stepfather know you’re all the way down here unescorted?” he asked in such a manner that Torey might have considered his concern grandfatherly, had he not just skimmed her figure again.

“N–no, he doesn’t know.” Attempting a smile, Torey realized he must not have been in touch with Amos these past weeks, or he would more than likely know she had run away. How could she have been so foolish as to come to the business district?

“Well, your secret is safe with me, my dear.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Shepherd. I am ever so grateful.”

“My pleasure.” He hesitated a moment as if considering his thoughts. Panic rose inside of Torey at his next words. “It would be an even greater pleasure if you would allow me to escort you to a fine lunch and then home.”

“Oh, no, Sir. I—”

“Ready, Miss Mitchell?”

Torey nearly fainted in relief as Simon approached.

“Yes. I’m ready,” she said, aware that her voice sounded breathless. She had to get them out of there before Mr. Shepherd discovered she was working for Simon or before Simon discovered she was well acquainted with Mr. Shepherd and heard Amos’s name brought into the conversation.

Mr. Shepherd’s brows rose, and anger flashed in his eyes. “I see you are otherwise engaged,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

“Yes, Sir. I am sorry.” She smiled, careful to show her dimples. “Perhaps another time? You’ve no idea how I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“Are you going to introduce us, Miss Mitchell?” Simon’s tone was hard-edged. Torey wasn’t sure if it was a natural response to Mr. Shepherd’s obvious animosity or if the incident reopened his suspicions.

Without giving her an opportunity to make the introductions, Simon extended his arm. “Simon Crawford.”

Recognition shone in Mr. Shepherd’s squinty eyes. “Your father was George Crawford?”

“Yes, Sir. You knew my father?”

“I did. A good man. I was sorry to hear of his death. The bank hasn’t been the same these past few weeks.”

“Thank you.” Simon shifted his feet, and Torey sensed his discomfort.

She watched the exchange with interest. She knew Mrs. Crawford was a widow, but she’d had no idea the loss was so recent.

“If you’ll excuse us, Sir,” Simon said. “I promised to take Miss Mitchell to lunch.”

Mr. Shepherd’s thin lips curved in a smile, but his gaze held Torey fast. His hard expression revealed his displeasure with the situation. Confusion wafted over Torey’s mind. Why should he care if she went to lunch with Simon? Perhaps he did know that she’d run away and Amos had offered a reward for her return. Had the old man intended to kidnap her, take her home, and collect the bounty? A shiver slid up her spine. She forced a smile. “Good day, Mr. Shepherd. It was a pleasure to see you again.”

“I assure you, the pleasure of seeing your pretty face again has brought me immeasurable joy.” Before she could protest, he snatched her hand and brought it to his wet lips. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from jerking away and wiping the back of her hand on her skirt. But she contained herself as he walked away, followed by two of the largest men she had ever seen except for Nat.

Simon scowled. “Shall we go, Miss Mitchell?”

Torey’s heart crashed. Gone were the pleasant tones of their earlier conversation. His voice had reverted to the cold suspicion to which she’d grown accustomed.

“No, thank you, Mr. Crawford. I’ve decided to return to your mother so that Nat can look after her.”

Alarm flashed in his eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that Nat came along with you instead of remaining home?”

Jerking her chin, Torey narrowed her gaze. “At your mother’s insistence. I’d have just as soon come alone.”

“Come on,” he commanded, taking her by the arm and escorting her from the bank. He stopped at the carriage and handed the driver some bills. “Paul, please take Nat home. Come to Mahoney’s around the corner in about an hour, and I will escort Miss Mitchell home at that time.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Wait.” Nat stepped forward, determination flashing in his dark eyes. “Those wasn’t my orders. Miz Crawford told me I was to look after Miss Mitchell until she returned home.”

Simon’s moustache twitched. “Don’t you think she’ll be safe with me?”

Nervously, Nat twisted his hat between his massive hands. “Well, now. I didn’t exactly say that. . .”

Patting the man on the arm, Simon gave him a reassuring smile. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to Miss Mitchell. She’s much too valuable to our household.”

Indignation shot through Torey, and she attempted to jerk away her arm. A chuckle lifted from Simon’s chest, and he held her fast.

Glowering, Torey sent him the full force of her glare. How dare he insult her! Perhaps Nat didn’t recognize the sarcasm, but she certainly did. Valuable indeed! They both knew she was worthless as a maid.

