Boise City, Idaho Territory
April, 1886
Another school year was almost over. Even more than her students, Regina was ready for summer. The daily routine of classes had become a chore. Her family was getting on her nerves. For the first time in years, she wanted to be somewhere else, to do something different.
When Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson invited her to dinner the Saturday before Easter, she almost refused. Socializing with the parents of her students always made her feel slightly uncomfortable, as if she had to be extra careful not to appear partial. Mrs. Tomlinson made it clear, however, that their invitation had nothing to do with Minerva's classes, and that the girl would not be present.
Her interest piqued, Regina accepted. The Tomlinson's were among Boise's social elite. Their big new house, just a quarter-mile west of Lachlans' on what was promising to be a grand avenue lined with mansions, had been the talk of the town last summer when it was under construction. Now that it was finished, Regina was curious to see if it was as rich and elegant inside as it appeared from without.
Her parents had been invited to the housewarming in March. Ma's sole comment afterwards was that some folks had more money than sense. That had only made Regina more curious.
Mr. Tomlinson was a bluff, hearty man who'd already made his fortune in banking, even though he couldn't be much over fifty. He'd made no bones about the fact that he intended his new bank to be Idaho's biggest and richest. Mrs. Tomlinson was a little younger, but still no spring chicken, even though she dressed as if she were. Regina had never seen so many ruffles and tucks, so much ribbon and gimp on one woman. She found herself wondering how the woman sat with that bustle sticking out behind.
Her own forest green serge dress was not even close to being stylish, but it was both comfortable and practical. Still, she realized she should have worn an evening gown, rather than her Sunday-best.
Trouble is, I don't own an evening gown that's in style. It had been a long time since she'd needed one.
Dinner was delicious, despite the overabundance of rich side dishes. Mr. Tomlinson was charming and full of anecdotes about his travels. His wife mostly made formless little sounds of agreement, until Regina wondered if she had a brain in her head. Or maybe she just never got a chance to speak a full sentence.
"Well, now, Miss Lachlan, I'll bet you're wondering why we invited you over here tonight," Mr. Tomlinson said, when they'd moved to the parlor and the coffee had been served. He was drinking brandy, but hadn't offered her any.
"I knew you'd tell me when you saw fit," she murmured, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"It's Minerva," Mrs. Tomlinson said, with a quick nervous smile. "That is--"
"Let me tell her, Philomena. You'll just confuse her." He leaned forward, set his brandy glass on the side table. "Now, then, Miss Lachlan, we've been impressed with what our girl has said about you. She's never been much for school, but this year she's changed her tune. She just goes on and on about your natural history class. A body would think she'd never been outdoors in her life, from how interested she is. She's never been much for studying before."
"I do try to capture the students' interest," Regina said. Knowing that most weren't particularly interested in science, especially the girls, she had tailored that particular class to showing students how to open their eyes to the world around them. Minerva had shown particular aptitude for bird-watching, which had surprised Regina. The girl gave a first impression of being interested in nothing more than fashion and young men.
"Yes, well, you've certainly made a difference in our Minerva. She's always talking about you. And that's why--"
"Philomena."
Mrs. Tomlinson subsided.
Quelling an impulse to glare at her host, Regina forced her face into a receptive expression.
"Now that the bank's established and I've got a staff I can trust, the wife and I are going to take a little holiday. See what all the fuss is about with all those museums and art galleries in Europe." He sounded about as enthusiastic as if he'd been offered a dose of castor oil.
"One isn't cultured until one has seen Paris and Rome, don't you agree, Miss Lachlan?"
Regina was searching for a diplomatic way to disagree when Mr. Tomlinson shushed his wife with a clearing of his throat.
"I've got meetings with people--bankers--in a few places, and the wife wants to do some shopping. Trouble is, we promised Minerva she could come with us, and one of the fellows I'm wanting to meet won't be available after the middle of May. So we've had to move our trip up. We leave in two weeks."
"I'm sure Minerva will be excused from her classes. It's only a matter of--"
He waved his snifter. "No, no, that's not it. We're not going to take her out of school. We will miss her graduation, but she won't and that's what's important. What we need is for someone to bring her to us, once my meetings are done with. and that's why I thought of you."
Speechless, Regina could only stare.
"Oh, Miss Lachlan," Mrs. Tomlinson said, "when my husband suggested it to Minerva, she thought it was just the best idea, Please say you will."
