Olivia led the way up the staircase to the small room that held Jennie’s things. It was outfitted in pink and white. The white bedstead was small and low to the ground, perfect for a three-year-old. She pulled back the covers. He laid the little girl on the sheet, then unlaced her shoes and gently tugged them from her feet.
A lump formed in her throat as she watched him exercise such love and tenderness toward the child. She reminded herself that even murderers were sometimes fathers. Loving a child had nothing to do with his true character.
He tucked the doll into her arms, then pulled the covers up around Jennie. When he turned to exit the room, his dark eyes were gentle. The gentleness vanished when he looked at Olivia. “What do you have against me, Lady Devonworth? We’ve only just met, yet you bait me at every turn. Do you enjoy seeing me squirm when Eleanor’s name is mentioned? I know what people say—that she would rather die than marry me. It’s all gossip. I would have thought an intelligent woman like yourself would look deeper.”
“People think she killed herself?” Though Katie and Addie had mentioned the possibility, Olivia hadn’t realized it was the speculation of the public.
“The topic has been mentioned.”
“Why do you care what I think?”
He pressed his lips together. “I have no idea why I care,” he said. “For some reason it grates that you would be so quick to believe the worst.”
Her pulse jumped in her throat. She examined his expression. Was that genuine hurt in his eyes? Surely he wouldn’t really care what she thought. Was he attempting to use his charm on her?
“I don’t really know you, Mr. Bennett. I apologize if you thought I was being judgmental. I told Eleanor’s mother I would try to discover more about what happened to her.”
His lips pressed together. He brushed past her. “Good night, Lady Devonworth.”
She followed as he stalked down the stairs. The front door slammed. That had been awkward. She feared the coldness between them would thwart her investigation. She had to take more care to hide her disdain.
Katie met her at the doorway when she entered the parlor. “It sounded as though Harrison slammed the door on his way out.”
“I fear I angered him with too many questions about Eleanor.”
“Oh dear. He’s really a wonderful man, Olivia. Why are you so sure he murdered Eleanor?”
“Don’t you find it odd that she died within days of his return to town? It was an arranged marriage. Perhaps he objected.”
“That doesn’t mean he murdered her.”
“Harrison said others in town have speculated she killed herself rather than marry him. Is this true?”
Katie nodded. “No one really knows what happened, so they talk.”
“I don’t believe it. Something happened to her. I intend to find out what.” She realized her friend was even more pale. “Are you all right?”
“I . . . I need the bathroom.” Katie rushed down the hall to the room on the left.
Olivia heard her retching and followed. “You’re ill.”
Katie was white as she turned from rinsing her mouth in the sink. “I’m increasing.”
“How lovely!” Olivia hugged her and led her back to the parlor. “Does Will know?”
Katie shook her head. “I didn’t want to tell him until I was sure. I saw Dr. Lambertson today, and he confirmed it.”
Olivia guided her to the sofa and lifted her feet onto the cushions. “All the more reason for the ball to be a success, so we can get to planning the nursery.”
Stewart Hall was quiet. The Jespersons weren’t up yet, though Olivia supposed the servants were busy below on the first floor. She crept down the hall to her sister’s room. It still held the essence of Eleanor’s perfume. Olivia stood by the bed and closed her eyes. She could nearly hear her sister’s laughter.
Goldia touched her hand and broke the spell. “Are you all right, Miss Olivia?”
Olivia opened her eyes. “I miss her, Goldia.”
The maid’s eyes were moist. “She’s in a better place.”
“I hope so.” The prospect of heaven always confused Olivia. How could a person know when she was good enough to get there? She’d gone to church all her life but never had a sense of knowing who God was, or that he really knew her soul. Eleanor’s death made Olivia think more about her own life.
She went to the closet and opened the door. The space was nearly as big as a room. Pink and blue silk dresses festooned with lace hung inside. Hatboxes were stacked nearly to the ceiling. Slippers lined the floors. Eleanor’s perfume wafted into the air, even stronger now. She’d culled the dresses suitable for her own figure the day she arrived, but it was time to search for clues.
Olivia caught the sleeve of the closest dress, a royal-blue satin with a white lace overlay. “I remember when she wore this to the Astors’ ball last season,” she said.
“I’m surprised she brought it with her,” Goldia said.
“I think she wanted to recapture that night. I expect she found an occasion to wear it here. No one would have seen her in it before.”
Goldia nodded. “What are we looking for? Just an envelope?”
Olivia began to rummage through the clothing. “I assume she left it in the envelope, but she might not have. If it was truly important, she would have hidden it somewhere.”
“Maybe with her jewels,” Goldia suggested.
