The Right Man

by Anne Stuart

  Still, if she didn’t open her eyes she could put off the strange mutated reality a little bit longer. It didn’t have to be her wedding day. The day she was going to die.

  At that dismal thought her eyes flew open against her will. “It’s not your wedding day,” she said out loud. “It’s Tallulah’s. She’s the one who’s marrying the wrong man, she’s the one who’s supposed to die.”

  And she was the one who was supposed to somehow stop it. What would happen if she didn’t? Would she die, as well, or would she simply be flung back into her own life? Did her own survival depend upon changing history? Or if she changed it, would she be stuck in it? Was this where she really belonged?

  There were two people inside her body right now. Or inside Lou’s body. Her soul and Tallulah Abbott’s were inextricably entwined—she no longer knew which emotions were hers and which were Lou’s. Which were her memories and which belonged to her long-dead aunt.

  Somehow she had become Lou, in heart and soul as well as body. Susan was disappearing, fading away, like morning mist when its greeted by a fiery sunrise. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing she wanted to do about it.

  There were other, more important issues to deal with on today of all days. It was just after seven in the morning, according to the loudly ticking alarm clock that was set to go off in another half an hour. Tallulah Abbott was due to marry Edward Marsden in an elaborate ceremony at St. Anne’s Church at eleven o’clock this morning. If she was going to salvage the situation she’d better get going instead of lazing in bed pondering two women’s futures.

  Mary Abbott was the key to it all. When it came right down to it, it was the children who mattered. Not just because they were the future. But because they couldn’t look after themselves, not completely. Someone had to be looking after them, and it was unlikely that either Elda or Ridley Abbott gave a damn about a nine-year-old girl’s future.

  The baggy dungarees and Jack’s white shirt still hung in her closet. She was half-surprised that Elda hadn’t sent someone in to remove the clothing on Neddie’s orders, but they were still there, still the most comfortable thing she owned. It felt different, pulling Jack’s shirt around her body, knowing it was his. Feeling it like an embrace. She did it, anyway, this time not even bothering with sneakers, heading out into the early-morning chill barefoot and ready.

  Mary’s room was empty. Her bed had been slept in, her striped pajamas lay in a heap on the floor, a sight which amused Susan. How many times had Mary lectured her daughter about hanging up her clothes and making her bed before she left her room? Obviously it was a hard lesson for Abbott women to learn.

  Hattie was alone in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper. She looked up as Susan came through the door, her impassive expression almost hiding her worry. “Still wearing those clothes, Miss Lou? I can’t say as I blame you—this’ll be your last chance. Mr. Marsden won’t cotton to any wife of his wearing dungarees.”

  Susan shivered, not sure if it was the cool morning air or a presentiment of a bleak, frozen future. “He’ll get used to it,” she said firmly.

  Hattie shook her head. “I don’t think so, Miss Lou. He’s not the kind of man to make compromises.”

  “Is he the kind of man to make me happy?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that. You don’t need me telling you what your heart has already told you a dozen times.” She set the paper down, rising gracefully with her majestic bulk. “You want to take your coffee outside with you this morning?”

  “Is there anyone lurking?”

  Hattie chuckled. “Just Miss Mary, and I haven’t seen her for a while. If I know Mr. Marsden you won’t be seeing him until you get to the church. He’s the kind of man to pay close attention to tradition.”

  “And my parents?”

  “Still in bed. Sleeping off the effects of last night, I expect. Anyone else you’re interested in?” The question was asked in an entirely bland tone of voice, but she wasn’t fooled. Hattie was possibly the wisest person in this household.

  “Jack,” she said.

  “Funny you should ask about him, Miss Lou. Mr. McGowan stopped by here no more than an hour ago, on his way to the early train to New York. He left a note for you.” Hattie pulled a crisply folded piece of white paper out of her apron pocket.

  She stared at it for a moment, reluctant to pluck it from Hattie’s strong fingers. Her entire future, and that of her family, might depend on what was in that note. Did he tell Lou to marry Neddie and live happily ever after? Did he tell her he loved her, that he’d always loved her?

