Joseph stormed down the corridor until he hit a brick wall—a man-sized slab of muscle and bone. Henry Wainwright angled his head toward the alcove of a bay window, and Joseph had no choice but to retreat into the recess. Wainwright was possibly the most easygoing man he’d ever known—yet the most dogged in the rare instance an ambition overtook him. Apparently Joseph was that ambition today.
Henry folded his arms. “You can’t run off, disappear into Craven’s office, then try to breeze past me without a word. What’s going on?”
Glancing past Henry’s broad shoulders, Joseph scanned the hallway. Empty. Even so, he tempered his voice. “You know that Hofford case? I had nothing to do with it. Craven got the man to talk, not me.”
“What?” Joseph’s scowl lowered his friend’s volume. Henry shuffled closer. “Why would he do that?”
“He wants me to back off from shutting down the brothel.” Saying it aloud stoked the fire in his belly. Never. He’d never back off. Craven or not.
Henry slowly nodded. “I think I know why. I was going to tell you at the club tonight, but now’s as good a time as any.”
“What do you have?”
“It’s not hard evidence, mind you, but …” This time Henry glanced over his own shoulder, waiting until a delivery man scuttled past with a stack of boxes before he spoke again. “I overheard Tam Nadder—you know, the errand boy—boasting with the other runners about his exploits at Hannah Crow’s. How he’d saved all his money for one night of pleasure … yet he’s sporting new clothes and shoes today.”
“So a runner spent all his money and is wearing new clothes.” Joseph raked fingers through his hair, a desperate attempt to comb through Henry’s information. “Sorry, but what has this to do with Craven?”
“I’m getting to that. Tam said some gent paid him not to mention he’d bumped into him at the brothel. The boy didn’t name any names, but he gave a pretty accurate description of your friend Craven, bragging to his friends how he could turn this into a regular payment to stay quiet.”
Joseph’s lips twisted. How ironic. The exploiter being exploited. God certainly had a sense of humor.
“I knew Craven was involved, but I didn’t know it was that personal.” He blew out a long breath, mind abuzz. “If I can get Tam to talk, it would expose Craven’s corruption. And if I could get him to go back to Hannah’s—document she’s still in business—it would shut her down.” Humor rumbled in his throat. “All this time I’ve been using my legal bravado to end that brothel, and God laughs at my pride by sending an errand boy.”
Henry’s big hand landed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing encouragement. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go close that brothel. For Elizabeth.”
His heart constricted in response, and he nodded, holding Henry’s gaze. “Thank you, my friend.”
“Yeah, well it’s on you to buy me one at the club.” Henry cuffed him on the arm then sauntered away.
“Tonight, Wainwright,” Joseph called after him before speeding off to his own office.
He swung through the door with a grin. “Cancel my morning appointments, Mary. I’ll be out for a bit.”
“Yes, sir.” She held up a paper, waving it like a flag. “Want to take this telegram with you?”
He shot forward. Indeed. This was shaping up to be a banner day. Snatching it from her grasp, he read:
DEED TRANSFER IS A GO Stop PAPERWORK FILED ON MY END Stop ROBERT BOND
Balling up the paper, he dashed into his office with a bounce in his step and yanked out the bottom desk drawer. He removed a stack of files and deposited the pile onto his desk, then pulled out a penknife and pried up the false bottom of the drawer. A single document lay beneath—one more piece in a puzzle finally coming together. He pulled it out as Mary peeked her head in the door.
“The mayor wants to see you. Says it’s urgent.”
A sigh deflated his chest. Now of all times? He set down the document and faced his secretary. “I’m on it. See that no one enters this office while I’m out.”
Amanda forced dignity into each step as she exited the Ladies’ Aide Society meeting, smiling goodbyes and see-you-soons. But the instant she set foot in the hallway, she fled from the building and hailed a cab, huddling on the seat until Maggie caught up. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them spill. Not even one. Not on account of that she-devil in a dress, Lillian Warnbrough.
The carriage lilted to the side as Maggie climbed up. She gathered one of Amanda’s hands in hers and patted it as the cab jerked into motion. “That was horrible. Simply awful. Lillian had no right to question your competency with such scathing remarks. She’s jealous that you got elected chair and she didn’t.” Her patting stalled, and she leaned close, peering at her with a puckered brow. “Are you all right, dearest?”
