Chapter Text
William’s slumbering body tossed in agitation, a nightmare taking form in his mind as Eliza’s feminine voice suddenly pervaded in a haunting call reminiscent of her cries seared into his memory when he had tracked her down at Woolwich Prison. Woolwich Prison cell 98.
“William!”
His eyelids flickered, unease taking up residence in his chest.
“William!”
Her continued phantom pleas tormented his mind as the murkiness of this particular nightmare began to take shape. He was somewhere outside surrounded by dense trees and vegetation – Central Park possibly. The night was shrouded in a gloomy darkness that loomed over him and threatened to swallow him whole. The air was still and heavy.
“Eliza! Where are you?”
“William!” Her cry was becoming more distressed. He ran down paths, scouring for her, but the shadows and his nightmare refused to reveal her whereabouts. William’s search to find her became desperate.
“Eliza! Where are you? I can’t find you!”
William heard her shattering scream. “William!”
Then the report of a shot crackled across the night air abruptly cutting off her strangled cry.
William bolted upright in bed, his breathing labored as his heart threatened to pound its way through his chest. He gulped and ran a ragged hand across his eyes as he struggled to differentiate between reality and the dream. He could feel himself shaking.
Since coming to New York, he had often dreamed of Eliza. Sometimes the dreams were of he and her relaxing on her settee in her drawing room having a drink in front of the cozy fire. Sometimes in his dreams, the two of them were in his office discussing a case or in her office having a friendly chat. And sometimes the dreams were of a more romantic nature, ones in which they were out to dinner, where her guard was the most uninhibited and her emotions the easiest to discern. And on very rare nights, William would surrender and finally give in to tantalizing dreams of drowning himself in the depths of her vibrant blue eyes while loving her, their breaths mingling with entangled kisses, fingers gliding through gold silken hair… only to jerk awake as the longing and fear and doubt would overrun him in an overwhelming wave of suffocation, the physical pain acute and all too real.
But not once since arriving in America, had William had a dream such as this one – a whispering of a threat feeling so real that it felt tangible, a portent foreboding and ominous. He huffed out a breath in frustration. From the dim light seeping in though his bedroom window, his gaze settled on the desk in his room where the stack of Eliza’s letters lay. He kept them there so he could access them whenever he desired to read them, and truth be told, he desired to read them often. They were his lifeline, the only tether stretching back across the Atlantic to her, written by her own hand and in her own thoughts, and hence were an extension of her, scrawled with all her happiness and sadness, her hopes and disappointments contained within – laid out plain for him to see. Her letters were refreshingly vivid and transparent and all things that were Eliza. And when he read them, he could almost feel as if she were physically present in the room with him. Almost.
In the early weeks of his secondment with the New York police force, she had not written to him and he had resigned himself to the fact that for the duration of his time, he would suffer silently through his own personal hell. Then, unexpectedly he had received her first letter and his heart had revived with the faint stirrings of hope. By her fourth letter, a lighthearted smile had found home on his lips and then when her salutations eventually changed from Dear William to Dearest William and her sign off evolved from Eliza to Yours, Eliza – that was when his heart had soared. He began to dream as he had never dreamed before.
Every week her letters would arrive without fail, almost always on Wednesdays, and he would rush home to peel them open like a child on Christmas morning unwrapping his gift, because her letters truly were a gift and breathed happiness into his otherwise routine work week. Though he did not discuss her letters or even her at work, the rest of the police force felt the brunt of his mood when a lagging ship was late into port and William would have to wait impatiently until Thursday evening to receive her letter. Fortunately, such delayed letters were not a common occurrence. Regardless, each week he always received a letter from her. Always.
Until a month ago.
That letter arrived unusually late. It was inexcusably late, the offending scrap of mail not arriving until the following Monday. Much to his annoyance, her correspondence had reverted back to Dear William and the substance of the letter was nondescript and succinct. Eliza’s letter the following week was even shorter, again addressed as Dear William and now without the Yours at the end. Her next letter was devastatingly discouraging, addressed to William with one brief paragraph and her name penned at the bottom. That was two weeks ago. Last week was the fatal wound. No letter. Not on Wednesday. Not on Thursday. Not ever.
