He hit Shelby again, knocking him against a potted fern that crashed to the balcony floor. He felt blood running from a corner of his mouth as the other man’s fist connected with Rand’s face.
They had fought their way back over to the railing of the balcony. Shelby brought his knee up and caught Rand hard in the groin. He had never felt such pain. Rand groaned, doubled up and stumbled backward. Shelby’s nose sprayed blood when he breathed. “Now,” he snarled, “I’m gonna throw you over the railing!”
Rand staggered weakly back against a pillar as Shelby charged him like a bull and they meshed again. The unholy gleam in the man’s eyes in the moonlight told Rand that Shelby intended to make good his threat. Rand was too hurt to do anything but hang onto him, hoping to recover enough to continue the fight. He glanced over his shoulder. Three stories below was a flagstone veranda. The man who went over the railing was a dead man. In the background the music and loud clapping drowned out the noise of the fight.
“Shelby! Rand! Stop that!” Lenore screamed, “For pity’s sake! That little tramp isn’t worth fighting over; you hear me?”
Neither man paid the least attention. They were each fighting for their lives now, locked in combat against the balcony railing.
Rand slammed Shelby hard in the mouth, knocking him back against the pillar. He heard Lenore’s angry scream and the rustle of silk, and he glanced up to see her coming at him, her golden eyes alight with fury. “No, Lenore!” Rand shouted, realizing she meant to push him over the railing.
His cry of warning seemed to alert Shelby. At the last second, even as Lenore’s hands reached, Shelby dodged aside and gave her a shove.
Rand grabbed for her, but his hands caught empty air. For a split second Rand saw the horrified look on her face in the moonlight, the way she seemed to hang suspended in midair for a heartbeat. She tried to right herself, but her mincing step and her tortured feet caused her to lose her balance. She screamed as she fell in a billow of green silk skirts, all the way to the flagstones below.
The music had abruptly stopped. Rand glanced up, saw the judge standing in the doorway. The expression on the old man’s face told Rand he’d witnessed the whole scene.
“Lenore!” Rand ran down the balcony steps. She lay crumpled on the flagstones. When he lifted her head, she smiled up at him, blood running down her pale face, which was pale as camelia blossoms. The green silk was soaked dark with it. “Oh, Lenore, hang on, we’ll get a doctor!”
“Hurts . . . hurts so much . . .”
“We’ll get a doctor—”
“No, don’t move me ... hurts ... wanted to have it all; just like my mother . . .”
He turned and looked up. There was noise and confusion on the balcony. The judge had seen everything; no doubt Rand was going to be in trouble. He didn’t even care anymore. There were several doctors at tonight’s party. “Someone get a doctor!”
Lenore was breathing shallowly. Curious people were coming out the doors, down the stairs. “What happened?”
“Lenore Carstairs tripped and fell off the balcony.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Someone get a doctor.”
Confusion, people crowding around, asking questions.
“Ask the judge, he saw it all.”
“Yes, I did.”
Rand cradled Lenore in his arms. He looked up. The judge was leaning over the railing, and behind him, the sheriff, the moonlight gleaming on his badge. “Sheriff arrest that man. He’s wanted in several states.”
Murder? No, he hadn’t killed anyone. It dawned on Rand suddenly that Judge Hamilton was pointing at Shelby Merson.
Even as the sheriff led Shelby past in handcuffs, Shelby paused, leaned over Lenore. “Is she still alive?”
Rand sighed. “Just barely.” He craned his neck and saw the plump doctor coming across the flagstones with his bag.
Shelby whispered, “Hey, Lenore, I’ve got something to tell you.”
Her eyes fluttered open weakly. “Sh—Shelby?”
“Honey, the joke’s on you. You’re that kid.”
Rand couldn’t figure out what this was all about. Shelby grinned as if he knew a good joke. Lenore’s golden eyes widened in horror as if she’d just realized something too terrible to comprehend.
“Bastard . . .” she muttered, “ironic . . . bastard.”
Rand looked at the sheriff, cursing under his breath. Everything in him wanted to get up and slug Shelby for making Lenore’s last moments so terrible. “Get him out of here!” he shouted at the officer.