Olivia shook her head. “It’s the first place someone would look.” She stepped deeper into the closet, allowed the aromas to envelop her. The dresses rustled as she brushed past them. She ran her fingers along the luxurious fabrics. Eleanor was so much more equipped for this life than she was. Most of the time she felt she was living someone else’s life. Wasn’t there more to her existence than the next party and the latest fashion? Though she was ashamed to admit it to herself, she felt a real purpose in tracking down who had harmed Eleanor. She found her mind and spirit quite engaged with the puzzle. Though of course it was so much more than a puzzle. She wanted whoever had killed her sister brought to justice.
Pushing aside several dresses, she studied the back of the closet. Plain plaster walls painted pink were all she saw. She studied the floor and baseboard. Nothing.
“I’d like you to go through all the hatboxes,” she told Goldia. “Perhaps she hid something there.”
Goldia cast a dubious glance at the shelves. “That will take a fair amount of time, Miss Olivia.”
“Lady Devonworth,” Olivia reminded her. “You must get into the habit. Oh, and let’s be quick about it. I intend to visit Eleanor’s grave later this morning. You will accompany me?”
“Yes, miss.”
“You start on the boxes. I shall examine the bureau drawers.” Olivia was only too glad to leave the closet behind with its lingering essence of Eleanor. She glanced around the lavish bedroom. Had Eleanor redone this herself? The decor appeared newer, more feminine, than any other room except Olivia’s own chamber. The paper on the walls was a delicate basket pattern in pale pink and ivory. The bedspread was pink silk with a lace skirt. The Persian rug under the bed appeared new, as did the furniture, the newest Arts and Crafts style.
She eyed the bed, then lifted the skirt and thrust her hand under the mattress as far as she could get it. Her fingers touched nothing but the springs. She knelt and peered under the bed. Not even dust. She rose and went to the dresser. The mirror bounced her reflection back at her. She quite loathed her olive coloring. Her mother had called her a little gypsy when she was a child. She’d wanted hair like sunshine, just like her mother’s and Eleanor’s. Instead, she’d taken after her father’s mother, who was of French descent.
Olivia picked up the picture on the dresser. It was of the two sisters on Olivia’s last birthday. They’d been told not to smile, and the somber expressions on their faces contrasted with the merriment in their eyes. Had it been only three months ago? She felt so much older now than twenty-five. Grief would do that. In quick succession she’
d lost her father and her sister.
“Lady Devonworth,” Goldia said. “I found this in the crown of a hat.” She held out a vellum dance card.
Olivia stepped to the closet and took the card. “She appears to have danced more than once with Mr. Frederick Fosberg,” she said. “I don’t recognize the name. Mr. Bennett’s name is not on here.”
“Maybe the dance took place before he returned from Africa. Miss Eleanor was here for nearly three months. She came right after your birthday.”
Olivia studied the scrawled names on the card. “She danced with the gentleman four times. That’s hardly proper when she was engaged to be married.”
Could she have been wrong? Maybe Eleanor had fallen in love with another man in Harrison’s absence. And why hide this dance card? A memento of a forbidden romance, perhaps?
“I’m surprised Katie or Addie didn’t mention it to me. Surely the whole town noticed. I need to find this man and see what he meant to Eleanor.” She rubbed her head. “Maybe I’m wrong and Eleanor did throw herself in the sea rather than be married to a man she did not love.”
“I don’t believe it,” Goldia said.
Olivia heard noises in the hall. “Let’s go.” She pulled the door shut behind them.
Jennie ran toward her, and Olivia scooped her up. The child still had her new doll clutched under her arm. She planted a kiss on Olivia’s cheek. “Are you hungry? I think breakfast should be ready.” When the little girl nodded, Olivia set her down. Jennie took off for the staircase.
Katie joined Olivia at the top of the stairs. She smiled a good-morning. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
“I’m actually hungry.”
“How did Will take the good news?”
“He’s over the moon!”
Before she went downstairs, Olivia laid her hand on her friend’s arm. “I found this.” She showed Katie the dance card. “Do you know this man?”
“Mr. Fosberg. I met him at this same party. I saw Eleanor with him, but I thought they were discussing business.”
“So she did not seem overly friendly with him?”
Katie bit her lip. “Well, there was some talk at Addie’s party,” she admitted. “I did my best to squelch it, but you know how gossip can spread.”
“Did Eleanor say anything to you about seeing him again?”
Katie shook her head. “She was soon caught up in a whirlwind of social engagements. I didn’t see her nearly so often after the party.”
Olivia thanked her and the two women went down to the dining room for breakfast. She saw the morning post and snatched the new edition of Woman’s Home Companion.
“I love that magazine,” Katie said. “I like the Kewpie pages.”
“That’s what I wanted to read,” Olivia said. She motioned to the servants to begin serving as she seated herself at the long table. Toying with her water glass, she glanced at her friend. “Sometimes I think I’m just like one of the Kewpies. Expected to be cute and accomplished on the outside and perfect in every action. Posed for the most advantage without a thought in my head.”
