The Damnation Affair

Chapter 16

“Bad,” Li Ang said. “Baaaad.” She clutched at little Jonathan—she called him Jin, but there had to be something written on the charing certificate, so he was now Jonathan Liang Barrowe, may God have mercy on them all. Mother would die, and Father might even lose his hallowed temper, but Cat was past caring. It was a proud name, and might do even a Chinoise a fair service.

“Yes, but all’s well.” Cat sought for a patient, soothing tone. The kettle chirruped, heating water for tea, and she forced herself to keep her eyes wide open, staring at charm-sparking against the metal. “Mr. Gabriel is here.”

Odd, wasn’t it, how such a sentence could be so comforting. As if she were a child, and this a nightmare banished by a parent’s sudden presence.

Except Jack Gabriel was not in the least parental. He was something else. She was far too exhausted to find the proper word.

Little Jonathan burbled a bit, but he had ceased wailing. Which was very nice, now that she thought about it.

It seemed she only blinked, but then the kettle was boiling and she set about making tea. If she focused on the pot and the leaves, the water at precisely the right temperature and the cups arranged just so, perhaps she would not think of the little thing on the porch, screaming as some variety of dark mancy robbed it of death’s comfort.

Who would do such a thing? My God.

The back door squeaked as it ghosted open, and Li Ang inhaled sharply, as if to scream. But it was merely Jack Gabriel, his eyes incandescent under the shadow of his hatbrim.

That was like saying it was merely a hurricane, or merely an earthquake. Something about him filled up the entire kitchen, made it difficult to breathe. Maybe it was the feel of his fingers in her hair, or his broad chest against her cheek, or the way he’d stood, solid and steady.

She kept her eyes down, and noted with some relief that her hands were steady as well. Her gloves lay neatly on the counter, and one of them was stained near the wrist. Ink, and she should attend to that soon before it set so deeply even a charm wouldn’t remove it.

Shh. Don’t look. Easy there. And a curious comfort in the midst of her fear.

Perhaps she should ask the sheriff about Robbie. But trust no one, her brother had written more than once.

And, the law in this town is worse than the lack of it.

The sheriff was saying something. She concentrated on pouring. Tea would brace her. Tea solved quite everything, or at least, so Miss Ayre had firmly believed. Cat was shaken with a sudden irrational urge to write to her old governess and ask her help. Miss Ayre would set all this to rights.

Miss Ayre had gone her quiet way years ago, once Cat was too old to need a governess, and their correspondence had stopped after news of Miss Ayre’s marriage to a man in Europa. Quite a rich man, too, her mother had sniffed, and there was no more said.

No, there was nobody left to solve this quandary but Cat herself, and she was rather doubting her own resources at the moment.

“Put that baby to bed,” he finished, and Li Ang shuffled away. “What are you doing there, Catherine?”

A jolt all through her, as if a whip of stray mancy had bit her fingers. I should not let him address me so. “I am making tea,” she replied, dully. “I had a governess, once.” And she would have this set to rights in a trice.

He was silent for a long moment. “I think you should sit down.”

“I am making tea. Such an operation cannot be performed satisfactorily while seated.” She took a deep breath. Now I must ask questions. “Who would do such a terrible thing, Mr. Gabriel?”

“You may as well call me Jack.”

For the love of… The irritation was welcome, a tonic for her nerves. It even managed to give her a burst of fresh wakefulness. “In other words, you do not know, or will not venture a guess.”

“In other words, you may as well use my charing-name. And I have an idea or two. Don’t trouble yourself over it no further.”

Why ever not? It was nailed to my porch and began screaming as I approached. “I am quite troubled, and I intend to continue to be. Whoever did that—”

“—is gonna reckon with me soon enough, Miss Porquepine. You don’t need to worry. And I don’t think Li Ang wants no tea.”

“We should be civilized, even here. And tea is a tonic. It does very well for nerves, and—”

“I think you should sit down.”

“I think, sir, that you may go to Hell.” What had possessed her? She was trembling. Well, who wouldn’t, faced with this? And why did the man have to be so outright infuriating?

Boiling water splashed. She let out a shaky breath, and finished filling the pot. Thank God one could find tea in this benighted place, even though it was not of the quality her mother would have found acceptable.

“I intend to, if you get yourself into trouble down there.”

What does that mean? “You’re refusing an invitation to tea, then? I shall be pouring momentarily.”

“Sit down.” He had her shoulders, big work-roughened hands that had probably touched the thing out front, and she let out a tiny piping sound, rather like baby Jonathan’s satisfied little noise when Li Ang set him high on her shoulder and patted his back. “I ain’t gonna hurt you, but I am gonna make you listen. We need to have a talk.”

There was no use in fighting, so she let him push her toward the kitchen table and her usual seat. She sank down, her corset stays digging in abominably, and glared at him from under her knocked-askew hatbrim. Her hair was too loose, as well, curls falling in her eyes and brushing her shoulders.

Hazel eyes, bleached to a gold-green shine most odd, shadow of stubble on his jaw, his own dark hair mussed. At least he’d taken his hat off. He pulled out Li Ang’s chair and dropped down, heavily, and she had the sudden gratifying vision of wood cracking and the chair spilling him to the floor. He rubbed at his face, scratching his cheek, and let out a long sigh.

