by Diana Palmer
“Listen to me,” Claire said earnestly. “There’s a reward for Eli’s capture and the return of the money. It’s a very large reward.”
“Blood money.” Diane sniffed. Her lovely eyes filled with tears.
“No. A reward for catching a criminal who stole money from innocent investors in his bank,” Claire replied. Her voice was earnest and quick, because John’s whole future depended on gaining this old rival’s help. “Think of it, Diane. You’d be a heroine. People would like you as well as pity you, because of what you endured. They would respect you for having the courage to turn in your husband, despite your fear of him.”
Diane stopped sniffling and stared at Claire with red-rimmed blue eyes. “They would?” she asked, surprised.
“Of course they would.”
Diane fiddled with a handkerchief, her eyes downcast. “It’s a large reward?”
“Very large.”
“But I went with him. I’m an accomplice. I’ll go to jail!”
“No, you won’t. If you turn him in, you can tell them the truth—that he forced you to help him by threatening you. That’s the truth.”
“Well, yes, it is. I suppose I could.” She eyed Claire suspiciously. “Why are you willing to help me? You do know that your husband is in love with me? And that when I’m free of Eli, he’s going to leave you and marry me?”
Claire knew better than that, thank God, but she didn’t dare admit it just now. “If you don’t turn in your husband, John might go to prison,” Claire pointed out. She took a slow breath and waited. As she did, she thought about John’s child, and the way his face had looked when he confessed his love. She loved him—and would have sacrificed her own happiness to give him to Diane, if that had been what he wanted. She thanked God that it would not be necessary. She contrived a wistful smile as Diane wavered, and added calculatingly, “I’d rather see him with you, you know, if that’s what he really wants, than see him go to jail for another man’s crime.”
“You’re very unselfish,” Diane said after a minute. “I’m not. I like being rich. I like having pretty things.” Her shoulders shrugged. “I thought John would be poor, and I’d had enough of living hand-to-mouth and having my sisters depend on me for a living when they were between lovers. I married Eli because he was wealthy.” She sighed. “I never loved him. I loved John.” She looked up. “But I never loved him quite enough, did I, Claire? And I think that you do. I’m sorry he doesn’t love you.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Claire said, keeping her delightful secret. “Keeping him out of jail is my only desire at the moment. Will you help?”
Diane hesitated. But she really had no choice. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll help you. What do you want me to do?”
16
A SMALL TOWN CALLED LIBERTY WAS ALONG THE route the train took to Augusta. While the engine stopped to take on passengers, John dashed into the station and sent a wire to Augusta, to the sheriff.
Diane went back to the mail car, carefully closed the door, and made sure the shade was down. She went and sat down beside the coffin as if nothing had happened.
“Is it all right?” Eli asked, peeping over the edge of the coffin. “You didn’t see anyone you knew?”
“Of course not,” she lied prettily. She’d had plenty of practice. She even smiled. “But the train is very crowded.”
“That won’t matter. The people will get off at stops all along the way. As soon as we get across the state line into South Carolina, I can get out of this thing. I’m terribly uncomfortable. I’m not wanted in South Carolina.”
She glanced into the coffin, at the bags of money. There were several, all of them stuffed full. It was a king’s ransom, and she’d just agreed to help the bank recover it. Well, she sighed, there was a reward. She wouldn’t have to go to prison. She’d be free of Eli. And she’d even be able to get John back. Claire was no match for her. She smiled.
“You look very smug,” Eli muttered, wiping his sweaty brow.
“Everything is going our way, isn’t it?” she asked cheerfully, and stared out the window at the passing scenery as she began to work out a happier future in the privacy of her mind.
WHEN THE TRAIN PULLED in to the Augusta station, several men in suits rushed forward, and John went out to meet them. While Claire watched from the compartment she was still sharing with Mrs. Cornwall, the men came aboard the train. Minutes later, she saw a shocked, defeated-looking Eli Calverson being led away in handcuffs. Beside him, a man wearing a star on his lapel was carrying several bags of the sort used by banks.
John came back into the compartment quickly. “Sorry to leave you here, Mrs. Cornwall, but Claire and I must get off the train and go back to Atlanta at once. Come, dearest,” he added, dragging Claire up by the hand. “Have a pleasant trip,” he told Mrs. Cornwall.
“Thank you, young man. I hope things go well for both of you,” the widow said.
They waved to her as they rushed down through the passenger car, out the back door, and down the steps to the platform. Diane was standing a little apart with two uniformed men, weeping noiselessly into a handkerchief while her husband looked back with furious anger and outrage as he was spirited away.
“My poor, poor Eli.” Diane sniffed. “Oh, his poor mind was so twisted. He couldn’t have known what he was doing, could he?” She looked up at the impressionable young lawman with a face that would have melted stone.
The young man patted her gloved hand. “Of course not. Now, don’t you worry, Mrs. Calverson. We’ll take excellent care of you. Here, let us get tickets for you on the train back to Atlanta.”
“Not on the same train with my husband?” she asked, with real fear. “Oh, I simply couldn’t bear it!”
