Girl at the Grave

by Teri Bailey Black

But my mind imagined another possibility.

  If Nigel knew that Daniel planned to tell the headmaster about the cheating, he would have wanted to stop him. Maybe he climbed the tree and went through Daniel’s window, so no one saw him arrive. They argued, and when Nigel couldn’t talk Daniel out of telling the headmaster, he panicked and silenced him—

  How? Hands around the throat? A pillow against Daniel’s face until his legs stopped thrashing?

  He murdered his friend, then set the fire to hide the evidence and escaped through the window. No one even knew he’d been there.

  My stomach roiled at the thought. I’d invented a horror story.

  But it was entirely possible.

  “Why didn’t you and my mother tell anyone about the cheating?”

  “We didn’t have proof. And Daniel had just died. We were both in shock—utterly heartbroken.” Miss Dibble pinched the heads off some small, white flowers and tucked them into my hair. “We heard that commencement was a somber affair. Nigel broke down in the middle of his oration and left the stand.”

  “But later,” I insisted. “You could have told someone about Mr. Foley helping Nigel cheat.”

  Her face tightened. “I started teaching at the grammar school after I graduated—where Mrs. Blackshaw serves on the board. And a few years after that, I was hired at Drake, where Mr. Foley was the new headmaster. I am not a fool, Valentine—and neither are you.” She met my eyes in the mirror. “I trust you will not repeat this.” I didn’t reply, and her lips tightened. “I should not have told you.”

  But she had told me, and my mind darted through the possibilities. “Do you think that’s why my mother and Nigel Blackshaw were arguing the night he died? She found out that he’d murdered Daniel—”

  “He didn’t murder Daniel! I never said that! And it was a long time ago, Valentine. You only hurt yourself by dwelling on the past. Tonight is about you!” She forced a bright lift into her voice. “And you’ll be late if you don’t hurry. Now, stand so I can get a look at you.” I obeyed, and Miss Dibble’s eyes widened. “Goodness, you look quite transformed!”

  I saw my reflection and caught my breath. I hardly recognized myself. Miss Dibble had somehow tamed my curls into a glorious halo, dotted with white flowers.

  “Don’t forget to smile,” Miss Dibble advised. “You are far too serious. But don’t show your teeth. Boys may dance with bold girls, but they never marry them.”

  I ran my hands over the silky dress. I didn’t have Philly’s poised prettiness, but I did have my own sort of untamed beauty. Even my hair, so carefully pinned by Miss Dibble just a moment ago, looked as if the slightest breeze might set it free.

  “Do you want to practice your speech?” she asked.

  “No, I’ll be late.”

  “Goodness, you must hurry. Grab the shawl.” She hurried me down the stairs and walked two blocks with me, then called out well wishes until I’d disappeared around the corner.

  31

  The road to Drake was awash in evening glow. A carriage rolled past me—then another. But no more, which meant I was late. I quickened my steps, reciting my oration under my breath.

  As I passed the Fryes’ log cabin, Sam rose from a tree stump, tall and broad-shouldered, and my chest tightened. We hadn’t spoken since he’d stormed out of my kitchen with a ring in his pocket.

  “Hello, Sam.”

  “Good evening, Valentine.” His tone was too formal, and I realized he was as finely dressed as I’d ever seen him, wearing a brown suit and green neckcloth, his hair still damp from its combing. He extended one arm. “May I escort you?”

  “Oh, Sam.” Affection washed over me, mingled with regret. “I would love it, but I didn’t tell them I was bringing a guest. The dinner seats are assigned—”

  “I know. I’ll just walk you to the door.”

  I was already anxious about my speech, and there were so many things I needed to tell Sam. Painful things. But I wrapped my hand around his arm, and after a few stiff steps, we slid closer, and his nearness comforted me.

  I released a shuddering breath. “I’m nervous about my speech,” I admitted.

  “You shouldn’t be. You look beautiful, and I know you’ll do a good job. I like your hair that way.”

  “Thank you. Miss Dibble did it.” I gingerly touched it.

  Sam looked down at himself. “Do you like my suit? I borrowed it from a friend at work. It’s a little tight, but Ma says I got more growing in me, so I shouldn’t buy my own. Not until…” His voice faded.

