She compressed her lips and nodded.
“Like you,” he said in his quietest tone, lest Anna waken and hear him, “I know how very paltry that notion is. Day or night, you summon me at once if you need anything at all.”
Chapter 10
John left the cottage and went to his stables. There he motioned to Duncan. The lad dashed to his side at once.
“Aye sir?”
“I’d like a word with you.” John clasped his hands behind his back and sauntered toward a fence. From the corner of his eye, he watched Duncan copy his posture and shadow his every step. The sight of his blatant imitation forced John to quell a momentary smile. The lad hadn’t had a man in his life, so he’d begun to mimic John’s moves whenever they spent even a few moments together. It was flattering in a sad but touching way. John silently vowed to be a good example. He stopped at a fence and stared at a frolicking yearling.
After a moment of silence, Duncan gave him a stricken look. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Nay, not a thing. It occurred to me I ought to know the stable boy I’m trusting with the care of my favorite mounts.” John started out what he hoped sounded like a casual conversation. The lad was bright as a copper penny. He loved to chatter. All it took were a few seemingly casual questions, and Duncan gladly volunteered information. After getting him relaxed and assured, he was eager to please, and John managed to ask, “Did you ever see the courting gifts Edward gave your sister?”
“Oh, I did, sir! I truly did.” Duncan cheerfully shared in great detail the treasures Captain Edward Newcomb had bestowed upon Anna months ago.
With each one the lad described, the gnawing in John’s belly grew worse. The physical description Emily had given of Anna’s so-called husband, the ring she’d shown, and the gifts Duncan mentioned—they all added up to a picture so appallingly clear that shame scalded him. John patted Duncan on the shoulder. “You’re a good little fellow. I know Em and Anna tell you so, but I’m saying, as a man, you’re a fine buck.”
Duncan beamed with pride.
John excused himself, strode home, and looked at his calendar. It confirmed what he’d dreaded: He’d scheduled the Cormorant for monthly runs up and down the coast all through the previous autumn and winter. In fact, she’d been in and out at just the right time frame for a quick courtship and the four-month-long sham marriage.
Edward had always been resourceful and fun loving, but John never once believed he’d stoop to such a level—and he’d blindly defended his brother’s honor at the O’Briens’ expense.
Grandfather had left the entire shipping business to John, but Edward had always known that would be the case. He’d displayed virtually no jealousy five years ago when that plan became a reality. An adventurer by nature, he would never be happy tied down. Indeed, he’d seemed more than pleased when John made him captain of the Cormorant. He’d declared he got the better part of the bargain.
Occasional tales of Edward being indiscriminate with women and wine reached John’s ears. Father died just as John was reaching his manhood, so Grandfather took it upon himself to discuss the importance of being morally responsible with women and temperate. John knew Grandfather had the same conversation with Edward, too. After Grandfather died and John suspected Edward hadn’t taken that lesson to heart, he’d set aside time and reinforced the wisdom of living an upright life. That brotherly discussion and prayers obviously hadn’t been effective.
Since Edward was at sea much of the time, it made no sense for him to keep a home of his own. Instead, John allowed his brother to inhabit the southern wing of the mansion. Rarely did John bother to enter those quarters, but he had every reason to do so today.
The maids cleaned in there on a weekly basis, but the wing was kept locked otherwise. It lay eerily silent now. John didn’t know where his brother usually kept everything, but he remembered clearly that the porcelain figurine of a shepherdess customarily stood on the mantel next to a clock. That spot lay empty. The three little gold hearts that once dangled from the key to Edward’s generously stocked liquor cabinet no longer hung from the braided scarlet cord. Though John had heard the truth, he needed to see it with his own eyes—and his eyes didn’t deceive him as his heart had for the past days. The treasures Anna received from her so-called husband had come from Edward’s quarters.
John sank onto a bench by the window. For a flash he dared hope mayhap it wasn’t truly Edward. It couldn’t be a deckhand, because none of them had entry to the house. Perhaps one of his employees had stolen his identity and masqueraded as him. Certainly a member of the household staff would have access to the trinkets—but the physical description haunted John. That last burst of hope faded. He knew the bitter, appalling truth.
