by Devon Glenn
Lottie turned beet red. Even she knew where this was going.
Rahul’s eyes darkened. “I have been teaching meditation techniques in small groups, in public, where anyone who walked by would see nothing more than a group of women sitting still in quiet contemplation.”
“Of course,” Clark said, but his pen kept moving.
Desperate for a distraction, Dar changed the subject. “Mr. Cummings, why don’t you show Rahul the picture you showed me?”
Dar studied Clark’s face as he pulled the picture out of his pocket and explained to Rahul how he had used double exposure, superimposing one image on the other to create a single image. She thought the reporter looked…hopeful?
“It’s really that simple?” Rahul said with interest. He reached into his coat pocket and removed the well-worn photograph of him and his former fiancée. “Do you think that’s what happened here?”
“Oh yes,” Clark agreed. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, that is a very handsome portrait of you.”
Suddenly, Dar’s suspicions about her mother’s guest were undeniable. And she remembered another place where she had heard his name before—he was staying at Lottie’s inn, in the room connected to Senator Burns’s. “Rahul, Lottie looks flushed,” Dar said. “Could you take her to get a glass of water?”
Rahul looked confused but did as he was asked.
Dar made sure Lottie and Rahul were both out of earshot, then spun around to face Clark. “You are going to find an excuse to leave this party early,” she said, “and when you get back to Washington, you are not going to write one disparaging word about Mr. Digges, Mrs. Digges, or anyone in Cape May for that matter.”
Clark straightened. “I am a professional journalist,” he said. “I will report what is true, and I will not leave until I have my story.”
“Oh, you will, will you?” Dar challenged him. “Because I have a story, too.”
“What do you mean?” Clark folded his arms over his chest and raised a chiseled brow at the impertinence of his hostess.
“Lottie tells me that your hotel room is connected to Senator Burns’s through a secret door,” Dar said. She lowered her voice. “What are you really doing in Cape May?”
Dar’s meaning washed over the stranger in one sickening wave, leaving him sputtering. “I can’t tell you that,” he gasped.
“You would prefer to allow Lottie to fill in the details?”
Clark glanced warily at Lottie, who was helping herself to more sherry despite Rahul’s gentlemanly efforts to coax a glass of water into her hand. “This is off the record,” he said, lowering his voice so much that Dar had to lean in closer to hear it. “I’ve been trailing Horace Burns for months, hoping to find proof of his corruption. After the senator announced his vacation plans, I did some digging into the White Cottage, where he was staying, and found out about the honeymoon suite from a previous guest. Convincing the hotel clerk to change Mr. Burns’s reservation to the honeymoon suite was easy—Stewart is not especially bright. The hard part was climbing through the vents at just the right time to slip into Mr. Burns’s room and find the bank statements in his briefcase.”
“What did you find?” Dar asked breathlessly. On the night of her séance, Finn had shown her the exact scene that Clark was describing now. She knew without a doubt that Clark was telling the truth.
“For years, he’s been secretly funneling money to a jute mill in Calcutta that’s owned by his cousin, Angus, as well as Carl Digges and a local family, the Kajarias.”
“Rahul’s family.”
Clark’s face turned ashen. “That’s a shame.”
“Why?”
“Well, I saw that Angus has sold his share of the company.”
“That’s true,” Dar said. “What’s so shameful about that?”
“He didn’t report his profits from the sale on his tax return.”
Dar gasped, though she was not surprised. “That is a scandal!”
Clark didn’t argue, but he hadn’t finished with Dar yet. “How did you know to ask me about the honeymoon suite?” he asked quietly. “Most people would have jumped to a different conclusion.”
Dar smiled. “You strike me as a man with better taste than that.”
Clark gave a jolly laugh and shook his head. “That mustache.”
“Right? And to think, my mother actually invited him here to introduce him to me.”
“You poor thing. I’ll gladly be your chaperone until he leaves.”
