Fire Lily (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  “How exciting!” Emily looked across the small parlor to her parents. “Isn’t it, Mother?”

  “Yes. We don’t often get foreigners visiting here.”

  “He’s a detective, is he?” Mr. Fishbine asked, striking a match to light his thick cigar.”

  “My family hired him,” Lily said, hedging. She didn’t think of Griffon as a detective. He was so much more than that.

  The maid who had delivered the invitation to her at the hotel restaurant entered the room pushing a tea cart. Besides aromatic tea, the top tray held a delicious-looking assortment of frosted cakes and jam-filled cookies.

  “This is too much!” Lily leaned forward, her mouth watering for one of the petit fours. “After such a wonderful dinner, you tempt me with these scrumptious cakes and cookies.” She smiled mischievously. “Of course, I’ll have to sample them just to be kind.” Her comment illicited laughter as the maid handed her a cup of tea and one of the white-frosted cakes. “Seriously, it was terribly kind of you to invite me to your home for the evening.”

  “We thought you might like a change of scenery from the hotel. How much longer will you be in town?” Mrs. Fishbine asked.

  “I’ll leave soon, I think, and it is nice to have someone to visit outside the hotel. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to get away from everything until I sat down at your lovely dinner table. Since my cousin disappeared, my social schedule has been nonexistent.” She noticed the pattern on the china plate: orange and red flowers similar to lilies. She smiled, remembering the riverbank and Griffon’s loving mouth and hands. “Of course, I’m not alone here. There’s Griffon and his assistant, Balthazar, and my own maid, Orrie.” Glancing at the Fishbine’s maid, Lily added, “Orrie’s been with my family since I was a child. She practically raised me and my cousin.”

  “It must be a nightmare not knowing where your cousin is,” Mr. Fishbine said, shaking his head at the maid’s offer of tea. “I’ll stick with my cigar, thank you,” he told the domestic, and the woman left them to their chatter. “How did you trace her here?”

  “We think she’s friends with a … a family near here.” Lily bit into the sweet cake, chastising herself for fabricating a lie. Somehow she hated to tell what might be the truth—that Cecille had foolishly carried on with a married man.

  “Which family? I probably know them,” Mr. Fishbine said.

  “They don’t live in town,” Lily explained. “They live outside of Van Buren.” She noted that he still waited to hear their name, and she couldn’t see a way around it. “Jeffers.” She was relieved when the Fishbines displayed no recognition. “They’re related to a family in Fort Smith.”

  “Have you spoken to them?” Emily asked. “Did they know where she is?”

  “They say they don’t, but their eldest son isn’t home. We’re hoping he might know something.”

  “Jeffers.” Mr. Fishbine snapped his fingers. “That simple boy that comes into town now and again … you remember, dear. You think he’s pitiful. He’s probably in his twenties, but he acts as if he’s no more than ten. Ah … what’s his name? Isn’t he a Jeffers?”

  “Jasper,” Mrs. Fishbine supplied. “Yes, his last name is Jeffers. Is he related to that family?”

  Lily cringed inside. “Yes.” Suddenly, she knew how David Jefferson and his mother felt when they’d had to admit to being related to such a clan. Jasper was the best of the bunch. He had an innate goodness the others lacked. “Jasper is the youngest child. He’s a sweet man, isn’t he? I feel sorry for him.”

  “They live in the wilds,” Mr. Fishbine said. “Somewhere out in the part known as the Devil’s Den.”

  “Yes, they do.” Lily brushed crumbs from her skirt. Her mind whirled, trying to find a different subject. “This has been a wonderful respite from my worries. You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Fishbine. You must be so very proud of it.” Not sparkling conversation, she allowed, but it had done the trick if Mrs. Fishbine’s beaming smile was any evidence.

  “We’ve lived here for twelve years. I’ve taken great care in selecting the furnishings.”

  “You have a marvelous eye for detail,” Lily said, leaning back in the settee. She sipped her tea, surveying the intimate room with its subdued lighting and flocked wallpaper.

  “Didn’t I hear something about the father of those Jeffers boys marrying a Gypsy woman?” Mr. Fishbine asked, and Lily gritted her teeth in consternation.