He knew Eliza well enough – too well – and knew that something had to be bothering her. Something had happened. Had he written something to upset her? Not that he could think of. But the persistent suspicion that all was not well was rapidly taking a toll on him. The contemplation of what it was specifically that had swung Eliza’s mood put William’s own mood into a dark tailspin. Dark enough that in a fit of temper at work, he flung the stacks of paperwork off his work desk, destroying weeks of meticulously organized crime files into a scattered flurry on his office floor, before hurling his half empty glass of whiskey against the wall, the resounding sound of the shattering glass mimicking the shattering he felt within the fibers of his soul.
This morning had been Wednesday morning and as he had made his way to the police station, he had detoured down by the docks to confirm that a ship from England had arrived in port. But when William had arrived home in the evening, there had been no letter waiting for him. He swore under his breath.
Now as he sat in bed, a slight sheen of sweat glistened on his anxious brow as his nightmare slowly dwindled to a dull ache in a heart already overflowing with hurt and misery. After a time, William’s breathing leveled out and he wondered for the thousandth time if his ultimate gamble to keep her in his future was about to crumble to the dust. He had no more chips to throw in. He already had everything on the table.
What was it going to take to penetrate the impenetrable wall surrounding Eliza Scarlet’s beating heart?
* * *
Late Thursday afternoon, William was ordered to Captain Patrick Gallagher’s office. William quickly tidied up his desk and made his way to his superior’s desk. Gallagher was seventeen years William’s senior with distinguished gray sideburns signifying that maturity. He was not as brawny as William, but was an impressive two inches taller in height and had a booming voice that commanded respect. Not that the Irishman needed to demand it. William saw that the men freely gave it, a due earned no doubt owing to the fact that all of the men in the station were treated fairly.
The captain was overloaded with work and was quick about his business. He handed a letter to William, directing his detective to take the letter and to deliver it to Mr. Robert Marshall up on Fifth Avenue. His task was to petition a $10,000 donation for the police force.
“There won’t be a better time to hit him up for it Wellington. The Marshall’s are a wealthy, well-establish family in New York,” Gallagher explained. “And a marriage engagement has recently been announced in the family – a whirlwind romance or so the papers report. He’ll be in a good mood, so make your appeal and report back to me. Then you’ll be done for the day.”
William was not so confident that they would obtain the funds, but kept his mouth shut as he left the station and headed toward the glitzy mansions on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, a neighborhood William studiously avoided. In his line of work as a detective, he came in contact with all walks of life, but the ultra rich were the one societal class in whose company he felt the most uncomfortable. The American counterparts, he found, were no different. To his observation, some of them were even more ruthless and conniving than their British cousins, with a great many of them having a penchant for throwing their influence around. And their money. Still, William had been in the country long enough to know that $10,000 dollars was no small sum. Why the captain had assigned him the task was not clear, but William wouldn’t debate it. He’d make the request and then remove himself as quickly as possible.
The Marshall home was a four story colossal mansion that in no subtle way conveyed wealth, power, and influence. A servant ushered him in after William provided his name, the man giving him an appraising once-over with a cynical raised brow and then escorted him to a luxurious sitting room off the main hall. William was left to his own devices while the manservant went to inform Robert Marshall of the detective’s request to see him.
William waited. He fidgeted with his clothes, straightening his coat and fixing his tie, then glanced around the room to take in the expensive furniture and furnishings. Several moments ticked by. William pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. And then more minutes ticked by. The late afternoon light was beginning to wane. William began to suspect the man of the house was not going see him. Perhaps his superior had miscalculated the magnate’s mood. Several more minutes ticked by, then without warning, the double doors on William’s right side opened, briefly providing a glimpse into a private office as Robert Marshall strode into the room. The paragon of a man paused, his hand on the ornate door knob when he looked up and noticed William.