“Well, don’t forget that Lottie knows where you’re staying tonight.” Dar’s tone was playful, but she was dead serious when she added, “You should go before she puts the pieces together.”
Dar didn’t know whether to be relieved or unsettled when Clark grabbed his coat, mumbled something to her mother, and fled the room.
Giving her daughter a look of pure venom, Virginia flew down the stairs after her guest.
CHAPTER 12
The balcony and
the crawl space
With Virginia gone, Rahul excused himself, stepped out onto the balcony, and hid in the shadows. Moments later, Dar followed. He watched her walk gingerly through the crowd, with a noticeable change in her gait and a wince at each step.
“We don’t have much privacy here or much time,” she said, shuffling onto the balcony and closing one of the glass doors. “Will there be another group meditation tomorrow where we could talk?”
“You don’t look quite well enough for that,” he said with concern. “How did you manage to hurt yourself since I last saw you?”
Dar blushed. “You know what happened,” she said. “You were there.”
Rahul looked at her face. There was something other than modesty rising in her reddening cheeks: it was anger. He realized, without a doubt, that their encounter on the beach had been a first for her. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised—women had far more at stake than men did when it came to sex, and he would not have challenged Dar if she had denied his advances. But she seemed so uninhibited that he had wondered if American girls were somehow less proper than the ones in his country. Perhaps it was wishful thinking.
“Of course,” he said. “I am such a fool. I wish I had taken you someplace more romantic than the inside of a bathing machine.”
Dar looked stricken. “Where should we have gone instead?”
“In Calcutta, we would have a wedding first, and we’d consummate our marriage on a bed of flowers.”
“That sounds so romantic!” Dar said, choking back tears.
Rahul smiled sadly. “It would be if you were my bride.” He rubbed his temples, remembering his mother’s letter and the marital advertisement that was at that moment circulating among the eligible women of Calcutta. He couldn’t be sure how far along his mother was in the matchmaking process. For all he knew, he was already promised to someone else.
“But I’m not going to be,” she said quietly. Dar rummaged through her dress pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to him with trembling fingers. “You left this in the garden. Mr. Fields gave it to my mother.”
He took it from her hands. The seal on the envelope had been broken.
“How could you keep this from me?” Dar demanded.
Rahul’s blood boiled. What bad manners to open a letter addressed to someone else! But the stricken look on Dar’s face quickly defused his outrage. His mother’s letter didn’t tell the whole story about his failed engagement or his family’s struggle, but it told just enough that Dar would undoubtedly assume the worst about him. And for that, he was ashamed. “You should go back inside before anyone notices you are missing,” he told Dar. “I will explain everything later, when we can be alone.”
Squeaking out a goodbye, Dar managed to slip back into the room without a second glance from any of her guests. Unfortunately, she did not go entirely undetected.
Below, Mr. Fields was waiting to catch a glimpse of Elva Burns fainting in her chair at the mention of a spook. He did not expect to see his employer’s daughter, whom he had grown to love as though she were his own, standing on the balcony with the man her mother had referred to as “that charlatan.”
Still on the balcony, Rahul glanced down and saw the look of scorn on Mr. Fields’s face. How he had not been caught prior to this moment surprised Rahul immensely, since he had been skulking around the side of the house and the carriage all day as Mr. Fields went about his work. Rahul knew what he had to do. Acknowledging Mr. Fields with a wave, he hopped over the balcony and shimmied down the lattice on the wall. Since Dar’s mother was impossible to talk to and Dar’s father spent as much time away from home as Lottie’s husband did, he would have to have this very important conversation with Mr. Fields instead.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he started to say, but he felt a soft whack on the back of his head. Rahul turned to find Mrs. Fields holding a tea towel and shaking with rage.
“Where did you come from?” Rahul asked in alarm.
