She finished dressing, pinned on her hat, and tucked the keys into her dress pocket, intending to spend the day at the offices of O'Neill Shipping, imagining Mr. Tetch's distress at losing his keys. Could she keep a straight face? The moment Mr. Tetch left the office, on even the briefest of tasks, she would search the locked cabinets.
She went to the kitchen. A raucous jay chattered outside the window as she wrapped a cold biscuit in a napkin and grabbed her bag. She opened the window and tossed a biscuit to her noisy blue friend, and heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the drive.
She shut the window and turned in time to see Lou Gramm's unmistakable, gilded carriage rock to a stop. Rusty hopped down, opened the door, and helped Maddie out. Maddie, her gray-laced hair pulled severely into a tight bun, a tiny hat askew on her head, stepped out of the carriage. The sight of the conservatively dressed Maddie always reminded Fayth of a headmistress at some exclusive girl's school. Fayth's heart stopped for a moment as she wondered whether Lou had somehow discovered her theft of Mr. Tetch's keys and had sent Maddie to dish out retribution. Fayth's heart pounded.
She plastered on a smile and opened the door. "Hello, Maddie. What brings you . . . here?" She stammered, confused by Maddie's expressionless face. Her smile felt heavy and awkward, until finally her own mouth fell into a straight line to mimic Maddie's.
"Miss Gramm sent me to fetch you." Her toneless words matched her expression.
Fayth caught a flutter of blue from the corner of her eye. The jay landed on a tree and scolded them happily, his animation at odds with the stillness of their meeting. Anxious, fearful beyond the expectation of a simple reprimand, she forced herself to speak. "Why has Lou sent for me?"
"It's Miss Coral. She's—" Maddie's voice cracked.
Fayth saw for the first time a sparkle of a tear at the corner of her eye and noted the deep circles beneath her eyes that spoke of a sleepless night. Memories of Coral, beaten and bruised, flashed through her mind.
Maddie found her voice and continued. "She's lost the baby. She's dying and she's asking for you." Maddie's shoulders shook with a silent cry.
"No!" Fayth's tone was rebuking. "Why did Lou send you here with such a cruel joke? Coral's fine. I saw her last night, laughing, running." Her heart refused to process what her mind told her to be true.
"Please hurry. She . . . won't last . . . can't hold on much longer." Maddie broke up, her chest heaved with genuine sobs.
Rusty put his arms around her and led her to the carriage. Fayth pulled the door shut and followed them, mute, stunned.
When they were secured in the carriage, bouncing their way over rutted streets to the heart of town, Fayth summoned the courage to face her thoughts and ask a question. "Who beat her up this time?"
Maddie's eyes were large with confusion, like a dazed owl's in sunlight. "No one. Women lose babies for other reasons." She looked into her lap.
Another more ominous possibility came to Fayth. "Who? Who did this?"
"No one. No one. It just came." Maddie sobbed again.
Fayth didn't believe her. Coral was too healthy to lose a baby without help. Had she gone to an abortionist after all?
Dr. Wall met Fayth in the hall outside Coral's room. He addressed her without preface, his face grim. "She's weak, but begging to see you. You may go in." Fayth brushed past him. He grabbed her arm. "Have you seen anyone die before?" His tone was gentle.
"I have."
He nodded, seemingly satisfied that she could handle the situation. "So you know, I gave her something for her pain. She looks drugged up. Call me if—"
She shook off his sympathetic hand before he could say more, not up to hearing more solemn, disparaging words. "Of course." She stepped into Coral's room.
Light filtered through the yellow shade covering the window, casting a pall across Coral's bedroom. Shadows from the barred window striped the wall, giving Fayth the impression of life held prisoner by shadow. Heavy odors of cigar smoke, perfume, and stale perspiration filled the stagnant room, symbols of gaiety and life from the night before counterpointing the solemn mood of impending death.
Lou stood at the end of the bed. She looked up. "Thank goodness you're here. Poor thing, she couldn't rest without speaking to you." Lou sounded like a grieving mother. She wiped away a tear. Fayth was at once aware of how petite Lou actually was. The madam looked somehow smaller, more human in her grief. She moved back from the bed and toward the door, motioning Fayth over. "She wants to see you alone. I'll be right outside."