Shaking her head, Regina wondered if she had missed something important. "I'm sorry. Exactly what is it you're proposing?"
Mr. Tomlinson leaned back, a self-satisfied look on his face. "We thought you might enjoy a little jaunt to Europe. Our Minerva and her bosom friend, Pamela--" He seemed to search for a surname.
"Witherspoon," Regina finished for him, while wondering what she had done to deserve this.
"That's right. Pamela Witherspoon--silly chit, always giggling. The girls have decided that you'd be the perfect person to travel with. You'll take the Britannic to Liverpool, spend some time in England, then go on to Paris. Meet us there on the fifteenth of July."
It took Regina a long moment to sort out what she thought she'd heard. "You want me to...to chaperone a pair of schoolgirls...to Europe? Mr. Tomlinson, I'm no traveler. Why I--"
"You're a smart young lady, and you went to that fancy school Back East. I figure you know all you need to. Now, then--"
"Wait." She held up a hand. "Please. This is... Well, it's just not possible." She'd been going to say insane, but decided it wasn't a good idea to call the parents of one of her students crazy as hoot owls. "I can't. I just can't." The very thought of all that travel made her stomach ache.
"Oh, Miss Lachlan, you'd love it," Mrs. Tomlinson bubbled. "Why there's just so much to see. London, Paris, you could even go on to Rome or Vienna once you've handed the girls over to us. You could spend the whole summer over there. And it won't cost you a cent."
Italy. Gabe's in Italy
What a temptation. She closed her eyes, pressed her fist against her lips. Paris. Italy. It's impossible, but still... "May I have time to consider it? This is such a surprise. So sudden."
"Take all the time you want, little lady. Just let me know by Thursday."
She said goodnight in a daze. Traveling had never been something she enjoyed. Despite her confidence at home and school, Regina had always felt uncertain and vulnerable when away from family. She also became ill in most conveyances, if a journey lasted more than an hour or so. It was her best kept secret.
* * * *
"I don't understand you. Every year when school lets out for the summer, you swear you don't want to see anyone under the age of eighteen for three months. And you've always hated to travel. Have you lost your mind?"
Regina paused, one hand full of lace and sheer cotton. "This is different." She tossed the undergarments onto the bed, next to the rolled corsets and the heap of petticoats. "I'm in a rut. It's time for a change."
"You've been in a rut for a long time," Lulu told her. "Two years ago Soomey and Silas invited you to go back to Europe with them and you wouldn't. Why now?"
"Why not now?" Turning her back, Regina stared out the window, seeing not the treetops with their spring green leaves, but cool gray eyes in a sun-darkened face. "I won't get another chance to travel in style, now that Soomey has decided it's time to settle down and play granny."
"Pooh. Buff and Siri would love to have you go with them any time." Lulu threw herself across the bed and propped her chin on her hands. "Something's bothering you. Tell me!"
"Buff and Siri have children, and in case you haven't noticed, I spend most of my time with children. I need to be with other adults."
"Oh, yes, adults like Pamela and Minerva, who are all of seventeen. You'll have so much in common with them."
"Pamela's eighteen."
"Oh. Well, that makes a difference." A shriek from downstairs made Lulu roll to her feet. "Oh-oh, sound's like Aunt Hattie's losing the war. I'll see you later." She was almost running as she went out the door.
Regina smiled despite her cranky mood. Who'd have thought Lulu King, her feminist, independent, almost-sister, would have turned into such a good mother? The twins were leading everyone a merry chase, now that they were almost two. Ma simply couldn't run as fast as they could, no matter how much she enjoyed having them around.
She finished packing, wishing it were tomorrow already. She'd be on the train, heading east, with the two young women for whom she'd be responsible until she handed them over to Minerva's parents in Paris.
And then she could do what had motivated her to take on this task. Decide the direction of the rest of her life.
* * * *
Gabe propped his feet on the low table in front of his chair and looked across them at Jonathon Hetherington, acting head of the Coalition. "Why me? I've never been to Paris. Wouldn't someone familiar with the situation there be better?"
"Your unfamiliarity with Paris is the very reason we want you to go there. Father believes that someone high in government is involved in this." He paced the length of the room and returned, to frown down at Gabe. "Unfortunately, most of the Coalition agents are well known to upper-level bureaucrats." His mouth twisted. "Damn that Beignet! What the devil he thought he was doing..."
Privately, Gabe had always believed that Beignet had sold the list of Coalition agents to the French government, but he'd never said as much. The man was dead and the damage was done. "You're sure my name wasn't on the list?"
