by Nan Ryan
After the Adairs moved on, she squeezed Sutton’s hand and whispered, “You’re a fraud, Sutton Vane.”
“Am I?” His tone was casual.
“Yes. You, sir, are not what you appear to be.”
“And just what do I appear to be?”
“A handsome, wealthy, selfish gentleman who lives only for hedonistic pleasure.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said with a devilish grin.
“No, you are not guilty. What you really are is a kind, generous, good-hearted man and what you’ve done for the grateful Adairs is admirable indeed.”
“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about, love.”
“Mmmm. Yes, you do, but don’t worry. I won’t say a word. If you prefer to keep your good deeds quiet, I will respect your wishes.” She hugged his arm and whispered, “You have no idea just how much I love you. More than ever before because I’ve found you out.”
Sutton smiled at her but said nothing. You haven’t found me out, my dear. You have no idea who I really am or what I intend to do to you.
The couple moved leisurely through the growing crowd as the concert continued, the violins in particular creating stunningly beautiful music.
A lady who appreciated nothing more than beautiful music stood near the band shell, hands clasped to her heart, a dreamy expression on her wrinkled face.
“Miss Foster,” Laurette said, pulling the little music teacher from her reverie.
Miss Foster turned, smiled broadly and said, “Oh, Laurette, have you heard about my good fortune?”
“Why, no, I…”
Eagerly Miss Foster told of the new project that had so changed her life. “…and nearly every child at the orphanage has shown an interest in taking piano lessons! Isn’t that surprising?” said the gray-haired lady. “I tell you, dear, I haven’t been this busy in years.” She laughed then and added, “Not since those long-ago days when I taught you and Ladd.” The tiny woman looked up at Sutton and explained, “Ladd Dasheroon was the boy who lived across Dauphin from Laurette.”
“Yes, she’s mentioned him.”
“Such a talented boy,” mused Miss Foster, her eyes twinkling, “Remember, Laurette, how you couldn’t quite master that favorite Chopin polonaise and Ladd could play it beautifully after only a few times.”
“I remember,” said Laurette and was momentarily jolted by the recollection of Sutton playing that familiar polonaise in her music room. She frowned slightly.
Her expression grown wistful, Miss Foster said, “Dear, sweet Ladd. Killed in the war in the prime of manhood.” She shook her head sadly.
Quickly changing the subject, Laurette said, “It’s wonderful that the children have the opportunity to take lessons from you.”
“Bless their hearts,” said Miss Foster. “They’re so well-behaved and eager to learn. And, the orphanage has a brand-new cherrywood piano; perfectly tuned and an exquisite piece of furniture.” She looked thoughtful then and added, “I have no idea who is responsible. Mrs. Young, the director at the orphanage, said the benefactor wishes to remain anonymous.”
Laurette’s well-arched eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“That’s my understanding.”
When the music teacher had moved on to greet other friends, Laurette gave Sutton a questioning look.
“I know nothing about music lessons,” he said, but she didn’t believe him for a minute.
Her heart swelled with pride.
Then raced with anticipation when he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I want to be alone with you.”
Breathlessly, she replied, “Then let’s go.”
It was very early the next morning when Bones, summoned by Sutton, walked into the study. The room was mostly dark. Only the lamp atop the desk, the one with the smoked-gray globe, burned low.
Seated behind the desk, Sutton’s face was, as usual, in deep shadow. Bones took a chair across from his boss and waited for Sutton to speak. Sutton said nothing. Bones needlessly cleared his throat, then opened his leather journal. He flipped through several pages, then stopped when he found the one he was looking for.
He laid a big hand atop the paper, squinted in an attempt to see Sutton and finally said, “Shall I begin?”
“That’s why you’re here,” came Sutton’s low, deep voice.
“Very well,” replied Bones. “On that afternoon last week when she begged off of seeing you, saying that she was busy, I did as instructed. I followed her.”
“Good,” said Sutton. “Let’s have it.”
Bones nodded and began to read his neatly written notes. “Mrs. Tigart arrived home from the hospital shortly after two o’clock. After spending only a few minutes inside her house, she left again, and this time she was carrying some sort of…of…”
“What? What did she get inside?” Sutton leaned up into the light.
“A small bag with a drawstring top,” said Bones. “Carrying the bag under her arm, she immediately set off for downtown.”
Sutton frowned and said impatiently, “Go on.”
“Mrs. Tigart went directly to Bill’s Pawnshop on Monroe Street. She was inside for a few minutes, and the man behind the counter greeted her as if he knew her, as if she had been there before. She opened the small bag she carried and took something out. I couldn’t see what it was. The pawnbroker wasted no time studying or evaluating the item she handed him. He took it from her, placed in underneath the counter, opened his cash register and handed her a few bills. I couldn’t see what the denominations were. She took the money, stuffed it into her reticule, turned and left.” Bones looked up from his text.
“Then what happened?” asked Sutton.
“I ducked around the corner of the building, waited until she had gone, then went inside the pawnshop. I asked the proprietor what the lady had pawned. He shrugged, gave no reply. I pulled out a couple of bills and placed them on the counter. He said, ‘Four pieces of heavy sterling silverware.’ I said, ‘Has she ever pawned anything else?”’
