Molly looked at him, the expression on her face making him wary. "There has been a slight change in my plans," Molly said, her eyes never leaving his. At the questioning flick of his brow, she added, "I've decided that I would prefer to remain in Natchez."
"Have you, indeed?" he asked with an edge to his voice.
Molly hesitated, a little frightened of him. It had occurred to her during the time since they had last met that knowing what she did about him, she held a valuable hand. A hand worth much more than a new wardrobe and passage to New Orleans. Besides, leaving Natchez and everything that was familiar to her and starting over in a strange city didn't appeal to her. Natchez was home—no one was going to drive her from it. She'd never cared in the past what those stiff-rumped, respectable, old tabbies had thought about her, and she wasn't about ready to start caring. Not when she had the opportunity to make a fortune and flaunt her presence under the very noses of those who had looked down on her for so long. But first, she admitted uneasily, she had to make him see that she couldn't be bought off as cheaply as he had assumed.
In her thoughts it had seemed an easy thing to do—simply tell him that she wished to retire from her present trade and that he was going to make it possible. Molly had envisioned living very nicely for the rest of her days, knowing that he could not deny her demands—not if he didn't want his part in Tony's misfortunes to be exposed. But lost in her plans, she had forgotten one important thing: He was a very dangerous man—a man she had always found it prudent not to cross.
With a little less confidence than she had felt earlier, she pressed on. "Yes, I have." Gathering her courage, she stared at him, and said defiantly, "If it weren't for me, none of your plans would have worked. You owe me—and I intend for you to pay."
"Do you really?" he asked with a note of amusement. "Trying your hand at blackmail, my dear? How foolish of you." He rose to his feet and approached her.
Molly stepped back, but he followed her. "Do you honestly believe that I will let a common slut like you blackmail me?"
"Don't come any closer," Molly said breathlessly, wishing she had never embarked on this little scheme.
"Ah, having second thoughts are we?" he taunted, crowding her against the wall. "You should have taken the time to have third and fourth thoughts, my dear, because you have just shown me how dangerous and foolish it was to trust a whore."
Before Molly had time to think, his hands were around her throat, the powerful fingers closing off her breathing, squeezing the life from her. She fought, fought hard, but her struggles were useless, her fingers clawing helplessly at the hands around her slender throat, waves of blackness flowing over her.
Moments later, Boots released her limp body and watched as she slid to the floor. She was very dead, and he was very pleased. This wasn't quite how he had planned it, but the result was the same: a minor problem dispensed with.
Blowing out the candles, he escaped out the back door. Depending upon her regular gentlemen callers, it would be tomorrow or the next day before her body was found. Quickly walking to where he had left his horse concealed, he remounted and stole away. He was frowning as he rode, realizing that he had acted precipitously. Tony would certainly be blamed for Molly's murder, and no doubt there would be those clamoring for him to hang, but he doubted that someone of Tony's stature would actually hang for the murder of a creature like Molly Dobson.
Poor, poor Tony, Boots thought with a titter. How awful to be innocent as a newborn lamb and no way of proving it. What a jest!
In that Boots erred. He was correct, however, in believing that suspicion would first fall upon Tony.
When Molly's body was found early the following morning by old Annie, Tony was instantly named as her killer. Annie had come to do chores and upon finding Molly's corpse, had run shrieking down Silver Street. As word of the murder passed from lip to lip, an angry crowd had gathered in front of Molly's home. Tony's threats to throttle her were in everyone's mind, and no one doubted that he had murdered her. The news spread swiftly all through the Natchez area. Some who heard the news were pleased that at last Daggett would pay for his crimes, but when it became clear soon afterward that Tony could not possibly have murdered Molly Dobson, many were disappointed and even disbelieving.
But it was true. Tony had a number of eminently respectable citizens who could vouch for his innocence.
