“She’s still that girl,” Big assured him. “One minute she’s an adult, and the next she’s just as young as she always was. I’ve often thought she presents the best of both worlds. And believe you me, Asa, she still has her dreams.”
Asa nodded and crossed the small room to stand in front of the fireplace. “It was her note that done it to me, Big. The day y’all left, I woke up and found it layin’ by my whiskey bottle. She—She figured I’d find it there. She wrote that she’d gone to fetch the duke. Said for me not to worry. Said everything would work out. Said...said she loved me and that she’d miss me. She even left money for me and told me to use it for food. I—Big, I spent every damn coin on drink.
“Two nights later, I was lay in’ in my bed sober as all get-out, and hungrier’n hell. I started thinkin’ about them nice things she wrote in her letter. I laid there, and it all of a sudden come to me that Goldie had laid in bed many a time with an empty belly, too. Sometimes, Big...sometimes I didn’t feed her good. I was always gone, y’see. In the bars or wenchin’. Makin’ trouble, fightin’. And Goldie? She was alone. In the darkness of whatever shack I stuck her in. Her only company was this doll. And I even laid into her for naggin’ me to buy the damn thing for her.
“A doll,” he groaned, leaning his head against the mantel. “Whatever love this doll give her, it was the only affection she got. Big. I don’t think it was much because she used to cry into her pillow at night. It made me so damn mad! I’d yell at her to shut her mouth, but she only cried harder. Once...God Almighty, Big, once I kicked her out of the house for sobbin’. She slept on the porch step. When I got up in the mornin’, there was snow all over her. She was seven then. Only seven years old. I picked her up from the step and said I was sorry. I was always apologizin’ when I was sober, but it was too late by then. I held her in my arms, wiped the snow off her red cheeks, and I knew in my soul she was gonna hit me for doin’ what I did. But she didn’t. Big, she...she hugged me!”
He began to sob, his huge shoulders shaking. “I ain’t never give her nothin’! All I ever done is holler at her and tell her how worthless she was! Over and over again! Not a day passed when I didn’t tell her what a no-account bother she was to me! I even told her she was so bad that she didn’t deserve better treatment’n what she got!”
“But Asa—”
“I never knew what to do with her! She needed so much, but I didn’t know how to give it to her. I didn’t know what little girls—It’d make me so damn frustrated that sometimes I’d yell at her just so I wouldn’t have to figure out how to act with her. Then I’d start drinkin’. Once I was drunk, I didn’t care.
“Goldie,” he continued, tears still coining, “she cooked, cleaned, and mended for me. She saw to it that I was warm in the winter. She even prayed for me. She did. I heard her at it one night. And now she’s gone. Maybe I won’t ever see her purty little face again. Maybe—”
“Asa—”
“And I didn’t ever even get her the damn curtains she wanted for so long! I—”
“But we did make her curtains!” Big exclaimed, rushing to the hearth to try and soothe the tortured man. “Asa, we worked for days on them! Goldie will love—”
“But they ain’t her dream curtains. Big! They ain’t pink and white gingham!” Asa wailed, his face still buried in the vee of his arm, his tears wetting his shirtsleeve. “And that white picket fence she wanted—I kept promisin’ and promisin’ I’d find us a house with a fence like that. I never did. I wouldn’t even let her have the cats she kept tellin’ me she wanted. And I let her bird go, too! I didn’t make a single one of her dreams come true! And now... Now she needs me more’n ever, and I ain’t with her. Maybe I won’t ever be with her again!”
Big reached up, trying to put his little arm around Asa’s thick waist. He considered telling him about Saber, but decided against it. If Asa should slip back into his old ways and begin drinking, all of Goldie’s efforts would be for naught. “I told you I left her in a very nice boarding-house,” he lied. “She has plenty of money, and knows exactly what she has to do to find the duke. She’s fine. Otherwise I never would have left her there alone. You’ll see. She’ll be along real soon, the duke in tow.”
“Maybe I should go find her. Maybe she needs me to—”
“No, Asa. You have an honest job at the blacksmith’s now. You’ll lose it if you go to London. Surely you want Goldie to come home and see you working. And what if she should arrive and you aren’t here?”