“Just because I’m silent at parties doesn’t mean I don’t have ears, young man,” the housekeeper huffed. “As soon as I heard what you and Dar were up to, I ran right downstairs to get Mr. Fields to escort you back to your hotel room. And back to India, if you know what’s good for you.”
Mr. Fields put his arm around Mrs. Fields and nodded in agreement. “How could you treat her like that?” he tried to yell, but the rasp in his voice made his outrage less convincing than his wife’s.
“My behavior was impulsive and inexcusable,” Rahul said. “But Dar is in trouble and I need your help.”
Mrs. Field’s eyes widened in horror. “You…”
“Not that kind of trouble,” Rahul hastily explained. (At least he hoped it wasn’t that kind of trouble as well.) “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Mr. Fields nodded. “How could we not believe in them after seeing what Darthilda can do?”
“Good. Then you’ll believe me when I say that an evil ghost is after her. I will take her away with me, marry her, and offer her the best life possible. I have the means to do so. But we can’t leave her here. It’s too dangerous.”
Mr. Fields looked at Mrs. Fields, who nodded. “Tell us what you need, and we’ll do our best to help.”
Dar peered over the banister to the bottom of the stairs, where Horace Burns stood stiffly next to Clark Cummings. Virginia was blocking the door with her hands on her hips. “Why did you bother coming to see her at all if you weren’t going to follow through? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“Mrs. Crossing, this is a simple misunderstanding,” Horace protested. “If you’ll allow me to sort this out with Mr. Cummings…”
“He’s right, Madame. We…” Clark fumbled to respond after appearing to have lost his train of thought.
“Prove it!” Virginia demanded. She looked behind her to where Clark was staring and found her daughter watching them from above. She marched up the stairs, grabbed Dar by the arm, and dragged her down to the foyer. “So sorry to pull you away from your party, darling daughter, but I think you’ll be thrilled when you learn the reason.” She looked from Horace to Clark and back to Horace, making her choice. “Mr. Burns has something he’d like to ask you.”
Horace got down on one knee, his face contorted with dread. “Will you marry me?” he said flatly.
Dar recoiled in horror. “No!”
Virginia turned to Dar, her perturbed expression practically blank by comparison to the murder written across her daughter’s face. “I’d been hoping for many summers that you would meet a wealthy tourist and fall in love on your own,” Virginia said, “but you were so obsessed with spooks and sniffling widows that no respectable man would have you. And certainly not an upstanding politician like Senator Burns.”
“So why did you even bother coming to the séance?” Dar asked, directing the question at Mr. Burns.
Horace shrugged. “My mother is interested in the supernatural. Doesn’t mean I believe in all that boogedy-boo.”
Dar crossed her arms and looked at him seriously. “Then why would you want to marry me?”
Horace chuckled. “Silly girl. The sea air is good for Mother, and the way my investments are tied up right now, I can’t afford to buy her the summer cottage she wants. I have you to thank for that information. So Mrs. Crossing here has agreed to bequeath me this home after we’re married. And your mother can stay here with the three of us as long as she likes.”
“Mr. Burns, you don’t have to do this,” Dar said.
Horace cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, I do.”
Dar looked at her mother for an explanation.
Virginia laughed. “What? You think you’re the only one with intuition?” she asked smugly. “It turns out that Mr. Burns has been sharing the honeymoon suite at the White Cottage: the one with the secret crawl space,” she said, whispering the last part to emphasize the scandal that the news implied.
As hard as Dar had tried to be discreet, Virginia must have overheard every word of her conversation with Lottie in the parlor earlier that afternoon, which would explain how she knew that Mr. Cummings was in the adjoining room.
Dar looked at Horace for confirmation. He nodded. “I told her it was a coincidence, but she said she wouldn’t believe me unless I proposed right here and now.”
“Mother, how could you?” Dar groaned. It was unfathomable why her own mother would want to tether her to a man whose intentions were questionable at best. “How is this better for me than being a spinster?” she asked.
