The Hummingbird Heart (Haunted Hearts Legacy Book 2)

by A. G. Howard

  “I apologize,” Julian managed in a half-hearted effort to salvage his business venture, though at this point he wasn’t sure he even cared about that anymore. “I don’t wish Newt to hear you and assume the wrong thing.” Julian leaned toward the opposing bench where the judge sat. “I’m not going to hand him over to Sala,” he whispered. “I would never endanger him in such a way.”

  Aside from the fact that Willow would never forgive him if he did, the little mouse had managed to gnaw his way into Julian’s heart. He would rather take a knife to the gut than see harm come to the child.

  “I’m planning to use the Italian’s superstitious nature to make him think Newton is haunting him,” Julian continued his explanation. “To cause confusion until I can rescue Willow. I’ll leave St. Louis with the both of them.”

  Judge Arlington raked crumbs from his moustache. “I’m still not convinced this will work.”

  “What other option do I have?” Julian’s gaze snagged on the trees breaking up the late afternoon sun where it streamed through the windows behind the judge’s head. The train was passing through a forest. The thought of Willow riding through these very trees hours earlier—alone and frightened—made his chest ache. “We know that Sala and his troupe are planning to use the actress’s dress rehearsal as a distraction somehow, so they can steal the silk screens.”

  “And how do you propose getting onto the grounds at all?” the judge asked. “It’s closed off to the public until Saturday. They’re only allowing the performers and their chaperones to enter tomorrow night.”

  Julian sighed, catching a whiff of the steaming peppermint chocolate he’d brought for Newton. The kettle sat on a tray beside the judge’s seat. “I’ve been talking to the other passengers. There is one troupe onboard made up solely of pantomimes. They perform a silent mummer’s play in black gowns with large, bubble-like contraptions beneath their skirts. They wear thick makeup and wigs and have veils over their faces; it is their tradition never to speak until after the performance, even at rehearsals. I saw one of them in the dining car earlier when I retrieved our food. She’s stout for a woman … I could easily fit into her costume. Newton can hide underneath the skirt’s hoop crinoline. I’ve seen clowns pull off the trick in circus acts. It will work for us.”

  Judge Arlington shoved his food aside, his elbow grazing the kettle and rattling its silver lid. “Please tell me you’re not planning to steal her costume. To don a dress and take her place while she stands there naked?”

  Julian wiped his mouth with his napkin. “She won’t be standing. I aim to get her drunk. She won’t miss the disguise if she’s dozing off the sauce.”

  The judge scoffed. “Scandalous. How do you propose to get her alone to do that?”

  Julian hardened his lips to a wry smile. “Why, I’m to charm her, of course.”

  “Right. The state you’ve been in of late, you couldn’t charm feathers off a molting goose.”

  “Never underestimate the muscles and carriage of youth.” Julian took another bite of gingerbread, relishing the flavor almost as much as flinging the judge’s words from the night of the masquerade back his way.

  Judge Arlington rolled his eyes. “So … what of her chaperone?”

  “He’s ancient and sleeps even when he’s walking.”

  “This is a fool’s errand. You’ve lost all perspective.”

  “No. My perspective is crystal clear. There’s no black and white obscuring it anymore. There is simply what must be done. I’m not to hurt the actress; just tuck her away for a bit. A stranger’s discomfort, a borrowed costume. These are but minor inconveniences … slashes of gray in the broad spectrum of it all.”

  “Justify it any way you like. It’s still breaking the law. Go to the authorities, tell them of your suspicions.”

  Julian ground his teeth. “For all I know, Sala has coerced Willow in some way to help them with the theft. If I were to bring the bluecoats into this, Willow might very well be arrested with the rest of that troupe. She is the woman I love. I will do whatever it takes to protect her … to get her back. Lawful or no. Would you not do the same for your wife, the mother of your children?”

  “But you have no children.”

  Judge Arlington’s comment sliced into Julian’s dwindling hope, leaving such a deep gash he no longer cared about the amusement park, his blasted rides, or the funding it would take to maintain them.

