At Long Last

by Shirlee Busbee

  Jeremy sat up, his face intent. "Having met the man, do you know I find that easier to believe than the stories I have always heard about that night?" He frowned and looked across at her. Slowly, he said, "If what you believe is true, Bella, then it means..."

  Arabella nodded. "Then it means that someone went to a great deal of trouble to create a situation that put Tony in the worst possible light—one that would drive me to break off our engagement—as I did. If what happened at Broadmount is anything to go by, then that person is still trying to blacken Tony's reputation."

  "But who could hate him that badly?" He paused and made a face. "I suppose the list is rather long, especially when you consider the families of his previous wives and the family of the young man who died with his first wife."

  Arabella looked startled. "I hadn't thought of them, but I can't believe that they would choose such a roundabout way of taking revenge. If an attempt had been made on his life—well, yes—but to destroy my happiness? Besides, why wait so long?"

  Jeremy shrugged and made a face. "I can't hazard a guess, but who knows? Are the families still in Natchez?"

  It was Arabella's turn to frown. "No, I don't think that they are. I seem to recall that Mercy's family went back to England after her death and that Terrell had no family, at least not here in the Mississippi Territory. I never really knew that much about him. And as for Elizabeth Fenton..." She shrugged. "Again, I don't know very much about her or her family."

  "You know," Jeremy said, "we keep ignoring the fact that Elizabeth was murdered. His first wife's death could be put down to a tragic accident, but his second wife was shot. I know that there are people who believe Tony got away with murdering her, but there never was any conclusive proof—one of the reasons Tony did not hang and is still walking around a free man. If, as we believe, Tony didn't kill Elizabeth... and he didn't arrange for Molly to be at the lodge and isn't the father of her son...."

  Arabella's face paled. "Good heavens! Do you know what we are suggesting? That Tony has a deadly enemy who will stop at nothing to destroy him."

  "I agree... but isn't it interesting that this enemy seems determined to destroy him, but not kill him. I wonder why?"

  Arabella stared at him for a long time, her mind racing. Jeremy had just asked a very interesting question. If it was revenge someone was after, why not simply kill Tony? If Elizabeth had been murdered in the hopes that Tony would hang for it, why, when that had failed, had there been no further attempts to implicate Tony in some other crime? Or even an attempt on his life? Elizabeth had been dead nearly eight years when she and Tony had met and fallen in love—why would anyone wait that long before striking again? And if Tony's death had been the object, what had they expected to happen that night at the lodge? That she would be so incensed at finding him and Molly in bed together that she would kill him? It hardly seemed reasonable, but then none of what she and Jeremy were thinking made sense. And yet...

  "What is it that he or she, whoever the person may be, hopes to gain?" Arabella finally asked. "Obviously not Tony's death. His ruination?"

  Jeremy grimaced. "I cannot explain it—but I do believe that someone is going to a great deal of effort to make life unhappy for Tony. Someone shot Elizabeth and killed her. Someone arranged for Molly to be at the lodge."

  "And someone," Arabella said grimly, "more recently arranged for Molly to confront Tony at Broadmount."

  "Which leaves us where?"

  Arabella made a face. "With very little except for a belief in Tony's innocence and the awareness that things are not always what they seem."

  Chapter 15

  Boots would have been annoyed, but not necessarily worried, if he had realized that Tony had a pair of supporters in Arabella and Jeremy. As it was, unaware that the two siblings had begun to question Tony's guilt, he was quite happy with the way things were going.

  Thanks to his fine hand, Tony had once again scandalized the neighborhood, and the confrontation between Tony, Molly, and her bastard child at Broadmount was the main topic of gossip everywhere one went. To make the situation even more delicious, Tony, as Boots had known he would, had gone to see Molly at her house on Silver Street the following afternoon and, if gossip was to be believed, a terrible fight had ensued.

  Boots had heard the tale from a gentleman who had happened to be passing by at the time when Tony had stormed out of Molly's and, from what the gentleman had imparted, Tony had been in the devil's own temper. According to the story, Tony had left Molly's, his face contorted with rage and vowing to throttle her. And of course, the tale grew with each telling, soon taking on a life of its own. By the time Jeremy had come to see Arabella, it was being bantered about that Tony had to be forcibly pulled off of Molly, his fingers tightly clenched around her throat. It was believed that only timely intervention had prevented Tony from murdering her at that very moment.

  The truth was a great deal different. Tony had gone to see Molly. It had been an unpleasant interview, Molly sticking staunchly to her story, and he had left her place baffled and unhappy. He did have one source of satisfaction though as he had walked away that afternoon. Upon learning that Marcus did not live with Molly and that he lived with an old slattern of unsavory repute, one well-known for her drunkenness, Tony had been furious. He had demanded and had gotten, with suspicious ease, permission to take over the care of the child.

  Throwing Molly a look of contempt, he snapped, "This does not mean that I am acknowledging the boy as mine—we both know that he is not, even if you will not admit it. I am merely showing him the same kindness that I would a poor abandoned pup."

  Molly shrugged, and said carelessly, "You can't expect me to keep him here. This is no place for a child. You know how I make my living—a child would only be in the way."

