by Jo Goodman
"You tried?"
"I thought she might know something that could help me. I didn't try very hard. There wasn't much opportunity."
"I don't remember her name."
"Mrs. Givens. She was a widow."
"Like Annie," Skye said softly. "Do you think Annie's in any danger?"
He shook his head. "You're the one who'd be in danger. If I took you back, that is."
She frowned. "If? You're considering not doing it?"
"I'm not considering it at all. I've decided. You'll remain here with your parents. There's some work you can do for me." He got out of bed and walked naked to the armoire. He opened it and took out his dressing gown. He shrugged into it while he hunkered down and pulled his valise from the bottom of the wardrobe. He opened it and took out the list he had reviewed with Jay Mac earlier in the day. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he handed it to Skye and watched her unfold it. "It's an attendance list for the science and technological exposition. Those are the men who've indicated they plan to be there for some part of the three-day event. It's a partial list at best. I'm sure there'll be others who arrive unannounced." Her finger was trailing along the column of names, pausing briefly when she came to one that had been circled.
"I want you to go to every circled name and find out who has a contract with Parnell. If you can find out what they've financed, that would be better. You can ignore the names I've checked. I've overheard Parnell discussing contracts with those men with Corina."
"The contracts are in his desk in the library," Skye told him.
"I've looked there. There's nothing."
"I'm sure they're there. What else would agitate Parnell when he found me sitting at his desk? I wasn't poking around. I didn't know then to look for anything, but he didn't realize that. His behavior didn't make sense to me, but I know I didn't imagine it." She tapped the flower against her chin as she thought. "You looked in the hidden drawers, didn't you?"
"Hidden drawers?"
Her mouth pulled to one side as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I suppose that means you didn't." She sighed. "Parnell's desk is a copy of one I'm familiar with. It's riddled with secret drawers. They're not even hard to find if you know what you're looking for."
"How did you come by this information?"
She permitted herself a smug smile. "I told you I've studied lots of things. Antiques are a particular interest. So is the Granville history." She placed the flower on the bedside table and gave Walker back his list. "You need me," she said. "And Parnell wants me. I'm going back with you."
"No."
"Jay Mac can speak to all the men on your list. He'd do it better than I. They'll meet with him. Even if they gave me an audience they wouldn't believe me."
"No."
"This isn't only about an engine, Walker. It's about a treasure."
He didn't say no this time. He didn't say anything at all.
Skye was encouraged. Coming up on her knees, she let the sheet drop and slid her arms around his neck. The list slipped through Walker's fingers. She tumbled him onto the bed and whispered in his ear. "I'll tell you all about it on the train."
Chapter 15
"It's all right here," Skye said. The Granville family history lay open on her lap. The movement of the train jounced the heavy volume. Skye steadied it with two fingers. They were past West Point now. She had refused to open it earlier, afraid Walker would find some excuse to put her off the train. It would be more difficult now and he had to know she would follow him.
"Show me," he said. His voice was clipped. She didn't seem to care that he was angry with her. She hadn't cared about the danger either. Skye put a lot of stock in his ability to protect her. He wasn't certain all her faith was justified. "What did you mean, this was about a treasure?"
"I think Parnell and his sister have read this historical account of the Granvilles. There's information early on about a treasure ship that was abandoned on the Hudson by Edward Granville. My first impression was that the ship was raided, and then sunk. The more I read, the less convinced I became. The family historian certainly was intrigued by the idea that the ship may have been sunk with its treasure on board."
"Is there evidence, or is this just some kind of family myth?"
Skye was satisfied that she had captured Walker's attention. She trusted that he would listen with an open mind. "A little of both, I'm afraid. Until the time of Hamilton Granville, it seems, it was part of the family lore. The idea that so much wealth could possibly be buried under water... well, you can imagine they found it intriguing. It's hard to tell who might have been stirred enough to act on the idea, but it was Hamilton Granville—"
"The Granville ghost."