He trudged out of the house, out to the stables. He quietly ordered a buggy to take him back to Emily’s old neighborhood. The driver located the only pawnshop in the area by looking for the three balls hanging from the roof. John somberly ordered the driver to wait. He entered the dingy shop and looked about with a mixture of pity and disgust. Few were the items that carried any value at all. Those who lived in these blocks traded in goods too pathetic to be of value to anyone else. Aching poverty radiated from the sacrifice of a battered flute. Then, too, the better goods clearly hadn’t come from this sector of town. The proprietor was savvy enough not to take things that could be traced easily, but some of these goods had come from either theft or burglary.
“Ah sir!” The shopkeeper toddled up. His red, bulbous nose tattled about a fondness for drink. He quickly took in John’s fine clothing, and an avaricious gleam lit his eyes. “Would you be looking for anything special?”
As if reciting loathed Latin declensions, John tonelessly rattled off the list of Anna’s treasures Duncan had named.
“Ah yes. I still have some of those things here. Nice, they are. Quality goods.” He bobbed his head as if to punctuate those words. “Worth a pretty penny, too.”
“Get them.”
John could scarcely bear to stay in that pawnshop. The proprietor bustled about, then stooped to look in a cabinet. As he straightened up, his lower lip protruded. “My son must’ve sold the teak candlestick and the ivory fan.” He assessed the things he’d managed to locate and named an outlandish price for them.
John looked at the counter and did his best not to snap at the pawnbroker. “Then I’ll take those things.” He slapped a coin onto the counter, grabbed the other three items Duncan had mentioned, and stalked out.
He’d paid too much, but he had to get out of there. The man was as dishonest as a praying snake, and he’d done his best to cheat John. How badly had he bilked valiant little Emily out of a few extra, much-needed pennies?
John looked at the cheap gifts in his lap. He didn’t know whether to give them back to Anna or to keep them for when he confronted Edward. What he did know was that as soon as the Cormorant docked, Edward was going to have to do some fancy explaining. Even then words would count for naught. John had no idea how best to rectify this sordid mess, but he prayed for wisdom to handle it well.
As he rode back toward the better side of town, he stared at the little porcelain figurine in his hand. Years ago his mother had bought it to use as an example of a costume she wanted to commission for a masquerade ball. Though charming and sentimental, it carried virtually no monetary value. What had it gotten for Anna? An extra quart of milk? He fought the urge to fling it at the street and watch it shatter. The delicate bit of porcelain had been a tool to bribe an innocent. His fingers tightened about the swirling skirts until the edge cut into his hand.
The ground changed from mud to gravel to cobblestone. He’d left behind the ragged tide of poverty and had reached civilization. Sadly, civilization hadn’t done anything to improve Edward’s soul. He’d been the beast while the O’Briens, poor as field mice, displayed integrity and honor.
Suddenly something caught John’s eye. He called out for the hack to stop, vaulted out, and hastened into a shop.
<
br /> “Take it. Wear it!” John had waited until the next day to come by. He’d hoped Anna had calmed down and forgiven him. Obviously his hopes were in vain.
He gave Anna an exasperated look. He hadn’t anticipated her reaction to his gift. He wanted to shower her with the pretty things that would lift her spirits and fill her last days with the simple joys most women took for granted. Not only that, but he knew Emily would take delight in her sister’s excitement. But Anna wasn’t excited. Why would the silly woman balk at having a simple, ordinary gown when she obviously needed one so desperately?
“Anna, yesterday you were planning to move away and find employment. If you are that serious about it, at least be sensible enough to admit you’ll need suitable attire.”
“Yes, Anna,” Duncan agreed as he stood by the bedside. The lad tentatively ran his stubby fingers across the day gown’s skirt, then pinched the fabric. “He’s right, you know. You must wear it. The material is thick as can be! You’ll be so warm in it!”