  Until he needed one for a wedding. My heart pulled. “You look fine, Sam.” Beads of sweat dotted his brow. I’d been selfish and cruel to leave him wondering all week. I could trust him to keep quiet. I heaved a deep sigh of regret and released my arm from his. “I can’t marry you, Sam.”

  His head bowed forward as he walked. “I know,” he said heavily.

  “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  His shoe brushed a pebble out of the way. “I just feel like a fool, that’s all.”

  “No.” My hand touched his arm, then fell back. “I’m the one who’s been a fool. I’ve made so many mistakes. I shouldn’t have let it go this far, with you buying a ring. But I honestly wasn’t sure. I always thought it would be the two of us. Even when I sensed the truth, I didn’t want to let you go.”

  His green eyes shifted down to me. “You don’t have to,” he said gruffly.

  Tears stung my eyes. “I fell in love with Rowan. I don’t know why.”

  Sam gave a bitter laugh. “I can think of a few thousand dollars why.”

  “It isn’t about money. You know I don’t care about that.”

  “Do I? I feel like I don’t know anything right now—except that you lied when you said you loved me.”

  My mood tightened. “It wasn’t a lie. You know I love you, Sam. That’s why this has been so confusing. But what I feel for Rowan is different, and you deserve a girl who feels that way about you.”

  He scowled at the road.

  I bit my lower lip. “Sam … I know it’s unfair to ask, but I need you to keep quiet about Rowan and me for a few weeks. It’s important that his grandmother doesn’t find out.”

  He released a breath of disbelief, his eyes narrowing on me. “He won’t even tell his grandmother about you?”

  “It’s … complicated.”

  “Not that complicated, Val. He’s ashamed of you. And as soon as he’s bored, he’ll move on to some other girl.”

  My temper flared. “It isn’t like that between us.”

  “Believe that if you want, just don’t expect me to be waiting around to take you back.” He took a few angry steps, glowering at the road. “I haven’t told you, but Emily Sweeney just happens to walk my way every morning on my way to work.”

  “I’m glad,” I snapped. “I want you to be happy.”

  A carriage approached, and we shifted to the edge of the road, not talking for a while as it passed. Its wheels kicked up a trail of dust.

  The sunset was deepening, the shadows lengthening.

  Sam kicked another pebble out of the way. “I think you got your head in the clouds, Val. Maybe that fancy life looks good right now, but that’s not how you are. You don’t want to eat some fancy cake on china plates; you’d rather bake it yourself. And if you had to choose between eating dinner with a bunch of rich people with their noses in the air or Birdy, you’d choose Birdy every time.”

  I looked up at him, amazed that he knew me so well. But I could have described him just as easily.

  But there was something Sam didn’t know about me. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

  I slowed our pace as I told him about meeting Molly and learning the truth about what I’d done. I explained how I’d tried to hide the secret all winter, but now knew that I had to speak out or the person who murdered my father and friends would never be found.

  Sam listened carefully, then asked, “Why would your ma confess if she didn’t do it?”

&
nbsp; “I don’t know for sure, but I want to clear her name. Tomorrow I’m going to tell Sheriff Crane what really happened.”

  Sam shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I think you should just forget about it.”

  I looked up at him, my heart warming. That was the Sam I knew—overcoming most of life’s problems with an easy shrug and smile. A life with him would have been simple and straightforward, full of hard work and easy laughter, each day much the same as the one before. Rowan was more complicated, and my life with him would be more tangled. But that excited my heart and blood.

  We’d reached Drake Academy. When I saw Rochester Hall, I stopped short, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. The ground-floor windows glowed with candlelight and finely dressed figures, and the terror I’d been forcing down all day tightened its fist.

  Sam stopped beside me and said in a quiet voice, as if reading my mind, “Don’t be nervous, Val. You’re gonna give a great speech.”

  I turned to him, my throat swelling with a hundred unspoken words, but I only gave him three. “Thank you, Sam.”

  He turned away—then came back. He slid his large hand into my hair and kissed me one last time. His lips lingered, then he let go and walked away.

