Free Haunting Jordan by P. J. Alderman Page A

you,” she said gently.
    They dipped in nervous curtsies and fled, but not before Hattie had noticed the newly healed cuts and bruises on the smaller of the two. She wanted to inquire about the girl’s injuries, to ask if she needed help, but she suspected her questions would only serve to frighten the two even more.
    “They aren’t comfortable around respectable women of means,” Mona explained as she approached. The hard lines in her face were more deeply pronounced in the morning light.
    Hattie remembered Eleanor’s earlier warnings and condemnation, and her expression turned wry. “My position in society may be more precarious than you realize.”
    “And you haven’t improved it, coming down here to help,” Mona concluded astutely.
    “If so, I can’t worry about it.”
    “Perhaps you would be wise to return home now that the fire is out.”
    Hattie shook her head. “I’m not leaving while people still need tending.” She held out the blankets. “If you’ll pass these out, I’ll see whether the hand pump on that well across the street is still working. The injured need water.”
    Mona studied her for a moment, then shrugged. She cast a look at the rapidly darkening western sky. “We’d best hurry—that storm may put out the rest of the fire, but it will bring its own form of misery. We’ll have to use the tunnels for the supplies, and move the injured to theGreen Light. We can access the tunnels from the basement of Seavey’s hotel.”
    Hattie surreptitiously glanced toward the beach, where he still stood with his bodyguards. He’d watched her all night long, making her shiver more than once from the weight of his gaze.
    From what little Charles had told her about his business, Port Chatham’s booming shipping industry relied on a steady supply of sailors. Shanghaiers like Seavey either worked in concert with boardinghouse operators to provide crews to the shipping masters or, in some cases, owned the boardinghouses outright. The tunnels supposedly served as a temporary prison for those least willing to go along with the shanghaiers’ demands.
    “Charles told me he refused to pay the shanghaiers for his crews,” she said now.
    Mona snorted her disbelief. “It’s common practice with all the shipping companies, your husband’s included. How do you think he got the crews he needed to run that many ships? And with some sailors turning to the union, cheap crews are more scarce than ever.” She glanced around, then continued before Hattie could argue, keeping her voice low. “Rumor is now that Seavey has the local shanghaiing business all but tied up he’s moved on to kidnapping young girls.”
    “What? He ransoms them?”
    “He sells them into prostitution rings operating in the Far East. Young white virgins are in great demand over there.”
    “But if everyone knows what he’s doing, why don’t the police raid the tunnels?” Hattie asked, sickened.
    “When someone up on the hill is kidnapped, the police might investigate, though they would have trouble finding enough proof to convict. But most of the time, they look the other way.” Mona’s tone was bitter. “Prostitutes don’t matter.”
    Hattie had heard similar complaints regarding lack of police protection from women down on their luck back East—a hard truth of the times she had trouble accepting. Shuddering, she glanced over to reassure herself that Charlotte and Tabitha were still safe. No wonder Greeley had been so attentive.
    “I trust I don’t have to tell you to never let your girls go out without a chaperone—even in your immediate neighborhood,” Mona said. “Even respectable business establishments in your neighborhood have been targeted.”
    “No, I’m insistent that the girls are always accompanied by an adult.”
    “Good. I’ll talk to Seavey about storing supplies in the tunnels after I distribute these.” She took the blankets. “I don’t want you wandering down to that end of the