The next few minutes were a blur of confusion, people crowding around, asking questions, Vanessa screaming.
Then they were all standing on the veranda, the sheriff questioning Shelby. “Did you push Miss Carstairs?”
“Who, me? Sweet Jesus, no!” Shelby shook his head. “The judge saw it, didn’t you, Hamilton? Tell them I didn’t push her.”
The judge hesitated.
Shelby went livid. “I ain’t gonna hang for a killing I didn’t do! I’ll tell you who’s hiding a murder—the judge, that’s who, the judge and old Mrs. Carstairs!”
“For shame!” The crowd muttered, “everyone knows those two have spotless reputations. He must be drunk or crazy to say something like that.”
“The derringer!” Shelby shouted, fighting against the two strong deputies holding him, “ask them where they put the gun!”
The judge shook his head and looked around at the crowd. “Trying to shift attention away from himself, that’s all. Does anyone here really believe his wild tale? Why, Elizabeth Carstairs is a paragon of this county.” Everyone nodded agreement. “What really happened, judge?”
He paused and his gaze met Rand’s. Rand waited, his heart pounding.
“Great Caesar’s ghost,” the judge said, “I had just found out that Shelby Merson was both a fraud and a killer. He’s wanted in another state for strangling a lady he duped out of money.”
Rand blinked, almost unbelieving, and the crowd muttered.
The judge cleared his throat. “I had alerted the sheriff to meet me here at the party, and Shelby must have realized we had the goods on him and tried to get away. Young Rand here was brave enough to try to stop him. I stepped out just in time to see them fighting with Lenore Carstairs trying to break up the fight; poor thing never had a chance!”
Shelby protested, “No, she was trying to push him over, that’s what she was trying—”
“Lenore was trying to save Rand,” the judge said smoothly, “and about the time I came out with the sheriff, she went over the rail. Poor thing’s a heroine. Isn’t that right, Rand?”
He couldn’t smear a lady’s name—certainly not a Carstairs. “That’s right,” he said. “Lenore Carstairs was a real lady, trying to apprehend the crook.”
“No, that ain’t right!” Shelby struggled. “The judge is helping cover up an old crime, I tell you, won’t someone listen—?”
The burly sheriff snarled, “You got your nerve, trying to smear two fine people like the judge and old Mrs. Carstairs. Why, everyone knows the Carstairs are the finest family in the county!”
The deputies dragged him away, still protesting.
Vanessa and Mother stood in the courtyard and Vanessa was wailing. “Mercy me, you mean I’ve been engaged to a killer? A thief? I’m disgraced! Disgraced!”
A murmur of laughter went through the crowd. Evidently no one was too upset that the two women had been made to look like fools. Rand got a little satisfaction out of that.
The old doctor had spread a blanket over Lenore’s prone form. “She was so beautiful; just like her mother.”
Rand tried to feel something for her, but all he could feel was pity and shock that he had ever thought he loved her.
Someone asked, “Where is Lenore’s sister, anyway?”
What should he say?
He didn’t have to say anything, the judge stepped in. “Laurel wasn’t feeling well. She went home earlier in the evening, taking my
buggy.”
Rand hesitated a long moment, looking around. His mother and sister were sobbing; not for Lenore, he realized, but for their own disgrace. Jon Erikson had just the trace of a smile on his sad face. “Son,” he said, “I want to have a little talk with you before you go over to the Carstairs.”
“Jon,” his mother wheezed indignantly. “You’ve had too much to drink. Rand, don’t listen to him.”
For the very first time in as long as Rand could remember, his father looked her straight in the eye. “Rose, shut up. I’m tired of your carping. When I finish talking to my son, we’ll talk. No, I’ll talk and you’ll listen. I’m leaving you.”
A murmur went through the crowd, and Rose Randolph Erikson turned deathly pale. “Please, Jon; I’ll be humiliated—”
“Like you’ve humiliated me all these years? I made a bad choice, Rose, and maybe it’s too late for me, but it isn’t too late for Rand.”
