The Damnation Affair

Chapter 22

“Li Ang?” Cat called cautiously up the stairs. “Mr. Gabriel’s here. It’s safe now.”

She had left the Chinoise girl barricaded in her own bedroom, since the door was a solid piece of oak that would stand up most admirably to some abuse. Mr. Gabriel’s spurs rang as he strode down the hall, and Cat shut her eyes briefly, listening to him push the kitchen door open. He viewed the vista inside for what seemed an exceeding long while, then his measured tread came back as the door’s hinges gave a slight creak.

“Li Ang?” Cat called again, and there was movement in the shadows upstairs.

The Chinoise girl appeared, a candle clutched in one trembling hand. Her hair was a wild mess, but Cat’s was hardly better. And her other hand held the largest kitchen knife, worked free of the back door and freshly honed. She stared down at Cat with wide dark eyes, and slowly picked her way down the stairs. Her feet were bare and soundless.

“No doubt about it.” Jack took his hat off, ran stiff fingers back through his dark hair. “Bastard’s dead.”

“Language, sir.” Cat drew herself up. “What shall we do?”

One corner of his mouth twitched, but he sobered quickly. “Ain’t no we, sweetheart. You go on up with Li Ang now. I’ll take care of this. Thank God it’s Chinee.” He scratched at his hairline, his stubble showing charcoal against tanned and dust-polished cheeks. “If it was a white man, might’ve been a mite troublesome.”

“Mr. Gabriel!” Cat’s hand flew to her mouth. “What a terrible…my God, sir! He is dead!”

The sheriff shook his head, settling his hat afresh. “I ain’t sayin’ I hold with it, mind. I’m just sayin’ that’s how it is.”

She forced her fingers away from her lips. “I…it is a body. Dead by violence, and the risk of reanimation—”

“This ain’t the first murder we’ve had in Damnation, sweetheart. I told you to leave it to me, didn’t I? Go on up and set with Li Ang. Don’t think there’s likely to be more of his kind tonight.” But he gazed past her as he said it, pale-hazel eyes thoughtful, and Li Ang halted two stairs up.

“No more.” The Chinoise girl made a short stabbing motion with the knife. The candleflame danced, a spark of mancy keeping it lit as it struggled with a sudden draught.

Why, she’s trembling as much as I am. Cat forced her shoulders back. “Well, I am relieved to hear as much. Mr. Gabriel, sir, it is hardly fair of me to retire while you deal with—”

“I ain’t havin’ my girl hauling no corpses. Go on up with Li Ang, or I’ll drag you myself. He ain’t gettin’ no fresher.”

Her jaw was suspiciously loose, and the irritation—dear God, must the man be so infuriating?—was nevertheless wonderfully bracing. You most certainly will not drag me. “Your girl? Mr. Gabriel—”

Now he looked damnably amused. “It’s Jack, sweetheart, and yes, my girl. You think I’d come running like this if you weren’t? We ain’t got time to fix no plans now, but later we will. You can scream and stamp that pretty little foot of yours all you like.” He touched his hatbrim, bidding her farewell. “Now get on up those stairs before I take a mind to carry you up.”

Li Ang made a small noise. Almost like a smothered laugh.

Perhaps wisely, Cat decided to retreat. “Thank you, sir.” She reached for the banister, and found with some relief that her legs were much steadier now. The deeper relief—that there would soon no longer be a dead body in her kitchen—did not bear mentioning. But what was that sharp piercing behind her collarbone?

I am not “your girl,”sir. In fact, come tomorrow, I am not even certain I shall be remaining in this charming little hole of a town.

Somehow, it seemed the wrong thing to say. And ungrateful, too. She barely remembered writing the note. I need you. Three simple stark words, and he had left the Lucky Star in a hurry, following the boy’s pointing finger toward her. God alone knew what he had been doing inside that place—portly balding Mr. Capran, just locking the dry goods store’s door before heading home for the evening, had said that was where the sheriff would be, and lo and behold, there he was.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dust all over him and shadows under his bright piercing eyes, and he had hadn’t even blanched when she informed him of the…the problem.

Oh, Cat, do not be an idiot. The body. The corpse. The man you helped murder.

She followed Li Ang back up the stairs, feeling Jack Gabriel’s gaze on her like a heavy weight. Another thought occurred to her—Mr. Gabriel had hidden Li Ang here; perhaps he felt responsible in some small way for this turn of events?

After all, the Chinois man in the kitchen could have killed Cat as well. This very unwelcome thought brought her up short, and she half-turned to glance back at the sheriff, who waited patiently at the foot of the stairs, his chin tilted up as he gazed steadily at her.

Did you suspect this would happen, sir?

It was a terrible thing to think. And now the dead rabbit nailed to her porch took on an altogether more sinister hue as well. Perhaps Mr. Gabriel thought his manner of rough courtship would keep her quietly providing a safe haven for Li Ang.

Now was not the time to ask that question, either. And if the poor mancy-blighted thing on her front porch had been intended for Li Ang, did that mean nobody here knew of Robbie?

“Catherine,” he said, quietly, under the moan and rattle-whisper of the poison wind. “If he’d hurt you, I would have killed him myself.”

The drawl was gone, and the words sounded clipped, precise, and very educated. She studied his features for a moment, or what she could see of them in the light of the single trembling candle Li Ang held.