  She took the paper and shoved it into her pocket with a nonchalant air. “I’ll read it later,” she said airily. “It’s probably just good wishes on my upcoming marriage.”

  Hattie’s snort was both inelegant and expressive. “I raised you smarter than that, Miss Lou.” She turned back to the table, shrugging. “Let me know what you decide.”

  “I wasn’t aware I had any decisions to make,” Susan said.

  “And when did you get into the habit of lying to me?” Hattie demanded.

  Susan took her coffee and fled.

  There was no sign of Mary anywhere about. The piece of paper was burning a hole in her pocket, but Hattie was watching her out of the kitchen window, and there was no way Susan would admit her curiosity. Particularly if she didn’t like what the note had to say. She didn’t want to cry in front of anyone.

  Though heaven knows, if she were to cry in front of anyone it would be Hattie. She knew instinctively that Hattie was the best mother she had, full of comfort and common sense. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to be mothered.

  Speaking of which, she had to find her real mother. The preadolescent one, who was somewhere out in the sprawling, landscaped back gardens.

  She called her name, not too loudly so as not to wake the sleeping dragons upstairs, but there was no answer. She followed the path, her feet bare on the dew-damp grass, heading for the huge old maple tree at the edge of the forest, heading there instinctively. There was a marble bench beneath it, a place where Lou would sit for hours, reading, dreaming. She didn’t wonder how she knew things like that—by now it had all become second nature to her.

  She sat down, pulling the piece of paper out of her pocket and folding it open. It didn’t say much.

  “Lizzie B. 37th and 12th. 3:30 p.m., June 10th, 1949.”

  As a farewell letter it was a little too cryptic for her tastes. Who was Lizzie B., and what was he doing with her at three-thirty this afternoon, presumably in New York City?

  Maybe he’d left the wrong note. Maybe this was a reminder for himself, and his terse farewell note was still stuck in his pocket. Or maybe it was a flowery note of farewell. And maybe pigs could fly.

  She leaned back against the thick trunk of the maple, shutting her eyes as she crumpled the note in her hand. She took a deep, steadying breath, surprised to hear how ragged it sounded.

  “You aren’t going to marry him, are you?” Mary’s voice floated down from the tree above her head.

  It took all Susan’s self-restraint not to jump. “He never asked me,” she said, not bothering to disguise her mournful tone. “Not really.”

  Mary swung down out of the tree, landing in the dirt beside her. “I’m not talking about Jack,” she said irritably. “I’m talking about Neddie. Don’t do it for my sake, Lou. I know something’s going on, I don’t know what it is, but Elda and Father are up to something and it’s probably something bad. Don’t marry Neddie if you don’t want to.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to? He’s rich and handsome and he adores me.”

  “He’s not as cute as Jack and we both know it, and he doesn’t adore anyone but himself.”

  “He’s still rich,” she said wryly.

  “And you’ve never cared one bit about money. Have they threatened you with something?”

  Mary was smarter than any nine-year-old had a right to be. “I don’t mind
, Mary,” she said, the name sounding both familiar and odd. “It’s not like there’s anyone else I want to marry, or would be likely to. If I marry Neddie then everyone will be taken care of.”

  “I don’t want you to marry him.”

  “It’s not as if I have any choice.”

  “Do you still think you’re not the real Lou? Because if you’re not, you must be here for a reason, and I’m willing to bet that reason wasn’t to marry someone like Neddie Marsden.”

  “I don’t know who I am anymore,” she said, shoving the crumpled piece of paper back in her pocket. “It doesn’t seem like I really have a choice.” Jack was gone, leaving nothing more than a cryptic name, and she was hardly likely to go after a man who’d never said he loved her, and was already meeting another woman.

  “You always have a choice. Haven’t you and Hattie taught me that?” Mary said.

