by Sherry Lewis
She hoisted the heavy cast-iron pot from the stove and started toward the sink with it. But the unmistakable—and wholly unexpected—sound of the knocker at the front door startled her, and she nearly dropped the scalding water.
It had been so long since anyone had come calling, Meg thought for a moment she was hearing things. But after the second time, she found a safe place to leave the pot and hurried through the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked.
For anyone to call at Summervale was such an unusual event, Meg couldn’t even begin to guess who she might find on the other side of the door. She gripped the door handle, smoothed her apron with her free hand, and pulled the door open warily. And when she found Victoria Logan waiting with barely concealed impatience, a thick knot of dread landed like a boulder on her heart.
Victoria looked her over slowly, then stepped inside without so much as a by-your-leave. “Good afternoon, Meg.”
Meg prayed that Colin and Agatha would stay in the kitchen garden so the old dragon wouldn’t hear their laughter. She wasn’t about to let Victoria see Agatha in her current disheveled state.
She pointedly left the door open so as not to give Victoria any ideas about being welcome here. “I’m afraid the missus isn’t at home.”
Surprise darted across Victoria’s face, but she hid it well. “I didn’t expect her to receive me, Meg.” She pulled off her gloves slowly. “I came to speak with you.”
Meg couldn’t hide her surprise. “With me? Whatever for?”
Victoria smiled slowly, a vicious sort of smile that turned Meg’s blood cold. “As you can probably imagine, I’m deeply concerned about the way Agatha has been behaving lately.”
Meg reminded herself sharply to remember her place and bit back the immediate reply that rose to her lips. Though she didn’t consider herself in Victoria Logan’s employ, she knew only too well where the money came from that kept Summervale going and provided a roof over her head and Colin’s.
She gripped the door handle a bit tighter and waited for Victoria to go on.
The old harridan took a few more steps inside and looked around as if she was taking mental inventory of Agatha’s things and calculating their worth. “Dr. Messing shares my concerns.”
Meg didn’t like that sound of that at all. She wouldn’t trust that old drunk as far as she could throw him. “Dr. Messing hasn’t seen Mrs. Logan in years. How could he have any opinion at all?”
Victoria’s lips curved into a semblance of a smile. “Surely, you must realize the recent changes in Agatha haven’t gone unnoticed in town. Dr. Messing is quite aware of her recent erratic behavior.”
“Anyone who considers Mrs. Logan’s recent behavior erratic has been misinformed.” And she had a pretty good idea who’d done the misinforming.
Victoria arched her eyebrows. “Indeed?” She strolled casually toward the console table, ran her fingers along it, and checked the tips of them as if she expected to find a coating of dust. “If you feel that way, perhaps you’ve been locked away with her for too long.”
Once, Meg might have agreed with her. Now, she only wanted to pop the old biddy in her blue-blooded nose and send her on her way before Agatha and Colin came back into the house.
Victoria turned back to face her. “I came here today to enlist your help, Meg.”
“Mine?” Meg took an involuntary step backward. “What possible help could I be to you?”
“Dr. Messing is understandably concerned that Agatha might pose a threat to my grandsons.”
“She’d never harm those boys,” Meg assured her. At least, not the way she’d been for the past ten days.
Victoria looked like a snake ready to strike. “To that end, the doctor suggests we keep a watchful eye on her behavior. Since you and Colin are the ones closest to her, the ones most likely to observe any aberrant behavior, I give you the charge of keeping me informed. I, in turn, will take that information to Dr. Messing.”
“And use it to put Agatha away somewhere.” Meg couldn’t believe the woman’s gall. Asking her to spy, of all things. She drew herself up to her full height and faced Victoria squarely, knowing that she could be putting her position on the line. “There is no abnormal behavior to report, Madame. Mrs. Logan is quite well.”
At that moment, laughter rang through the house. The sound of running feet pulled Victoria around just as Agatha burst through the kitchen door, mud-draped, barefoot, hair straggling about her shoulders, and holding a cluster of lavender sprigs in one hand. “Look, Meg. Isn’t this beautiful?”
She broke off the very instant she saw Victoria standing there, and Meg’s heart sank. Holding her breath, she willed Agatha to say nothing Victoria could use against her. Her appearance was damning enough.
Agatha did a good job of pulling herself together—considering that she looked like a scullery maid who’d been tossed into a pig-pen—and walked slowly into the foyer. “Victoria. I wasn’t aware that you’d come to call. Please, Meg, fetch my mother-in-law some tea. I’ll freshen up and rejoin you in a minute.”
Victoria gave her a slow once-over, taking in every tiny detail of her appearance, every flaw, every possible imperfection as if they alone would prove her case. “There is no need, Agatha. I was merely having a word with Meg.”
Agatha’s gaze darted to Meg’s face. “Oh. I see.” She forced a smile and turned back to the old witch. “But surely you can stay long enough to have tea.”
“I’m afraid not.” Victoria tugged on her gloves, crossed to the front door, and yanked it open. “I’m late for an engagement in town.”