“And his answer?”
“Another shrug. So I placed another couple of bills on the counter and he revealed that over the years she had pawned the entire set of sterling—a few pieces at a time. And, in addition, a gold-cased pocket watch, some oyster shell, jewel-encrusted combs and a heavy silver frame.”
Ladd’s jaw immediately tightened. Vividly he recalled giving Laurette the silver frame containing a tintype of himself shortly before leaving for West Point.
“Was the tintype still in the frame?” he asked sarcastically.
“Pardon?” replied Bones.
“Nothing. Never mind,” said Sutton. “Go on. What happened next?”
“I hurried out of the pawnshop and caught up with Laurette.”
“She didn’t see you, did she?”
“No, by the time I stepped outside, she was a couple of blocks away. I followed her at a safe distance.”
“She didn’t immediately return home, did she?”
“No, no she didn’t.”
“Why am I not surprised,” said the cynical Sutton.
Bones’s florid face broke into a wide grin. “Perhaps you’ll be surprised when I tell you where she went.”
Sutton felt his heart kick against his ribs. He wanted to know the truth and yet he didn’t.
“Give it to me straight, I can take it. You see, I’ve known for years she’s a deceitful little piece of work.”
“Deceitful? What’s deceitful about her walking all the way down to lower Water Street?” said Bones. Sutton’s dark eyebrows lifted quizzically. “She knocked on the front door of a row shack and immediately the door opened and a black woman came out onto the stoop. The two embraced warmly, then laughed and talked like…”
“Ruby Lee,” Sutton interrupted.
“Who?”
“Ruby Lee. She was Laurette’s personal maid when Laurette was a child. Ruby Lee grew up in the Howard household.”
“Then it makes sense. Laurette gave Ruby Lee
the money she got from pawning the silver.”
Sutton nodded, ground his teeth. “That it? Or did she go somewhere else after leaving?”
“No, she did not. She visited with the black woman for a few minutes, then she walked straight home. She arrived at Dauphin Street at a few minutes after four.” Bones looked up and said, “I believe you arrived at her house shortly before five, which would have given her only enough time to freshen up and—”
“Okay, okay,” Sutton waved his hand. “You’re sure she didn’t go anywhere else?”
Bone slammed his leather folder together with impatience. He said, “Sutton, you have sent me out to follow Mrs. Tigart at least a dozen times and I have never come back with any evidence of improper behavior. I don’t know what you’re expecting to uncover, but you’re wasting your time and mine.”
Sutton made no reply. He exhaled heavily and said finally, “You can go.”
“Should I continue this foolish surveillance?”
Sheepishly, Sutton grinned and said, “I suppose it’s pointless. No, you needn’t follow her anymore.”
“Well, thank heaven,” said Bones, rising to his feet. “I dislike spying on someone as open and honest as Mrs. Tigart.” He turned to leave.
“Wait,” said Sutton. “Can you remember the house where you saw Laurette with Ruby Lee?”
“Sure, I can.”
“Visit the occupants of that house. See if Ruby Lee and her family would like to come to work here at the mansion. We can always use some extra servants. Blakely needs help in the kitchen and the upstairs maids are spread a little thin.”
“Consider it done,” said Bones and left the room.
For a long moment, Sutton remained seated behind his desk. His dark-blue eyes clouded. Abruptly, he rose from his chair, walked to the tall windows where he drew back the heavy drapes and gazed out at the summer dawn now breaking over the city.
He was, as usual, torn between being disappointed and relieved on hearing Bones’s report regarding Laurette’s private activities. He wanted, he had told Bones, every minute of Laurette’s time accounted for.
Bones had reluctantly agreed. But Bones had never had anything undue to report. Not once.
Sutton sighed with frustration. It would make it so much easier to continue hating the luscious Laurette if on occasion she behaved like the devious, heartless woman he knew her to be. If only he could catch her in some underhanded act, but then she was far too cunning.
Chances are she had become aware that Bones was shadowing her, so she made it a point to demonstrate that she was, at all times, a genteel, generous lady.
He would have been pleased had Bones been able to relate that the beautiful blond divorcée had been caught rendezvousing with one or more of the town’s known philanderers for an afternoon of sexual sin. It would help if he found out that he was not the only one with whom she was intimate.
Sutton suddenly shuddered at such a repugnant idea. While he didn’t love her, the thought of another man making love to her made his stomach turn. No, he didn’t want that to happen. Not that, God no!
All right, so she’d been caught doing nothing more sinister than helping out an old friend. Still, he wasn’t fooled. He knew who she was, what she was. This was the woman who married the man he’d thought to be his best friend. There was no changing that. The two of them hadn’t cared if he was alive or dead, hadn’t bothered to find out.
He had to remember that, no matter how sweet and passionate she was in his arms, she was the shallow, selfish bitch who had promised she’d wait forever and then married Tigart the minute he proposed. He must never, never let himself forget what had happened. While he was rotting away in the prison’s dark cell, Laurette was eagerly spreading her legs for the double-crossing Tigart.
Damn them!
