by Jane Goodger
Clara knew how wonderful those words would have sounded just one day ago. Now, though, they were the words of a man who had been discovered, who found himself forced to do the honorable thing. The lordly thing. She looked about for something to throw at him but nothing was within reach except the bronze dog and that would likely kill him. She didn’t want him dead; she simply wanted him gone.
“I will never marry you,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You must. I love you.”
“I don’t love you.” Her words struck home; she could tell they wounded him, and Clara fought back the remorse she instantly felt. It was a lie, of course. She did love him, would probably love him forever. But at the moment, she was far too angry and hurt to admit such a thing.
Nathaniel gave her a long, hard look. “That is of no consequence,” he said in a tone she had never heard from him before. Then he turned to her father. “I have compromised her.”
Clara immediately placed herself in front of him, fists planted firmly on her hips. “You did not.”
“I did, sir,” Nathaniel said, looking over her shoulder at her father. “I will not go into details, but suffice it to say, your daughter is no longer innocent.”
Clara spun around to face her father. “That’s not true. We didn’t… Not entirely…”
“But we nearly did. In my world, you were more than compromised. I, of course, take full responsibility.”
“Father, please do not listen to him,” Clara said when she saw her father’s expression go from livid anger to thoughtful. “I hate him and if you force me to marry him, I will never forgive you.”
Nathaniel made a small sound behind her and she pushed down the pain of that sound.
“Now, now, Clara, do not become hysterical,” her father said, using the tone he always used with Hedra when she became overwrought.
“Do not patronize me, Father.” She took a calming breath, one that caught in her throat when her mother came into the study, looking from Nathaniel to her to her father.
“What is this all about?”
Nathaniel stepped forward and gave her mother a small bow. “Let me introduce myself, Mrs. Anderson. My name is Nathaniel Emory, Baron Alford, and I’ve come here today to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“No!” Clara shouted, but it was already too late. Her mother’s face bloomed into a smile, and she looked over to her husband to verify that this was the case. Silas nodded, and Clara suddenly felt so deflated, she found it difficult to stand. Until Nathaniel took a step toward her, apparently having noticed she was reaching the end of her endurance.
Silas quickly explained the situation to her mother, and the longer he spoke, the larger Hedra’s smile got. In the end, she said, “Why, this is wonderful, isn’t it? Of course, you may marry my daughter.”
“Mother, I don’t want to marry him.”
“Of course you do. He’s a baron and he loves you. You’ll come ’round, I know you will.”
“Did you not hear how he lied to us, how he planned to steal from us?”
Hedra tilted her head. “Not really stealing if it’s his own diamond, now is it?”
“Mother, you cannot seriously be considering this.”
“What if news got out that you’ve been compromised? No man would want to offer for you then.”
Clara threw out her hands in exasperation. “And who would tell? The only people who know are in this room.”
“People have a way of finding out things, Clara. Things slip out.” In that moment, even though she knew her mother’s threat was idle, she accepted defeat.
Clara sagged, then slowly walked to a large leather chair and slumped into it. “I cannot believe this is happening,” she said, dragging a hand across her forehead. “I wanted to marry a gardener. I wanted a simple life in St. Ives, and now you’re forcing me to be part of a society I hold in disdain and loathing. You want me to be miserable with a man I can never trust again. Is that what you want, Mother? Father?”
“That’s about right,” Silas said, and Hedra nodded in agreement.
“Oh, you’ll see,” Hedra said. “Things will work out, Clara. They always do. Just look at Harriet!”
Clara gave her mother a look of complete disbelief before closing her eyes. Maybe if she wished hard enough, when she opened them, everyone would be gone and none of this would have ever happened. Instead, she opened her eyes when she felt her mother’s hand on her arm.
“He’s a baron, Clara. And he loves you.”
“Which is more important, Mother?” Clara asked wearily.
Hedra’s soft smile wavered. “In the world we live in, I think you know the answer.”
Clara leaned over so she could meet Nathaniel’s eyes. “I will not make you happy,” she said.
“I suppose I deserve that. I swear to you that I will make you happy. Or at least I will try.”
Clara sat up, back straight, chin high and turned her gaze to the wall. “Very well.”
She wasn’t certain, and perhaps it was just her imagination, but she thought she heard him whisper, “Thank God.”
Chapter 15
“Mr. King, thank you for meeting with me.”
Nathaniel and his solicitor sat across from Mr. King, who appeared even paler and thinner than he had two months prior. The man had a haunted look in his intelligent green eyes, perhaps a consequence of constantly dealing with the shady side of life. He had a feeling the man’s solemn eyes missed very little.
“I want to tell you the truth about the diamond. I’m afraid the tale you told me when we first met was the fabrication of a demented soul.”
Mr. King’s eyes narrowed slightly, but other than that small change in his expression, he did not react to Nathaniel’s words. In a measured tone, Nathaniel relayed the truth of what had happened on that fateful trip to Brazil, and its aftermath. He told of growing up with a man confined to a wheelchair, who bore the scar of the bullet that was meant to kill him. As he spoke, the detective remained silent, waiting until he was finished before speaking.