  Tony bit back a sharp reply. He knew that it was foolish on his part to take responsibility for the boy, but he could not in good conscience leave Marcus in his mother's indifferent care.

  Made uncomfortable by the expression in Tony's eyes, Molly added defensively, "I never wanted a child. I do my best for him. Old Annie watches over him and sees that he comes to no harm—and I do see him when I can. He is not starving, and he does have a place to sleep at night. You can't expect me to do more than that."

  "No, I certainly cannot," Tony said dryly, wondering how he had ever found her desirable.

  Molly had balked when Tony had demanded that she put her permission for him to have the care of Marcus in writing, but in the end, after he had waved a small bag of silver coins under her nose, she had sullenly done what he wanted. Not content with that, he dragged two unfortunate souls off the street to witness her signature. Molly's capitulation had not surprised him—the Molly he had been familiar with would sell anything for money, even her own child. She had, however, refused to budge from her claim that Marcus was his child or to take back anything she had said the night of the Crocker ball—and this despite a handsome offer of more silver.

  He had left her house frowning—that much of the gossip was true. Tony was angry and not a little puzzled by Molly's stubborn refusal to tell the truth; it occurred to him again, that the only thing other than money that would keep her lips sealed was fear. But his thoughts had turned to Marcus, and he had pushed Molly from his mind.

  Tony was not known to be a model of discretion, but in the removal of Marcus Dobson from the filthy, ramshackle hut in which he had found the boy, he had proved himself to be at least prudent. He had waited until after dark and then slipped in and out of the area taking Marcus with him, before anyone was aware he had been in the vicinity.

  Marcus had not seemed disturbed at being spirited away by a stranger, but then considering the circumstances in which he found him, Tony was not surprised by the child's willingness to accompany him. His first instinct was to take the boy to Sweet Acres to live with him, but he realized that if he did, the cat would truly be amongst the pigeons. Instead, he placed Marcus in the care of his overseer, John Jackson.


  Hiring John Jackson to act as overseer and manager of Sweet Acres a decade or so ago had been one of the wisest decisions Tony had ever made, and he often congratulated himself on having made at least one smart decision during his irresponsible youth. John and his wife, Sally, were honest, kind, hardworking, and as pleasant a couple as one could ask for. They were around Tony's age and childless, much to their regret. When Tony had approached them about Marcus and explained the situation, Sally had said instantly, "Of course, you may bring that poor, precious boy to us—how could you think otherwise? Imagine a woman treating her own child that way! John and I shall be delighted to look after him for you."

  Marcus was wary when he first met the Jacksons, but he seemed to be an adaptable child—no doubt life with his mother and Annie had seen to that. Tony remained at the comfortable Jackson home for a few hours that evening to make certain the Marcus was settling in. He needn't have worried. Marcus seemed to find his change in circumstances gratifying—especially the warm gingerbread cake that Sally baked just for him and the novelty of having a soft, clean bed of his own in which to sleep. When shown into the cheerful room that Sally had hastily prepared for him, Marcus looked around with astonishment.

  "This is to be mine?" he asked, his big blue eyes incredulous.

  "Indeed it is," Sally said gently. "And you needn't be afraid that you will be alone—John and I sleep just down the hall."

  His little face solemn, Marcus looked up at the brown-haired woman who treated him so kindly. "Oh, I am never afraid. Annie says that she hasn't time for a frightened, whiny brat and that I am not to bother her. So I don't."

  Having tucked Marcus into his bed and brushed a hand across his dark curls, Sally said huskily, "You may bother me anytime at all, Marcus."

  Worn-out by the events of the evening, Marcus yawned and nodded sleepily. A moment later he was asleep.

  The three adults did not say anything until they were once more in the tidy front parlor of the Jackson house. A glint in her eye, Sally looked at Tony, and said, "You will not let him return to that woman, will you?"

  Tony shook his head. "No. I took the precaution of having Molly give me her permission in writing."

  "Excellent!" John said. "He seems a fine boy, and I know that Sally and I will become very fond of him. I would not want to see him torn from us—for his sake, as well as ours."

  "Do not worry," Tony said, "We will have the law on our side if Molly tries to go back on her word. If all else fails, money usually has the effect of making Molly see sense. Our only worry, and I believe that it is unfounded, would be if the boy's father made a push to claim him."

  Having done, for the present, all that he could for the boy, Tony still had Molly's accusations to face. The icy stares and contemptuous looks that greeted his arrival at the few social events he attended after the Crocker ball did not faze him in the least—he was well used to being considered a disgraceful wastrel. As long as his friends, Blackburne, the Crockers, and a few others knew the truth and did not turn their backs on him, Tony was content.

  That Arabella believed him so vile as to abandon his own child bit viciously, but he could see no simple way of redeeming himself. As he had remarked to Blackburne, he had believed that any hope of a relationship with Arabella Montgomery was doomed.

  Despite believing that there was no hope for him, he could not bring himself to abandon her completely, particularly since there was a possibility that she could be in danger. Calling himself all kinds of fool, like a lovesick moonling, he spent the hours from midnight to almost dawn each night secretly patrolling the area around Greenleigh. No one, he thought tightly, was going to attack Arabella as she slept... without having to go through him first.