"I don't see how it could have been." Jonathon paused by the tier table and picked up a small porcelain figurine. He turned it over and over in his hands. "Ugly thing," he said at last. "Can't see why people buy trash like this."
"Because it's Sevres, I imagine. Look, Jonathon, I've no objection to going to Paris, but my French isn't all that good, and I don't have any contacts there."
"All the better. Guglielmo Basilio goes to Paris on business, mentions in certain company that he's interested in women he can sell for a profit in Istanbul and points east. You won't need to go looking for them. They'll find you."
Steepling his fingers, Gabe tapped them against his chin. "Somehow, Jonathon, that strikes me as too easy." He stared past the other man, seeing the girls he'd grown up with. Remembering one young woman who'd been taken by white slavers. She'd been fortunate. So many others weren't.
"If it were easy, you'd be bored. Or are you getting old, Gabriel? Have you lost your taste for the game?"
"No. I just..." He shook his head. "Don't mind me. I'm in a mood." Leaning back, he forced himself to relax. "Tell me more. What makes you think I'd learn any more in Paris than in Rome or Athens?"
Jonathon sat across from him. "This particular gang is centered in Paris, we're certain. We've identified over a hundred missing girls, and by far the majority disappeared there. Others have gone missing in Brussels and Amsterdam, but those could be isolated incidents. If they're connected--and I am reasonably convinced they are--those abductions outside of Paris were more opportunistic than systematic. In Belgium, for instance, two girls disappeared from each of three churches, and in Amsterdam both incidents happened at Sint Nicolaaskerk."
"That's stretching coincidence, isn't it? Does anything else make you think they might be connected?"
"Who the girls were and the manner in which they disappeared." Jonathon sipped at his brandy, cradled the snifter in both hands. "Most of the missing girls are young, fifteen to eighteen, all are fair-haired, and all are believed to have been virtuous." He paused, as if in thought.
"What?"
"About half of them were orphans."
Gabe leaned forward. "Orphans. So no one missed them?"
"In most cases, not at first. Those who were in service were assumed to have taken French leave, and one, who was a shop girl, had been talking of emigrating."
"And the others? The ones with families?"
Jonathon's shrug was eloquent. "Poor families, to whom a girl child was simply one more wage earner, or a potential dowry. Most considered the loss a nuisance, those who weren't glad to be rid of the responsibility."
"But not all," Gabe said, knowing the answer.
"No. Not all. A few of the families are devastated. They are sure their daughters were taken for immoral purposes. Some have offered rewards." Another shrug. "Not much, but all they can afford."
"We wouldn't take their money!"
"Of course not, but it is a measure of their concern. Now then, will you do it?"
"Was there any doubt?" Gabe quelled the uneasiness he'd felt ever since Jonathon first mentioned Paris. Probably a result of the brandy he'd consumed last night. "You know my sentiments concerning slavery of any sort. When do I leave for Paris?"
* * * *
They were still unpacking when she heard the knock. Regina left the girls to their task, thinking as she crossed the wide expanse of carpet that she'd never have chosen so palatial a suite had she been traveling alone. Minerva clearly expected no less, but Pamela was still a little awed, as she had been during their nine-day crossing. Of course, the Britannic was more than just a ship; it was one of the great passenger liners.
As her hand closed on the knob, she hesitated. How could she know who was outside?
Idiot. This is a fancy hotel. You're in no danger whatsoever. Open the door.
The military officer who stood there, wearing an elaborate uniform liberally festooned with gold braid and epaulets, was tall, dark, dangerous. "Gabe. What... What a surprise."
"Hello, Gina. May I come in?"
A giggle from the bedroom reminded her of her companions. "No, I don't think you'd better. I'm sorry."
"Then can you come out? I want to talk to you." His expression was serious, his gaze intent.
"Well, I--"
"Please. It's important. Can you meet me somewhere for dinner?"
"Not dinner." She thought quickly. The girls were worn out. They'd likely go to bed early. "Later. About eleven? I'll come to the lobby." I do not want to do this, but if I don't he'll keep pestering me until I do.
"Eleven, then." He started to turn away, then paused. Over his shoulder he said, "It's good to see you. I never thought..."