If someone had asked William what his perceptions were, he would have guessed that the wealthy baron was in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. Marshall had a strong chin, and eyes that reflected a deep intelligence. His posture was one of self-assurance, a man certain of his power and confident in his ability to control his own destiny. William suspected the tailor-made dark day suit he wore probably cost more than William made in six months.
“You must be Detective Wellington,” Marshall said, scrutinizing William with a critical eye, then glancing at the clock in the room. “I thought you would have left by now after being kept waiting for such a length of time.”
William turned to face Marshall directly. “Well, as you can see sir, I am still here.”
Marshall studied him a few seconds longer and then nodded, having made some sort of conclusion about the man Captain Gallagher had sent to solicit funds. “So you are. My business affairs have taken up more of my time today than I had anticipated,” Marshall said, moving further into the room. “I take it Patrick Gallagher sent you?”
“Yes. I was delegated to delivering this petition to you personally,” William said, handing over the letter. “It’s imperative that you consider its merit. The captain believes your support would be of great significance to the moral of the men. We are desperately in need of more officers, resources, and equipment.” William watched as Marshall opened the correspondence and perused the contents, the man’s countenance void of any indication as to whether he would be inclined to donate or not.
Upon finishing it, Marshall neatly folded up the petition, tapping it against his hand. “I suppose a thousand dollars would be sufficient to your cause.”
William wanted to shake his head in disappointment. A thousand dollars would be a tidy sum in any man’s pocket and the thought of having that much money to give away boggled his mind, but having observed his surroundings while waiting, William knew the expensive room manifested a vast wealth far beyond the amount being offered. The man reeked of money. “The police commission is most appreciative of any amount you are able to sacrifice Mr. Marshall, “ William said instead.
“But you don’t approve,” Marshall commented, knowingly.
William kept his tone light. “The men on the force risk their lives every day sir. Policing is a dangerous job. If we were to have more men –”
“Detective Wellington, miners put their lives on the line every day. So do lumber jacks, factory workers, sailors, railroad workers, and a variety of other laborers. But I don’t see them soliciting funds.”
William blew out a hard breath. “True… but the men in those professions are not dealing with malicious criminals who are not afraid to murder. How often do laborers face a gunman willing to shoot them dead if given half the chance?”
“Do you speak from experience Detective Wellington?”
“Yes sir, I do.” William swallowed, not willing to let the memories of his being shot come to the forefront of his mind.
Mr. Marshall studied him, the minutes dragging out until William felt a tinge uncomfortable. “Perhaps five thousand would be a more equitable sum,” Marshall finally said, tapping the letter one more time.
Both men paused as they heard a sound come from the other room. Mr. Marshall’s head turned swiftly as he listened to the movement. “Excuse me one moment,” he said, and disappeared through the study door left ajar.
After a few seconds, William heard Marshall’s voice. “Why Eliza! You look beautiful!”
William froze, the blood in his veins turning cold. Then he heard Eliza Scarlet’s voice say, “Sarah said you wanted to see me but if you are busy…”
“Not at all. And Sarah was right… I did want to speak to you before you left.”
William slipped forward and peered through the crack left by the one door slightly ajar. His breath caught at the vision before him. Eliza Scarlet was standing in the middle of the room dressed as he had never seen her before, in an expensively elegant silk lavender evening gown adorned with lace and frills, long evening gloves on her hands and a diamond necklace at her throat. Her hair was arranged upon her head in a mountainous pile of curls, much softer than the tighter, sometimes severe style she usually adopted. She looked soft and desirable. She looked… vulnerable.
“Is it about the paper you have in your hand?” she asked Mr. Marshall.
Standing by the desk in the room, Marshall was waving the letter as if it were an offending instrument. “This? No. This is a solicitation from the police. They seem to think they have better use for my money than I do.”
“They are asking for a donation?”
“They are always coming around asking for money.”
“Then why not give it to them?”
“Why should I?”
Eliza stood quiet. William could see the wheels in her head churning as she considered her reply.