On the night that Molly was murdered, Tony had spent the evening dining at the Crocker household with the elder Crocker, as well as several other important gentlemen in the district—his uncle Alfred among them. It was strictly a male gathering, and after the meal, they had retired to William's comfortable study and played cards until the pink-and-gold dawn light was peeking over the horizon. Most of the gentlemen departed at that time, but Tony and a few others, his uncle among them, had stayed to enjoy breakfast at Broadmount. Hence it was well after the hour of nine o'clock Thursday morning before Tony had said his good-byes and ridden home to Sweet Acres. By then Molly's body had been discovered and the hue and cry for Tony's neck raised. A mob with hanging on their minds set out for Sweet Acres.
On their way to Sweet Acres, the rowdy crowd rode past Willow Dale, the Blackburne estate, and from his excited servant, Patrick learned of Tony's danger. Astride a bareback horse, he arrived at Sweet Acres hard on the mob's heels, barely in time to prevent a tragedy.
The mob had surprised Tony abed and even Billingsley's and John Osgood's spirited defense had not been enough to prevent Tony from being dragged down the grand staircase of Sweet Acres and out onto the wide veranda at the front of the house. His hair disheveled and clothed in only a pair of breeches, which he had been allowed to don, Tony did not give his captors the satisfaction of begging for his life.
His head held proudly, he looked at the leader of the mob, and said evenly, "I did not murder Molly Dobson. I have not seen the woman for weeks."
The man spit contemptuously near Tony's bare feet, and an angry murmur arose from the crowd. A hemp rope around his neck, they were on the point of hustling him down the steps and toward the tree they had selected for his hanging when Patrick had ridden up. A pistol in each hand, he faced the crowd, a sneer on his handsome mouth, and said, "Which one of you brave fellows would like to die first? I assure you that I shall have no compunction in killing you if you do not step away from my friend. Now."
Almost as one, the crowd put a distance between themselves and Tony. Blackburne's accuracy with firearms was legendary, and, despite their numbers, it was obvious that at least two of them would die before they could overpower him. No one wanted to be one of the two.
Patrick leaped down from his horse and ascended the steps to stand at Tony's side. As he handed Tony one of the pistols, Tony grinned, and murmured, "Have I ever told you that you have impeccable timing?"
Patrick grinned back at him. "Indeed you have. But one never tires of compliments."
Billingsley and Osgood, armed by then and joined by John Jackson, added to Tony's reinforcements. Together the quintet stared down at the angry mob milling around in front of the house. The situation was fraught with danger. The crowd was furious at being denied their prey, and there was the chance that they might gather enough courage to charge the small group on the veranda. At the moment, it was a standoff.
Before more violence erupted, the thunder of hooves was heard, and Alfred, Franklin, and Burgess galloped up to the house, sending the crowd scurrying out of their path. If Tony was surprised to see his uncle and cousins, he showed no sign of it. The question in his mind was whether they had come to his rescue or to dance at his hanging.
Alfred, scowling and furious, swiftly set the mob straight. His nephew, blackguard that he was, had not murdered Molly Dobson and he could prove it! No other man's word would have carried as much weight: Alfred Daggett's outspoken criticism of Tony was common knowledge.
William Crocker as well as Jack Gayle, who had also attended the previous night's entertainment at Broadmount, rode up only seconds later, having heard
the news of Molly's murder and the mob's intentions from their sons, who had heard the news from Vincent Walcott. Their sons had accompanied them. With these new arrivals, Tony's safety was assured, but it took several minutes for order to be restored.
Tony's innocence could not be doubted—not when so many highly respectable gentlemen were speaking out on his behalf. It was clearly established that Tony had arrived at the Crocker's home the previous evening long before the hour when Annie had last seen Molly alive. And since Tony had been in the company of a dozen or so leading citizens in the area from then until nine o'clock that morning, he could not have murdered Molly.
With some grumbling, and many dark looks cast Tony's way, the mob departed. There would always be, Tony thought wearily as he watched the last of them disappear down the road, those who would believe that he had killed Molly.
Glancing at his uncle, Tony smiled crookedly, and said quietly, "I thank you for your timely intervention—you helped save my life. It was good of you to speak out for me; I know it cost you."
