“Mrs. Hall states that she woke at half past midnight and heard a commotion coming from her upstairs rooms. She says—and I believe her—that she wasted no time in climbing out of bed and venturing upstairs to investigate. Hers is a quiet and respectable household. She had a reputation to maintain.” Miss Ivers made a graceful gesture. “You know what scene she found.”
Miss Lee in Jed’s room. Esme frowned and nodded.
“Now we come to an interesting fact, one Mrs. Hanson made known to me. Miss Lee apparently occupied the front room of Mrs. Hall’s boardinghouse, taking on a temporary basis the room usually allocated to commercial travelers. Across the road, Mrs. Hanson was awake. She sat rocking and knitting in her own front room—and she saw the lit window of Miss Lee’s room and Miss Lee’s shadowed figure crossing it.”
“At what time?” Esme asked urgently.
“Twenty minutes past twelve.” Miss Ivers exploded her bombshell with an air of satisfaction.
“Miss Ivers, you are a marvel. You’ve proven that Miss Lee couldn’t have been in Jed’s bed.”
Miss Ivers coughed in reprimand of such plain speaking.
“I knew my grandson wasn’t such a fool, but I appreciate you proving it, Miss Ivers.”
“Not at all. Further, I intend to inform Mrs. Hall of her false judgment of the situation. It seems we were all fooled by a confidence artiste intent on extracting payment for her silence. I expect Mrs. Hall will offer Mr. Reeve his old room back, and he’d be well advised to accept it. That will silence the last of the gossips.”
“And save my Institute,” Esme exclaimed.
“As to that.” Miss Ivers took another sip of tea. “Since you will be busy with new married life, I will be happy to assume the role of the Institute’s patron.”
Esme’s mouth fell open.
“I don’t always approve of your modern notions, Miss Smith, but in this instance, I believe you are correct. The standards of moral behavior in the colony will be stronger for women having an honest means of supporting themselves. I have sat on the Orphanage Committee for a number of years and I can see the importance of your Institute.”
“Miss Ivers, you are a marvel.”
“Thank you.”
“Jed!” Esme raced down the steps of Miss Ivers’ house and, heedless of onlookers, flung herself into his arms.
He’d been pacing the pavement, frankly unable to wait in the carriage. Now as he studied her smiling face, his own spirits rose. “Good news?”
“Unbelievably good.” She squeezed him and laughed. “Miss Ivers has proof Miss Lee lied and she’s going to tell everyone so. She’s going to be patron—or patroness—of the Institute. Oh Jed, everything is marvelous.”
He let out a whoop of delight and lifted her off her feet.
The Smiths’ coachman grinned as he strode past them to offer Grandma a hand to descend the steps of Miss Ivers’ home.
“Sweetheart, you’re a miracle worker. Tell me everything.”
“Not on the pavement,” Grandma intervened. “Honestly. The two of you, do you want to start more gossip?”
Esme flushed and released him.
More familiar with Grandma’s sharp reprimands—she was all bark and no bite—Jed took his time. It felt so good to hold Esme and share her happiness. But once in the carriage, he got the whole story—a story that had to be repeated as soon as they reached her home.
“The woman’s a regular Sherlock Holmes.” Captain Fellowes was impressed.
“I take back every bad word I’ve said about her old-fashioned standards.” Esme was too excited to stand still.
Jed smiled at her from where he stood by the library fireplace, and she smiled back, that smile of sheer love that never failed to make his heart sing. She came and stood beside him, and he slipped an arm around her. It felt wonderful to be in love.
Chapter Seventeen
Uncle Henry brought the good news to the luncheon table. “The woman has sailed. I saw her board the Letitia with my own eyes. Couldn’t miss her. That garish gypsy dress and wearing an equally appalling hat. Great big feather flopping everywhere.” He turned to Esme. “What is it with ostrich feathers these days? Poor birds must all be bald.”
Esme had no sympathy to spare for birds. “Well, that’s done,” she said triumphantly but with a wary eye on her father who’d brought a notebook to the dining table and in flagrant disregard of manners, was flicking through it.