"The very same," she said. "He gave his young mistress an unusual piece of jewelry. Some of the family believed it came from the sunken treasure ship. It was a necklace fashioned from the beaten gold of Spanish doubloons. It's more correct to say that it was in her possession after Hamilton killed himself. It's assumed that he's the one who gave it to her. She certainly never wore it openly while he was alive. His wife wouldn't have approved."
"What happened to the necklace?"
"His mistress, who was also a servant, ran off after she was discovered to have it. The account doesn't say, but I'd think she was probably accused of stealing it. The family would have been desperate to have it back. It was worth a fortune even then, and the Granvilles were having financial difficulties. In only two more generations they lost possession of the house and the land."
"To my uncle."
"I don't think so. When I was a little girl, my family summered in the valley. There were no Granvilles living at the house then." She cast him a sideways glance. "Except for the ghost, of course."
"Indeed," he said drily. "If only it were that simple. It's not a ghost causing our problems." Walker pointed to the open book on Skye's lap. "Was there more treasure found?"
She shook her head. "Never. Not for lack of trying, though. No one attempted to recover the necklace by looking for Hamilton's mistress. Over the next forty years, people looked for the treasure source. The efforts were concentrated along the Hudson. Quite naturally, the history isn't clear on exactly where or how, but I have the impression that old tunnels from the house to the river were excavated."
"Tunnels?"
"Mm-hmm. There were at least two of them, both dug during revolutionary times to give the Granvilles a way out. They were Tories, you know, and not particularly well liked by the neighbors for their politics. They lodged British soldiers." She tapped the book. "This account claims that Benedict Arnold passed a night at the house."
Walker was skeptical but not dismissive. "You think these tunnels exist?"
"It's likely. I've always thought the house was built with secret passages, so tunnels wouldn't surprise me. It would explain what Parnell does all day in his workroom."
"When he's pretending to work on an engine he knows nothing about."
"Exactly."
Walker thought about it. "It doesn't explain his clean hands."
"Gloves and a change of clothes," she said simply. "I'd wager if we searched the workroom we'd find both, or at least, a passage leading to them."
He turned on her sharply and said under his breath, "Don't entertain that thought again. We will not be searching. I will."
"Walker," she said softly, beginning to object. "I thought we—"
"No," he said. He didn't add anything to the single word. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't necessary.
Aware of nearby passengers, Skye said, "I'm not going to argue about it here."
"I'm not going to argue about it at all." He picked up the book. "May I?"
"By all means," she said, with little grace.
Walker ignored the icy tones. "Tell me about these passages," he said. "How do you know they exist?"
"I don't know," she admitted reluctantly. "I suspect. I might have been able to confirm it had I stayed longer."
&nb
sp; Walker frowned, drawing on a memory. "That's why you were sketching floor plans of the rooms," he said with sudden insight.
"Well, yes," she said slowly. "You saw those?"
He leaned back hard. What his single swearing utterance lacked in volume it made up for with intensity.
"What is it?" Skye asked, her eyes anxious. "Walker?"
"I found your sketches in your apron pocket... in that little notepad you carried around. I showed them to Parnell. I didn't understand their significance. I really thought it was your manner of doing a thorough inventory. I let Parnell believe you were using the floor plan to memorize his room so that he wouldn't be safe, even at night. I thought it would make him more eager for you to leave." He closed his eyes a moment and rubbed his lids, thinking. "If you're right about the passages, then he may have suspected what you were doing. Jesus. He and Corina are going to watch you all the time."
She could almost hear what he was thinking. "I'm not going back to the city," she said. "This doesn't change anything. If they're watching me, then they can't watch you. This isn't a problem, it's an opportunity."
He grimaced and shot her a wry glance. "You'll understand if I don't quite see it that way." He sat up again. "Do you think Parnell used a passage to get from his room into yours?"