“What do you intend to do with the diamond?”
“I intend to bring it to the finest jeweler in the kingdom and have it cut. And then I plan to sell it to the highest bidder. Not a penny goes to the Belmonts, not after what Zachariah Belmont did to my grandfather. I am not naïve enough to believe the man will accept my story or my decision about what to do with the diamond and the fortune it will bring. My grandfather more than paid the price of the diamond.”
Mr. King pressed his lips together and finally shook his head. “Mr. Belmont may have a different opinion. However, he is far more reasonable than his father, and I have no doubt he will at least listen to your side of things and may even conclude that his father was in the wrong. As his son, he must have had some sort of inkling that his father was deranged. I think finding the journal the late Mr. Belmont wrote explained his father’s madness to a son who was looking for answers. Would you consider meeting with him?”
Nathaniel glanced at his solicitor, who gave him a subtle nod, though his eyes were troubled. “I would. You can arrange the meeting?”
For the first time, Mr. King’s face relaxed, as if a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It seemed odd to Nathaniel that he cared so much for the outcome of this particular case, but perhaps Mr. King was exceedingly dedicated to his job. “I can, of course. How long will you be in London?”
“A fortnight only. I’m getting married in three weeks.” That statement did not bring the joy he had thought it would. No matter how often he vowed that he would bring Clara to love him again, he was not at all sure he could. This marriage could be disastrous for both of them, and he hadn’t any idea what to do to earn Clara’s forgiveness.
“Congratulations.”
The way he said the word, with little expression, made Nathani
el wonder if this astute man had picked up on his reticence. “You don’t care for the idea of matrimony?” Nathaniel asked, pretending to be amused by the man’s grim countenance.
“I care for it very much,” he said. “My wife died several years ago.”
Nathaniel was taken aback, for the man look far too young to be married, never mind a widower of several years. “I am sorry.”
“Thank you. She was murdered and I have been searching for the culprit for seven years.” He smiled. “The resolution of this case will allow me to devote more time to that search.”
“Then I am glad for you and wish you well.” Nathaniel stood, prompting the other men to rise to their feet. “Send a note ’round to my solicitor here when I can have my meeting with Mr. Belmont.”
Three days later, Nathaniel sat in an opulent parlor in a St. James Square house that covered nearly a city block. It was clear the Belmont family was in far better funds than he was. The tapestries alone in this room would go far toward building a steelworks to provide income for the families living around his estate.
When an older man entered, Nathaniel stood. “Mr. Belmont?”
“Indeed I am, my lord. Please have a seat.” Mr. Belmont sat across from him and brought one booted foot up to rest on his knee, a casual stance that put Nathaniel at ease. “I’ve been informed that you have found the diamond and that your understanding of what happened is far different from what I was told.”
“That is true. My grandfather and your father were good friends, but sometime during their trip to Brazil, things changed.” After Nathaniel relayed his grandfather’s side of the tale, Mr. Belmont steepled his hands under his chin, and Nathaniel felt the urge to squirm beneath the older man’s steady stare.
“My father was a desperate man and he was jealous of your grandfather in a way that is difficult to comprehend. This story, I’ve discovered, had little to do with the diamond and almost everything to do with a woman. Your grandmother.”
Now this was a complete surprise, and Nathaniel didn’t even pretend to hide his astonishment. “Your father…”
“…loved your grandmother. I don’t believe your grandfather knew. You see, my father was a third son with little chance of inheriting a title. But he felt superior to your father, as the son of a viscount. It’s all in his journal. My father died when I was a young man but our relationship was not close. He was a difficult man to understand. Odd. Distant. Exceedingly melancholy. He committed suicide when I was but twenty-one and I’ve been seeking answers ever since. When I found his journal, I thought I’d discovered the reason for his tragic end.”
“I am sorry for that,” Nathaniel said, relieved that the man seemed so reasonable when many other men would have sought retribution. “I can understand why your father harbored such animosity toward my grandfather given what happened to him on that ship.”
“It broke him. That experience, added to the knowledge that your grandfather was living with the woman he loved, damaged him beyond repair. I cannot excuse his actions against your grandfather. It was all such a stupid, silly disagreement and they were very young. Two children fighting over a toy. The real tragedy is that my father knew he would one day come into a large inheritance, but he didn’t care to wait for my grandfather to die. He was poor, yes, but it was only a temporary condition, as you can see,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the opulence that surrounded them.
“About the diamond…”
Mr. Belmont smiled, a quick movement of his lips. “When I first read about the diamond in my father’s journal, I became incensed. I felt it was one more thing that had been stolen from him, that his very life had been stolen. And I believed my father had been taken from me as well. That is why I commissioned Mr. King to find it for me. My initial intention was simply to make certain that no one in your family ever benefited from it.”