“Ostrich feather fans,” he muttered. He picked up a pencil and began scrawling a note. “Getting married New Year’s Day, it’ll be hot. We’ll need air movement. Feathers—”
“Will look like a line of cancan dancers,” Grandma interrupted briskly. “Think of something else.”
Aaron flipped shut the notebook, flushing at the reprimand in the older lady’s voice. Maud whipped the notebook off the table, underlining his sin of etiquette. He attempted to defend himself. “There’s a lot to do before the wedding. We need to be organized. I’ve ordered ice.”
“Everything is in train,” Esme soothed. “Jane has even finished my wedding gown.”
“And beautiful you look in it,” Grandma said.
“Still there are things that need to be done. With Miss Ivers taking over as patroness of the Institute, I’ll need to organize an assistant for her, someone to run around and deal with the daily difficulties.”
“I intend to test my bounding-vehicle, tomorrow,” Jed said.
Esme abandoned her own plans. “That’s marvelous. When? I’d like to be there.”
He smiled. “I thought the road to the animal sanctuary you fund would be a good test track. Its smooth and seldom has traffic. I’ll arrange for a carter to transport the Jumping Jack there. With luck I’ll be able to try it about ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be there at nine. Grandma, would you like to come with me?”
“I suppose I’d better, though I’ve watched him risk his neck before.”
“It’s not that dangerous.” He tried to reassure them.
Despite the worry that clenched her muscles, Esme forced a smile. “I trust your design.” Confidence in his skills and judgment was part of supporting him. If only love didn’t make one irrationally fearful for those you loved. It would be easier to drive the Jumping Jack in its test run than watch him doing so. But this was his dream. It was important to him and—a thought struck her, and her smile became real.
To celebrate the Jumping Jack’s test run, tonight, she’d sneak into Jed’s workshop and tie bunting to it. He already had brightly colored cushions, but…a musical horn. That would be an appropriate and funny gift. Mr. Lewton at the music shop would be bound to have one. She wanted Jed to know she celebrated his achievements.
Mrs. Vernon might be crazy in her attempt at revenge, but Esme wondered if part of the poor woman’s motivation was guilt and regret that while her husband was alive, she’d failed to show him love and support.
Esme didn’t intend to live with regrets. Aloud, she said. “I’ll bring a camera to record the moment.”
At night, the streets of Fremantle were light even away from the thoroughfares lit by gas lamps, and Jed strolled along. The full moon rode high in the eastern sky. After the last few dramatic days, Esme had opted for an early night. That suited him. There were a few final touches he wanted to make to the Jumping Jack before testing it, tomorrow. He’d painted it sapphire blue (or as close to that as he’d been able to find) that morning to complement Esme’s eyes and engagement ring. Now the paint should be dry enough for him to pick out the vehicle’s name, Jumping Jack, in gilt lettering.
He whistled under his breath as he passed the smithy beside his workshop and headed automatically for the side door of the workshop, what had been the manager’s entrance when the building had operated as a soap factory. However, as he cut across the yard, his attention snagged on the wide double doors. They were in shadow, but there was something wrong, something…
Their latch hung open and one door stood an
inch ajar.
There was no way he’d left it that way and there was little in the workshop to encourage a casual thief. A deep chill of anger went through him. If someone had entered to vandalize his bounding-vehicle he would see that they regretted it. Forget the police.
He put a hand to the open door and eased it wider. Then froze.
The voice he heard was impossible, and yet, it was Mrs. Vernon. “Down on your knees.”
For an instant, he thought she’d seen him and he withdrew instinctively before he heard a second voice and understanding hit him.
“You won’t get away with this. You can’t shoot me in cold blood.”
Mr. Pond.
The wretched woman had tricked them. That was what happened when in the interests of avoiding scandal, he let Captain Fellowes observe her supposed departure instead of himself. She’d fooled him. Either she’d crept off the ship again or she’d never boarded it. Some other woman might have consented to do so in costume for the passage to England.
And now she’d kidnapped Pond and held him hostage at gunpoint. If she shot him here, in Jed’s workshop, there’d be no avoiding a scandal.