Virginia patted her daughter on the shoulder. “It might not be,” she said, “but your father and Mr. Digges are working hard in Washington trying to keep the government from raising taxes. They’ll need all the help they can get.”
“Raising income taxes by a mere two percent on ten percent of the population hardly seems like the end of the world,” Horace said, grunting as he got up and dusted off his pants. “Do you know how much pressure I’ve been getting to lower tariffs? The money has to come from somewhere.”
“I don’t know the specifics,” Virginia snapped, as if her ignorance alone could cure the senator of his love for argument. “And I don’t care. Mr. Crossing says that if taxes go up, he won’t pay for me to stay in my summer cottage year-round, and I will not spend my twilight years rotting away in some dreadful city.”
Dar’s eyes welled with tears. It was easy enough for Horace to be nonchalant about the tax hike when all his money was hidden overseas.
Clark locked eyes with Dar for a brief moment, and a look of understanding passed between them. Dar’s silence could seal her fate as Mrs. Mustache—they could be married days before the weekly paper hit the newsstands—but to reveal Clark’s secret meant that Horace might never be held accountable for his actions. She held her tongue, and the truth tasted like bile in her throat.
“I see no reason for one man to enter another man’s crawl space that wouldn’t lead to a hefty fine and jail time,” Clark intervened. “How do you know I won’t leak the story myself?”
Horace turned purple with rage. “Because if my constituents in New Jersey learn that you were attempting to enter my crawl space, there’s not a judge in the state who would convict me of murder.”
Clark sucked in his breath, turned on his heels, and ran out the door.
Mr. Fields appeared from behind the house. “Would you like me to drive Mr. Burns home now?”
Virginia nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose we can revisit the subject tomorrow morning, when Dar has had time to adjust to her new reality. Have a good evening, my dear son-in-law-to-be.”
Mr. Fields opened the door to the carriage for the miserable politician to climb in, muttering, “She said no,” under his breath.
Dar looked at her mother with hat
red in her eyes and fled to her room. Dar’s silence had given Clark a window to write the version of events that would protect his own reputation while damning Horace’s, but for Dar, it would be a Pyrrhic victory. She had concealed one terrible truth only to reveal another: Virginia didn’t give a fig what kind of man Dar married as long as there was something in it for her.
Dar nearly knocked Beth over the railing as she passed her in the hallway. Beth had been leaning over the side, watching the drama unfold below. Dar wondered just how much she had heard. She didn’t wonder for long.
“What do you suppose Senator Burns meant by the term crawl space?” Beth asked.
Dar was too exhausted to be ladylike. “Sodomy, Beth!” she snapped. “It’s nothing to worry about. Please promise me you will keep this information to yourself.”
Beth smiled mysteriously. “Oh, I will.”
CHAPTER 13
Deed and dowry
Rahul was waiting for her on the bed. She wanted to fling her arms around him and beg him to take her away from all of this, but he had already proven her mother right. For that, she would never forgive him.
Dar finally understood how Lottie was so easily overwhelmed by lust. How painful it must have been for Lottie to lose Robert’s affection once she had experienced it. Dar was about to say goodbye to the only man she had ever wanted, while her mother planned her wedding to someone else—someone she despised.
“I owe you an explanation,” Rahul said. “Earlier this afternoon in your room, I offered you roses when what you needed was honesty. And this evening when you asked me for it, I shooed you away without answering.”
“A few hours ago, a few minutes ago—what’s the difference? It doesn’t change anything,” Dar cried, tears catching in her throat, making her voice come out in jags.
“It changes everything,” Rahul said. He took her hands in his. “Yes, it’s true that my parents are choosing a bride for me, but I have already chosen you. Darthilda Crossing, you are unique—you are the kind of woman that I had to cross an ocean to find. I never knew I needed you until I met you; now, I can’t imagine my life without you. No matter what the newspaper advertisement says, I know in my heart that no is no one better suited to me than you.”