“What has changed?”
“I went back and read all of my father’s journals and it helped to give me a much clearer picture of the man he was and the demons that tormented him. Hearing what happened to your grandfather simply confirmed what I had already concluded; that my father was a man who was ill and who had little understanding of reality. All because of a woman and a rock.”
“But a lovely woman and a spectacular rock,” Nathaniel said. “It’s amazing, actually, what a man will do for such treasures.”
Roger King sat in a pub that looked like a hundred other pubs he’d been in over the years, looking for the monster who had murdered his family. As yet, he’d found no other murders that matched the ones he’d discovered and was beginning to doubt that the same man had committed them. Strange coincidences were rare, but they did happen.
This particular pub was in a town not far from St. Ives, that little haven of sea and warmth he’d discovered the previous year. Often, when he’d lain alone at night on yet another uncomfortable bed in a hot and cramped room, he would think of that small village and remember how it had affected him. It seemed people there were more content, happier, than any place he had ever been. Just the thought of being content was enough to make him want to weep. Perhaps when this was over, he would return to St. Ives and find himself a small cottage where he could live out the rest of his days.
The Fisherman’s Inn was a small pub tucked behind the main thoroughfare, which stank of bait fish and brine. Inside were the usual folk, the locals with hardened eyes and work-worn hands, the kind that felt like a brick when you shook them. Unlike other pubs, however, this one clearly held the touch of a woman. Bright yellow and white checked cloths covered the table, and the floor was meticulously clean. And on each table was a small white vase containing a daisy.
He’d almost become ill when he walked in; he’d almost left. Instead, he’d sat down, taken the pretty vase that sat in the very center of the table, and placed it on the table behind him. One of the locals chuckled when he did.
“Can’t say I like ’em either.” The man’s voice was gruff, his profile hard and slightly crooked, the kind of profile a boxer might have.
Roger turned to the man, ready for some meaningless conversation. But over the years, he’d learned that innocuous conversations could sometimes lead to information, so he forged ahead with his story as he had so many times before. “I have a good reason for not liking that particular flower,” he said, his eyes studying the man, who relentlessly tapped the top of his mug with one index finger. Tap tap tap. “You see, my wife and children were murdered, and the person who killed them left behind a daisy.” The tapping ceased, suddenly, as if someone had grabbed the man’s hand, stilling it.
Slowly, he turned toward Roger, revealing a face damaged by a blade, old scars that re-shaped what would have been a handsome visage. “What did you say?”
Roger’s heart began to beat hard and fast in his chest as he realized he just might be sitting next to his wife’s murderer. He’d dreamed of this moment, planned for it, but was not prepared for the calm that stole over him after the initial excitement. “The man who murdered my wife and two daughters left a daisy on her chest,” he said, gauging the man’s reaction, searching his eyes for guilt or panic or madness. “And they were not the only ones. Mothers and twins, murdered, with a daisy left behind. Three times.”
“My God.” The man stared at his mug, then took a quick drink before placing it back down on the table with exquisite gentleness.
Roger swallowed hard, knowing after all these years, he had found him. “You.”
The stranger shook his head. “No, sir. No.” He closed his eyes briefly. “But I think I know who it was. I think I do.” His voice grew quiet as he spoke. “My brother.”
Roger found he could hardly take a breath into his lungs. “Who is your brother? What is his name?”
“Clarence Teller. And I am Carl. He was my twin; he died two years ago.” Carl let those words settle around Roger before turning toward him, and Roger t
ensed, fearing he was about to be accosted. The man’s injuries were nearly as unsettling as the look in his eyes.
“My daughters were twins.”
Carl gave him a crooked smile. “Of course they were.” He shook his head and closed his eyes briefly. “What do you think would be worse? Having this done to your face”—he jabbed a thumb toward his scars—“or watching it done to someone you love?”
“My God.”
“We were seven and my mother was mad. She thought we were spawned by the devil. She hated us and feared us. We were identical in every way—the way we looked, talked, laughed. Everything. We were inseparable; it’s a bond that is difficult to understand even now. We even had our own language and she thought it was Satan speaking through us.” His mouth lifted in a small crooked smile. “We sometimes liked getting her goat, like any boys, I suppose. We were afraid of her but we never thought…”
“She did that to you?”
He nodded. “And Clarence had to watch. She tied me to a chair and made him watch as she cut into me, to make me different, to cleanse me of the devil. I’ll never forget the way he screamed and begged her to stop, as if he were feeling the knife, not I. She did this, too, later.” He held up one hand, which was missing its pinky. “Clarence changed after that. He began to think Mama was right—we were evil, we were spawned by the devil. All twins were. By the time he was seventeen, our mother was dead and he was just as mad as she was. I joined the Navy to get away from it all.”
“I am sorry for your story, but how do you know it is your brother I seek?”
Carl let out a humorless chuckle. “It was him, alright. Our mother’s name was Daisy.”