"There isn't a passage between the rooms. My sketches and measurements showed that to me. The rooms fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. They interlock. There's a connecting door that hasn't been opened in years. He had to have come in from the hallway." She hesitated. "Or we have to accept another explanation."
"Hamilton Granville?" Walker shook his head. "It was not a ghost."
Skye's eyes dropped to her lap. The faint flush to her complexion was evidence of her pained thoughts. "It would be easier to accept," she said quietly. "The way he... the way he touched me..."
Walker slipped his hand under one of Skye's. His fingers threaded with hers and he squeezed gently.
"To pretend it wasn't quite real," she went on. "That would be better than accepting Parnell's hands on me." Her voice trailed away. Skye moved closer to Walker, drawing comfort from his solid frame. She did not see the splintered coldness of his gold-flecked eyes or the remoteness of his expression. She did not know the manner of death he was planning for Jonathan Parnell.
* * *
Parnell came up from his workroom to meet Walker in the parlor. His first question was about Skye. "Where is she?"
Walker noticed that Skye's observations were accurate. Parnell's hands weren't stained from his work, but his sleeves had smudges of oil and grease, and, as Walker looked more closely, even a fine layer of dust around the collar. "I sent her upstairs to her room until we could talk."
"Her room?" asked Parnell. "Or your room? Is she still playing the whore for you?"
"She's in the room next to yours," he said, without inflection.
Parnell poured himself a drink. He did not offer one to Walker. "This is interesting," he said, motioning Walker to sit. His pale blue eyes were narrowed as he raised the tumbler of liquor to his lips. "You wouldn't let her out of your sight before. What's changed your mind?"
"She works for Jay Mac Worth." Walker saw Parnell's fleeting expression of satisfaction because he was looking for it. That flash of acknowledgment confirmed for Walker that Skye was right about the identity of the intruder in her home. At the same time, Walker realized that Parnell placed more confidence in Walker's own competence and judgment. "I followed her from the station to Worth's home at 50th and Broadway. You don't appear surprised."
"No," Parnell admitted tightly. "I'm not. Worth has been a supporter of my work. The fool thinks he owns me. Do you know why he sent her here?"
Walker shook his head. "I'm not sure that he did. If he's involved, it wasn't with the intention of harming you, though. It could be that he wanted to have information on the progress you're making on the engine. If he's invested in your work, then that would make sense." Walker would not reveal that he knew other men had invested as well, or that he had known it for some time. He wanted proof before he confronted Parnell. "Wouldn't you say?"
Parnell shrugged. He knocked back another swallow of his drink. "What makes you think Worth isn't behind the threats on my life?"
"I can't find any support for it. Or even that Miss Dennehy works for him in another capacity. He doesn't appear to conduct business in that manner. Miss Dennehy was a servant in his home, a maid, not the housekeeper. That's the position she returned to when she left here. Mrs. Worth was the one who hired her, and she's the one who took her back."
Parnell didn't want to hear about Jay Mac's wife. "She's nothing else to Worth?" asked Parnell.
"His spy, you mean?"
"I mean his whore."
Walker's eyes remained shuttered, his expression remote. "I couldn't find anyone who would say so. In the course of her duties Miss Dennehy rarely saw her employer. I talked to the housekeeper, the grounds man. I spoke to the neighbors' servants. I was discreet."
Parnell's head bent in a slight bow, acknowledging his dry appreciation of Walker's work. His smile was as faint as his sarcasm. "Of course." He refilled his glass. "But she returned with you. Willingly, it seems. How did that come to pass?"
"I told her you regretted your decision to dismiss her, and I said you were offering more money if she'd return to the position. I gave her your apologies for the incident in your workroom." Walker watched ruddy color spread across Parnell's face. It was clear Parnell thought an apology was unnecessary and shouldn't have been offered. "She's also running away. It suits her purpose to be out of the city right now."
"Running away? From what?"
Walker paused a beat, letting Parnell's imagination reinforce the lie he was about to tell. "She was involved with a married man."