Asa’s shoulders slumped. “You had to leave her because of me. Because you both knew I needed someone to see to me. Me, a grown man, needin’ a guardian, and Goldie, a young girl, alone in London.” He held Goldie’s doll to his heart, huge tears still coursing down his cheeks. “Maybe she ain’t in that boardin’ house no more. Maybe she got throwed out. Maybe she’s in the streets, hungry. Cold. Wet. Maybe she’s scared, Big. God, I hope it ain’t thunderin’ in London. She used to be so afraid of thunder, and I—I never did let her sleep with me.”
“Asa—”
“Alone in that great big dangerous city,” Asa sobbed. “With nobody to watch over her. Nobody to tell her how purty and good she is. God Almighty, Big, with nobody to care about her.”
Big remembered Saber and smiled. “With no one to care about her? Well now, Asa, I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that at all.”
* * *
Tyler Escott looked up from his notes and glanced around Marion Tremayne’s study. He knew the time had come to reveal his discoveries. But he hesitated and stared at the gleaming surface of his client’s desk. It was his experience that members of the aristocracy, high-strung as they were, did not accept bad news well. More often than not they turned hysterical.
Saber heard the clock strike half past midnight, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Tyler, we’ve been at this for hours already. You’ve shown me every bit of the evidence that Hutchins and Doyle have been stealing from me, and you’ve informed me that Doyle seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. But there’s much more you’ve yet to say, and I really must insist that you do so now. Have you been able to read the diaries, or haven’t you?”
“I have. I dampened the diary pages slightly and carefully, held them up to a flame, and read them through a magnifying glass. I still couldn’t make out everything, but many of the words that were difficult to read before became clearer. What I’m about to tell you is tangled at best, but it does give me something to go on.”
Saber nodded.
Tyler felt confused at his client’s composure. The man was almost aloof. “Very well.” Taking a deep breath, he looked down at the papers he held. “Dane Hutchins and Dora Mashburn are lovers, and have been for the past six years. Hutchins has been living in your manor house. When Angelica arrived at Ravenhurst, Hutchins remained in the mansion with her. He treated her as though she were a queen, going out of his way to please her in every way. He procured rose bushes, thanked her profusely for planting them, and had Dora assist her. Dora ruined several of them, causing Dane to fly into a rage. Angelica expressed her desire to redecorate the master bedroom in green and gold. Dora argued that crimson and white were more to her liking. Delia and Angelica laughed at Dora’s impudence. Angelica and Dora had a bitter quarrel concerning the ring. Angelica forbade Dora to ever enter the mansion again. Angelica purchased paper and writing utensils. William Doyle arrived. The villagers held a birthday party. The traveler drowned. Angelica fell down the staircase.”
When Tyler finished he looked up at his client, relieved when he saw no evidence of hysteria. “The mention of the paper and writing utensils leads me to believe Angelica might have tried to write to you. If she did, perhaps the letter was intercepted. But as you can see, there are still many unanswered questions, Your Grace. I can’t understand what happened to the ring. The birthday party baffles me, as does the traveler who drowned.”
Saber sat silently for many long moments. “What questions have you answered
?”
Reassured that his client was not going to lose his wits over the matter, Tyler decided to give it to him straight. He stood, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward. “Bear in mind that many of the diary pages are lost to us forever. But by going with what I have, I think Hutchins believes he’s the duke. He—”
“The duke? What leads you to conclude that?”
“He didn’t move out of your house when Angelica arrived. And as if the grounds belonged to him, he thanked her for planting the roses. I really don’t believe I’m wrong in saying he thinks he’s lord of the estate. I won’t say he thinks he’s Lord Tremayne, though. Instinct tells me he considers himself Lord Hutchins. If that’s true, then the man is insane, and I don’t think I have to tell you how dangerous a madman is. Especially an enraged one, which is what I believe Dane was when Angelica spurned his attentions. In his twisted mind, I think he saw her as his fiancée, though I am sure she showed him the utmost disdain. She was in love with you, and I cannot see her responding to your middle-aged and overconfident estate manager in any way, shape, or form.
