“You found Eliza?” Philip’s voice was hushed.
“We found a wedding dress,” Will corrected. “Miss Russell said that when she spoke last with Miss Bulmer, the woman mentioned she was trying one on.” His brother stepped closer, and Will noticed the way he blinked his eyes. “You cared about her.”
“Of course I cared about her,” Philip snapped. “I’m not a cad.” He stared at the heap of bedraggled white on the sand then glanced out at the waves. “The tide is coming in.”
Will pointed at the island. “I was thinking about looking out there for her body. She might have been dumped on the island.”
“She was murdered, of course,” Philip said. “She’d hardly go swimming in such attire.”
“You think it was because of her involvement in the taking of Dalton’s Fortune?” Will asked.
“I suspect so. Her tip to my client indicated she was involved. The company president sent me a telegram to let me know he’d received a ransom demand for the Paradox. He got back Dalton’s Fortune.”
“So they haven’t sunk the ship.”
“Unless it’s a ruse to get more money.” Philip nodded toward the island. “Let’s go search.”
“We should wait for the constable,” Will said.
His brother snorted. “You know how inept local law enforcement is. Why do you think the shipping company hired me?” He set off down the beach, heading toward the pier. Will followed him. A skiff was tied up on a mooring at the end of the pier. They stepped over a smelly heap of kelp just before the pier and walked the length of the boards to the boat.
Will steadied the boat as Philip climbed into it then stepped in himself. The boat rocked in the waves and he nearly tipped, but he regained his balance and untied the rope. Philip settled onto the seat at the bow, so Will shrugged and took the seat with the oars. Putting his back into the work, he rowed out past the breakers and angled the skiff toward the small island teeming with gulls and frigate birds. Twilight was coming on fast in the low fog, and he realized he should have started the foghorn before he left. They would have to scout the island fast and get back to shore to tend to his duties.
Philip jumped out of the boat with a splash and dragged the dinghy to the rocks. “It shouldn’t take long to walk the perimeter. You go that way and I’ll go this way,” he said, gesturing to Will’s left.
Will nodded and picked his way across the driftwood and flotsam. He found no sign of Miss Bulmer, but he did spy a large footprint that had been partially erased by the surf. The heel imprint was the only clear mark. A man who rolled over on his shoe. Not much to identify but it was enough to indicate someone might have dropped her here. He patted the sand and shoved back the vegetation in search of the missing body. Though he didn’t truly expect to find Eliza so easily, he was still disappointed when he came up empty-handed.
He stood and brushed the sand from his hands. If he didn’t get moving, the twilight and fog would make it impossible to see the shore. His foot struck something as continued around the island. The gleam of yellow caused a hitch in his lungs. A pocket watch lay partially buried in the sand. He picked it up and rolled it in his fingers. It was imprinted. He squinted to make out the letters: Albert Russell. His gut said it was too much of a coincidence to ignore.
With the watch safely in his pocket, he headed toward the dinghy. Something rustled in the thin, scrubby foliage nearby. Before he had time to consider if it was the wind or an animal, he was struck hard in the back. The heavy weight of his attacker bore him to the ground and pressed his face into wet mud and decaying vegetation.
Will fought back, driving his elbow into the gut of the man atop him. Air hissed through the attacker’s mouth as the two fought silently in the fog that swirled along the shrubs and weeds. The man held a knife aloft, and Will got a glimpse of a skull on the shank of it. He managed to get his knee up then kicked out. The man rolled off him and Will leaped to his feet. His adversary did the same and Will stood poised to jump back into the battle. To his surprise, the thug turned and ran off. Will gave chase, but an exposed tree limb tripped him up and he hurtled back to the mud. He was unhurt except for a scrape on his cheek, but the man had disappeared.
Will bounded to his feet. “Philip!” he shouted. “Watch out!” He rushed back toward the dinghy. When his brother didn’t answer, he picked up his pace and reached where the boat lay beached. There was no sign of Philip. Darkness had fully descended. Will shouted for him again, and this time he heard a groan. He moved toward it and nearly tripped over his brother’s legs.
Philip groaned again. He muttered something unintelligible. Will touched his brother’s face and his fingers came away sticky. Blood poured from a huge knot on Philip’s head. “You’re going to be all right, Philip.”
Between the fog and the starless night, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Would they have to spend the night in the cold and damp? There’d be little opportunity for rest with the likelihood of an enemy lurking, and Philip needed to be warm, dry, and possibly under a doctor’s care. Without being able to see the shore, he might as easily row for the open sea as for the lighthouse, her lamps still dark. A pang of guilt ran through him. Fine lightkeeper he was turning out to be.
Then he heard a wonderful sound: the foghorn brayed from off to his right. The deep tone was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He managed to get his brother into the dinghy, then shoved it into the water. He put his palms to the oars and rowed toward the sound, rolling through the dark.
FIFTEEN
THE FOGHORN TOLLED its warning in the dark. Tendrils of mist snaked around Katie’s ankles and distorted what little she could see in the wash of the light from the lantern she held in her hand. Will should have been back by now. She caught herself thinking of him by his first name. When did that happen?