As Lou gently closed the door, Fayth seated herself in a chair pulled close to Coral's bed. Coral lay on her back, a sheet tucked around her. Her long hair fanned out around her head, almost floating on the pillow. Fayth was oddly disquieted by the lack of evidence of violence, by the calm of the room, the apparent wholeness of Coral's body outlined by the sheet. There seemed to be no reason for tragedy and no one to blame.
With sickening realization, Fayth took in the hollow, pale complexion that had
replaced Coral's youthful radiance of the night before. Saw her sunken eyes, the pinched look about her nose. Heard her rattled breathing and recognized the sound of death coming. An image of Father lying in the hospital, broken and bruised filled her. She could no longer deny the truth, but realization made it no easier to face.
Fayth caught the odor of stale, heavy blood and turned to see the bedside table cluttered with blood soaked rags, evidence of the doctor's ministrations and an empty womb. Gently she picked up Coral's cold hand and rested it between her own, trying in vain to warm the life back into her. Coral opened her eyes and focused on her.
"Tell Elizabeth I'm sorry."
"Shh. It's not your fault." Fayth swept the hair back off Coral's damp forehead. "Women lose babies."
"I killed this one." Coral shuddered, and turned her head toward the illuminated window as if trying to draw absolution from its light. "He wanted me to see an abortionist, but I was too afraid. Wanted this baby. Did. Couldn't give it away. Couldn't keep it knowing . . . end up like me."
She took a rattling breath. Her words came individually; each took tremendous effort. "I took an overdose. Thought I would sleep, then fade painlessly away. Didn't know it would be so bloody, hurt so bad.
“My baby! My poor, dead baby. Not possible . . . me to go . . . leave baby behind." Coral choked on a dry sob.
Fayth looked around wildly for a glass of water.
Coral gripped her hand, bringing Fayth's attention back to her face. "Forgive me."
Fayth fought tears. Her voice grew faint, a choked whisper. "For what?"
"It's Drew's baby."
Coral's gentle whisper rocked the room, leaving Fayth suddenly breathless; she struggled not to gasp when it felt as if the air had been kicked from her, tried not to frighten Coral with her shock. The stays of her corset crushed in on her. Her ears rang. She bowed her head in a fight for control.
A faraway voice brought her attention back. "Forgive me."
So plaintive, so desperate. How could she not?
Fayth returned the pressure of Coral's grip and spoke with the grief-stricken voice of a stranger. "I forgive you."
Coral’s body gave a giant spasm and jerked the sheet off, exposing a hiked up gown and bare thighs with rags clamped between them. She curled up like a baby, hugging her knees, crying over Drew, whispering his name.
Bastard! The word echoed through Fayth's mind with such screaming, furious force she felt as if someone had shouted it in her ear. She bit her lip, holding her accusations against Drew inside for Coral's sake. She reached to cover Coral again.
Coral pushed her attempts away, but grabbed her face and pulled Fayth close. "Con. Tell him . . ." Her words sounded drowsy, almost relaxed. "He loves you. He told me. He married you because he did. Don't let him go. Promise."
"Promise." Fayth's voice cracked.
Coral closed her eyes and lay flat. Fayth took her hand again, watching her rattling chest labor to breathe. Coral convulsed.
A gush of fresh blood spilled from her body, soaking the rags between her legs, staining the sheets, taking with it the remaining faint pink hue from Coral's skin. With the last of Drew's child, life left Coral. Her chest stilled. The room went silent.
Fayth put a hand to her mouth and just sat. Empty. Blank. A person with no emotions attached. When thoughts came, they were clear and condemning, like crisp black words on a page. Guilt overwhelmed her.
She had killed Coral, maybe not as directly as Drew had, but it didn't matter. The result was the same. She had killed Coral by omission, by failing to protect the little girl she failed to see. Somehow, because of Coral's lost physical innocence, Fayth had assumed Coral was impenetrable, savvy, strong. How could someone so worldly be naive? But Coral the romantic had been naive enough to believe a betrayer. To be seduced by charm and good looks. To believe in a dream, a promise, where no possibility of fulfillment existed. Fayth took this child from a world where she knew the rules, and left her unguarded in one more cruel.