With Dr. Messing, unless Meg missed her guess. She followed Victoria to the door, unwilling to take the chance of her changing her mind. The less Agatha had to do with her, the better.
Victoria met Meg’s gaze with a meaningful one of her own. “I shall speak with you again soon, Meg.”
“I’m afraid that would be no use, Madame. I won’t have the information you want.”
Victoria’s lips curved into a semblance of a smile, but her eyes remained frosty. “No matter. There may not be the need for further information.” And with that, she swept down the front steps toward her waiting carriage.
Meg closed the door firmly and turned back to face Agatha. But she kept her mouth shut and Victoria’s request to herself. She didn’t want to worry the missus, didn’t want to cause trouble, and she certainly didn’t want to risk changing her back to the way she was for so long.
But she knew one thing for certain—she and Colin would have to be on their guard as never before if they hoped to protect the missus.
Sawdust filled the air and stung Zacharias’s eyes as he stared at the figures that floated on the ledgers in front of him. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back and dampened his hair. He’d run the figures several times, compared invoices against inventory, checked bills of lading, and double-checked dates to make sure he wasn’t including a shipment that belonged in last quarter’s accounting, but the bottom line was always the same.
Philip was losing money—and quickly. And now, so might he.
Mopping his face with his hand, he leaned back in his chair and glanced at Philip who stood near the room’s only dirt-covered window. “Well, you’re right,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to hang on this long.”
Philip ran a hand through his hair and tried to smile. “It’s pretty grim, isn’t it?”
Far more grim than Zacharias had imagined. He felt horrible for his friend, but personally he’d never felt quite so useful or alive. He didn’t want to give Philip the wrong idea, so he made sure to look worried—which he was. “Nothing we can’t turn around if we both put our minds to it.”
Philip’s smile grew a bit stronger. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Zacharias brushed a few flakes of sawdust from his shirt sleeve. After his first day at in the mill the grit, grime, sawdust, and rough pine plank walls had convinced him to leave his best trousers, vests,
and top coats hanging at Winterhill, and to trade his usual silk shirts for cotton. “We’ll be showing a healthy profit by the end of the year,” he predicted.
“I hope you’re right, or I’ll be making some big changes in my lifestyle.”
“We’re in a boom,” Zacharias reminded him. “The entire industry is at an all-time high, and once the railroad finishes the bridge across the river, we’re going to be sitting pretty. First, though, we need to clear the outstanding debt and then we can think about buying some new equipment—”
Philip had been looking out the window as Zacharias talked, but he suddenly stiffened, shot a glance at Zacharias over his shoulder, and turned back to the window again. “I’ll pull out the accounts receivable in a minute, but first I think you need to come and take a look at this.”
Mild curiosity piqued his interest, but he was far too deep into the books to want a distraction now. “Can’t it wait?”
“I don’t think so.” Philip darted another glance at him. “I have the feeling you’re going to want to see this.”
The look on Philip’s face convinced him. Zacharias strode toward the window and followed the direction of Philip’s gaze. From their position backing the river, they had a reasonably unobstructed view up Church Street. But as he bent to look, a carriage rolling slowly past the window blocked his view. “What is it?”
“Just wait. You’ll see.” When the carriage moved out of the way, Philip nudged him with a sharp elbow and pointed at something in the distance. “Look. There.”
Zacharias bent to look again, his eyes locked on a woman partway up Church Street wearing a gown of deep peach and carrying a matching parasol.
“Is that who I think it is?” Philip asked.
Zacharias’s pulse slowed, his throat dried, his had buzzed as if he’d had one too many glasses of wine. All his senses told him who she was, but he shook his head quickly. “Certainly not. Agatha hasn’t been to town in well over five years.”
Philip wiped a spot on the window with his shirt sleeve and looked closer. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Zacharias started to turn away, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her. She walked slowly, taking in the town as if she’d never seen it before. But it was the stunned reactions of the few people who passed her that convinced him. He pulled away sharply and wiped his brow with a shaky hand, and he tried once more to convince himself. “It isn’t her.”
“I think you’re wrong.” Philip said, still unable to take his eyes off her. “Maybe you ought to check.”
Zacharias scowled at him. “If it is her—which it isn’t—then I’m glad she’s chosen to end her life of solitude. But I’m not about to start tongues wagging by going out there and talking to her.”
“You’re just going to let her roam about town, then?”
“What would you have me do?” Zacharias stole another glance out of the window.
“I figured you might want to find out what she’s doing.”
“Obviously, she’s taking a stroll through town,” Zacharias snapped.
“And earning some pretty curious stares in the process.”
Zacharias swore under his breath. Once again, that urge to protect her reared its ugly head. Once again, he tried to tamp it down.
“I’ll bet your mother receives a few visitors this afternoon,” Philip predicted.
Zacharias swore again—aloud this time. “I suppose I should see what she’s about.”
“I suppose you should.” Philip’s lips twitched as if he found the predicament amusing, scooped up Zacharias’s top coat, and held it out for him. “Besides, I’m curious as hell to know what she’s doing but I can’t very well approach her.”
