Undertow (Whyborne & Griffin #8.5)
Jordan L. Hawk
Chapter 1
Author’s Note: Undertow takes place concurrently with some of the events of Fallow (Whyborne & Griffin 8)
Something had left a dead squid on my windowsill.
I discovered the creature when I pulled back the curtains and found the squid staring at me with glassy eyes. An involuntary cry of surprise escaped my throat before I could think to suppress it.
The squid glistened wetly in the early October sun, its tentacles drooping sadly over the edge of the sill. How on earth had it gotten there?
I gingerly opened the window and was immediately assaulted by its smell. Waving my hand in front of my face, I leaned out, but found no ledges that might have allowed a cat to drag it up there. Perhaps an osprey had dropped it—or had they migrated south by now? An eagle, then? Did eagles even eat squid?
At any rate, the awful thing was here now, and it would only smell worse the longer I left it there. I retrieved a handkerchief and gingerly lifted it by one limp tentacle. It was unexpectedly heavy, and I nearly dropped it.
I could dispose of it in the household waste bin, but then Mrs. Yagoda would see and want to know where it came from. My landlady required her boarders to be quiet, modest, and above all not to bring the hint of anything unsettling into the house. The fact that it was hardly my fault the thing had showed up outside my room would hold little water with her. I’d have to try to get it out of the house without her noticing. To that end, I wrapped it in a bit of old newspaper and stuffed it into my pocketbook. The thing was so large, it barely fit.
As I stepped into the hall, I nearly collided with Irene Vale, who rented the room across from me. “Good morning, Maggie,” she said, her voice trailing off as she noticed me holding my pocketbook at arm’s length. Her dark brows drew together. “It something wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, feeling my face heat with embarrassment. I put the pocketbook on my arm and tried to ignore the smell that had already started to leak out.
“If you say so.” Irene didn’t press, thank heavens. “I was just coming to see if you were up. There’s a man waiting for you in the parlor.”
“A man?” I asked blankly.
“Yes.” She folded her arms and gave me a curious look. “I thought you said that Dr. Whyborne of yours was out of town.”
Now my face felt hot enough to boil tea. “It isn’t like that!” I exclaimed, although in truth I’d spent years hoping it would be exactly like that. I’d waited so long for him to act: confess his love, throw me over his desk, and have his way with me.
But then I’d met his sister, and now I didn’t even know what I felt anymore. Or rather, I did. I just didn’t know what to do about it.
Irene shrugged. “Whoever he is, you’d better speak to him quick, or else there won’t be any breakfast left.”
Puzzled as to who could possibly have come to see me, I hurried down the stairs to the parlor. The other women of the boarding house were already gathered in the dining room, and the smell of bacon and pancakes set my stomach to growling. I hoped there would be something left by the time I finished with my visitor.
I stepped into the parlor. A man close to my own age stood near the piano, running his fingers over the keys. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore a small mustache that made him seem older. He looked up at my entrance, and a smile spread over his boyish face. “Maggie Parkhurst. Don’t you look a sight?”
I pressed my hand to my chest in surprise. Unfortunately, it was the hand holding the pocketbook with the stinking squid. I hastily dropped it again. “Oliver?”
“In the flesh.” He laughed. “Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“It is.” I embraced him, careful to hold the pocketbook at arm’s length. “It’s been so long!”
He grinned. “I’ve written you faithfully.”
“I know, but it isn’t the same.” Oliver and I had been inseparable as children. We’d grown up together; his father had been first mate on my father’s ship. The hours of our youth had been spent playing in each other’s households, while our mothers commiserated over their absent husbands.
That had all ended when the Bedlam sank in the icy waters of the Bering Sea. Our lives had changed overnight: our house lost, my brothers and myself forced to seek whatever employment we could find. Oliver had left New Bedford to make his fortune elsewhere. Our correspondence had grown sporadic, his missives postmarked from all across the country as he tried his hand at various positions.
None of the past’s hardship marked his easy smile now. “I stopped in New Bedford before coming here. Your mother sends her greetings.”
Warmth collected in my cheeks. Mother’s recent letters had been rather sharp, reminding me I was twenty-six years old and practically an old maid. Had she sent Oliver here as some sort of last resort, in the hopes childhood affection might turn to something more?
“Thank you,” I said. Then, to change the subject: “What brings you to Widdershins? Are you still selling billiard tables?”
“My sample case is by the door,” he replied. “It’s not the most exciting profession, but there are worse ways to earn a living.”