“Well sir, thus far, the conventions of society have dictated that it is the duty of the men to protect us women. Society deems we must be dependent upon your sex to keep us safe Mr. Marshall. And the police force is the system by which that service is provided. As a detective, I have worked with the men at Scotland Yard, and I can tell you – they are competent and overall good men. I cannot imagine that the police here in New York are much different. So, If they are petitioning for funds, I believe it is because they need assistance in carrying out their duty – to keep us safe.”
“You believe women would be more endangered if the police do not receive these funds?”
“Just this morning, were we not discussing the murders of several women mentioned in the paper?”
“Those women were all of the lower classes Eliza. In society, the lower classes are always at higher risk –”
“And what if it were me Mr. Marshall?” Eliza suddenly interrupted him. “What if some fiend suddenly deemed it worth his while to kidnap me? Or to try to murder me? Attempt to drown me?”
“Good heavens, Eliza! Such things should not be spoken!”
“Not speaking of them does not keep them from happening Mr. Marshall. You know the women in your life are more than precious to you. You love your wife. You love your daughter. So I ask you – what price are you willing to pay to keep them safe? To wish that no harm would ever come to them? Then consider the thousands of men in this city who also wish to protect the women they love. You know as well as I – they do not have the power or the wealth to influence the matter as effectively as you. But if you were to support the police in this matter, they would be ever grateful to you for doing what they are unable to.”
After a long pregnant pause, Robert Marshall said, “So if it were your decision?”
“If it were my decision, I would give them the amount they requested. And if I had the means, I would give more. I would double or even triple it,” Eliza said truthfully.
The room fell silent.
“You make a passionate plea for your sex.”
“Well... some time ago a wise friend advised me to use the strengths of my sex, to use what I’d been given to my advantage. I believe you use the same philosophy in your own life Mr. Marshall.”
Marshall chuckled in admiration. “I believe you’ll fit in rather well with this family Eliza Scarlet. You’ve persuaded me most effectively. Very well, the police shall have my support. In deference to you.”
Eliza’s smile was radiant as Robert Marshall continued on,”Speaking of friends, yesterday you mentioned that you know someone here in New York. You should send a note – let them know you are here. One of my servants could deliver it and I am sure arrangements could be made for you to pay a visit.”
“Oh… that’s very kind of you, but I’ve already sent a note this morning to let him know I’m in New York. I’m sure he will contact me in the near future, so I’ll simply wait to hear from him as I’m sure he’s quite busy,” Eliza said in such a typical Eliza-lying nonchalant way that William bristled in irritation. He knew damn well there had been no note from her that morning.
William heard a door open beyond the view of his sight. “Eliza! I’ve been looking all over for you! We must leave now or we are to be late!” A dark haired, blue eyed man dressed in formal evening attire appeared. His lips flared into an intimate smile, his handsome face lighting up as he approached Eliza. When he reached her, he pressed a lingering kiss on her gloved hand. "You look beautiful this evening, by the way,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to see what the society ladies think when we take our box seat for tonight’s performance. I do believe I shall be the envy of every man this evening,” he gloated to his father, but his eyes never left Eliza.
Robert Marshall looked unconcerned. “The opera does not start for some hours yet John.”
“Yes, but I want to take Eliza out for a carriage ride before we dine and attend the opera and if we do not leave now, we will have no time.”
“You mean, you intend to show her off,” the older Marshall said knowingly.
“I mean – that I have not seen her for the majority of the day and I desire to spend as much time in her company this evening as I may. But if my intent is to show her off, then I shall certainly do so when we make our entrance at the opera house.”
Eliza sighed. “Gentleman, I hardly think anyone will be looking at me,” she began and then stopped when she noticed the exchanged look between father and son. “What are you two conniving at?” she asked abruptly.
A pleased smile on his face, Robert Marshall removed a small box wrapped in gold ribbon from the desk and placed it on the edge of the desktop in front of Eliza. Her eyes widened as her gaze settled on the tiny package. She froze to her spot.