  I watched until he’d disappeared around the bend.

  Then I turned and entered Drake Academy for the last time.

  * * *

  I was late.

  The early mingling in the entrance hall had ended, and the graduation guests were already flowing toward the dining room. Ahead of me, Lucy and Philly strode like princesses in their beautiful dresses, their mothers nearby; Judge Stoker walked with Mr. Meriwether, smirking at some shared joke; and Mrs. Utley scolded Jack, her mouth pressed against his ear.

  I was the only student on my own.

  I gasped when I saw the dining hall. The old tables had been covered by elegant white tablecloths, and everything glittered beneath tall candelabra. Even the guests sparkled, dressed in their finery.

  No one seemed to notice me as I made my way up the right side of the room. At the far end, the low dais used for devotionals had been set up, with a long table in the center with three chairs facing the room. Rowan already sat on the left—handsome in formal attire, not looking at me with his grandmother in the room—and Mr. Foley sat in the center. Which meant the empty chair on the right belonged to me. I climbed the two steps to the dais, and Mr. Foley and Rowan stood as I approached.

  Rowan’s eyes slid down the pale blue dress, then returned to my face with a burning gaze of approval that made my heart rise.

  “You are late,” Mr. Foley hissed as he held out my chair.

  “You wanted me at the opening social?” I asked quietly. “To meet all the parents?”

  He didn’t reply.

  A blessing was offered by the Reverend Mr. Newland, and everyone’s attention shifted to their food. It was the grandest meal I’d ever been served, but I could barely eat. I glanced at Rowan and found him watching me. His lips twitched in a small smile, then he looked back at his plate, no doubt aware of his grandmother watching.

  Mrs. Blackshaw.

  I looked up and found her at the trustees’ table near the dais, watching me with steely disdain. I’d dreaded seeing her, but now that we faced one another, I felt unexpectedly calm. She looked thinner than I recalled, her skin sallow against a black dress. We rarely stared this directly at one another, but tonight our gazes held and burned.

  She’d murdered Father and Mr. Oliver and Birdy. Then she’d made her pact with Rowan, hoping he wouldn’t keep his end of the bargain so she could see me hang for her crime. An end to the Barrons.

  I wondered what sinister secret she was trying to hide. Something connected to her son’s death and my mother’s innocence. Something—

  My thoughts lurched, remembering Miss Dibble’s story.

  My mother had pointed a gun with cold fury, her hands trembling, her eyes wild, screaming hate-filled words—because she’d known that Nigel Blackshaw had murdered her twin brother.

  Not revenge over some financial matter.

  My heart drummed in my chest. My eyes widened on Mrs. Blackshaw, suddenly seeing her clearly.

  She knew the truth about her son. That was the sinister secret lurking at the bottom of the murders—the reason Mrs. Blackshaw cared so much about my mother’s innocence. Anyone who saw me pick up the gun that night also heard my mother’s fiery accusations against Nigel Blackshaw. Which meant—

  My thoughts raced, gathering pieces.

  Anyone who saw me pick up the gun also knew that Nigel Blackshaw murdered Daniel Barron.

  Who was there?

  Father. Paid off with a box of money, then murdered.

  Little Valentine. An icy shiver ran through me. Mrs. Blackshaw hated me because I killed her son—and feared me because I was there when my mother screamed accusations. That’s why she wanted me hanged.

  The secret witness—the person who’d told Mr. Oliver. Was that Mrs. Blackshaw? Or someone else?

  A dish crashed, jolting my attention back to the present, and Mrs. Blackshaw looked away.

  I inhaled a breath.

  There were still pieces to find, but I couldn’t think about it now or I would never get through my oration. I took a sip from my goblet with a trembling hand.

  Dinner finally ended, and Mr. Foley stood to give the same dry speech he gave at every school event, filled with platitudes about Drake Academy’s charge to instill knowledge, virtue, and industry in the hearts of its students. But I heard very little, rehearsing lines in my head. And before I felt ready for it, Mr. Foley was introducing me as the valedictorian for the girls.