It bothered John that Duncan thought in terms of a garment for warmth.
“It doesn’t even need to be mended,” Duncan added.
John bit back a growl. When he’d been seven, he would have merely looked at a gown and thought it was a pretty color. The women in his life had never suffered cold, hadn’t once borne the indignity of having to patch together the tattered remnants of someone else’s cast-off clothing or been faced with relying on charity. They’d never once lifted their soft, lily-white hands to do any domestic chore or been forced to fend for anything more than a good seat at a soiree. Emily and Anna had endured far too much of the hard side of life, and Duncan had seen it all.
Duncan stuck out his thumb and poked it down the row of little pewter roses that marched one by one from collar to waist. “Look, our Anna! All the buttons are still on it!”
That did it. John swept the gown out of Duncan’s reverent hands and tossed it across Anna’s legs. He locked gazes with her, then gave her a boyish grin and wagged his finger emphatically. “I don’t know what to do with you, Anna. You’re supposed to help me here. If you won’t put on your new gown, Emily won’t either. Don’t you want her to wear hers?”
“Yes,” Anna confessed with a sigh.
“Much better,” he teased. He didn’t want to bully her, so he hoped this change of tactics was in the right vein. “As soon as I leave, you can put it on. By three I expect Emily to be wearing hers, too. She ought to be home by then.”
“Of course she will,” Anna agreed.
John nodded. He knew she’d not jeopardize Anna’s health by being gone long at all. She often found a quiet place to pray, so when he saw her Bible wasn’t on the table and her shawl wasn’t on its customary hook, he presumed she’d stolen away for devotions.
“What’s happening at three?” Duncan asked.
“We’re going for a ride in my buggy. Don’t you think that would be a fun outing?”
“Oh yes, sir!”
“After the outing, we’ll drop you off at the stables while your sisters and I have a talk. You’ll get your new suit of clothes later because I’ve arranged for Mr. Peebles to give you a riding lesson.” John left with the sounds of Duncan’s excited whoops still ringing in his ears.
He arrived back at the caretaker’s cottage at three o’clock sharp. He consulted his gold pocket watch to confirm the time, snapped it shut, and headed up the walk. He knew Anna would look nice in her new gown, but he especially wanted to see Emily. He’d chosen a fine, fawn-colored merino wool for her, one with a small vine pattern the exact same green as her pretty eyes. Instead of relying on an excess of lace and ribbons, the beauty of the dress lay in its simplicity—just as Emily’s loveliness lay in her queenly posture and warm spirit. The moment he’d spied it, he’d known the gown would look stunning on her.
The carriage rolled up the drive as he mounted the steps. Indeed, he said to himself, this will work out well enough. The women have had sufficient time to fuss and get ready.
He planned to collect the O’Briens and take them on a simple outing. Anna couldn’t stay out of bed for very long, but he’d spoiled her little picnic yesterday. He’d craftily planned this so he could entice Emily on a trip.
What could be better than a stop at the mercantile to let Emily and Anna choose some slippers and yardage? He’d be catching two fish with one worm that way. At least once in her short life, Anna would enjoy shopping for pretties and gewgaws, and Emily would get clothing she so desperately needed.
Women tended to prefer certain colors over others, so since he had no notion as to what they needed, he’d do well to let the O’Brien women look over the bolts and make their own selections. While they did that, he’d have a clerk help him fit Duncan with some breeches and shirts.
As for the baby, John couldn’t begin to decide what Timothy required. Blankets, little gowns, and diapers he knew about—whatever else an infant required, he didn’t know. Judging from the fact that Emily seemed to do a constant round from wash bucket to clothesline, he assumed she’d know best. But he’d bought twenty-five yards of white cotton on the advice of his laundress, Gracie. Aye, Emily was so clever that she’d make the tiny garments and cut out nappies.
John had arrived at some conclusions. After they returned to the little cottage, he’d sit Emily down and set her straight on matters. As for Anna, he’d gently let her know he was her ally and fully believed it was his brother who had dishonored her. He’d apologize both for his own stubbornness and for the pain Edward had caused her.