She swung the lamp back and forth, though she knew it was futile. The lighthouse behind her now blessedly threw out more light, but was it even penetrating the fog more than a few hundred feet? With the constable’s help she’d managed to wind the light. Lady Carrington was keeping an eye on Jennie, but there was still no sound of oars in the water or the slap of water on a dinghy. If she hadn’t glanced at the pier just before twilight, she would never even have known they’d taken the boat out to sea. Irritating men.
The constable joined her. “I fear he’s lost his bearings. Where did you say they went?”
“I’m not sure. I went to call you, and when I came back out, I saw them rowing a small skiff out to sea. There’s a tiny island out there.
Perhaps he went there.”
“Why would they head there?”
“He didn’t reveal his plans to me,” she said, unable to keep the displeasure from her voice.
“It’s getting quite late. I need to get back to town. When he arrives, would you telephone me, please?”
She stared at him. “Aren’t you going to search for them? They might be in distress.” Her main concern was for the lightkeeper, but the thought of being alone in the dark frightened her as well. Someone might have killed Eliza, and that person could still be lurking about.
The constable took out a cigar. “Miss Katie, it’s far too late to attempt a rescue. The fog will clear in the morning. If he hasn’t returned by then, I’ll commence a search.” Brown turned to depart.
She extended her hand toward him. “That might be too late!” She shivered, wishing it didn’t matter to her that Will had been foolish enough to go out on the sea in these conditions.
“They are grown men. They’ll have to take their chances on their own foolishness,” the constable called over his shoulder. “Butting into my investigation and all. Now see that you aren’t foolish too. Get to the lighthouse and lock it up tight until morning.”
His trim figure vanished in the fog. Katie strained to see out past the mist, but it swallowed up even the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. The eerie silence unnerved her. The foghorn bellowed again, and she jumped at the sudden blas
t of noise. Maybe she should go down to the shore and wave her light. She picked her way down the beach through the seaweed-strewn rocks. If they came to shore down that way, they might not see the lighthouse. Even now, it was dim behind her.
Katie’s shoes slid on the slimy stuff, and she teetered on the edge of a steep drop-off. The lantern fell from her hand and shattered on the granite shards. What little light she’d had blinked out as she pin-wheeled her arms and tried to maintain her balance. Her right hand caught the sharp edge of a rock and she steadied herself before managing to climb down to the sand.
When she stood on trembling knees by the water, she drew in a shaky breath and blew it out. The sound of the foghorn rolled through the mist again. When it ended, she cupped her hands to her mouth. “Will!” she shrieked. “Can you hear me?”
No voice answered her. She stepped closer to water, taking comfort in the rhythmic sound of it, lapping on the sand. She started to shout again then heard something odd. Was that a moan or the wind?
A wave washed over her shoes, and she gasped as the frigid water touched her skin. A grinding sound came to her ears. Was it a boat scraping on the rocks? If only she could see. She strained to hear.
There it came again. Something bumping on the rocks.
“Will!” she screamed again.
“Katie!” Will’s voice held relief and something else. She moved in the direction of his voice. Shivers raced down her spine at the way the sound seemed to echo around her, out of nowhere. This fog was disorienting.
Waves soaked the hem of her dress, and she lifted it from the strands of kelp floating on the foam. The sound seemed close, about six feet away, though she could still see nothing and wished she had the lantern. “Will?”
“Here!” he called. “We’re stuck on these rocks . . .”
She waded farther into the cold water. The sand fell away under her feet, and her head went under the water. Her wet skirts weighed her down and salty water filled her nose and mouth. Her toe touched something solid and she pushed off with all her might.
Her head broke through the waves and she gasped in air. The salt burned her eyes and nose. Panic closed her throat as her sodden skirts threatened to drag her down again. She flayed about, trying to stay afloat.
Strong fingers closed over hers and the next moment she was lying on the bottom of the dinghy breathing in the oily scent of pitch. She coughed up salty water then gagged at the taste.
Big hands smoothed her hair back from her face. “You’re all right.
I’ve got you,” Will said. “Cough it up.”
She coughed again then sat up. “I thought you were dead.”
“We might have been if you hadn’t started the foghorn.”
He hadn’t let go of her hand yet, and she found herself wanting to cling to him. Which would never do.
Will rolled the watch around in his pocket. The fireplace radiated warmth to his frozen limbs. The gray chair was quite comfortable, and he could go to sleep right here if he allowed himself.
“What did the fellow look like?” Philip asked, his voice weak but intent.
Will struggled to remember something about the man who had jumped them.
“He was heavy, and he had hard hands.”
Philip touched the goose egg on his temple and winced. “That’s not much to go on.”
“Well, you were there too! What’d you see?” Will rubbed his head.
Katie came into the parlor with a box in her hand. She’d been remarkable. Fearless, as she’d leaped to his aid. If not for her clear thinking in starting the foghorn, things might have turned out very different.
