Courting Trouble by Jenny Schwartz Page B

intent.
    “Ridiculous.” He had to make allowances. Her nerves were no doubt overset by the excitements of the day. But honestly, where did it say in the suffragettes’ handbook that an independent woman couldn’t have a husband? Especially a supportive and enlightened one, such as he intended to be?
    Darn it all. The screwdriver slipped from his grip as anger made him clumsy. Here he was thinking marriage, and Esme was trying to back away from their courtship. “I won’t let her.”
    The knowledge that he was responsible for this debacle due to his ridiculous plan only annoyed him further. As for Nazim, that bounder had made the plot real and had the nerve to approach Esme… Jed gripped the worktable so hard it creaked.
    First, he’d eliminate Nazim as a threat. Then he’d kiss some sense into his infuriating suffragette. He spun on his heel and strode out to tackle the fire chief. Proof of arson would go some way toward giving credence to the admittedly improbable tale of an Indian anarchist in Swan River. He’d speak to Owens about staying on guard till he returned.
    * * *
    Esme retreated to the library. She walked over to the window and put on a squeaky voice. “I think we’re doomed.” Her voice returned to normal. “Who do you think you are, a tragic actress?” She rested her forehead against the cool glass.
    She hadn’t known a threat to Jed could rip her heart out and turn her into an abject coward. Faced with his burning workshop, she’d have done anything to have him safe—and that terrified her.
    The library windows looked out over the town to the port and the dark horizon. The storm was no longer threatening. It was here. Rain drummed on the tin roof. It would put out the fire at Jed’s workshop and disperse the crowd of curiosity seekers. Her own servants would be returning home, like birds seeking their nest.
    Birds. She patted her pockets. No, she’d left Lajli’s note with Jed. But she could recall the contents. It had been brief enough. Thank you for your invitation to stay in your home. It is a lovely home. But I am a thief, not a caged songbird. Do not worry.
    A thief. But sometimes thieves stole information rather than property.
    “A caged songbird.” Esme pushed away from the window. “I wonder.”
    It would be stupid to venture out in this storm, but Bombaytown wasn’t beyond reach. Telephones were a blessing in situations like this. Caged songbirds. She grabbed the phone.
    “Greetings of the day,” Ayesha answered.
    “Good afternoon, Ayesha.”
    “Esme. Good gracious. I’ve just heard the news of Mr. Reeve’s workshop. Is he well?”
    Esme thought of Jed, the fury of his expression at her rejection of their courtship. “He wasn’t anywhere near the workshop when it blew up.”
    “There’s a mercy.”
    “Uh, yes.” She could hardly say Jed thought it had been planned that way. She hesitated. There was always the potential for eavesdroppers. Telephone lines weren’t a secure form of communication. That was why people used codes.
    But Ayesha interrupted before she could form her question. “I have your firelighter ready for Diwali. I assume it’s why you called? You did specify a songbird, did you not? A caged songbird?”
    “Yes.” Esme sighed in relief and sat down on the telephone table. “I knew I could count on you, Ayesha. Will you keep it for me till I have a chance to collect it?”
    “But of course.” A slight pause. “Are you still interested in socialism after the debacle at the Rootail Pub? Perhaps you might even prevail on Mr. Reeve to attend a socialist meeting with you.”
    Esme grimaced. “I think that might be pushing my luck.”
    “Of what use is luck if you don’t push it? There is a socialist meeting, tonight, at the Mechanics Institute. A newcomer to our shores will be speaking. A Mr. Ishaan Prasad.”
    Nazim! The name was an unexpected punch, breaking in on her thoughts that Jed was now unlikely to accompany her anywhere. “I believe