Zacharias rolled down his shirt sleeves and snatched his coat away from his friend’s eager hand. “The way she’s been acting the past ten days, she’d probably give you a big, friendly hug.”
Philip backed a step away and laughed in disbelief. “She can’t have changed that much. She despises me. No, my friend, I’ll leave this to you.”
Zacharias slipped into his coat and strode outside into the warm spring afternoon, trying not to look apprehensive, which would only stir up more gossip. Agatha strolled so slowly, he had no difficulty catching up to her. When he did, he spoke her name softly, half hoping the woman was her, and half praying she wasn’t.
She turned to face him. When she recognized him, a pleased smile curved her mouth. “Zacharias? I didn’t expect to run in to you.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and began to stroll casually, as if they walked through town together every day. “May I ask what you’re doing?”
She fell into step beside him. “I’m taking a walk.”
“So I see. But to what end?”
“So I can see the city. It’s quite something, isn’t it? Everything looks so new.” Excitement sparkled in her eyes—or was it the feverish glint of insanity? “I was planning to walk past Mark Twain’s boyhood home. Would you like to join me?”
“Twain again?” He shook his head, impatient on the one hand, intrigued on the other. “You’d do a sight better to see some of the important buildings in town.”
“Such as?”
“The lending library for one.” He slanted a glance at her upturned face. “Since you’re so interested in the Clemens family, maybe you’ll be interested to know that John Clemens helped organize it.”
“I know. I think that’s great.”
“You know?” He studied her face carefully. “What else do you know?”
Her smile faded and her gaze faltered. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Nothing.”
“Nothing except a few odd facts about John Clemens and his son.”
She looked thoughtful for a second or two, then turned a smile as bright as the sun on him. “I don’t remember anything until something happens to jog my memory. So I may have a few odd bits of information here and there, but no real memory.”
“I see.” Disappointment slowed his step. What a cad he was to wish that her memory would never return. “Is that all you’re doing? Taking a tour of the city?”
“Not entirely. I thought I might pay a few calls while I’m here.”
“Calls?” He stopped walking abruptly. “Why?”
“Because I want to,” she said, matching his tone. “If you won’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll find someone who will.”
“There is nothing to tell,” he lied.
“I don’t believe you.”
“That comes as no surprise. You rarely do.” He made an effort to control the sudden disquiet, but the thought of Agatha calling on people willy-nilly—on anyone at all—disturbed him greatly. Hannibal society would chew her up and spit her out again. But he could tell by the stubborn lift of her chin and the dangerous gleam in her eye that he’d get nowhere by arguing. This situation called for mild persuasion. “And pray tell,” he said evenly, “on whom do you plan to call?”
She smiled up at him, a bright, sunny smile, then doused him with cold water. “Who else but Patricia Starling?”
NINE
Shelby watched Zacharias recoil, his eyes widen in horror, and his mouth twist into a bitter scowl.
“You will not call on Patricia Starling,” he ordered.
“Oh, but I have to,” she said with false bravado. “Since you won’t tell me what I want to know and your mother refuses to discuss matters with me, you leave me no choice. I’ll have to ask Patricia.”
His face became even more rigid, his eyes even more angry. “Indeed, Madame, you must not. I forbid it.”
“Forbid?” Shelby laughed aloud. “You forbid it?” She knew things were different in this day and age, but it was hard to believe this man truly thought he could control her actions. “You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I do. I am still your husband.”
“Yes, so I hear.” Shelby tightened her grip on her parasol and took a steadying breath for courage in the face of his anger. “But y
ou’re so unwilling to act like one, it’s hard to believe. And even that doesn’t give you the right to forbid me anything.”
He took her arm in a way that looked casual, but was anything but. “You took a vow to obey me, Agatha, and I insist that you honor it.”
“Do you?” She tried unsuccessfully to tug her arm away. “And what vows did you take, Zacharias? Do you honor them?”
His eyes narrowed suddenly. She knew she’d scored a direct hit. “Any vows I’ve broken have been at your request, Madame.”
“Really?” She lowered her parasol and met his gaze fully. “Why on earth would I request that you do that?”
“Because you prefer it this way.”
“Why?”
He glared down at her, so angry she shivered in spite of the sun’s warmth. “Must we get into that?”
“I’m afraid we must,” she said, still acting braver than she felt. “I’ve already told you, if you don’t explain our situation to me, I’ll find answers from other people—like Patricia Starling. Maybe you’d also like to explain why you’re so eager to protect her from me.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched and he glanced away quickly. “It’s not Mrs. Starling I seek to protect.”
“Then who do you seek to protect?”
Zacharias sighed heavily. She thought for a moment he’d refuse to answer again, but his next words surprised her. “Very well. Obviously, you are determined to know and I suppose it will be best to hear it from me. Do you want the truth, or the reasons you gave me?”
“I’d like both.”
“Fine.” He looked over his shoulder again, making sure no one could hear them. “The truth is, Agatha, you care very little for me or for my company but you do care about your reputation and appearances. If you insist upon calling on Patricia Starling, you will put the things you care about most in jeopardy.”
“My reputation? How would a simple social call put that in jeopardy?”