Parnell nodded thoughtfully, his eyes focused on a point beyond Walker's shoulder. "Marshall? Turner?"
"She worked for them. I confirmed that much. The rest I couldn't find out."
"Did you ask her?"
Walker shook his head. "You wanted her back here. I didn't see the point in antagonizing her with questions like that."
Parnell speared Walker with a glance. "What do you really think, Mr. Caide? Don't talk to me about the evidence. I don't want to hear what the neighbors' servants report. Tell me what that instinct of yours says about Miss Dennehy."
"Don't trust her."
Parnell nodded, satisfied. "I was thinking the same thing."
* * *
"He believed you?" Skye asked softly, when Walker passed her on the stairs.
Walker nodded. "Be careful."
Skye touched him briefly on the sleeve and continued on her way to the parlor. It would not be an easy audience with Parnell. Her heart was slamming hard in her chest and her palm was slippery on the door handle when she twisted it.
"Come in," Parnell said, when Skye hovered in the doorway. "I didn't know if you'd agree to return with Mr. Caide. He tells me you had already engaged other employment."
"Mrs. Worth was kind enough to take me back."
"I don't remember seeing the Worths as a reference when I hired you."
"I didn't put them down. I had worked there only a short time. I had no chance to prove myself. Now that I've returned here, I doubt I'll ever be able to go back. They won't tolerate a second defection."
Parnell's lightly colored brows were raised. He stared at her consideringly. "Then you'll have to make a success of it here."
"That's my intention."
"Of course you'll apologize for that regrettable situation in my workroom."
Skye's mouth went dry. He expected an apology from her? Even had she been able to think of something to say, she wouldn't have been able to force the words out. "I... I don't think I understand," she finally managed.
"You encouraged me," he said. When she still didn't respond, he said, "Do you make a practice of it, Skye? That's what Mr. Caide believes. He says you were involved with a married man."
>
Skye wondered how she would respond to the accusation, whether she was up to the task of playing out her role. She felt heat rising above her collar and up her throat, finally searing her cheeks. The doubts she harbored about her abilities vanished. "Mr. Caide's lying."
Parnell's regard was almost pitying. "I don't think I believe you. You haven't the knack of telling a falsehood. Your face is too expressive." He watched her flush become deeper. "Was it Dr. Turner?" he asked. "Or Logan Marshall?"
"I never had an affair," she repeated.
He waved one hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I'd hoped for something else from you, but I can accept the disappointment. You'll begin your duties immediately. Walker says that you're in the room next to mine, is that right?"
Skye felt her heart knocking again. She rubbed her palms in the folds of her plain gray skirt, twisting the fabric just a bit between her fingers. "That's correct, but—"
Parnell was leaning against the sideboard. He straightened now, the simple action cutting Skye off. He took a step forward. "Let's be frank, Skye. We both know the reason you've come back here. It wasn't the additional money, though I'm certain you're greedy enough to have appreciated it. And it wasn't the work, though I think you've shown a certain aptitude for it. I don't believe it's Walker Caide either. You came back because you've decided that I may be worth pursuing."
Skye couldn't help her little start. "Mr. Parnell," she began. "I think you have the wrong—"
"We'll talk about it this evening," he said.
Realizing she was dismissed, Skye all but fled the room.
* * *
Skye's reinstatement to her position went awkwardly. Annie Staplehurst couldn't hide her resentment. Though she welcomed Skye back and said all the right things, she was visibly hurt and unhappy. Rose and Daisy Farrow snickered a great deal between them. They had their own ideas about Skye Dennehy's return and the glances they traded spoke eloquently for their silence. Jenny Adams was more blatantly disapproving, tsking a great deal as she bent over her sewing. Hank Ryder was polite but reserved.
Corina Reading's expression was the most difficult for Skye to discern. She was the most guarded in her reaction to meeting Skye again. Suspicion and anger would flash suddenly, giving Skye a glimpse of the emotion that simmered beneath Corina's cool surface.