  “Where in the world would he find a Gypsy wife around these parts?” his wife asked.

  “Dear, every town has its riffraff.”

  Lily stiffened and examined the Fishbines’ twin expressions of disapproval.

  “Mama, Papa, I think Lily’s friend is a Gypsy,” Emily said, looking at Lily from beneath fluttering lashes.

  “Oh, no!” Mrs. Fishbine’s hand flew to her gaping mouth.

  “That’s not so, is it?” Mr. Fishbine demanded, his mustache twitching with agitation.

  Lily took a deep breath. “Actually, yes. He is a Gypsy.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder that your aunt sent a chaperone along with you,” Mrs. Fishbine noted.

  “I’m surprised Howard Meeker would allow you to be in a Gypsy’s company, regardless of the number of chaperones surrounding you. Why, I’d no sooner allow our Emily here to consort with such people than I would trade my wife in for a pair of mules!”

  Mrs. Fishbine glanced at her husband, clearly miffed at his comparison. “That goes without saying, I hope! A pair of mules … Where do you hear such things? I should hope and pray I’m worth more to you than that!”

  “Dear, you are missing the point, as usual,” Mr. Fishbine said, puffing furiously on his cigar. “Would you want Emily anywhere near a Gypsy?”

  “Glory be, no!”

  “That, my dear, is the point I was making.” He trained his damning eyes on Lily. “You trust this man? You trust him to walk you around town after dark?”

  Lily laughed, trying to insert humor and perhaps get them to laugh at themselves. “He’s not a monster. In fact, he’s a perfect gentleman, educated at Oxford and graduated with honors. He knows several languages and makes the average man feel downright ignorant.” She made sure to stare at Mr. Fishbine.

  “How could a Gypsy receive such an education?” Mr. Fishbine asked, almost scoffing. “I think he showed you a marble and told you it was a jewel, dear girl.”

  “I think I know the difference, sir.” She realized she was sitting ramrod straight and that anger burned the edges of her voice. “He has a benefactor … someone who believed in his abilities and made sure he went to the best schools.”

  “Still, he’s Gypsy.” Mrs. Fishbine shrugged helplessly. “No amount of education can erase that.”

  “I shouldn’t think he’d want to wipe out his ancestry.” Lily cautioned herself not to insult her hosts or to engage them in a verbal battle. “He’s been kind to my family. In fact, he’s not even taking a fee for helping to find my cousin.”

  “But has he made any progress?”

  “Some, and he’s risked his life doing it,” she added. It struck her that she was hotly defending him and was hurt because they were judging him by his race and finding him unworthy. Shame coated her. Only days ago she had prejudged him. How did Griffon remain so courageous, so courtly in the face of such prejudice? she wondered. She doubted she would be able to stand up to such adversity day after day. It would beat her down and make her want to surrender her life.

  “Where did your family hear of him? Does he work for Pinkerton’s or some other detective outfit?” Mr. Fishbine asked.

  Lily clenched her teeth and found herself searching for another white lie. She stopped herself, knowing that Griffon wouldn’t lie to these people if he’d been here to speak for himself. Still, it took every bit of daring for her to answer Mr. Fishbine’s query.

  “Griffon is a psychic and was recommended by a professor back east. My father suggested we give him a try, since the conventional detectives and loca
l authorities had turned up nothing.”

  The Fishbines traded incredulous looks.

  “What’s that?” Emily asked. “Sigh—what?”

  “Psychic,” Lily repeated. “That’s someone who has special powers of perception. For instance, Griffon can determine if people are lying to him. Sometimes he … well, he can read minds.” Saying it aloud made her feel silly, although she had come to accept Griffon’s unusual talent.

  “That can’t be true,” Emily protested, laughing as if Lily had told a joke. She looked to her parents for support. “Nobody can do such things, can they?”

  “Of course not.” Mr. Fishbine flung his head back and laughed. His wife and daughter joined in. “It’s like that magician who came through town last year, Emily. There is no magic. The man was only pulling the wool over the gullible’s eyes. These so-called psychics are the same sort. They make their living off simpletons.”

  “Victor,” Mrs. Fishbine cautioned, petting his hand, “the Meekers hired this man, dear. Howard Meeker is no simpleton.”