Jed didn’t feel a shred of guilt at being more concerned for Esme and himself than for the oily con artist Pond. Still, he couldn’t let Mrs. Vernon kill the man.
Moving soundlessly he eased into the workshop and pulled the door closed behind him. He couldn’t risk the wind pulling it wide and attracting Mrs. Vernon’s attention—not when she was armed with a gun and he had only a knife—a weapon he was not prepared to use on a woman.
Fortunately, the doorway was shadowed and he slipped through it undetected, but only a few feet away, the moon shone through the large windows. And darn it all, he’d had those same windows washed when he moved in. If he hadn’t, there wouldn’t be anywhere near this amount of light. The building’s previous use as a soap factory had made for grimy windows.
He crept behind the heap of footstools, planks, paint tins and tarpaulins discarded from this morning’s painting session. From this vantage point, he had his first clear view of Mrs. Vernon.
Moonlight glinted off the revolver she held. In front of her, lowering himself awkwardly to his knees was Pond.
“Madam, mercy, I beg of you. I have money. I can pay you.”
Her laughter ran shrilly up the scale to hysteria. The gun in her hand wavered, but not enough for him to risk a rescue. Six shots she had, and even firing wildly, she couldn’t fail to hit something.
“You killed my husband,” she shouted at Pond.
He flinched. “Madam, I assure you, I have killed no one.”
“Robert Vernon.”
Pond’s plump shoulders sagged. His whole body sagged as he dropped to his knees and he put a hand on the floor to steady himself.
“Oh yes. Now you remember. People died and they blamed my Robert. They blamed him and he blamed himself and he killed himself!” Her voice lowered, became a hoarse whisper. “But I know it was you. You are evil. I sat in my parlor, in my mourning, all in black like a crow, and I thought and I thought and I planned a way to kill you. It was clever, so clever, using Robert’s machine. Then those people had to interfere. But I’ll show them. No one hurts me anymore. They will regret it. This will be a scandal.”
“You’re mad,” Pond said with conviction.
“Get in the contraption.” She gestured at the bounding-vehicle. “Climb in, you fat slug.”
Tarnation! The woman intended to kill Pond in the Jumping Jack.
Jed’s hands fisted impotently. If he left the shelter of the painting gear, he’d be in her line of sight. What he needed was a distraction.
What he got was Esme.
She came in through the side door, the manager’s entrance. Her arms were full of fabric. It was obvious she hadn’t heard Mrs. Vernon’s low muttering. The door banged behind her.
Mrs. Vernon spun on her heel.
“Esme, get down.” Jed rushed forward, cursing the bounding-vehicle in his way.
Esme dropped her bundle and dashed back to the manager’s tiny office.
Mrs. Vernon fired and staggered, unprepared apparently for the recoil. The bullet chipped brick, and dust flew.
Pond crawled under the bounding-vehicle. Jed ducked behind it as Mrs. Vernon fired again. He circled it slowly, praying she remained panicked. If she stopped to think, she’d know her best option was to acquire Esme as a hostage—and he knew his foolishly brave sweetheart wouldn’t have saved herself, and abandoned him, by running. She’d be waiting in the manager’s office, plotting how to rescue him.
The thought of how recklessly Esme might endanger herself spurred him to action. He wrenched the brass knob off the Jumping Jack’s steering column and heard a third bullet smack into the wood above his head. He ducked down, feinting right and as Mrs. Vernon tracked him with the gun, he dove to the left, rose, and threw the brass knob.
It hit her right shoulder, hard. The revolver fired as it jolted from her hold.
Jed fell and Esme screamed.
Chapter Eighteen
It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but Esme ran for the gun rather than for Jed. Only with it safely in her hand could she surrender to her fear.
“Jed darling.” She paid no attention to Mrs. Vernon as the woman pushed open the workshop doors and stumbled out into the night. Instead, Esme bent over Jed and patted him anxiously, fretting at the lack of light in this shadowed corner. Every second she expected to feel the wet, warm ooze of blood. “Pond, light the darn lamp.”