William felt transfixed to his own spot as he stared at the scene unfolding before him, his heart starting to trip, his thoughts swirling in confusion as his mind rushed to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing.
“John said you seemed uncomfortable with the larger ring he presented to you. He believed you may have felt it was a little too ostentatious for you,” Mr. Marshall explained.
“Mr. Marshall –” Eliza began, but the man raised his hand, effectively silencing her.
“So we thought we would offer you this one. As an alternative.”
William could see her gloved fingers trembling as she carefully undid the ribbon and opened the tiny box. Slowly, she removed a delicate gold ring, the small set diamond sparkling in the daylight.
“It is also one of the family rings. This one was worn by my sister Elise when she first married and then later on, when she had her larger ring, she kept this one pinned over her heart. We thought its elegance might look more suitable on your dainty hand.”
Eliza noticed the inside of the band and raised the ring up, trying to read the marking. “There’s an inscription on the inside,” she remarked, then stilled when she saw the inscription. Her eyes turned watery. She blinked a couple of times in a valiant effort to keep the tears at bay, annoyed with herself for wanting to cry.
“I didn’t realize there was an inscription,” John apologized, worried that she appeared to be on the verge of tears. “The inscription can be removed Eliza –”
“No!” She pressed it to her breast, confused by the emotion overwhelming her. She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves and began again. “I think it is a beautiful ring. I would prefer to keep it the way it is, if you don’t mind.”
“But of course. It’s your ring Eliza.” John flashed her a charming smile. William felt like he was going to be sick.
“Thank you,” Eliza said, her glance of gratitude encompassed both father and son.
“The question is, does it fit?” John asked.
The men watched as she removed her glove and slipped it on, the ring nestling perfectly on her ring finger. “It fits perfectly,” she whispered. Again she felt the tears building at the back of her eyes and quickly squelched them.
“Welcome to the family Miss Eliza Scarlet,” Mr. Marshall said warmly. “From this time forward, I shall expect you to address me as Robert – at least when we’re in private.”
She smiled and nodded. “Of course Robert,” she managed to say before her lips started to tremble. She swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. “John, we should be on our way. The light is fading fast,” She said, quickly pulling her glove back on and turning to her handsome companion. She didn’t want to dwell too long on the emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
She watched as John took her gloved hand and kissed it again, addressing his father over his shoulder as he led her toward the door. “Did you give her the letter father?” William heard John ask as the pair moved beyond William’s view.
“Letter? What letter?” Eliza asked.
“I have a letter for you Eliza that I think you will find most interesting, but it can wait until tomorrow. I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” Mr. Marshall said before giving his son a parting warning. “Do not keep her out late John. She’s had a tiring day and is exhausted.”
“I promise we’ll be home at an hour most respectable for any properly engaged couple,” John said laughing and then the door shut and the room fell into silence.
William felt the breath he’d been holding release sharply. What the hell had he just witnessed? Then remembering that Mr. Marshall would return, he quickly retreated from the door. By the time Marshall came striding in, William stood waiting for him in the middle of the room, his composure somewhat intact. The two men eyed each other warily, a cloud of distrust hovering between them. Fighting the urge to clench his fists, William prayed his emotions were not transparent.
“It seems Miss Scarlet favors you Detective Wellington,” Mr. Marshall clipped, “for the work you and your fellow officers provide.” William’s jaw tightened, annoyance rolling through him as he realized Marshall had not been fooled. The man was well aware that he had watched and listened at the door. “Return to your captain,” Marshall continued, “and inform him that I will meet with him in his office this coming Monday at two o’clock sharp. I will expect you to be present as well detective. And let him know, I will be bringing him a check in triple the amount he requested.”
William sucked in a quick breath. “Yes, sir. I will let him know.” He did an abrupt pivot and made a mad beeline for the hallway door, anxious to be away from the place. To be anywhere but here. He had almost succeeded in reaching the entrance hall when Robert Marshall called after him.
“Wellington!”