She could find no reply, so she simply turned wearily and climbed the rest of the stairs after Li Ang.

Perhaps it was the shock to her nerves. In any case, she was deeply asleep as soon as her head touched her pillow, baby Jonathan cuddled between her and Li Ang, whose warmth somehow dispelled the clamminess and overpowered the rasp of the wind. She woke to the dim dust-filtered light of dawn and the smells of bacon and coffee drifting up the stairs.

The kitchen was set to rights, although there were no chairs at the table. Mending-charms still vibrated in the wood of the table-legs, and the floor was charm-scrubbed, innocent of any stain. Cat paused in the doorway, her braid hanging over her shoulder and her bare feet protesting the treatment they received from the boards underneath.

Slippers had not seemed a worthwhile trouble this morning.

The broken crockery had been swept up and disposed of, and baby Jonathan’s basket was set in the corner. He burbled a little, and Li Ang was occupied in attending to a panful of biscuits. The bacon sizzled most fetchingly.

Jack Gabriel was crouched by the table, his eyes smudged with sleeplessness and his callused hands running over the table-legs, making certain the charms had sunk in fast. His dun coat hung on a hook by the door, and his boots had traces of sandy earth clinging to them, grinding as he shifted his weight and frowned slightly. Under the worn pale fabric of his shirt, muscle moved, and his mended braces had seen much better days. The guns at his hips gleamed sullenly in the lamplight. It seemed impossible that so large a man could make himself so temporarily small. He had laid aside his hat, too, and his hair was mightily disarranged.

Cat stood there for a long moment. Li Ang turned from the stove and nodded, her face breaking into the widest smile Cat could ever recall gracing her features. “Morning!” she chirped, and Jack glanced over his shoulder.

Her hand had curled around the jamb. Cat stared at the pair of them, and a yawning emptiness opened behind her breastbone. Robbie’s locket was tucked safely under her nightgown, and her charing-charm was warm.

She turned, and let the kitchen door shut itself.

I have never belonged here. She swallowed, twice, very hard. There was no point in seeking a breakfast. Instead, she should dress herself, pack her trunk, and draw out Robbie’s locket. Her Practicality would spark in the metal, and—

“Catherine?” Did he sound uncertain?

She steeled herself for what she was about to do. Halted, and stared at the front door, barely noticing the parlour opening to her right, full of fussiness and shabby chintz.

I should never have left Boston.

“Did it fail to occur to you that I might appreciate a warning, Mr. Gabriel?” It was her mother’s Dismissing A Servant tone, and it hurt her throat, stung her tongue, and filled her smarting eyes afresh.

The wind filled in the spaces between each word, and rasped against the house’s corners. Dust everywhere, and even if she retreated to the Eastron edge of this blasted continent she did not doubt she would hear the poison wind the rest of her life.

I am a fool. He is, after all, so far beneath me.

He was silent.

So she spoke, each word precisely polished. “A warning that perhaps the servant girl you had procured for me might be at risk of drawing murderers to my home? A warning that perhaps I should be on guard against evil mancy nailed to my porch? Or perhaps a warning that I was at risk of being slaughtered in my own bed by a Chinois criminal?”

“I didn’t think—” Was he breathless? And well he should be.

“Precisely.” I wish I would have dressed for this. “You may leave, Mr. Gabriel. I do not appreciate, nor will I brook, being misled in this manner. I came here in good faith, sir, and have narrowly missed being murdered for it.”

“Catherine—” As if he had been struck in the belly, lost all his air. Just as she had been struck last night.

“You shall not address me, sir. You may leave.” Though she rather doubted he would. The man was nothing if not stubborn, and there might be a scene.

Well, I have done nothing but behave disrespectfully since I came to this awful place; I might as well continue.

Just at that moment, there was a rather brisk knock on the front door. Cat put her head up and strode for it, not caring that she was in her nightdress. She had the bar down in a trice and wrenched the door open; dust swirled as Jack Gabriel gave a sharp warning sound.

But the locket was burning against Cat’s chest, and it was merely Mrs. Grinnwald, the sturdy postmistress. She stamped inside, shaking her head as dust fell from her in rivulets. “Didn’t think you’d come check for it, miss; there’s a letter for you.” Her bloodshot blue eyes greedily drank in the scene—Cat in her undress, the sheriff in his, and the letter in Grinnwald’s horny hand was rudely snatched away. Behind the postmistress’s ample bulk, the porch was a dim cave, dawn’s glow eerie and muffled through the flying dirt in the air.

Cat nodded briskly. “Thank you, Mrs. Grinnwald. I am very sorry to put you to the trouble. How long has this been waiting?”

“Two days, ma’am. Bit of a wind, and—”

“Your devotion to service is no doubt to be commended.” You nasty, gossiping old hag. Cat drew her nightdress about her as if it were a morning-dress. “Thank you very much. Li Ang is preparing breakfast; perhaps you, as Mr. Gabriel, will avail yourself of my hospitality in the face of this regrettable weather.”

And with that, she sallied up the stairs. The silence was almost as satisfying as the odd, queerly breathless tone Mr. Gabriel employed as he told the postmistress to come inside and shut the damn door, if she was going to be nosy.