He was too big for the chair, too big for the room. The dun-colored coat, the guns at his belt, everything about him was too big and dusty and foreign. Her heart hammered, because he smelled of healthy horse and heat and healthy male, leather and tabac and a verdant green note of mancy. An overpowering aroma, but not at all an unpleasant one.

Shh. Easy there. And his fingers in her hair. His hand at the small of her back, and the sense of being enclosed, held safely away from something howling and snapping. Quite comforting, and not at all proper, now that she considered it.

The cottage was deathly silent, except for the stealthy creaks of Li Ang moving upstairs. Had the new crib arrived today? Cat really should have arranged for that beforehand, but it had all happened so quickly. And there was still the question of other items that should have been delivered, and arrangements to be made—

“I can’t watch you all the time. I got other work to do.”

Her annoyance mounted another notch. Her cheeks, no doubt, were scarlet; they were hot enough to boil the kettle afresh. “I do not recall asking you to do so, sir.”

He refused to take offense. How could he be so d—ned imperturbable? “No, ’cause it’d be easier if you did. Simmer down.”

“I am perfectly calm.”

“No, you ain’t. I ain’t, either. So just simmer down, Catherine, and we’ll do some plannin’.”

“I do not intend to do any planning. I’ve done far too much of that, and not enough…” Shut up, Cat.

She did, closing her mouth with a snap.

He merely nodded, wearily. “I could put you on the next stagecoach for Poscola Flats, and you could be on a train to Boston in two shakes.”

“No.” Not until I have Robbie’s locket. Then I will find him, no matter what condition he may be in.

Could that be the warning? Did someone in Damnation know, or suspect? It was very likely, and the trembling going through her mounted another notch.

Oh, Robbie. What on earth are you suffering right now? Or are you…no, you cannot be dead. You simply cannot be.

Jack Gabriel held up one callused hand, as if to halt an obedient dog. “I figure you’ve got a reason not to go back East. Well, no matter. If you’re gonna stay in Damnation, we’ll—”

Her temper almost snapped. “You have no right to order me about or dispose of me in any fashion, sir.”

“No, I ain’t got a right, yet. But I’m powerful interested in keeping that pretty neck of yours out of trouble. You could try thankin’ me.”

“I am sure I am very grateful.” She made it as prim and unhelpful as she could, which was quite.

“You’re a bad liar.”

I hope not. Oddly enough, though, she felt better. Why? “If you have finished insulting me—”

“Are you the marryin’ type, Miss Barrowe?”

“What?” Her shriek would probably wake little Jonathan, all the way upstairs.

Jack Gabriel leaned forward in the chair, his elbows braced on his knees. He was staring at her, and the faint smile he wore was not calming or humorous in the least. “I mean, are you sweet on anyone, back East or here? Some poor bastard who don’t know how to handle you when you get all prickly and proper?”

I’m dreaming. There’s no other explanation. This is all a nightmare. “I most certainly am not, not that it’s any of your business—”

“Good. Because I’d hate to have to kill a man over you. Now you listen to me. From now on, you stay in sunshine. I’ll get Russ Overton to bring the wagon ’round to take you to the schoolhouse, and I’ll walk you home in the afternoons. Tell me you will.”

What is he on about? I shall never get a chance to acquire Robbie’s locket if you keep crowding me in such a manner. “I don’t see the need for Mr. Overton or—”

“There’s a need.”

His tone was so grim she leaned back against the chair, and found her hands were not so steady now. She clasped them together—where had her gloves gone? Her head was a-whirl. If she could merely gather herself for a few moments, perhaps this would not seem so overwhelming.

It did not appear he would let her. “Now, are you gonna give me your word, Catherine? ’Cause if you ain’t I’m gonna have to do something you might not like.”

“Do not threaten me. I will observe all proper precautions. Including seeking legal redress and charter protection against whoever—”

“You just leave that to me.” He sighed, rose a trifle stiffly, and settled his hat over his tousled hair. With it on, the steely glint of his eyes lost under the shadow of the brim, he was not quite so comforting. “Do I have your word?”

“Certainly.” Fancy that—she had gone from being grateful for his presence to wishing she could heave him out the door with exceeding force. “I shall go with Mr. Overton in the morning, and you may be allowed to accompany from the schoolhouse to my domicile in the afternoons. When it is necessary.”

“Good enough.” He settled his hat, turned on his heel, and strode for the back door. “Bar this behind me. And for God’s sake, be careful. That wasn’t a May bouquet sitting on your porch.” The drawl had evaporated, and he sounded clipped and precise. “Ma’am.”

With that, he was gone, the night outside breathing its dust-spice in for a brief moment. Cat pulled herself to her feet, made it across the room on unsteady legs, and settled the bar in its brackets. She turned the lock too, for good measure. The kettle hadn’t even finished steaming, and the teapot sent up fragrant veils as well. Everything else, she decided, could bloody well wait for morning to be sorted.

I’d hate to have to kill a man over you.

Dear God. Did he mean there was a chance he would?