"Never thought I'd be here? Neither did I. And I'm not sure yet if coming was a wise decision." A squeal from the bedroom reminded her of her duties. "I've got to go. I'll see you tonight." She shut the door, but didn't immediately go to see what Pamela and Minerva were bickering about this time. Instead she leaned against it, letting the cool wood take away some of the heat in her face. I should have asked Buff not to tell him I was coming. It's too soon. By Rome I'll be ready, but not now.
Not yet.
* * * *
He was sitting at a table in the darkest corner of the lounge. Feeling like a strumpet--this was certainly no place for a lady--Regina threaded her way among the small tables.
"Since when have you been a soldier?" She took the chair he held for her. "And in what army?"
"Greek." He touched her nape, lightly, with electrifying results. "But it's only honorary. People see the uniform, not the man. I'm not in England."
"You're not-- Gabe, what the dickens are you up to?"
"Don't go to Paris."
She stared across the small table at him, mouth open.
"Gina?"
"Are you crazy? Of course I'm going to Paris. That's where I'm meeting the Tomlinsons. Where I'm delivering the girls."
Well, hell. "Delivering? What do you mean?" All Buff's coded cable had told him was that Regina was escorting two of her students to Europe. He'd been amazed, knowing her dislike of travel. He'd also been furious. She'd come to Europe with a couple of silly twits, but had refused to come over with the man she loved.
She was silent while the waiter set wine glasses on the table. When he lifted his glass in a silent toast, she glared at him without touching her own goblet.
"Well?"
"I am chaperoning the girls until we meet their parents in France. The Tomlinsons are paying all my expenses, plus a fairly generous stipend. It was too good an offer to resist." As if needing time to think, she lifted her glass and took a small sip. "I was planning to contact you if I decided to go to Rome. It's still up in the air. I'd really like to see Vienna, and to come back and explore England without the girls. Pa was born here, you know."
He nodded. His own papa had no idea where he'd been born, and no memory of a father at all. "I may not be in Rome until August. In fact, I'm going to be traveling all summer. Buff will know how to get hold of me, so if you do decide, I'll do my best to meet you there. I'd like to show you around." Hell! What are we doing, making polite conversation?. He leaned forward. "Gina, when are you meeting the..."
"Tomlinsons."
"Yes, them. When?"
"The fifteenth of July. Mr. Tomlinson has business meetings all over Europe, something to do with his banking."
Gabe's belly clenched. "Paris is restless this summer. There's a lot going on, with Boulanger... Never mind. I'd really rather you'd stay away. Can't you meet the Tomlinson's here in London? Or anywhere but Paris?"
She sat back and stared at him levelly across the table. "Gabriel King, if you think I'm going to miss seeing Paris, you are out of your mind. It's the only city in Europe I've ever wanted to see. This is my only chance. Besides, the girls would be terribly disappointed. They are so looking forward to it."
Clenching his jaw, he held back the angry words. Almost. "You would never come here with me. Damn it, Gina. I would have shown you Paris. I would have taken you to Rome, to Athens, to anywhere you wanted to go. But you always said no."
"You wanted me to live over here. I can't. I have a home, a place where I belong. So do you. Why won't you see that?"
To give himself time to cool, he knocked back the rest of his wine and carefully set the glass on the table, instead of slamming it down. When he felt in control, he said, "You have no sense of adventure. There's a great big world out there, and all you want to do is stay where you grew up."
"Horse feathers! You've always cared more about adventure than you did about me. We were too young--"
"Not two years ago. We weren't too young then." He leaned across, caught her hands before she could retreat. "Were you just using me, Gina? Were you starting to feel like an old maid and it scared you?"
She shook her head and the motion dislodged a tear from her swimming eyes. It traced a shiny path down one pale cheek. "Let me go."
"Not until you give me an honest answer. Were you using me, Gina? Did you give yourself to me because you were afraid you'd die an old maid?" The question had haunted him, ever since the morning he'd ridden away from the Lachlan house, on his way home to Cherry Vale. It had been the reason he'd taken the steamer to Portland, rather than the train to the east. He hadn't had to go back to Boise city, where Gina was.
"I loved you! Damn you, I loved you with all my heart, with all my soul." Again she tried to pull her hands free.
This time he let her. "Then why? Why wouldn't you marry me?"
"It would never have worked, Gabe. Not in a hundred years. I'm a homebody, and you're an adventurer. What I decided was for the best. For both of us."
He studied her face, tear-streaked and splotchy. She never had been one to cry prettily. If only he could see past the surface, she what she was thinking. Because he wanted to believe he was wrong, that there was still hope for them.