His brother was responsible for this mess. Not a shred of doubt remained in John’s mind. He’d spent all last night anguishing over the fact that he’d been so busy with business, he hadn’t been a good brother. He’d thought he knew his brother well, when in all actuality, he didn’t. Family allegiance had blinded him, and even when proof mounted, John foolishly allowed himself to hope this was just a sad case of stolen or mistaken identity. In spite of his stubborn ignorance, the facts finally culminated in his accepting the galling truth. Honor demanded he start to right the wrongs as best he could. Several remedies existed—none of them seemed good though.
At any rate, the O’Briens were ethically and morally—if not legally—family now. Determined to fulfill duty in his profligate brother’s stead and salvage the family name to some degree, John forged ahead. He’d resolutely determined to put a fresh face on matters as of this noon.
The front door of the little cottage stood open, and Duncan stayed busy, sweeping the floor. John frowned. “Put down the broom and wash up a bit, lad. Where are your sisters? I was very specific that you were all to be ready to leave promptly at three.”
Duncan propped the broom in the corner. “No sir, they’re not ready.”
“I’m not in a mood to put up with two stubborn women digging in their heels and pitching a fit,” he told the boy.
Duncan looked at him somberly. He reached for the broomstick and hugged it to his scrawny chest. “I don’t think Anna’s up to pitching much of anything, sir. Something’s wrong with her.”
“Emily?” John strode to the bedchamber door and knocked once. Emily didn’t respond, and his concern mounted. “Emily!” He rapped harder, then gave up on proprieties and let himself in.
Emily didn’t even turn to face him. She leaned over Anna and blotted her face with a wet cloth. In a strained voice, she said, “Oh John—she just collapsed. Please fetch the doctor!”
Chapter 11
No one answered his knock, so John figured Emily likely had both hands full with the baby. He pushed aside the black crape ribbon, opened the latch, and stepped over the threshold. Though prepared to call out a muted greeting, the words died on his lips.
Emily sat on the settee. Duncan lay there, huddled into a sad little ball, resting his head in her lap. She held Anna’s child to her shoulder and dully looked up at John. Grief rode her hard, robbed her eyes of their pretty sparkle, and left her cheeks gray.
“Emily,” John
said softly as he crossed the floor. He fought the urge to pull her into his arms. “Cook mentioned you sent for me.”
“Oh.” It took her a moment before she remembered why she’d wanted to see him. “I wanted to thank you.”
He didn’t reply. The funeral had been private. He and the vicar had agreed to bury Anna in consecrated ground. She’d been laid to rest in the warm woolen gown he’d bought her, and he’d added a small, gold cross about her throat. After Emily had gently caressed her sister’s cheek and kissed her one last time, she turned away. John led her into the kitchen, clasped her to his chest, and held her as her sobs drowned out the sound of their closing the casket. The burial service had been simple, small, and quiet—just as Anna had been.
Now the babe fussed. Emily shifted him automatically. She looked down at her brother and back to John. “Would you still be willing to let Duncan have that job you offered?”
“Duncan does a fine job with my horse.”
Her brows puckered slowly, as if something troubled and confused her; then she shook her head. “No, I meant the other one you mentioned when we were living at our own place. Duncan would work hard for you and could earn a wee bit. I trust you to be fair about his wages. I spoke with Madam Victorine, and she’ll allow me to stitch for her at home so I can keep watch over little Timothy. If you—”
“Emily!” John stared at her in disbelief. “What are you thinking?”
She looked at him almost blankly. “We have to—” She paused and moistened her lips, then tried again. “It will work. I found a room—”
“No!” He wheeled about, stepped off three paces, then turned back again. He couldn’t let them go. The cottage usually lay vacant—it didn’t inconvenience him to allow her to occupy it. Even if it did cause him a few logistical problems, he’d move heaven and earth to keep her here. At least then he’d know she was safe, warm, and fed. He locked gazes with her. “You’re not going anywhere.”
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