“Esme.” Jed caught her hand. “I’m all right. She didn’t shoot me. I tripped on something. The fall dazed me a moment.”
“You tripped on my leg. Couldn’t fit all of me under this vehicle. I have to thank you, sir,” Pond said from under the bounding vehicle.
Jed sat up.
Esme threw her arms around him. “I thought she’d shot you, killed you.” She shuddered violently. “I was so scared.”
His arms were fierce around her, his mouth against her ear. “Scared? My blood froze when I saw you here. Why are you here?”
“A surprise for you,” she said vaguely.
His mouth tracked from her ear to her face, found her mouth. The kissed, passionately.
“Ahem.” Mr. Pond coughed. “I’ll be getting along then. Someone has to inform the police about the woman. She wanted to kill me.”
“I don’t blame her.” Esme wanted to continue kissing Jed, but business first. “Has Father spoken to you about your confidence schemes, Mr. Pond?” It was difficult to be dignified sitting in a man’s lap, but Esme hoped she managed it. She certainly wasn’t putting any distance between herself and Jed.
“I’m a respectable man of business.”
“No, you’re not,” Jed said. “Hop up,” he added to Esme. They both climbed to their feet and he immediately tugged her back against him. “It’s your deviltry that created this mess, Pond. That woman is out of her mind with grief because of what you did to her husband—you betrayed his trust and that of your investors. People died because you wanted to make money.”
Pond shuffled his feet, then stooped and picked up his hat, which had fallen off in his desperate scramble to get under the bounding-vehicle.
Jed continued in a hard voice. “If you want to be safe from Mrs. Vernon and from prosecution for financial fraud, I suggest you forget about the police and see instead about getting yourself out of Swan River.”
“I…” Pond bowed his head. “At least escort me back to my room at the hotel. Mrs. Vernon could be waiting for me.”
“Fine.” Jed sighed deeply. “Esme…”
“I’ll come with you.”
He locked the workshop behind them. He knew how Esme had gotten in. He’d given her a key to the side door. But how had Mrs. Vernon opened the wide doors?
Esme shrugged answering his unspoken question. “I could pick the lock. It’s a simple one and I’m an inventor’s daughter. She was an inventor’s wife. Interest
ed or not, you pick up certain knowledge.”
They reached Pond’s hotel unmolested and watched him walk into the lit bar. Men’s voices and low laughter rumbled out. Esme tightened her hold on his arm. “I wonder where Mrs. Vernon is.”
“I don’t care.”
He felt Esme’s jolt of surprise. He pulled her off the main road and into the shadows of a narrow side street. Jasmine clambered over the wooden fence and sweetly scented the night.
“I can’t wait till New Year’s Day to marry you,” he said. “I know you want time for your father to adjust to losing you…but I nearly lost you, tonight. I want you with me, sweetheart. Not stolen moments but sharing our whole lives.”
He kissed her, cutting off any response she might make. She tasted warmly of herself, familiar, tempting, passionate. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Her curves filled his hands and left him aching for more. He trailed kisses down her throat, enthralled by her quickened breathing.
“Marry me, tomorrow, Esme. I’ll get a special license. I’ll make your father understand. We can spend more time here. We won’t sail to San Francisco until you’re ready. But marry me.”
“Yes.”
“You darling.” He kissed her forcefully so that they stumbled into the fence and the jasmine surrounded them. “Sweetheart, I’ll make you happy.”
“We’ll make each other happy. I thought I’d lost you, tonight, too. You can’t ever leave me, Jedidiah Reeve. You’re mine.”
“Forever.” He squeezed her tight enough to cut off her breathing and she only laughed.
There was an air of suppressed excitement about Esme when she skipped down from the carriage that had conveyed not only her and Grandma, but also Aaron Smith and Captain Fellowes to the test run of the Jumping Jack.
“Are we ready?” Esme asked.
Jed smiled and patted his pocket. Only the two of them knew she referred to something other than the bounding-vehicle. In his pocket he had a special license signed by the bishop.
Curses and Confetti Page 11