“Then there’s Dora Mashburn,” Tyler continued. “Quite a cheeky little thing to actually argue with Angelica, the future Duchess of Ravenhurst, about what colors to do the bedroom in. Don’t you agree? Unless of course Dora herself wanted to be the duchess. She—”
“That’s ridiculous. How could she have thought such a thing possible?”
“You must remember she was sleeping with Hutchins, who considers himself the duke. It’s possible that since Dora shared his bed, she had high hopes that he would marry her. She’s a naive, ignorant girl. Hutchins’ position of authority at the estate would be bound to impress her. And when he began showing amorous interest in her, surely it flattered her beyond words. She was a mere maid from the village! So if Hutchins pretends to be a duke, why wouldn’t she want to be his pretend duchess? Enter Angelica, who was to be the real duchess. Dora sees how attentive Hutchins is toward Angelica. Hutchins even became infuriated with Dora when she spoiled Angelica’s roses. Dora was more than likely livid with both anger and jealousy. And a jealous woman is a dangerous one.
“And then there’s Doyle,” Tyler went on. “It’s not clear exactly what day he arrived, but Delia’s writings concerning him fall close to the day Angelica died. So let us presume he got there the day of her death or very shortly before. He arrives at Ravenhurst, sees Angelica, and knows she will reveal his involvement with Hutchins to you as soon as she gets back to London. Knowing you as well as he does, he doesn’t have to wonder what you will do to him upon learning of his betrayal. He knows. He is terrified. And—”
“A man terrified for his own welfare is a dangerous one,” Saber finished for him. “You are suggesting that Angelica was murdered.”
Tyler was again taken aback by his client’s control. “Dora, Hutchins, and Doyle all had sufficient motive.” Resisting all emotion, Saber made a steeple of his fingers, his chin resting upon it. He sat still, silent, and numb.
Tyler cleared his throat. “Your Grace, there’s something I don’t understand about Angelica’s trip to Ravenhurst. In one passage, Delia wrote that a woman accompanied Angelica to the estate, and that the woman slept almost around the clock. There was no further mention of her. Who was Angelica’s companion?”
Saber came out from behind the desk, shaking his head. “Mrs. Eliza Hatworth. Angelica’s parents died when she was a little girl. She had no other family and was raised by her nanny, Mrs. Hatworth, who was already elderly when Angelica was born. When Angelica left for Ravenhurst, Mrs. Hatworth had to have been close to seventy years old. Due to her age, she slept constantly. I tried to induce Angelica to take a younger companion, but she refused. Angelica—She was very stubborn.”
Tyler jotted down a few notes. “What did Mrs. Hatworth have to tell you when she arrived in London with Angelica’s body?”
Saber rubbed the back of his neck. “She spoke highly of Hutchins, saying he’d taken full responsibility for handling the transportation of Angelica’s body. I recall being more than satisfied with her glowing reports of him.”
“She said nothing at all about Dora or William Doyle? Nothing about the condition of the estate?”
“Nothing. I doubt very seriously she saw or heard anything that would be of aid to us, Tyler. As you said, the woman was rarely awake.”
“Perhaps I could speak to her.”
“She died two years ago.”
Sighing, Tyler rose. “I’m leaving for Ravenhurst tomorrow with a few of my men. We’ll go disguised as itinerant workers. I’m hopeful that Hutchins will hire us. But even if he doesn’t, we’ll be staying in Hallensham, watching Hutchins and Dora, and questioning the villagers.”
Saber nodded. “And Doyle?”
“The rest of my men will continue watching for his return to London. They know where they can find me and will inform me immediately if he arrives in my absence. I’ve every detective I employ on this case, Your Grace, and I’m accepting no other clients until it is solved.”
Saber escorted the detective to the front door. Upon opening it, he saw rain pounding the porch, lightning crisscrossing the sky. “Thank you for coming by.”