  He caught his investor by his lapels, dropping his gingerbread to the floor. “Every time I look into Willow’s eyes, I can see my children inhabiting her. She is my past, present, and future. This plan will work. The question is … can you, a judge, turn a blind eye? Dissolve our partnership if you feel so inclined. Just let me do what I must.” He tightened his grip on the judge’s clothes. “Either that, or I bind you in rope right now, and you can keep our drunken mime company.”

  Twenty-Two

  Willow stood by the window in the private car. Dazed and disoriented, she watched the scenery pass in flashes of moonlit white and hazy shadows. Dusk had fallen hours ago. The scene was set.

  She had been gilded and glazed like a painted lily. Louisa had given her a sponge bath so she even smelled like a flower. Louisa had also managed to take off the latchet shoes, thinking all along it was the spoon’s contribution. Only Willow knew the truth. That Vadette had allowed them to slip free because she couldn’t bear to be present when Sala met his daughter—the real Nadia.

  After Louisa took off Willow’s wrist binds, she helped her into the silver-laced dress and motioned to a bench. Willow sat as her captor worked the ankle ties free.

  “So we have an accord,” Louisa said. “You’ll not try to escape. You will bide my plan, else Newton will be brought into the equation.”

  Willow rubbed her wrists and nodded. The press of her fingers stung where her earlier efforts at escape had left raw burns and bloodied chafing. Louisa quickly covered up the evidence of her struggle with long, black gloves.

  Willow no longer feared for her brother’s physical safety by way of Sala, but how could she allow the widget to be raised by the man who had killed her mother? Also, seeing the bitter flares behind Louisa’s eyes upon each mention of Newton’s name convinced Willow he was indeed in danger if he fell into Louisa’s hands. The nasty woman had as much as said that she regretted saving him from drowning.

  “If I help, you must uphold your end of the bargain.” Willow paced to the window again while Louisa tidied the room. “I take Newton away with me. We’ll never tell Sala of his existence.”

  Brushing splinters of glass beneath the rug, Louisa glanced up. “Agreed. If it is a success, I will not ask anything of you again. But if you fail, I will take Newton to Sala myself. And I will have the rest of my life to make the child rue the day he ever returned.”

  Willow chewed her inner cheek to keep from lunging into Louisa and pinning her to the floor. “I have your word you’ll allow me to leave?”

  “Lose yourself in the chaos after the theft. We only need you this once. Your acrobatic prowess far surpasses any of ours. None of us have the stomach or ability to dangle from two-hundred feet above ground. Only Nadia…” She stopped herself, as if trying to retrace her words. “Only your impersonator could have managed that feat.”

  Willow pressed her shoulders against the cold window pane, letting the chill douse the apprehension igniting like grassfires in her blood. The fairgrounds—spanning over one hundred and twenty acres—would be poorly lit tomorrow night to preserve energy for opening day and the following week of activities. Her duty during the theft would be to provide a distraction by disabling the Ferris wheel’s motor in the darkness and climbing to the very top car. There she was to dangle haplessly and play a convincing damsel in distress to stir the other thespians into a frenzy of panic and attract the attention of the guards.

  Due to the late hour of the rehearsal, the fair workers would be retired to their assigned sleeping quarters on the opposite side of the grounds a good on
e hundred acres away. Security would be sparse; guards posted at each main entrance and exit, then two guards limited to each of the exhibitions containing priceless displays. The closest valuable exhibition to the Ferris wheel was in the Japanese Pavilion—the very reason they chose that particular ride.

  To ease the jittery tingle in her legs, Willow went back to her seat. Louisa unfolded a small round table and wheeled it between Willow’s seat and the one across from her.

  “My pin-watch?” Willow asked her. “I need to wear it, for luck.”

  Louisa’s chin stiffened. “You don’t need luck. All you need is your pretty face and your skills. I will leave your precious watch at our getaway point once all of my companions are safe. It will be tucked within your lover’s shirt. ‘Tis more incentive to insure your distraction is successful.”