  “Oh, yes.” Mr. Fishbine sucked on his cigar for a moment. “Sorry. Meeker must be desperate, to engage an impostor.”

  Lily selected another cake and filled her mouth with a bite of it, giving herself a reason not to reply. Her thoughts scurried back to the hours before Griffon had arrived in Fort Smith. She’d thought of him in just such uncharitable terms. In fact, he’d read her thoughts and had been wounded by them. Perhaps he’d never admit to it, but she knew it to be true. She’d mentally called him an arrogant Gypsy goat and she’d seen the pain in his eyes. He said he’d adjusted to his life, to what he was, but she wasn’t convinced. How could he ever adjust to people laughing at him, calling him a liar, branding all who believed in him simpletons? How could anyone be happy with such a life?

  “Leave it to a Gypsy to make such outrageous claims,” Mr. Fishbine said. Smoke curled around his head in a hazy halo.

  “I detect scorn in your tone,” Lily said. “He’s quite civilized, I assure you. Besides, I always thought of Gypsies as rather romantic.”

  “Romantic?” Mrs. Fishbine’s hands fluttered with agitation. “They’re baby-stealers and thieves! I remember when I was a girl and a band of Gypsies came into town. By the time they left, they’d not only stolen livestock, money, and every other item they could lay their hands on, they also took a six-month-old baby boy! Some men in town tracked them down, but when they caught up with that bunch they couldn’t find the child. The Gypsy men-vicious as wild dogs, they were—wounded two of our men and killed one of them outright! Oh, it was terrible. And that poor mother! To have your baby stolen. It would be too, too horrible to bear.”

  “Yes, I’ve always heard that Gypsies steal babies and sell them,” Emily said. “Isn’t that awful? Do you think your friend has ever stolen children?”

  Lily stiffened, insulted by the question. “Certainly not. Those are old wives’ tales, I’m sure. Perhaps those who would believe such behavior of Gypsies are the true simpletons.” She cared not a jot that she’d offended her hosts. They stared at her, then shared their affront with each other.

  “It seems that this young man’s charm has blinded you to reality,” Mr. Fishbine said. “I can certainly understand why Howard contacted me and asked that I look in on you.”

  “My uncle is overly protective. I assure you I’m fine. My family is thankful for Mr. Goforth’s efforts in trying to find my cousin. He isn’t taking advantage of us. As I said, he isn’t even asking for a fee.”

  “He’s going out of his way for free?” Mr. Fishbine asked, clearly unbelieving.

  “He asks only that we consider making a donation to the American Society of Psychic Research.”

  “The what?” Mr. Fishbine chuckled. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Obviously, young lady, it’s a front. This donation will go right into that Gypsy’s money pouch.”

  “My father works with Mr. Goforth’s benefactor, who happens to be on the board of the Society. I’m told it’s quite respected in England.”

  “Well, it would be. Those Brits are mad for any kind of tomfoolery.” Mr. Fishbine laughed again, then set to relighting his faltering cigar. “No matter … how civilized this man … appears to be,” he said between puffs, “keep in mind … that he is a Gypsy … and not fit company … for a lady of your standing.” He pulled the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at her. “I tell you this as someone older and wiser and watchful of your reputation. The Meekers have been more than kind to us, and I couldn’t hold my head up around them again if I didn’t caution you about this Gypsy, dear girl.” He must have seen the flash of anger in her eyes, for he hastened to add, “Now, now, don’t get agitated over this. I’m not insulting you or those around you. I’m only pointing out that in polite society Gypsies are not tolerated.”

  “He’s right, dear,” Mrs. Fishbine agreed. “You should be sure that your chaperone is present when he’s around. Otherwise, people will talk.”

  “Tonight, for instance,” Mr. Fishbine said. “He escorted you here.”

  “He did, and he plans to escort me back to the hotel,” Lily said, glancing at the mantel clock again and wishing the minutes would fly by.

  “It would have been wiser of you to summon your chaperone. What did you call her?”

  “Orrie Dickens is her name,” Lily replied. “I assure you I’m quite safe with Mr. Goforth.”