She bit her lip as she approached his brother, who was lying on the sofa. “I found a first aid kit under the sink in the kitchen. I’m not very good at this.”
She placed the box on the table beside Philip and lifted the lid. His brother was quiet as she tended to his cuts. Will read dislike in the rigidness of her shoulders as she dabbed antiseptic on Philip’s skin. The glare she shot at him delighted Will, but he stuffed that happiness down deep until he had a chance to examine just why he didn’t want Miss Russell to be impressed with his younger brother’s good looks. She washed his wound then dabbed iodine on the cut and positioned a bandage around his head.
She turned toward Will. “Now you.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“There’s a small cut on your cheek and one on your hand. It’s best to tend to them now.”
She knelt beside him and dabbed iodine on the minor injuries.
With her this close, he could smell the sea on her skin. Tendrils of wet hair had escaped her pins, and a long curl brushed his cheek. He resisted the urge to entwine it around his finger. She put a plaster on the cut and stepped back and turned. He watched her replace everything in the box.
“You look quite fetching in glasses,” he said softly.
She colored and whipped them from her face, sticking them in the pocket of the apron she wore over her dress. “There is some acetylsalicylic acid powder in here. Does your head pain you?” she asked Philip.
“I don’t want anything like that, but I wouldn’t refuse coffee.”
“There is some in the kitchen, in the cupboard by the sink,” Will said. When she nodded and exited the room, he found himself watching her swaying skirts.
He glanced at the pocket watch. She needed to know about it.
Philip was nodding off again, so Will rose and padded out to the kitchen. He found her measuring coffee into the pot on the stove.
“There is something you should see.”
One perfectly shaped brow arched. “Another problem?”
When he opened his extended hand, the watch lay in his palm, inscription up. The color drained from her face. She picked it up.
“Papa’s watch. Where did you find it?”
“On the island just before I was attacked.” He watched the knowledge come into her face—the idea that her father might have had something to do with throwing Miss Bulmer into the sea.
Those blue eyes slammed shut then opened again, blazing with pain. “I don’t believe my father would harm anyone.”
“He did show up here looking for this watch,” Will reminded her.
“That means nothing.” She turned her back on him and went back to preparing the coffee.
He watched her stiff back and knew she wouldn’t say another word. Retracing his steps, he found his brother sitting up again with his head in his hands. “How are you feeling?” Will asked.
Philip lifted his head. “Like I was just beat up.”
“Did you see who attacked you?”
“No. One minute I was walking the shore, and the next second my face was in the sand.” Philip cradled his head. “At least this will get me off the hook with the constable.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Will said. “He was already suspicious of your whereabouts the night Eliza disappeared.”
Color rushed to Philip’s face. “If you hadn’t offered to take the child, he wouldn’t have known anything about me.”
“A Jesperson doesn’t run from his duty,” Will said.
“I’m not that child’s father, Will!”
“You can’t be sure, can you?” Will was suddenly weary of his brother’s constant excuses. “You refuse to take responsibility for anything, Philip. Nothing is ever your fault. You will take Jennie home with you and own up to your situation.” The very thought of losing the baby made him cringe, but it was right that she should be with her father.
His brother bolted from the sofa. “I will do no such thing!”
Before Will answered, Miss Russell stepped back into the parlor with a tray of coffee in her hands. She glanced from Will to his brother with wide eyes.
She set the tray on a table. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You don’t believe Jennie is your daughter?”
“I do not,” Philip said emphatically.
“There is the possibility that she is my sister,” she said.
Philip shot Will an enraged glare. “I see. Does my brother know of your suspicion?”
“Of course. We argued over who should take charge of Jennie.”
“I see.” Philip’s mouth grew more pinched. “You’ve been unable to convince my brother of that fact?”
Will barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Jennie’s appearance convinced me, along with your admission of a relationship with the woman.” Miss Russell’s cheeks turned pink, and he realized how inappropriate their conversation was. “I apologize for the indelicacy of this discussion, Miss Russell. Please forgive me.”
She handed over a cup of coffee without speaking. “I don’t believe any of us know for sure who Jennie’s father is,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Philip. “But don’t you feel some responsibility since you don’t know for certain?”
He scowled. “She’s not my child.”
“You’re quite positive?”
Philip hesitated, but that was all it took for Miss Russell to set her coffee on the table and cross her arms across her chest. “What about Eliza? Did you harm her?”
“Of course not!” Philip scowled at her. “I think your father did away with her.” He rubbed his head. “For all I know, he’s the one who attacked me on the island.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s in the hospital.”
“Are you sure?” Philip’s voice was taunting. “Why don’t we place a call and see?”
“He’s not even conscious,” she said.
“Or he’s playing possum,” Philip shot back.
“I’m not going to stay here and listen to your hideous innuendoes.” She marched off and the stomp of her footsteps on the stairs echoed back.
“She’s quite the spitfire,” Philip said. He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Too strong.” He put it on the table.
Will took a cautious gulp and shuddered. “You were goading her.”
“I suppose I’d best stay around,” Philip said, with a sly glance at Will.
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