“That be what you’re wanting to do, Miss Mitchell?” Nat studied her intently, awaiting her answer.

Suddenly Torey didn’t know what she wanted. Part of her wanted to bolt, to jump into the carriage and return home to her room and her position as a hireling. Away from Simon’s intoxicating presence, teasing, and out-and-out suspicious nature. But the side of her that was beginning to believe Simon was wonderful forced her to remain silent. She nodded.

She knew by Simon’s intake of breath that he was just as surprised by her answer as she was. He loosened his grip on her arm. “Go on home, Nat. I promise to take good care of Miss Mitchell. I’d appreciate your making sure my mother is safe.”

“Yes, Sir. You got nothing to worry about.”

The black man climbed up next to the driver, and the carriage rolled away.

Torey stared after it, unable to find her voice, unable to meet Simon’s gaze.

“Come on. I promised you lunch.”

“Yes, Sir,” she murmured.

“Please, don’t call me sir anymore. I feel extremely old when you do so.”

“Yes, Mr. Crawford.” Nearly grinning over his reference to being old, she purposely kept her gaze riveted on the walk in front of her.

“I’d prefer if you’d call me Simon. I believe we know each other well enough for first-name usage, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.” Finding her courage, Torey glanced at him as he opened the restaurant door for her. They stepped inside. Torey’s stomach protested its emptiness as heavenly smells of pepper and beef reached her nostrils.

Simon escorted her to an empty table and held her seat. When he was seated across from her, he studied her intently. “Now, why don’t you think we know each other well enough to use first names?”

Torey’s gaze darted to the serving girl walking toward them. The woman grinned broadly. “Why, hello, Mr. Crawford. Back again? And you’ve brought your young lady with you.”

The pretty brunette sent him a cheeky grin. Then she turned sparkling brown eyes on Torey. “And I’d say he’s chosen well.”

Heat suffused Torey’s cheeks. “N–no, I’m not. . .I’m just. . .”

“Lizzie, meet Torey Mitchell. Miss Mitchell works as a maid at my mother’s soon-to-be-full boardinghouse.”

“Oh, I see.” Mischief sparked in her eyes, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she looked from Torey and back to Simon. “What’ll it be for you today, Sir?”

“Two plates of corned beef and cabbage. I promised Miss Mitchell here the best lunch in town.”

“And he’s not exaggerating, Miss.”

“Thank you,” Torey replied, relaxing a bit under the girl’s warmth.

“So, Miss Mitchell,” Simon began when Lizzie walked away, “you don’t believe we know each other well enough for first names.”

“No. I believe we’ve been acquainted long enough, and you are more than free to call me by name. But my position in your household makes it impossible for me to do the same.” She fingered the blue gingham tablecloth and forced herself to look him in the eye to show him how serious she was. “It isn’t proper. I shouldn’t even be here with you. Did you see how the serving girl looked at me when she discovered I’m your mother’s maid?”

“All she said was, ‘I see.’ ” Simon shrugged. “How could you read anything into that?”

“Honestly. Her tone of voice implied that she believes we are courting at best, and at worst. . .”

“At worst?” he urged.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Torey wished she’d never raised the issue. But now she was sure he’d never let it go. “At worst she believes we are carrying on an. . .” She hedged a moment, searching for an appropriate, yet inoffensive word. “An improper relationship.”

His face reddened. “Oh. Are you sure that’s what she thinks?”

Torey nodded. “Women have a sense about what other women are thinking.”

“I apologize, Miss Mitchell. It never occurred to me that inviting you to lunch might cause your reputation harm.”

Torey couldn’t help the warmth seeping through her chest at his concern. This was the side of Simon that she knew she was falling in love with. The side that had carried her up the stairs, saved her from the dog, examined her burns.

“It’s all right, Mr. Crawford. I assure you the damage is minimal.” She smiled to show him her utter lack of concern at the moment.

Lizzie returned before he could respond. She carried two steaming plates and set them down.

“Enjoy,” she said with a wink and a grin.

“Wait, Lizzie.” Simon reached out and stopped her by gently touching her arm before she could walk away.

“Need something else, Mr. Crawford?”

“No. This is fine. I just. . .I think I may have given you the wrong impression of my relationship with Miss Mitchell.”

Eyes widening, Lizzie shook her head. “I didn’t think anything, Mr. Crawford.”