Damn them both to eternal hell.
Thirty-Three
The newly constructed beach house was a charming, five-thousand-square-feet manse, all on one sprawling level. Its grand arched entrance was framed by two white columns and enough floor-to-ceiling windows to bathe the interior in constant daylight.
A wide veranda, with a shade-giving thatched roof, wrapped entirely around the circumference of the house. On the front veranda were a pair of white rocking chairs at one end and a huge white canvas hammock at the other. The chairs rocked and the hammock swayed gently back and forth in the mild sea breezes.
The gleaming white house sat on a natural rise at the very center of the island. Directly in front of the mansion stood an all-white signal mast made of flagstaff pine.
Located six miles off the coast, the island was five miles long and one mile wide. Below the house, tall sea oats gave way to sugary white beaches where the surf pounded rhythmically, the sound lulling to the fortunate occupants or invited guests of the home.
There was, and would always be, only one occupant, only one invited guest.
Sutton had no intention of sharing his private island paradise with anyone other than Laurette. And, of course, her presence on the island was to be temporary. By summer’s end, she would be vanquished. Never again to set foot on the property.
A handpicked staff was ferried over to clean and cook as necessary, but none were allowed to spend the night.
Laurette was as excited as a child when Sutton took her to the island for the first time. She had been dying to go there while the house was under construction, but Sutton had said no. He explained that he wanted the house to be entirely finished and the furniture he’d had specially built floated over on a barge from New Orleans and put in place before she saw it.
The day had come at last. A sunny, beautiful day in mid-May. Not only was he ready to take her to his island retreat, he had persuaded her to spend the night. At first she had strongly objected. It would, she argued, be scandalous for the two of them to spend the entire night together. What would his servants think? What would their friends think?
There would be no servants, he promised. It would be just the two of them. Total privacy. No staff of any kind on duty and the yacht that would take them there would return to Mobile. As to what their friends would think, didn’t she realize that everyone knew they were having an affair, so what difference did it make?
Laurette finally agreed.
Once they reached the island and hurried up to the beach house, the yacht immediately backed away from the levee for its return trip to Mobile. Laurette was instantly charmed by the serenity, the privacy of the place. And she fell in love with the unique house that had been designed solely for casual, comfortable living. All the furniture in the front parlor—the many long, soft sofas and high-backed easy chairs—were upholstered in warm, rich shades of beige and brown. Fat, fluffy cushions galore in bright, vivid colors graced the sofas. Cut wood was neatly stacked in a marble-trimmed fireplace that had never been lighted. It was a large, handsome room meant for relaxing.
Taking it all in, Laurette walked through the homey room. She went directly to the very back of the house and stepped into a gigantic bedroom. Following just behind, Sutton told her that it was the only bedroom in the house.
She turned and said, “You’re teasing me.”
“Not at all. You and I are the only ones who will ever come here. One bedroom is all we need, is it not?”
“Yes,” she said, pleased, then turned back to look around.
What a bedroom it was! Located at the very back of the mansion, the room stretched the entire length of the house. Three of its walls consisted of sets of tall, slated double doors, one right after the other. All those doors were presently thrown open, making it seem as if the bedroom was outside.
Most remarkable of all, there was only one piece of furniture in the spacious room. A huge, square, four-poster bed that was totally plain, the wood devoid of carvings or design. The sturdy quartet of posts rising high above the bed, were of heavy pine. The square mattress sat much lower to the floor than one on a traditional four-poster.
White linen sheet
s, matching bed hangings and an abundance of white-cased pillows graced the bed which, to Laurette’s surprise, sat at an angle in the very center of the room. Gazing at the bed, it occurred to her that its occupant or occupants could lie upon it and idly watch the waves crashing against the shore. And, they would be able to feel the gentle sea breezes caress their warm bodies.
Amazed by everything in the house, Laurette looked around and saw a wide arched doorway that obviously led into the dressing room and bath. She crossed to it and stuck her head inside. A tall chest of drawers and heavy armoires lined the walls of the dressing room. She walked through the dressing room and into the bath.
And she smiled.
A square tub of gold-veined white marble dominated the room. A tub large enough for two. Meant for two. Heavy sterling candlesticks with tall white tapers sat on a wide marble ledge at the foot of the tub. Dozens of white towels were stacked neatly on shelves. Most amazing of all, directly above the square tub was a large, glass window. Sunlight poured in and high, fluffy cumulus clouds glided leisurely by.
Already imagining how it would feel to bathe in that tub while the moonlight spilled in, Laurette blushed and went back out into the bedroom.
“Is the bath to your liking, my dear?” Sutton inquired.
“Yes, it most certainly is. I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said truthfully.
“It’s all for you, darling.”
“Well, be assured that I’m totally enchanted with everything,” she said and smiled at him. He was pleased with her answer. Then, all at once, Laurette frowned, puzzled.
“What? What is it?” he asked, anxious.
She shook her head, said nothing. Directly before her, in a set of the open-slatted doors, a matching pair of heavy chains with large steel loops at their ends hung suspended from the high door frame. The chains were spaced approximately two feet apart. Laurette stared, but hated to ask.