She should have thrown Drew out the moment she walked into the parlor and found him there all charm and no substance. She saw that as clearly now as she saw her own weakness. She let one man's actions, one man's character be her definition of human character. For too long she had used a faulty, artificial standard to judge all actions. Why hadn't it made sense before? Each individual must be judged by his or her own actions. Each person given an opportunity to prove him or herself. Her trust and distrust in all the wrong places had cost Coral her life, and quite possibly, Fayth the love of hers.
"I'm sorry, Coral. Forgive me."
The thought of Drew made her livid with rage. He had assured Fayth of his faithfulness, all the while taking advantage of Coral.
The click of the door handle caught her attention. She turned to find a semicircle of Lou's girls surrounding the doorway; Lou anchored like a compass point at their center.
"She's gone."
Tears, wails, sounds of mourning filled the hall as the girls collapsed on Lou. Fayth looked without seeing. Heard Lou's gentle reassurances. Dr. Wall appeared and pushed his way through into the room. A bubbling, turbulent fury welled up in Fayth, pounding in her with the force of a tumbling waterfall. She rose and strode to the door. "The snake who did this to her won't be in town much longer. I promise."
Fayth unlocked the door to the shop. Empty, quiet, impeccably neat, there were signs of Drew everywhere. His thimble on the counter. A receipt done in his hand. A hat perched on the coat rack. She grabbed his hat and slammed the thimble inside before setting it down again, tearing up the receipt and tossing it in the air.
"Fayth? What's going on?"
She hadn't heard Drew enter. She started and turned to face him.
Without thinking, she strode over to him and thrust the hat into his hands. "Congratulations, the second child you fathered just died." She stood inches away from him, her stance mimicking Con's when he took command. "Maybe I should amend that—the second child I know about."
The color vanished from his face as quickly as water through an open drain. He didn't question or defend, just stared, evidently stunned. Epithets whirled through her mind, but died on her lips. He wasn't worthy of lowering herself to their use.
"Aren't you even going to ask how Coral is?"
"Fayth." He reached out for her. She stepped back. "She never meant anything to me. She was just—"
"Convenient," Fayth finished. Fresh fury burned in her. She angrily wiped a tear from her eye, hating him for his disdain of Coral and the sympathetic, apologetic look he gave her. "How could you use her like that? She was so innocent—"
"Innocent? Come, Fayth."
"Yes, in spirit, in maturity. She loved you." Her voice grew softer with recollection. "She died whispering your name."
"Died?" Fear trembled in his voice.
"Just. Hemorrhaging with your child."
His Adam's apple bobbed. They stood inches apart, staring each other down.
He grabbed her arm. "Get your things. It's time we left this city."
She shrugged him off. "You egotistic bastard!" She spat the words at him. He appeared stunned. Fayth couldn't tell if it was caused by the shock of Coral's death, or if he was merely calculating his tactical error. "It's time you left the city. My life is here."
"Fayth, I love you. Somehow I keep hurting you, but I don't mean—"
"Spare me your lies and excuses, Drew. Save some small thread of dignity for yourself."
Fayth turned and marched toward the door, holding it open for him. "You've got an hour to get packed. Lou's bouncer Rusty will be meeting you at your room to make sure you catch your train."
"First you'll allow me to take my things from the office?"
She strode back and flung the office door open. "Certainly. Help yourself. But pardon me for leaving. I can't stand being in the same room with you. I'll watch you leave from across the street."
"Fayth—"
"Forget it, Drew. It's over. Don't come back."
Chapter 19
Con sat on an overturned crate in the cargo hold of the Aurnia. The belly of the whale, he thought, wondering darkly if things could be worse. He heard the scuffling feet of his crew overhead as they scoured the Aurnia, readying her for the sale. Preston pressed him for an answer, and there seemed no advantage in delaying the inevitable. Preston would be out this afternoon to look her over, a formality only. The deal was good as done.
He bent over and rubbed his temple. He ought to thank the Almighty for James Preston and his offer, but . . .