“It’s all right,” Simon gently assured her. “I just don’t want you to think there is anything between myself and Miss Mitchell. She came to town to deliver lunch to me, and I offered to treat her to lunch instead, to return her kindness.”

The girl’s brow creased. “So you took her to lunch to thank her for bringing you lunch?”

Torey couldn’t suppress a giggle. When the girl put it that way, Simon’s explanation sounded like he was trying to hide the real reason for their luncheon. “Mr. Crawford found a two-day-old cold chicken sandwich less appealing than this wonderful-smelling meal. So he used his gratitude toward me as an excuse to forego the lunch I brought from home and to come here instead.”

The confusion left Lizzie’s face, and in its place, understanding dawned. “Well, now, that makes sense. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place? Mr. Crawford will do anything for some of Mrs. O’Roark’s corned beef and cabbage.”

Simon grinned. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lizzie replied, and with a final wink at Torey, she sauntered away.

Resting his elbows on the table, Simon folded his hands. “I’d like to say the blessing.”

Torey followed his example, lacing her fingers in front of her. She closed her eyes and listened to his deep, rich voice while he thanked the Lord for their food. Remembering the man at the bank who’d accepted Simon’s lunch, she thanked God doubly for her portion.

After Simon said “amen”, Torey looked up at him. “Mr. Crawford? The man at the bank. . .”

“I was going to ask how you knew Mr. Shepherd.”

Inwardly, Torey cringed. She should have been more specific to begin with. “A–actually, I was referring to the other man. The one you gave your lunch to.”

“Oh, yes. Robert. Do you know him too?”

“No, I do not, and please don’t be sarcastic. Mr. Shepherd was a business associate of my stepfather’s. I’ve known him for several years. I don’t care for him, but I couldn’t very well have been rude.” She sniffed and shot him a pointed look. “Like you’re being.”

“I apologize for my rudeness, Miss Mitchell.” He studied her face. “But surely you understand why I find it difficult to trust you when you refuse to tell me where you came from and why you showed up outside our window filthy and half-starved.”

“Your mother knows the truth.”

“So she claims.”

“I didn’t lie to her.” Torey felt the old indignation rising. She was on the verge of mentioning that his own mother had insisted she keep her story private and not share it with Simon for now. But she knew that might be a source of contention between them. Better to let him believe she was the one who wanted to keep things secret.

“I assure you, Mr. Crawford, that I have my reasons for keeping my privacy. But I can also promise that you will be informed eventually. Please try to trust me for now. You have nothing to fear from me. I have given my word I will not hurt your mother.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, he nodded. “I suppose I have no choice but to try to believe you are being honest.”

“Yes.”

“All right. What about Robert?”

Making the mental shift in topic, Torey nodded. “Have you noticed how hungry he is?”

A troubled frown creased his brow. “Yes. He is raising his brother’s five children. His salary at the bank doesn’t stretch far when he has to feed and clothe his nieces and nephews.”

“Where are the children’s parents?”

“Apparently, their mother became ill and died very suddenly. His brother tried to hang on for his children’s sakes, but he was all but destroyed without his wife. One morning, he simply brought the children to Robert and dropped them off. He left and never returned.”

“How tragic.” Compassion caused an ache in Torey’s heart.

“Yes, it is. Robert works at the bank by day and delivers ice by night. But it still isn’t enough. He rents a couple of rooms in a tenement. The prices are outrageous. And as you can see by his thinness, he’d rather do without than deprive the children of one bite. But there’s only so much a man’s pride can take, and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to help without insulting him.”

An idea swished inside Torey’s mind. “How much do you think your mother would charge him for a couple of rooms?”

Simon frowned. “Are you serious? He is taking care of five children. Children who would be left at the house while Robert is working.”

Torey shrugged. “Do you really think your mother would rather see a man half starving than to endure a little inconvenience? Besides, how healthy can it be for children to live in a rat-infested tenement building? It would be much better for them to live in a clean environment where they can run and play outside each day.”

Simon scowled and pushed away his plate. He leaned back in his chair and squinted. “You know, Miss Mitchell, you remind me a great deal of my mother.”

Torey wasn’t sure if the statement was meant to be a compliment or not, but she couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford. No one’s ever given me such high praise.”

With a defeated grin, he shook his head.

Torey savored a bite of the delicious meal. She felt a sense of satisfaction that God had a hand in this day’s events. And the thought came to her that things were about to get interesting at the Crawfords’ home.