Alfred sent him a surly look. "Give Burgess your thanks—he is the one who learned what was afoot and told his brother and me." He paused, frowning darkly. "You may be a villain," he muttered, "but I could not stand by and see you hanged for something I knew you had not done—even if you have done things that certainly deserve hanging!" Having said all he was going to on the subject, he remounted, and, glaring at his sons, growled, "Well? Are you coming with me, or are you going to stay here gaping like a pair of beached flounders?"
Wordlessly, his sons mounted their own horses and the trio rode off, leaving Tony and the others standing on the front steps of Sweet Acres.
"You'd think," William Crocker said thoughtfully, "that what happened today would make Alfred rethink his opinion of you. It was a stroke of luck that you were with us last night and that we could establish your innocence so quickly. If, by chance, you had turned down my invitation you would more than likely be hanging from one of your own trees at this very moment."
"I know—and I can never thank all of you enough." Tony smiled thinly. "For once I am glad that gossip about me spread so swiftly."
There was some more small talk and then, except for Blackburne, the other gentlemen mounted their horses and followed the road taken by Alfred and his sons.
Looking over at his friend, Tony said, "Do you know, I never found life in England quite so full of, er, stirring events."
Blackburne smiled grimly. "I will admit that I find it rather interesting that it is only when you are in residence at Sweet Acres that such ugly events swirl around you." Only half-teasing, he asked, "Have you considered a permanent move to England?"
Tony's face tightened. "No. And I am not going to, either. This is my home, and I will not be driven from it."
"I would be surprised if you were, but I would warn you to take heed, for it appears to me that someone is determined to do just that—or see you hang."
"It is possible that you are right," Tony conceded, "but I wonder why, if someone wanted me dead, they have not murdered me and have done with it? Why go to all the lengths to paint me as black as Hades and yet let me live? It doesn't make sense."
Blackburne shrugged. "I have no answers, I would only warn you again—take care—someone does not like you very much, my friend."
They discussed the situation a few minutes longer, and then Patrick, too, departed, leaving Tony standing alone on the veranda at Sweet Acres. All thought of sleep vanished from his mind, Tony turned and walked back inside the house, his mind on what had transpired... and how he was going to tell Marcus that his mother was dead. Not a pleasant task, but one that he must see to immediately.
Ten minutes later, having taken just enough time to throw water on his face and finish dressing, Tony walked up to the front door of the Jackson house. Sally and John met him at the door, their expressions tense.
"Have you told the boy?" Tony asked quietly as he entered the house.
John shook his head. "No, we felt it was best to wait and discuss the matter with you."
Quickly, Sally said, "He is presently still sleeping—he knows nothing of the mob or what nearly happened this morning."
Wearily Tony ran a hand through his hair. "There is no need to wake him—let him sleep for now." His mouth twisted. "He will have to learn the truth soon enough." Glancing at Sally, he flashed his most charming smile, and asked, "Will you mind if I wait here for him to awaken?"
"Of course not!" Sally exclaimed. "Oh, where are my manners? Please, please sit down and let me get you some coffee and perhaps some toast, for I am sure with everything that has happened this morning that you have not had a chance to eat. Would you like for me to cook you a proper breakfast?"
Tony declined the breakfast, but was grateful for the coffee. Seated in the Jacksons' pleasant parlor, he sipped his coffee, and the three of them discussed how best to tell Marcus of the tragedy that had overtaken him.
In the end, the adults were far more distressed by the situation than Marcus was. An hour later, watching Marcus as he happily ate his oatmeal at the scrubbed oak table in the kitchen, Tony was relieved that the child seemed so resilient.
But he was troubled and brushing a gentle hand across the back of Marcus's head he asked, "You do understand that your mother is dead—that you will never see her again? You will have to live here with the Jacksons."
Marcus gazed up at him with limpid blue eyes. Solemnly, he said, "I understand. I am sorry that Mama is dead, but she did not like me very much, and she was not kind to me." He flashed a warm look at the Jacksons, who hovered nearby. "John and Sally have been nicer to me than anyone ever has—I like it here."