Damn! He didn't want to lose his girls. Not Fayth. Not the Aurnia.
When he'd left Seattle he'd thought he could leave Fayth, forget her. But in the days since, he had discovered the impossibility of it. He still meant to do the honorable thing and give her freedom if that's what she wanted. But if there were any way to avoid it, any chance of making her happy . . .
All he needed to stay afloat was one small ebb in his tide of bad fortune. He kicked at the floor, sending a loose metal nut rolling. The sun shining through the open hatch above illuminated it. Con's gaze followed it.
The nut clinked against the side of an overturned metal box wedged against the wall, and bounced back, spinning several seconds before landing at rest. Con sat upright before jumping to his feet. Why hadn't anyone claimed this box? Reported it missing? He'd ordered the crew to empty all cargo, but they had overlooked it, as he almost had. Small, painted the same color as the hold, it was easy to miss. And the way it was situated, it was as if it had fallen from a hiding place.
He picked the box up, turning it over, looking for an ownership tag and finding none. The blasted thing was surprisingly heavy and rattled like it was full of coins—some child's pennies no doubt. He tried jimmying the inexpensive lock. When it wouldn't give, he grabbed a crowbar and wrenched the thing open. The force of the crowbar sent the box toppling as it popped open, spilling gold coins that glinted in the sunlight as they rolled in every direction.
Con stood back, amazed, before reaching for the box. A ledger slid from the strongbox, resting on its bent pages, cover up. Halfway to reaching for it, he recognized the neatly lettered label. O'Neill's Shipping.
How the hell?
A dim memory came. Tetch on the night of the fire. A dolly stacked with boxes, the cash box on top. Tetch awkwardly angling it down the plank to the hold. Later, Tetch's account of its theft.
"Damn him!" Con squatted and picked the ledger up by its spine. A wave of fury directed at Tetch crashed over him. The bastard nearly had cost him the Aurnia!
Con stooped to scoop up a fistful of twenty-dollar gold pieces in hands trembling with rage. There was easily several thousand dollars scattered on the floor. A month's receipts and more. Evidence of more than petty pilfering. Tetch must have hidden the box in the rafters, expecting to recover it later. Con smiled grimly, imagining Tetch's consternation when Con had arrived in Seattle, announcing he'd sold the Aurnia. What would Tetch do? Hire on wi
th Preston?
A calm amusement settled over Con. Tetch had inadvertently saved O'Neill Shipping. Con stood and scanned the rafters, wondering what had dislodged the box. The corners of his mouth curled up in a full-face smile as a plausible explanation came to him. Bailey and his races! He remembered the lean and yaw of the Aurnia when they had raced the Eliza as they had left Puget Sound.
A heavy thump near the engine room had aroused Con's concern. He'd backed off the throttle, giving Bailey the race and costing him his wager. The cash box had fallen—he hadn't lost a race, he'd won back his business. Laughter welled up from deep within him, purging him of his anger. The Aurnia was no longer for sale. He'd be taking at least one of his girls home. He laughed until his sides hurt and he had to sit on the step. Billy called to him from the hatch.
"Everything all right, sir?"
"Billy! Get down here and help me. We've got a mess to clean up!"
Con wasn't a vindictive man, but during the long hours of the voyage home it gave him great pleasure and amusement imagining Tetch stewing and brooding, scheming a way to get his hoard off the Aurnia before Con sold her. Tetch didn't know Con had planned to finalize the sale on this latest trip south. Con had grown wary of Tetch months ago and had since kept him deliberately uninformed. Now, as he sat in his office facing Tetch, he thought he detected Tetch's glance flitting out the window to the Aurnia more often than necessary.
"You had a pleasant trip, Con?"
"Yes, I would say so, all told. Amusing and interesting, at least. Very nearly sold the Aurnia. Almost had to take the train to Tacoma to get back to settle my business."
Tetch fidgeted in his chair.
"What stopped you?"
Tetch was a cool-headed bastard. Con pulled a gold coin from his pocket and flipped it with his thumb, catching it with open palm as it descended. "Preston extended his offer. The completion of The Princess has been delayed." Con thought Tetch relaxed a little.
The Last Honest Seamstress Page 30