“No, ma’am. He’ll be going on a special train,” he replied. “Don’t you worry about that. We’ll take care of everything. Oh, Mr. Hawthorn,” he called to John, grinning. “Are you and your wife traveling back with us, too?”
“Indeed we are,” John said. He smiled at Diane, but he had Claire by the hand and showed no sign of letting go.
If Diane was surprised by the attention he showed Claire, she handled it well. She managed a weak smile for the Hawthorns and then linked her arm with that of the young Pinkerton man and walked into the depot with him. It was understandable that John wouldn’t approach her in public, she supposed. After all, they had to keep up appearances. Surely that was his rationale,s as well. She smiled prettily at the young Pinkerton man, who beamed back at her and began to talk about himself.
She encouraged him. She knew how to handle men, and this one was no challenge at all. Men could always be flattered into doing anything if one appealed to their vanity by asking them about their jobs or their lives. It was really amazing how much unwanted information came flowing out.
She went with him to a seat on the train—far removed from the ones that John and Claire were able to get. It didn’t seem to take so long to get back to Atlanta as it had to reach Liberty. In a very short time, it seemed, they pulled up under the Spanish facade of the Atlanta railroad station depot and passengers began to disembark on the platform.
PINKERTONS MET THE TRAIN, among them Matt Davis, who hadn’t yet left for the home office in Chicago. But instead of taking charge of the prisoner, which another senior agent might have done, he let the young arresting Pinkerton officer take Calverson into the local jail. It made the young man dizzy with self-esteem and amused Claire, who watched him lead his prisoner away as if he’d won at the races.
“And now I really am going home,” Matt told John, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He wasn’t in the trunks, so where was he?”
“He was hidden in a coffin, of all places!” John chuckled. “With his wife in the mail car beside it playing the part of the grieving widow. It might have worked, except that a real widow came and sat with Claire and me and mentioned the beautiful young widow in the mail car whose husband’s coffin came aboard at Colbyville.” He shook his head. “She didn’
t realize that she was solving a robbery. I suppose we should have told her. It would have made her day.”
Matt glanced past John and Claire at the dispossessed widow, around whom two other Pinkerton men swarmed helpfully. “And what about her?” he asked.
“She’ll get the reward,” John said. “Afterward, I daresay she’ll land on her feet.”
Matt nodded. “There’s quite a sizable reward, put up by the board of directors of the bank,” he said. “I suppose you knew?”
“Yes,” John said. “They weren’t too warm with their welcomes after I was released from jail,” he added darkly, “but they did bend enough to tell me about the reward they’d posted for return of the money. They seemed fairly certain that I’d miraculously produce it, given enough incentive.”
“This should satisfy them,” Matt said. He glanced past John’s shoulder. “And some more reassurance is forthcoming.”
Even as he spoke, reporters from the local paper and two out-of-town ones, alerted to the railroad chase by someone in city government, rushed forward with their pads and pencils—ready to take down whatever answers they could get to their questions.
John told the story succinctly, aided by Matt Davis, and, almost at once, Diane, whose fair beauty made her the heroine of the story. At least it did until Claire’s part in the chase became clear.
“You have a motorcar?” one young reporter exclaimed. “And you drove it here to the depot? May we see it?”
“Certainly you may,” Claire said, beaming. “It’s at our apartment house.”
John’s arm came around his wife. “And there’s something else you should know about my wife,” he added proudly. “She’s just contracted with Macy’s department store of New York City to design a line of women’s evening gowns for them.”
“Under your own name, ma’am?” one reporter asked.
“No,” Claire replied. “I use the name ‘Magnolia’ on my gowns.”
There was a gasp from Diane, who went pale as she realized that the designer whose elegant creations she’d so coveted was someone she actually knew. What a pity that it turned out to be John’s wife!
John himself was impressed. He’d had no idea of the name Claire used on her designs, but he’d heard enough of “Magnolia’s” fame to make him feel very like strutting. The woman he loved was indeed a woman of parts. He grinned at her with pure pride. She intercepted that look and her hand tightened in his.
“‘Magnolia.’ How very Southern,” another reporter said. “And now, Mrs. Hawthorn, let’s go and see that automobile!”
THE PRESS FOLLOWED Claire and John back to Mrs. Dobbs’s and photographed Claire sitting in the seat of the pretty little black Oldsmobile with her fingers on the steering knob. She arranged to have Mrs. Dobbs in a photograph with the two of them, and the motorcar, which made the little woman’s day. The reporter who was the most interested in her turned out to be the only one who’d maintained John’s innocence and had mentioned the charge of embezzlement in Calverson’s past. Claire liked him at once and thanked him heartily for his defense of her husband.
That evening, Claire and John dined with his mother and father at the hotel. Maude Hawthorn was full of the excitement of the day, and she ran out of breath asking questions about the mad chase to Augusta to recover the stolen bank money and catch the thief.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head. “You two are lunatics, do you know that? What if he’d been armed?”
“I had rocks in my duster pocket,” Claire volunteered.