  Willow sucked on her lower lip. Louisa was in charge of arranging her troupe’s escape. Since each exit would be guarded, they planned to leave the fair via the River Des Peres. After the theft, the troupe was to rendezvous at the point where the river flowed in from Forest Park. Louisa would be waiting within the covered watercourse on a row boat to carry them all into the forest and out of danger.

  “I’ll get your father.” Louisa turned and slid the door closed behind her.

  Spine stiff against the bench cushions, Willow took a long breath. From beneath a serving tray’s lid, a fragrant steam rose, tangy with a hint of bacon and nutmeg. She had eaten enough sausage-meat cakes at the manor to know the scent, and normally would’ve welcomed the hearty meal. But even the promise of creamed turnip greens couldn’t tease her appetite from its hiatus.

  She still struggled to accept that Sala was her father. A part of her wondered what he would look like; how he would react upon seeing her. Another part of her wanted to run and never look back. If Newton had been on a ship on his way to London, she would have taken the latter option.

  What was Julian thinking? How could he possibly believe throwing Newton to the wolves would solve this mess?

  Shame sliced through her—sharp as a razor. He loved her. He’d admitted it in an endearing display of vulnerability—his tongue tangled and his forehead trailed with fretful wrinkles. He thought she was to be exploited as a prostitute; of course he would go to extremes to ransom her innocence, to draw her back into his arms where he could keep her safe.

  So she shouldn’t be angry with him.

  Yet she was.

  She smoothed her gloves, glancing at the floor where Louisa had missed a spattering of broken butterfly wings. The vivid blues and oranges shimmered beneath the lamplight, the colors reminiscent of the painted sketches Julian had hung upon the ceiling in the ship’s stateroom. She’d seen the incredible rides he’d designed throughout this life. He was a master of computations and problem solving. She needed to have faith in him, that he’d actually thought this through and had a brilliant plan in mind.

  But the not-knowing left her in a quandary.

  As it stood, she would have to stop Julian before he managed to enact any trade. That would mean finding a way to search for him while trying to uphold her bargain with Louisa. Of course, everything was contingent on if Julian could get into the Fairgrounds with Newton to begin with.

  She considered how far of a leap Julian’s personality had taken since they’d first left London. He once was so reserved and premeditative. He would never have done anything so spontaneous or reckless in the past. But now?

  This was her fault. All of it. She chose to board that ship and bring his emotions to the surface. Now they ruled his every decision … clouded his judgment.

  Still, she could never regret stowing away. She would not have met Newton otherwise. What she regretted was her cowardice. If she had just been brave enough to go with Julian to steerage the morning they docked, no one would be in this situation now. She and Newton would be headed back to London on another ship, and she would have convinced Julian to go back with them. She might never have known Newton was her brother, but she would have raised him with the love of a guardian, nonetheless.

  Her thoughts flitted back to her father. According to Vadette, Sala was a good man, aside from his shady vocation. He was a loving parent and a compassionate ward. Loyal and protective to those who depended upon him. To listen to Louisa, he was a victim—abandoned by his wife and tricked into thinking an orphan child was his.

  Willow had the power to mend Sala’s broken heart. Yet deep inside, her gutted spirit cried for vengeance, and she could think of no sweeter requite than to keep Newton from him forever. Rubbing her temples, she nudged the jeweled pins Louisa had secured in her hair.

  No. She would never trust the man who gave her life, for he had taken away her mother’s.

  She heard the door slide open. Heart pounding, Willow forced a glance upward, her body nailed to the bench. There he stood—tall, broad, and refined. Ruggedly handsome with olive skin. Thick dark hair and eyebrows offset his eyes—black and bottomless like his son’s. He could have been anyone in that moment, even a friend, as finely dressed as Julian and as unassuming as Newton. But he was a stranger … and her father.

  As much as she wanted to look elsewhere, she couldn’t stop staring, seeking some likeness other than their complexions, some indication that she was his. Then she saw it, the dimple in his chin. Deeper and more prominent than her own—more of a cleft actually—but an echo of hers, just the same. Sliding the door closed, he leaned against it. The vein in his right temple throbbed an erratic rhythm. He raked his left palm across his forehead, as if trying to scrub away the residue of a dream. His rings glistened on the movement, and Willow caught sight of the one worn upon his pinky, its stone shaped like a hummingbird. Her stomach twisted.