Tyler studied him intently. “Lord Tremayne, are you all right? I must confess I was hesitant to tell you all the information I’d discovered. I thought you would—Forgive me, but I expected—”
“For me to become enraged?” Saber took a gulp of the chilled, wet air. “She’s been gone for five years already, Tyler. If indeed she was murdered, I want her killer brought to justice, of course. But rage on my part won’t bring about those ends. Nor will it bring her back to life.”
Tyler nodded, feeling the utmost respect for Marion Tremayne. “Goodnight, Your Lordship.”
When the investigator was gone, Saber closed the door, pressed his forehead against it, and shut his eyes. Thoughts of Angelica filled his mind. “Angelica,” he whispered, his fingertips moving upon the door. He waited for the familiar grief to seize him. He’d resisted it earlier, but now felt the need to release it. He knew exactly how it would feel when it came. It would start in the deepest part of him, sending pain shooting through his entire body. His chest would ache. His throat would constrict. His head would begin to pound. He waited in morbid apprehension for it all to begin.
But it didn’t. Suddenly he remembered several other recent occasions when it hadn’t come. Curious over this, he tried bringing Angelica’s beautiful image to his mind, certain that would free his imprisoned agony. He recalled her thick chestnut hair and the way it fell in long waves down her back. He recollected her flawless ivory skin, her huge brandy eyes, her generous mouth, and her tall, curvaceous form.
But try as he did, he couldn’t seem to put those memories together. They remained separate from each other, fragmented, refusing to merge into a whole likeness.
Determined to see her again, he concentrated with all the power he possessed. His eyes still tightly closed, a measure of relief came to him when a face drifted slowly to mind.
But the girl he pictured had freckles peppering her tiny, heart-shaped face. Her hair was not rich brown, but the color of sunshine. It didn’t fell down her back in long waves. Instead, it was a chaotic mass of thick curls. Her mouth was small and pink, and her eyes were two golden orbs that dazzled him with the way they danced for him.
“Goldie.” He opened his eyes, turned toward the staircase, and felt a profound need to be with her tonight. He’d been so involved with Tyler Escott lately that he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d held Goldie in his arms.
Anticipation rolled through him. He knew well what the sight of her would do for him. Her smile was like a bright flame. When it flickered, all darkness went away. Her giggle was the sound of happiness, wafting through heavy, dismal silence, and her words, her stories... Their very outrageousness chased away gloom.
Just thinking about her lifted his spirits, and before he even realized what he was doing,
he was bounding up the steps, heading for her bedroom.
He didn’t bother to knock, but opened the door and stepped inside. His need changed to a powerful desire when he saw her.
Her only covering was the dim firelight that blanketed her with its warm, burnished glow. The sight reminded him of the day he’d found her swathed in lace. He was so enchanted with the beautiful vision before him, so completely taken with her bare loveliness, a long moment passed before he managed to make his legs work well enough to take him to her bed.
“Goldie,” he whispered. Her nearness soothed him instantly. Bending, he smoothed kisses down her arm. He turned her hand over, pressing his lips gently to her inner wrist and savoring the feel of her silken skin. “My little person—No, my little poppet called Goldie.”
She awoke with a start. Disoriented, she couldn’t understand where she was, who the man above her was, or what he was doing to her. Thunder suddenly crashed through the room, bringing back little-girl fears. “Uncle Asa!” she screamed, tears appearing. “Uncle Asa, let me sleep with you! Please! Uncle—”
“Goldie,” Saber cooed, reaching for her, and enfolding her in his arms. He sat on her bed, holding her close to his chest. “It’s only thunder, poppet. You’re safe. Safe with me.”
And she would remain safe for as long as she was with him, he vowed, smoothing her hair. He could do nothing at all for Angelica, and knew in his heart he’d finally accepted her death. Whether if had been accidental or plotted didn’t matter. She was gone, and he’d buried her, just as he had his parents.
But Goldie was alive. She was here. In his arms. He looked down at her, almost groaning as he beheld the sight of her unveiled beauty. There was nothing but air between her bare splendor and his smoldering gaze. He burned for her with a fire so real to him, he felt he could touch the flames. “Goldie, I—God, you’re so beautiful.”
She blinked away her tears and saw him. “Uncle...Saber?”
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