  I stood to a brief smattering of applause and began my oration—more shakily than I would have liked, my voice too soft. My eyes didn’t know where to land. I finally remembered to look for Judge Stoker and found him at the trustees’ table—a scowling vulture with piercing eyes. Soon, I would break my promise to him, but tonight I could make him proud. I stood taller and my voice strengthened, and he offered a hard smile of approval.

  Rowan stood next and delivered a perfectly memorized speech with a lively lift in his voice that held the audience riveted. His mood seemed jovial—because he thought I was going to Europe with him. Somehow, I needed to get him alone tonight and tell him that I wasn’t going. That I wouldn’t run away. That I intended to expose his grandmother.

  Mr. Foley presented Rowan and me with our awards, then we were told to step down from the dais so our classmates could file up. Two chairs had been reserved for us near the trustees’ table. We sat side by side, his leg touching my full skirt, our hands only inches apart, both of us rigidly aware of his grandmother not far behind.

  I forced myself to watch as our classmates receive their diplomas. Jack Utley stumbled on the steps, then scurried toward Mr. Foley with squeaking shoes. Lucy’s neckline was shockingly low. And Tall Meg looked even taller than usual with her hair pulled up, her long neck revealed.

  Philly looked beautiful in cream-colored silk, but she seemed shaky with nerves as she waited her turn, casting furtive glances at Rowan.

  “Now!” Mr. Foley announced. “If you would all please retire to the main hall, the dining tables will be cleared so we can begin the dancing portion of our evening!”

  Chairs scraped back, and the room erupted in conversation.

  I expected Rowan to leave me because of his grandmother, but he remained at my side. “I leave early tomorrow,” he said in a low voice, keeping his gaze safely elsewhere. “I’ll stop by your house on the way to leave some travel money. The Boston stagecoach leaves every other morning.”

  My stomach knotted. “I need to talk to you, Rowan. Tonight, if we can find a way.”

  His eyes darted to me. “Is everything—”

  “Rowan Blackshaw! Well deserved!” A large hand landed on Rowan’s shoulder, and we turned to see Governor Stiles. “Your grandmother tells me that you’re planning to study law.”

  “Well, actual
ly—”

  “You’re acquainted with my daughter Jane, of course. I know she’d be very pleased if you paid us a visit this summer. It’s a bit of a ride, but you could stay for a few days. Visit my office. Meet a few people.”

  “Congratulations, Rowan!” Mr. Meriwether came up on his other side. “Hope you can make it for dinner before Lucy leaves for Paris.”

  “Rowan! Fine speech!”

  As Rowan was surrounded, Judge Stoker took hold of my arm and drew me a few steps away. “Well done on your oration, Valentine,” he growled near my ear. “And well done with your valuable gift the other evening. I only hope it didn’t make you think less of me.”

  “I didn’t read it.”

  His lips quirked in a relieved smile. “Well, then, we shall put it behind us, like that other matter. And now, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to introduce you to a few of my fellow trustees.” He steered me toward a large, ruddy-faced man. “Valentine, this is Mr. Tobin, owner of the largest dairy in the state.”

  Mr. Tobin inclined his head. “I enjoyed your speech, Miss Deluca.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I glanced over my shoulder at Rowan, stifling my impatience.

  “And here are Mr. and Mrs. Moffett.” Judge Stoker led me down a line of introductions, and it wasn’t until we neared the end that I realized he was leading me toward Mrs. Blackshaw. My spine stiffened. Surely he wasn’t foolish enough to think we needed an introduction. But when I glanced at his chiseled face, I saw that he wasn’t foolish at all; he was eager. I stepped back, but his fingers tightened around my arm, and I was forced before Mrs. Blackshaw like a criminal in his courtroom.

  “Josephine,” Judge Stoker greeted with smug satisfaction. “I believe you are acquainted with Miss Deluca.”

  The cloying sweetness of her perfume wafted over us. We were the same height, and for the second time that evening, I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes.

  Which emboldened me. I knew her foul secret. “Good evening, Mrs. Blackshaw. You must be proud of Rowan.”

  She heard the presumption in my voice, and her chin lifted. “Indeed. I have reason to be proud of my grandson. He is a fine young man, deserving of his honor.”