The judge put his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “There are a few more things that have to be taken care of, questions that have to be answered. You and your boy go inside and have that talk. Then Rand and I will take the carriage and go tell Mrs. Carstairs and her other granddaughter what has happened here tonight.”
A murmur of sympathy ran through the crowd. “Poor old Mrs. Carstairs. She’s certainly had more than her share of tragedy.”
Rand saw the judge breathe a sigh of relief, wondering about it. Perhaps Pierce Hamilton was worried about what Shelby Merson was going to say on the witness stand. It didn’t matter. Who would believe a gigolo who was being tried for murder—especially considering the Carstairs sterling reputation. Shelby Merson would be lucky if this crowd didn’t lynch him.
Rand had never felt so close to his father as he did now. He put his arm around the older man’s shoulders and turned toward the house. “Maybe it’s not too late for both of us to find a little happiness, Dad.”
Elizabeth Carstairs stopped playing her piano and looked at the clock. Almost eleven. It was just about this time that long ago night....
No, she must not think about that; it made her chest hurt. Certainly keeping the secret had been gradually wearing her down for almost sixteen years. Even Pierce and Nero were stressed because of it. God is not mocked, she thought as she stood up. Perhaps they were all three being punished for their part in it.
The house was so quiet she could hear the clock ticking and the old house squeaking in the chill October wind. If she listened really close, sometimes she thought she heard her daughter-in-law’s laughter echoing through the halls. Beautiful and faithless Camelia.
She got up and went to stare at the big painting, remembering. She looked at the two little girls in the portrait and wondered how Lenore and Laurel were doing tonight at the Harvest Ball. Given half a chance, Laurel was going to outshine the older girl, but local society wasn’t going to be kind to her. Young Rand would have to make his choice between the two half-sisters. Was he as weak as his father going the way of least resistance? Elizabeth hoped not, but tonight would tell.
The puppy lay by the sofa. Now it raised its head and its tail thumped. She went over, sat down on the sofa and patted its ears. “Tally Ho, you’ve created a lot of trouble for me with your digging. You’re going to have to go live with the judge, but you’ll like it there. I can’t have you digging under the camelia bush. Bad dog, you dug up Clint Nutter’s pistol. If you dug a little deeper . . .”
Nero stuck his head in the door just then. “Miz Elizabeth, I found it. She hid it in her bureau.”
Elizabeth sighed with relief. “You take care of it?”
He nodded. “Nero always take care of you, Miz Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, Nero.” She dismissed him with a nod, relieved that the evidence was gone. If Lenore told her wild story now, who would believe her? Elizabeth settled back on the sofa. The clock ticked in the silence. She had lived with the secret a long time, she and Pierce and Nero. She would protect the Carstairs name, as would they. It had been a long, long time to carry the burden; it was telling on all of them.
With a sigh, she thought about the past. Her son had told her he was marrying the beauty in a whirlwind courtship because he had not behaved like a gentleman and had taken advantage of the lady. Camelia was with child. But the moment Elizabeth had seen the baby girl’s eyes, she had known her son had been taken for a fool. Jim was the one who had been duped, giving the proud Carstairs name to another man’s bastard.
Jim didn’t seem to realize the truth, and he was so in love with Camelia that Elizabeth had kept her mouth shut, hoping for the best. For a while, it seemed it might work out. Three years after Lenore’s birth, Camelia produced a second daughter, and this one was definitely a Carstairs. However, that Memphis gambler, Clint Nutter, began to come around again when Jim was gone on plantation business. Elizabeth didn’t know what to do, so she pretended she didn’t know, although she confided the problem to her old friend, Pierce Hamilton.
The clock on the music room wall chimed eleven times. Yes, Elizabeth thought with a sigh, it was just about this time of night that it had happened. Jim gone on business, the two little girls asleep upstairs, Elizabeth playing her piano. She’d heard the stairs squeak and knew Camelia was sneaking out to meet that man. What could Elizabeth do? Would her son believe her if she told him?
It had been a warm spring night and the windows were open. Elizabeth heard the lovers’ voices outside in the darkness and imagined them in an embrace. She thought she heard a horse approaching. Who could that be?
