“Of course,” Fanny replied. “Should I bring coffee too?”
“No—I will retrieve some wine from downstairs.”
Fanny’s eyebrows arched, but she didn’t say anything about Isabelle indulging the man.
Thankfully, Mr.Bridges didn’t seem to realize her insincerity. “Micah’s a wily boy,” he said, his eyes skimming the room.
“If he’s in the hotel, I’m certain Stephan or I will find him.”
Mr.Bridges took a step toward the cellar door. “I will look downstairs.”
Isabelle moved to stop him. “Where are you from?” she asked, blocking the entrance.
“Texas.”
“I don’t know what it’s like in Texas, but I don’t tolerate trespassing here—and the sheriff is on my side.”
When Fanny brought out the tarts, the man settled back into the chair. At least he was deterred for the moment.
Excusing herself, Isabelle stepped down into the cellar. Mr.Bridges wouldn’t be able to see Micah if he came down here, but it was possible he could hear him between the walls.
Isabelle slowly retrieved Mr.Walsh’s Madeira from her limited collection of fine wines, regretting that she had to waste some of it on this man fuming in her dining room. But better to distract him than let him tear up her hotel. Once he left, she’d help Micah escape, but it would be better for all of them if Mr.Bridges’s senses were dulled before he continued his search.
When she emerged back into the dining room, she shook her head, trying to appear disappointed by her news. “There’s no one hiding downstairs.”
The man shifted in his seat, but his eyes were focused on his goblet as she filled it with the dark, sweet wine. He didn’t bother to sniff it, guzzling it instead. Then she refilled his glass.
After drinking three glasses of wine, he looked over at the wooden staircase that linked her dining room with the second floor. “Where is your man?”
“He’s very thorough in his work,” she explained. “I’m certain he’s still searching.”
“He best find Micah, or I’m going to enlist your sheriff to help me.”
She walked to the bottom of the tall staircase and glanced up. Stephan was waiting for her signal at the top.
When he walked back down into the dining room, Stephan spoke to her. “There’s no one upstairs except the guests in rooms 2 and 8.”
Mr.Bridges leaped up, knocking over his fourth glass of wine. The brown liquid spilled across the white tablecloth. “He’s lying.”
Isabelle crossed her arms. “Neither my steward nor I can produce a child who clearly isn’t here.”
He backed away. “I’ll return with your sheriff.”
She smiled. “Rodney is always welcome.”
Mr.Bridges stomped out of the dining room, and as she watched him pass by the window, Stephan moved up beside her. They were alone in the room, but still she whispered. “Micah’s safe, but if that dreadful man brings back a dog, he’ll find him.”
“I know where to take him,” Stephan said.
She looked back at her steward, a man who’d worked hard for her during the past year. He hadn’t volunteered much of his story, but she knew it hadn’t always been easy. The lobe was missing below his right ear, and he walked with a limp.
“Will he be safe?” she asked.
“Much safer than here.”
Isabelle glanced back out the window. “Let’s move quickly, then.”
The sun had fallen below the horizon, the coal lamps emitting their orange glow along K Street. Taking her cap and black cloak from behind the reception counter, she slipped outside into the fading twilight. The walkway was still crowded with workers leaving the wharf and shop owners finishing the day. She slipped around the side of the building and into the alley behind it, then waited a few moments to see if anyone followed her.