For a moment, the compassion in Maggie’s green gaze almost unstopped her tears. She sucked in a shaky breath. “I admit it has been quite a day. First my father, then Lillian.”
“Poor pet. How to make this afternoon better?” Maggie released her hand and leaned back against the cushion. Grinding wheels and street sellers competed for attention, until Maggie shot forward and turned toward her. “I know! How about we stop by Delia’s Delights for a pastry? That ought to set you to rights.”
Just then the cab lurched around a corner, swaying back and forth. Back and forth. Like the tea in her stomach. Amanda pressed her fingers against her stomach. “Nice try, but I don’t think so.”
“All right. Then let’s drive to Lake Como and feed what geese remain.” Maggie nudged her shoulder. “That always makes you smile.”
“Not in the mood.” She sighed.
“I see. This calls for something drastic.” Grasping the edge of the cab door, Maggie craned her neck out the window. “Driver, city hall, please.”
“City hall!” Amanda grabbed a handful of her friend’s cape and tugged her back. “You know my father doesn’t want me seen there.”
A Cheshire cat couldn’t have grinned with more teeth. “Then we shan’t be seen, darling.”
“For once, I think you’re the one with a terrible idea. Even if we’re not seen, Joseph told me in no uncertain terms that he’s too busy to help with the Grigg project.”
“He told you that. He never told me.” Lacing her fingers, Maggie perched her chin upon them like a practiced coquette. “With two of us batting our eyelashes, he can’t help but spare ten minutes to escort us to the deeds office, hmm? I’m certain this will work.”
Despite the awful day, a half smile lifted her lips. “Since when did you get so devious?”
“La!” Maggie rolled her eyes. “Years of being your friend have taught me a trick or two.”
The cab pulled up to city hall, and Maggie climbed out first, making sure no one they knew strolled about. Before they attempted a dash to the door, a small group of dignitaries and their wives departed from a line of carriages behind them.
“Here’s our chance,” Maggie whispered. “I told you this would work.”
As the group passed by, they matched pace at the rear, blending in. By the time they cleared the foyer and gained the stairs, Amanda breathed easier. Perhaps this day truly was improving. They swung into Joseph’s office as if a guardian angel had ushered them all the way.
Mary looked up from her desk, her little nose twitching. “Good afternoon, Miss Carston, Miss Turner.”
“Good afternoon, Mary.” Amanda pushed the door shut behind them and advanced. “Is Mr. Blake in?”
“I’m afraid he’s not here, though he said he’d be gone only the morning.” She glanced at the big clock on the wall. “I expect he’ll return shortly, but I can’t promise anything.”
Outside in the hall, men’s voices grew louder. Amanda edged toward Joseph’s office door as the footsteps stopped in the corridor. Suit shadows blocked the frosted window, and panic hitched her breath. What if those men came in here? What if one of them knew her—or worse—her father?
“We shall wait in Mr. Blake’s office, Mary.”
“I’m sorry, miss, but Mr. Blake said no one was to enter his office until he returned.”
“Surely I’m not no one.” She grabbed Maggie’s sleeve and fled to the safety of Joseph’s sanctuary before Mary objected any further. The smell of him lingered in the room, sandalwood and ink, all masculine and strength, which did much to calm her nerves.
Leaning back against the door, she shot a glance at Maggie. “What if someone comes in and sees us before Joseph arrives?”
Maggie whirled toward the desk, her skirts coiling around her ankles. “Have a little faith, my friend.” She grinned. “Is that not what you always tell me? Oh! Look here. How sweet.”
Sweeping up a silver frame perched on the corner of Joseph’s desk, Maggie handed over a photograph—and all Amanda’s angst melted away. How could it not? Joseph, smiling down at her, their fingers entwined. Tenderness in his gaze. Love in hers. Marking them as one though it was but an engagement photo. How sweet that he’d taken the time to frame and keep it where he could see it at all times. The man was positively romantic.
The first genuine smile of the day bloomed on her face, and she crossed the small office to set it back on his desk. Her sleeve riffled the top paper on a pile of documents next to it, and she straightened the stack. She turned to Maggie—then spun back. Surely she hadn’t seen … Joseph’s name would be on lots of documents, of course.
She picked up the top paper, scanning the contents, and the world shifted on its axis.
A deed. Joseph Blake’s signature on the owner’s line.
For the Grigg house.