  “We’re talking about your reputation, dear.” Mrs. Fishbine selected a straw fan from a holder near her and began stirring the air in front of her face with it. “A girl can’t be too careful. Husband hunting is serious business, and a good match takes careful planning.”

  “I’m hunting for my cousin, not a husband.” Lily forced herself to smile, thawing the ice from her tone. “It’s been a lovely evening, but I should prepare to go. My escort will be here shortly.”

  “First I want to show you my doll collection,” Emily said. “They’re in my room. Won’t you come and look?”

  “Yes, I’d love to.” Anything to get away from your parents and their unwelcome advice, Lily thought, rising to follow Emily from the parlor to the back of the house, where the bedrooms were located. Emily’s room was decorated in pinks and grays. A bureau sat against one wall, and the top overflowed with dolls, at least twenty of them.

  “I’ve kept every one since I was two.” She touched the porcelain head of one. “This was my first. Her name is Amy Sue.”

  “She’s sweet.” Lily straightened the apron on a dark-skinned doll. “This one is unusual. I’ve never seen a colored doll before.”

  “Mama got that one for me two years ago. It’s a mammy doll. Funny you should pick that one out.”

  “Why?”

  “Kind of points out how you’re attracted to the unusual, the forbidden.” Emily clasped her hands behind her back and swayed to and fro, a naughty smile flirting on her mouth.

  Lily saw in her eyes something she had missed earlier: the gleam of experience. Emily might be younger, but she was more seasoned than Lily and much more bold than her parents would ever believe.

  “I’m not attracted to the forbidden,” Lily protested, laughing a little. “If you think I’m a rebel, you are mistaken, Emily. On the contrary, I’ve always obeyed the rules and have no desire to shock anyone.”

  “Gypsies don’t interest me.” Emily picked up the nappy-haired doll. “But darkies … well, I’ve always thought they were pretty.” Her eyes sparkled fiercely, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “There’s this boy at McDonald’s stables. He’s almost white, I swear. His skin is light brown, like a white field worker’s. And you haven’t seen muscles until you’ve seen his. They just ripple all over his body. I love to go to the stables and watch him saddle horses, hitch them to buggies, and the like. He knows I like to look at him. He’s noticed. He’s got to taking his shirt off when I’m around so I can get a good look at him.”

  “Emily, you shouldn’t be telling me this. We hardly know each other a
nd I—”

  “But we’re two of a kind. I can tell. It feels good to talk about him. You know, to tell someone else how he makes me sweat when I look upon his beautiful skin.” Emily hugged the doll to her small breasts and closed her eyes as if she were making a wish. “His name is Truman. Sometimes I dream about how he looks all over. I dream that he’s loving me … like men and women love each other, you understand. I hear tell the darkies are huge. Much bigger than white men.” Her eyes popped open. “You think there’s anything to that?”

  Openmouthed, Lily seized another few moments of stunned silence before she made herself reply. “I doubt it, although I honestly have never given it a thought.”

  “Ooo, I have.” Emily squeezed the doll and twisted from side to side. “I think about it all the time. You think Truman ever thinks about me and wants to see me in my altogether?”

  “Emily, you shouldn’t be talking about this.” Lily shook her head. “Not to me.”

  “But you know what it’s like to want a bite of the forbidden fruit. We know what Adam and Eve went through, huh?” She winked slyly. “I hear tell Gypsy men want it all the time. They keep their women pregnant year after year because they can’t keep their hands off them. They get married when they’re children because they develop quicker than most, and they go around”—she leaned close to whisper in Lily’s ear—“hard all the time! Is that true? Is he ready night and day? Is he after you all the time to give him some?”

  “Emily!” Lily rocked back, shocked and unsure of how to handle the situation. “I can’t … won’t listen to another word of this nonsense!” She went to the door and opened it, but glanced back at the younger girl. Emily showed not an ounce of remorse. On the contrary, she put the colored doll back on the bureau and grinned. “Emily, you should rein in your—your fantasies. They’re going to get you in big trouble.”

  “You don’t have any fantasies, huh?” The younger girl arched a brow. “You never dream about the Gypsy? Ha! I’ve seen him around town. He’s the kind of stud dreams are made of, Lily Meeker.”