  Minutes stretched long like the shadows outside. Steam from the food drifted between them, as cursory and elusive as the childhood that had been snatched away at his hand.

  “I saw you on the ship,” he broke the silence on a rich current of flawless Italian. His deep voice was soothing, like a distantly familiar lullaby. “I thought you were your mother’s ghost. By God, you have her hair and eyes.” Judging from his expression, the observation pained him.

  She tamped the impulse to rush at him, to scratch his perfect face until he bled like her papa when the glass had gouged his skin. Instead, she loosened the accusation that curdled within her, setting it free on an answering purl of Italian. “And you have her blood upon your hands.”

  His face fell, a visible slide of features from hopeful to despondent. Tears raced down his sculpted cheekbones before dribbling from his jaw to land on his brocade jacket. He stumbled to the seat across from her, bumping the table between them and causing the silver to rattle. He slid onto the bench and captured her palm, his grip hot through her gloves, his eyes damp and pleading. The scent of cigars caught Willow by the windpipe and choked her.

  “It was never my intention,” he said. “The men I hired, they took things too far.”

  “Men you hired? I remember the tobacco on the murderer’s clothes. You reek of it now.”

  His eyes grew round with shock. “I shared my cigars with them … before they left to retrieve you. Oh, God. I’m so sorry for the reminder.” His free hand scraped his face and mouth, as if trying to wipe away the smell. “I will never smoke them again.”

  Willow frowned. She liked him better as the monster without a face, couldn’t bear for him to be human like this … to pretend to care. “It doesn’t matter if you bathe in rosewater and roll in lilies, you’ll still bear the stench of guilt. You hated her for leaving you.”

  “No. I simply wanted you back. My darling child … my tiny Nadia. So much like your mother. You must know I never wanted Mariette harmed. She was my hummingbird.” He sniffed and glanced at their joined fingers.

  Willow’s hand stiffened in his. She studied the ring on his pinky, her tongue rigid and heavy. “I want you to tell me of her. Tell me everything.”

  Sala’s fingers fidgeted. “She grew up in
a circus. Her troupe came into my town on my nineteenth birthday, and I saw her on the posters. So brave, bold, and beautiful. I snuck into the big top one night to see her perform. I got dizzy just watching her in those heights. Only sixteen years old, yet she moved like a bird … all feathers and glitter and grace.” A dreamy smile slanted his lips. “I fell in love with her in that very moment. We met in the shadows outside the tent every night for a week. We were both from broken families; both seeking a place to belong. We found it in one another. She ran away with me.”

  “She was a thief, like you?”

  “No. Not like me. It was in my blood. For Mariette, it was learned. But she was a natural study. With her physical talents and my gift for strategizing, we were unstoppable. We were careful what we stole—only taking treasures rumored to be cursed or haunted. People are more inclined to fall prey to superstitions when such items go missing. And we always performed the jobs without leaving any evidence that could be tied to a human, although we never tried to hide the theft by using counterfeits or replacements. We liked having attention drawn to our daring feats. When she gave birth to you, Mariette changed … wanted stability. But that lifestyle was my opium; the rush of sensation when I escaped with prize in hand was indescribable. She left with another man, because he promised her and you the security I could not.”

  A warming empathy threatened to melt the edges of Willow’s frozen heart. She had tasted that sensation, that rush of stealing. The allure of it terrified her. Setting her chin, she tugged her hand free. “So, you ensured he couldn’t keep her safe, by chasing us.”

  “I chased you because you belonged with me. Both of you.” His gaze lifted—a tortured appeal within the inky depths. “Even as a babe, you loved to fly.” He touched the ring on his pinky. “You loved for the wind to ruffle your beautiful hair. When I would hold you up high, your arms would spread and you would laugh. You were born to soar, just like Mariette. My hummingbird. It is what I called her. And you remembered … you remembered somehow. The men told me that you said it over and again that night.”