William stopped but didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to see the man or his expensive suit. But he knew a command when he heard one and was not about to make himself look more the fool than he already had. He counted to ten and then faced the tycoon.
The look Marshall gave him was long and hard. “You’ve been privy to a private moment in this family. I am of the opinion you’re an upright fellow but I won’t look kindly if I find some sensationalized headline in the newspaper because some copper decided to earn a few coins on the side with a scandalous bit of gossip about my son. Or the lady for that matter. Miss Scarlet’s personal life is none of your affair. Do I make myself clear Wellington?”
The fury that William had been holding back exploded. He stalked forward, his eyes blazing as he drew to within inches of Robert Marshall, all the while his conscience battling with him not to throttle the man. Oh, but he wanted to! He desperately wanted to! He wanted to put Robert Marshall through the wall and then do the same to John Marshall and then shake his fist at the world for the injustice, the unfairness of it all!
“Mr. Marshall,” he bit out, and was surprised at how calm and cold his voice sounded, “I have no intention of uttering a word about what I saw or heard here today. To anyone. Now I bid you good day sir.” He left, afraid of what he would do or say if he stayed in the room a moment longer.
William had no recollection of making his way back to the police station. Dusk had settled by the time he reached the station steps. His heart was heavy as he pushed through the doors and entered the chaos of his precinct. Evenings and nighttime were the opportune time for crime, the working hours for any metropolitan underbelly and New York’s nightlife seemed to embrace it with welcoming arms. William ignored the broil between cops and criminals and made his way straight to his captain’s office. He would give his report to Gallagher and get the hell out of there so he could find some dark corner of a beer hall with an endless supply of whiskey and drink himself into oblivion. And hope he never found himself sober again. Or at least not sober enough to feel the pain he was currently feeling.
Captain Gallagher was more than pleased with his detective’s success. “Well, detective, it looks like things are looking up for us. As recompense, I’ll permit you the day off tomorrow, a holiday if you will.”
William scowled. A day off would give him way too much time to dwell on Eliza. “I would rather not Captain. I need to work.”
“You need to work?” Gallagher grumbled in disbelief. “And why would that be?” he demanded to know.
William’s temper flared. “My cases need working… and I need to keep my mind focused.”
Captain Gallagher stood, his knuckles resting on his desk as he glared at his detective. “You mean distracted, don’t you? Detective? You think work will keep yourself distracted from whatever it is beyond these walls that is vexing you.” He watched as Detective Wellington shifted his gaze. Gallagher let him squirm uncomfortably for a moment before he deliberately sat back down.
“Wellington,” he said, drawing in his detective’s attention. “You’ve been distracted this past month and don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Gallagher leaned forward over his desk until he had William’s full focus. “I’ve heard you snapping at the men when it’s not been merited. Frankie said you almost put a suspect’s face through the wall earlier this week.”
“And if I had he would have deserved it. The man was beating his wife,” William said defensively.
“This isn’t like you Wellington. Throwing things around your office in a fit of temper is not fitting to a man of your post. Now, I don’t make it my business to pry into my officers' personal affairs, but you keep up this destructive behavior and I’ll make it my damn business. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir.”
‘Now get out of here and go find yourself a drink. Or two. Or three. And if you come in late tomorrow, we’ll not speak of it. But if you do show up for work, you damned well better be focused, because I won’t have you endangering my men. And that goes for yourself. Do you hear me?”
“Yes sir.”
Gallagher smiled in grim satisfaction. “I believe you do.”
A rap came on the captain’s door and Gallagher motioned for Officer Wills to enter. “You need something Wills?”
“I was looking for Detective Wellington, sir.”
William stood up to face the officer. He had worked with Wills on several cases but did not know the police officer well. Wills was regarding him apologetically. He stretched out his hand, presenting William a sealed note. “I’m sorry detective. This somehow got delivered to my desk this morning and I just now found it beneath some files. I do hope it was nothing pressing.”
William felt a sliver of apprehension as he glanced down at the note and saw Detective Wellington penned across the top. It was Eliza’s penmanship.