  He did manage to see Arabella during this time, covertly watching her whenever they happened to attend the same social events. Every time he glimpsed that bright head of hers or caught sight of those elfin features, something ached in the region of his heart. Tony did have some comfort though—he was able to keep track of Arabella's comings and goings through Jeremy, who had taken to dogging his heels in a most flattering manner. In fact, it was because of Jeremy that he accepted those invitations that he knew Arabella had also received and accepted.

  It was obvious that Jeremy was hoping for a reconciliation of some sort between himself and Arabella, and while Jeremy, flushed and uncomfortable, had tried to encourage him to believe that Arabella's opinion of him had changed, Tony turned a deaf ear. She had made her position clear, and he was not leaving himself open to that kind of pain again. Besides, it might very well be Jeremy's own hopes for a happy resolution that colored his opinions. But even convinced that there was no chance at all for him and Arabella to resolve their differences, he could not, he admitted morosely, bring himself to stay away from her—even if the closest he came to her was the width of a ballroom.

  * * *

  April finally became May and the political state in Natchez was remained tense. Gayoso continued to stay in Natchez despite Ellicott's demands that he leave. Daily there were new opinions about the outcome. Tony was pleased that at last the planters had something else to talk about beside his reputed wickedness.

  Another American unit under the command of Captain Isaac Guion had arrived and was stationed at Chickasaw Bluffs with orders to move down to Natchez itself, if it became necessary. Speculation about what Gayoso intended to do was rampant, and there were worries amongst the Natchez residents that open warfare could break out between the Dons and the American troops. Fortunately, as Tony had said to Blackburne, neither claimant had a clear edge over the other, and he suspected that both sides were merely posturing.

  May slid nearer to June and the weather warmed predictably; the cotton was growing well and, in addition to the problems between Gayoso and Ellicott, there was talk of a profitable year amongst the planters wherever they gathered. The fact that Gayoso, in an effort to strengthen his hand, had issued a moratorium on the planters' debts for the season added to their optimism—assuming, of course, that a war did not break out in their midst.

  Satisfied with the results of his meddling and busy with his own affairs, Boots, beyond sending a few token payments, had delayed meeting with Molly and finalizing their bargain. Molly had proved useful, and he was not ready to end their liaison until he was certain that he had no further use for her. Having ignored her increasingly angry notes, it was the last week of May before he bestirred himself to go to her house on Silver Street.

  He had not sent her word of his impending visit, as much because of a dislike of putting pen to paper, as he wanted her off guard. From the shadows of a nearby building he had watched her house for several hours, noting old Annie's arrival and departure a short while later with an expression of contempt. The old cow had probably come whining to Molly for money—money she would spend getting herself disgustingly drunk.

  From his vantage point he observed that Molly seemed to enjoy a brisk trade that evening, gentlemen arriving and leaving regularly. As the hour grew late, he considered putting off meeting with her, but when what was surely her last caller for the evening had toddled off somewhere after the hour of two o'clock that morning, he felt that it was safe to approach her house.

  Taking care that no one observed his entrance, he slipped into the house through the back door. Making his way toward the front of the small house, he met Molly as she came down the narrow hall, heading for her bedroom.

  His unexpected appearance shocked a small scream from her. Recognizing him, she quickly recovered herself, and said sharply, "I might have known that you would come creeping around at this hour of the morning."

  He smiled thinly. "You should have been expecting me, my dear. After all, you have written me several rather demanding notes of late."

  "What if I have? If you think you are going to pawn me off with those damned little dribs and drabs you've been sending, you had better think again. We had a bargain, you and I. I kept my part, but you've been damned slow about yo
urs."

  "Indeed I have," he said smoothly, "and I have come to make amends." He cast a glance around at the hallway, and suggested, "Perhaps we could remove ourselves to someplace more comfortable?"

  She shrugged. "If you wish." She made her way back to the shabby parlor at the front of the house.

  Moving swiftly around the room, Molly lit a few more candles and, after setting down the candle she had been carrying, turned to face him. "Well? How soon are you going to give me the rest of my money?"

  Seating himself in a comfortable chair, he crossed one leg over the other and said airily, "Oh, whenever you want. If you like, you and the boy can be on your way to New Orleans tomorrow morning."

  "The boy is not going with me," she said coolly. "Tony offered to take care of him, and I decided to let him."

  Boots's mouth tightened. "That," he said evenly, "was not part of the bargain."

  "So? You weren't around, and I had to make a decision. Besides, you know that I am no mother and that the boy will certainly be better off with Tony... unless, of course, you would like to see to his care?" Boots's scowl was her answer, and she smiled cynically.

  Boots had never given the boy's fate much thought, but he had never planned for the brat to be in Tony's care. It complicated matters, and he did not like complications. There was little he could do about it then, but it was possible that he could find a way to twist this new situation to his benefit, although nothing occurred to him at that precise moment.

  "Yes, of course, you are right." He forced a smile. "So, you will be leaving for New Orleans, with no encumbrances. How wonderful for you."