Alarmed, Elizabeth had run to look out the window at the east lawn. The lovers stood there in an embrace, oblivious to the rider as he reined in; watching. The moon had come out from behind the clouds and she saw the man on the horse and his expression. Jim had come home unexpectedly.
Mostly what had happened after that was a merciful blur. Elizabeth remembered running for the door. Knowing she must stop this fight, yet knowing she was not going to be in time. She would always remember how soft the grass was beneath her slippers as she ran to where the two men were fighting, how pale her daughter-in-law’s face was in the moonlight as she watched helplessly. Pale as her namesake flowers.
The gambler had a derringer. Elizabeth saw the sudden gleam of it in the moonlight. Camelia screamed. Jim knocked it from his hand and it slid across the grass as the two men grappled.
Camelia was on it in a heartbeat, aiming the gun. “Stop it, Jim, or I’ll shoot!”
Had she meant to fire or had the gun gone off accidentally? Elizabeth would never know. The men were still fighting. Even as Camelia fired, they moved, so that Clint took the bullet.
Jim let the dead man fall. “Camelia, give me the gun!”
She resisted, they struggled over its possession even as Elizabeth watched helplessly. And then it fired again.
“Oh my God!” Her son stared down at the gun in his hand, his face ashen. Camelia fell across the lawn, her green dress blending in with the grass, her red blood in such stark contrast to her pale white face, pale as the white camelias she loved. Jim fell to his knees, hugging her to him. “Camelia! Oh, Camelia, I love you so! Why did you cheat? Why wasn’t I enough for you? I would have done anything for you; I loved you so.”
Camelia looked up at him, smiling ever so slightly, the scarlet blood running down her snowy skin, the green dress. “You did something for me,” she whispered with a one last bit of irony, “you gave my lover’s child your name.”
Camelia’s final cruelty. Elizabeth would never have told him. Now she pulled him to his feet, put her arms around him. “Son, you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t!”
“It went off,” he said woodenly, blinking as if walking in his sleep and hoping any moment now he would awaken, “I was trying to take it away from her!” He put his face in his hands, sobbing.
Elizabeth sobbed, too. She would always remember how pale the beautiful face was in death. Camelia’s golden eyes were open, staring at the dark sky. “Jim, we’ve got to do
something. The law might not believe it was all an accident!”
“I don’t care! She’s dead! I want to die, too!” His green eyes were wild with horror.
It was like reasoning with a crazy man. “No, Jim, you’ve got to live. The children. Think of the children.”
He laughed hysterically. “One of them’s not even mine, did you hear that? I think I realized it from the first, but I loved her too much to care.”
Elizabeth hugged him, her mind thinking fast. What to do? Pierce Hamilton dropped by just then, on his way from a party at another house. “Great Caesar’s ghost! Anyone else witness this?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “What do I do, Pierce? We must protect my son. The Carstairs name must not be smeared.”
“Get Nero out here. We can trust him and I’m going to need help.”
By morning, Jim was headed West with his child. He couldn’t bear to take the other man’s daughter. All these years she had waited for word, and now she knew that her son lay in an unmarked grave near an ill-fated wagon train. It was ironic that he would never be buried in the Carstairs old family plot by the church. At least Elizabeth finally had his daughter back. She had a feeling God wasn’t through with punishing Elizabeth for her part in the cover-up. What was she going to do about Lenore?
The sound of a buggy pulling up out front startled Elizabeth out of her thoughts. Were they back from the party already? She sat listening to Nero going down the hall to open the door. What choice had young Rand made? The girl he loved or the Erikson money? What was so ironic was that he would have the Carstairs much larger fortune—all of it—if he chose Kimi. True to her word, Elizabeth hadn’t changed her will. The money was scheduled to go to the real Carstairs heir.
Kimi let Nero help her from the buggy, brushed aside his questions as she ran inside, her heart pounding. Nana came out of the music room. “My dear, what’s wrong?”
She must not break down and cry; it would weaken her resolve. “Nana, I—I’m going away. Tonight.”
Sioux Slave Page 36