John chuckled. “And I had a .32 Smith & Wesson revolver tucked in my belt,” he added, glancing at his wife’s shocked face. “No, I didn’t tell you, did I? I thought you were better off not knowing. And as things turned out, I didn’t have to use it.”
“I seem to recall that you won awards in the service for pistol marksmanship,” Clayton Hawthorn interjected. He was still having a hard time talking to his son, but he’d relaxed a little this evening. He looked as if he were desperately trying to rebuild their relationship.
“I did. I miss the service from time to time.”
“My boy,” Clayton said quietly, “why don’t you reenlist?”
That, coming from his father, was almost an apology. He smiled. “I don’t know that I’d be happy in the service again, although I have thought about it,” John had to admit. He looked at Claire and smiled gently. “At first, I had doubts about settling into life as a banker.”
Claire didn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m quite happy to go wherever you want to go,” she said happily, still keeping her precious secret about her child.
“Your good name will be cleared when the newspapers hit the street corners tomorrow,” his mother added. “And you do look so handsome in uniform.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Mother. But there’s still some action in the Philippines,” he said, glancing at Claire. “There’s no guarantee that I wouldn’t be sent there. I shouldn’t like to take my bride into a war zone, especially when she has a whole new career opening up for her. I did mention, I hope, that I’m very proud of you, Claire?”
She colored. “No, you didn’t.”
“Then this is a good time to tell you that I am,” he replied, his dark eyes warm on her face. “So, it’s rather an inopportune time to reenlist just yet.” He reached for Claire’s hand and brought it to his lips gently. His eyes made hungry promises. “I have enough to do right here. I won’t have it said that I ran, after the slur Calverson made against my character. I want to stay here at least until the scandal dies down again. Then, Claire and I will decide what we both want to do.”
Clayton cleared his throat. “Well, I’d be very happy if you both came to Savannah; you could take over the presidency of my bank when old Marvis retires.” He shifted. “That’s not a bribe. I guess it sounds like one.”
John studied his father carefully. “I’d like to be near you and Mother. I’ll consider it.”
Clayton looked shocked. “You will?”
“Would you like to live in Savannah?” he asked Claire, with a loving smile.
She beamed. “Yes. I adore it,” she said. “There’s so much history there. And it’s right on the ocean, as well. You could force yourself to go sailing with Jason and your father. I heard about the seasickness,” she added, with a grin.
“You know about that?” he said teasingly.
She smiled. “Yes. I heard all about it in Savannah. As well as a few other things,” she added wickedly. “Like about the frog you hid in your mother’s sewing basket and the worm you put down the back of Emily’s dress at church. At church, of all places!”
“It livened up the service.” John chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he looked at his wife.
She was beginning to realize how little of the real man she’d ever seen. He was mischievous, she saw, and the amusement in his eyes delighted her with its promise.
She looked down at their linked hands. “But, as you said, we can talk about where to live later.”
His fingers contracted.
“And from now on, whatever you want to do with your life will be fine with me,” Clayton Hawthorn said, lifting his chin. “I’m…quite proud of you, John—and quite ashamed of myself and the two years I’ve wasted. I never should have blamed you for something that was an act of God, my boy. I’ve accepted that now. I’m sure you grieved as much as I did.”
“That’s quite true,” John said, agreeing, and his eyes were sad. “But those years did teach me how much my family meant to me. Perhaps they weren’t wasted.”
Clayton’s jaw tautened. “You could come and visit.”
John smiled. “I could come for Christmas, and bring Claire.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled in a radiant face. “So you could!”
“You must,” Maude entreated. “It will be the most joyous Christmas, to have all my family with me!”
John searched his wife’s eyes. “Shall we go home and pack?”
Her br
eath caught in her throat. “You mean it?”
“Of course I do!”
She jumped up, oblivious to the amused looks of fellow diners. “May we go now? Right now?”
John chuckled. “Indeed we may! If we can conclude all our business, we can leave with you at midday tomorrow, if that suits you?” he asked his father.
“It suits me very well. Come and have a late breakfast with us in the morning, and we’ll purchase our tickets after ward.”
BUT THE PACKING DIDN’T get done. After they fielded Mrs. Dobbs’s excited questions, John locked Claire in their suite and carried her to bed. They loved as they never had before, tenderly and slowly, with such exquisite fulfillment that Claire was breathless and exhausted and hopelessly enthralled.
Later, they slept—and then woke early the next morning and made love again, even more fervently than before.
They got up and dressed; Claire was just finishing her coiffure when Mrs. Dobbs tapped gently on the door.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” she called, “but Mr. Hawthorn has a visitor. It’s that Mrs. Calverson,” she added, with distaste.
Claire glanced toward John, whose face was cold.
“Do go down, darling,” she invited softly, reaching up to kiss his firm mouth. “I still have my hair to finish.”
“Claire…” he began hesitantly.
She lifted both eyebrows mischievously. “Yes?”
He chuckled, brought her close, and kissed her hungrily, and then again, with breathless tenderness. “Come down when you’re ready,” he whispered. “And don’t worry!”