  Susan looked up at the house. There were already signs of feverish activity. The mess from the rehearsal dinner had already been cleared away, but there were trucks pulling up the wide, winding driveway, more catering trucks, flower trucks. “I don’t know, Mary,” she said. “Do we always have a choice?” She could see Elda and Ridley advancing on her from the house, looking like the front guard of an invading army. They certainly weren’t going to allow her to have any choice in the matter. If she didn’t watch it they’d strip her, bathe and present her to Neddie on a silver platter in exchange for—

  For what? Money? Power? Some kind of amnesty? If she knew exactly what kind of deal had been struck, maybe there’d be a way out of it. But she was running out of time.

  “The hairdresser’s already here!” Elda hissed in rage. “What in God’s name are you doing out here, when there’s so much to do? And in those clothes! I couldn’t believe it when I saw you out here. Even Hattie had no idea where you’d disappeared to!”

  Hattie had known exactly where she was, but she’d covered for her, bless her heart. “What do I have to do this morning?” Susan countered mildly enough. “I have to be dressed and made beautiful, transported to the church and say ‘I do.’ It doesn’t sound too onerous.”

  Elda’s lip curled in disgust. She hadn’t left the house without her makeup, but in her haste her orangey lipstick was slightly askew, giving her a faintly clownlike appearance. “As long as you cooperate there shouldn’t be any problem. And you do intend to cooperate, don’t you, Tallulah? You’ll be a good, dutiful daughter.”

  Susan looked at Ridley, wondering if he’d evince even a shred of guilt. He avoided her gaze, looking at Mary with a faint expression of displeasure. “You need to get changed, as well, missy,” he said sternly. “You’re a junior bridesmaid, and you haven’t got your sister’s physical blessings to help you. It’s going to take more of an effort to turn you into a silk purse.”

  Mary didn’t even blink, for all the world as if she weren’t an adolescent hovering on the brink of womanhood, easily shattered by a father’s thoughtless words. “Don’t worry, Father,” she said in her cool, precocious voice. “I’m an Abbott. I’ll rise to the occasion.”

  Her faintly cynical tone swept right past him. “That’s right,” he said, not bothering to disguise his relief. “You’re both Abbotts. Blood will tell, in the end. You both know your duty, and I expect you to do it with no shirking.”

  “And what’s your duty, Ridley?” Susan came to him, towering over him. Her grandfather, her father, a small, selfish little man. Her mother never talked about him, but then, Mary’s tenet had been to speak no evil. “Isn’t it to support and protect your family? To be honorable and strong and just? Isn’t that what a father’s supposed to be?”

  “How dare you speak to me like that?” Ridley fumed, white with rage. “After all I’ve done for you...”

  “What? What have you done for me?”

  “Given you everything you ever wanted. Money and clothes and new cars and a fancy house. I gave my family the good life, and I compromised myself to do it.”

  “Liar,” she said softly. “You gave yourself the good life, and you don’t care who pays for it and how.”

  For a moment she thought he would slap her. “I’m fifty-one years old, Tallulah. Too old to go to jail for any stupid mistakes I might have made, too old to start over again. Too old to be poor. You understand me? Neddie is willing to take you and keep things going as they have been, and I won’t let you mess things up. You’ll marry him, with a smile on your face, and you’ll be the perfect little wife. You’ll provide him a good home, you’ll be the perfect hostess, and no one will even guess you ever had any second thoughts.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  All he had to do was glance at the stricken Mary, who listened to all this in horror. “You know who’ll pay the most, don’t you? Who has the most to lose. You’ll do it.”

  Elda came up to her and tucked her arm through Susan’s, suddenly oozing charm. “This is just bridal nerves, Tallulah. I know we’ve had our differences, but you’ll find this will all work out beautifully. After all, you were the one who wanted to marry Neddie. And you’ll like being a married woman, having all that lovely money at your disposal. As long as you’re discreet, do your job as wife and hostess, then you could be very happy.”

  The walls were closing in around her, and all avenues of escape seemed to be shut off. Where could she run to? She was a stranger in a strange time and place, with no one but herself to turn to. How could she protect Mary from the consequences of Ridley’s selfish greed?