That seemed to settle the question for Marcus, and, feeling relieved, Tony took his leave. It was understood between the adults that at some point the Jacksons intended to adopt the boy.
Walking away from the Jackson home, Tony wondered if he would brush through the whole ugly, tragic situation as easily as it presently seemed. More importantly, he wondered what Arabella would make of it all. He grimaced. It didn't matter. She didn't trust him, and this latest scandal would not make her think any more kindly of him—even if he was innocent.
* * *
During the weeks that had passed since the Crocker ball, Arabella had heard nearly every black tale about Tony that had flown around the neighborhood—Mary, still rather cool to her, had made certain of that. Even though she knew that her stepmother had only her best interests at heart, Arabella was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain even a vestige of politeness between them.
Fortunately for their relationship, Mary did not come to call often, and Arabella was able to put aside her unhappy thoughts for long periods of time as she submerged herself in the refurbishing of Greenleigh.
Pushing the painful break with Tony to the back of her mind and ignoring Mary's gossip, she rediscovered her initial enthusiasm for the project and convinced herself, most of the time, that she was happy. But at night she slept poorly, her mind working tirelessly as she considered and reconsidered her conclusion that Tony had not lied about Molly five years ago. And that if he had not lied, then who amongst their friends and family had plotted against him?
There was no one, other than Jeremy, with whom she could discuss the situation and since he firmly believed Tony innocent, his opinion only confirmed her own.
As the weeks passed, her longing for Tony did not diminish. In fact, it grew; as did her certainty that he had told the truth. A dozen times she nearly sat down and wrote to him, begging him to come to call, but she hesitated, fearful of his rejection. She regretted bitterly that she had not accepted his second proposal of marriage. Regretted bitterly that she had not considered more carefully Tony's character; she loved him, she should have believed in him. Instead, she had sent him away and wounded him, his pride certainly, and possibly his heart—not once, but twice. How could he ever forgive her?
On the morning of the discovery of Molly's body, Arab
ella was listless and depressed. Of late, the slightest exertion left her feeling exhausted. Her stomach had been unsettled, too—the scent of even her favorite foods sending her fleeing to the privacy of her bedchamber, where she spent several minutes overcome by nausea.
The arrival of Jeremy a scant half hour later lightened her spirits some, although the news about Molly's murder and Tony's near escape from hanging did not engender a merry mood.
His blue eyes bright with excitement, Jeremy exclaimed, "This proves, doesn't it, that our suspicions are correct? Tony has been innocent all along, but this time whoever is trying to make him look black made a mistake. Someone else murdered Molly, but they had planned on Tony being blamed for it. Only Tony's attendance at the Crocker's place last night saved him from hanging."
Arabella nodded, her stomach roiling at the scent of coffee wafting from Jeremy's just-served cup. "Yes, that is how it appears to me." She leaned forward, her expression anxious. "Are you perfectly certain that Tony was not harmed? And that his innocence has been clearly established?"
"Oh yes. Without a doubt."
Jeremy picked up an anise-flavored cookie from the tray Mrs. Tidmore had served upon his arrival. As he bit into it, the strong odor of anise floated on the air, and Arabella felt her stomach heave.
Her face pale, her stomach in full revolt, she rose to her feet, muttered, "Excuse me," and bolted from the room.
She barely reached the privacy of her bedroom before she lost what little had remained in her stomach. The worst over, she sank down weakly on her bed and wiped her mouth with a damp cloth she had begun to keep handy.
A sound from the doorway made her glance in that direction. Jeremy stood there as if turned to stone, his young face suddenly grim.
"Have you told him?" he asked harshly. Arabella looked confused. "Told who what?" His mouth tightened. "Told Tony that you are going to have his child."
Chapter 16
Her eyes huge, her mouth a round 0 of surprise Arabella stared at Jeremy. "Pregnant?" she finally gasped. "You think I'm pregnant?"
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