  “Come along, dear,” Elda said, tugging at her with only a trace of impatience, all spurious warmth and concern. “You don’t want anyone to see you like this on your wedding day, and the photographers will be arriving soon. Mary, you go ahead and get ready, and I’ll come in and help once the bridesmaids get here.”

  There was no choice, Susan had been right about that. They walked slowly back to the house, the four of them, the condemned prisoner, her confederate and the two jailers, Susan thought. For some reason the notion didn’t amuse her. She’d lost her sense of humor somewhere along the way.

  She went through the motions in a daze, bathing in the rose-scented water, sitting patiently while the hairdresser fussed and fiddled with her hair and makeup. The thick satin wedding dress slid over her body, and she closed her eyes, waiting for lightning to strike.

  “You need a cigarette.” Cousin Ginny, who’d left the baby behind this morning and was dressed in a peach bridesmaid’s dress.

  They set the veil on her head, a simple medievalstyle headdress that matched the gown. “I don’t know why you chose this,” another bridesmaid muttered. “It’s so plain!”

  “It’s elegant,” Ginny said. “Different. Like Lou.”

  Susan looked at her reflection in the mirror. The tulle veil flowed down her back, her carefully arranged curls were tucked with flowers and lace. Her cheeks were rouged, her lips were crimson, her eyes were empty.

  “You look gorgeous,” Elda said briskly. “Come along, now. The limousines are here.”

  Susan rose. Or was she Tallulah? Walking to the door, to her fate, like an automaton, not sure she could fight anymore.

  Mary was waiting for her, dressed in a ridiculously frilly dress chosen by some sadist.

  She reached up and kissed Susan on her cheek. “Don’t marry him,” she whispered. “Promise me.”

  Susan drew back, looking down at Mary, and she could see the future in her eyes. It was that simple. She had to change that future, that was why she was here.

  She smiled, suddenly sure. “I promise,” she said. And, lifting her heavy satin skirts, she followed Elda and her gaggle of bridesmaids out to the waiting limousines.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They arrived at the church at ten forty-five. The place was already packed—cars were parked along the side streets, and the double front doors of the church stood open to the June sunshine.

  Susan had made the ride in silence, and if her chattering bridesmaids noticed, they probably put i
t down to a normal bride’s need for reflection in the hour before her life changed forever.

  They would have been half-right. She needed time for reflection, Susan thought, but she was about as far from a normal bride as anyone could imagine.

  And her thought was simple—how the hell was she going to manage to stop this wedding?

  Neddie had both threatened and ignored her when she’d tried to break the engagement. Elda and Ridley were waiting for her at the entrance to the church, both resplendent in their understated finery, and there was no way they’d let her get more than two feet in the wrong direction.

  The silly bridesmaids were no help at all—they piled out of the limousine ahead of her, shrieking with laughter, totally oblivious to the tension between the main players of this little drama.

  Mary sat across from Susan, her thin young hands pressed against her bony knees beneath the frilly peach satin dress. “Don’t do it, Lou,” she said. “It’s not too late.”

  Susan peered up the front steps of the church, pushing her veil back. “You think they’re going to give me any chance to escape? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re the kind of woman who makes her own chances,” Mary said. “And don’t worry about me. I’m a survivor, like you. I don’t care if we lose our money, our house, I don’t care if Father goes to jail. He probably deserves it ten times over. Take your chance and run for it if you can, and don’t look back.”

  “What if I can’t come back? What if I never see you again?”

  “Then I’ll know I have the strongest, bravest sister in the world, someone who knew what was important, someone who went after what she wanted, went after the man she loved, and didn’t take the safe, easy way out. If I ever have a daughter I’d want her to be just like you.”

  I am your daughter, Susan wanted to say, but clearly Mary chose to forget her temporary aberration. “Who says I’m in love?” she countered instead.

  Ridley was advancing on the limousine, a determined expression on his faintly petulant face. Susan turned to the other side of the car, but there was no door there to provide her a last-minute escape.