Katie leaned over and patted her hand. “You’re more than a Kewpie. You have wit and insight. You challenge the status quo. You’re quite remarkable.”
“I should have been born a man,” Olivia said. “My insight does me no good when I’m stuck in a box.”
“God expects you to use those gifts. You just have to be brave enough to do it. Ask God how he wants you to use your gifts.”
She’d never considered asking God something so personal. He was, well, God. He couldn’t be bothered with mundane problems. Did Katie really talk to him on such an intimate level? It was much too personal a question to ask.
TEN
BIRDS SANG IN the oleander bushes lining the graveyard. Some sweet flower left its presence on the wind. Olivia had dreaded yet longed to come today. The grave would be fresh, still uncovered by grass.
Goldia walked beside her with a basket of flowers. Neither of them spoke in the somber moment. The minister had said Eleanor rested under a live oak tree overlooking the ocean. She scanned the cemetery and walked in the direction of the waves’ murmur. There was the iron fence Mrs. Bagley had mentioned.
Goldia pointed to a huge tree. “There it is, Lady Devonworth.”
Olivia spotted it at the same time. The mound of dirt appeared so stark and lonely. Tears came to Olivia’s eyes, and she quickened her steps though she longed to run away. She reached the grave and sank onto her knees. The scent of raw dirt stung her nose. “Oh, Eleanor,” she whispered. “I can’t bear it.”
“Miss Olivia,” Goldia whispered.
Olivia lifted her head and started to correct the maid when she saw the reason for Goldia’s alarm. Harrison Bennett was striding toward them with his collie in tow.
She hastily rose and brushed the dirt from her skirt. How dare he intrude on this moment? And with a dog?
“Mr. Bennett,” she said when he reached them. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She didn’t care for the way he studied her expression. She was much too vulnerable right now to hide her agitation. And tears hung dangerously close.
He grabbed the dog as it started toward her. “I could say the same, Lady Devonworth,” he said. “Though I suppose propriety demanded you bring flowers. Did you know Eleanor personally or are you just interested because you are using their home?”
“I knew her very well,” she said, not caring if she revealed too much. “I’ve known her since she was a child. She was a lovely girl.”
“So she was,” he said. “You’ve never said how you know the Stewarts. Are you neighbors?”
She bit her lip, wishing she were more prepared for the questions. She should have thought of how to explain her connection.
“I’m surprised Eleanor never mentioned you,” he said.
“You hardly spent much time with her,” she said. “You yourself told me you’d only come back to Mercy Falls four days before she died.”
“True enough.”
“So what are you doing here?” she countered.
He glanced away as if he didn’t know how to answer her. “I saw the Stewart crest on your carriage,” he mumbled. “My mother asked me to issue an invitation.”
If he only knew how they would have to sell everything, even the manor and the carriage, if she didn’t make an advantageous marriage. “Invitation?”
He proffered a card. “She’d like to have you to tea.”
“I didn’t realize your mother was still alive,” she said, then when his brows rose she wished she could call back the words. “I mean, your father is often in New York but he makes no mention of a wife. I’d heard of the accident and assumed . . .”
Lines of pain creased the skin around his mouth. “I believe he’s rather ashamed of her since she’s been in the wheelchair.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I meant no harm.”
“I’m sure there are even more rumors than I know about,” he said, his voice harsh.
“I should be honored to have tea with your mother,” she said, wanting to ease the darkness in his eyes. “This afternoon?”
“If you please.”
“Where does she live?”
“In the house across the street from mine. I’ve tried to convince her there is plenty of room in my home for her, but she abhors the idea of being a burden. Besides, Father comes every few months, and he and I . . .” He shrugged.
“You don’t get along with your father?”
“You could say that.” He grinned. “I see what you’re doing, Lady Devonworth. We had been talking about you and you so adroitly changed the subject.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Not at all. I’m an open book, Mr. Bennett.”
“More like murky water,” he said, grinning. He glanced at Goldia. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
It was uncommon for someone to want to be introduced to a servant. Was his concern all a show? “This is Goldia. She was
employed by Miss Olivia Stewart, a-and was looking for a new position. I was happy to give her one as I was in need of a good lady’s maid. Olivia spoke very highly of her.”
“So you know Olivia as well. You never said.”
Why had she mentioned the name Olivia? It was a disastrous mistake. He was focusing too much attention on her relationship with the Stewarts. Surely he couldn’t suspect her real identity, could he? “I know the Stewart family quite well, all of them. Why else would they give me free access to their home?”
“Why indeed,” he said. The glint in his eyes vanished. “I’d be pleased to escort you to tea at Mother’s. Shall I call for you at twelve thirty?”
“Yes,” she said. His mother might reveal something. And surely she’d met Eleanor.
He bowed. “I’ll leave you now until this afternoon.” His long legs quickly carried him away.
“He knows something, miss,” Goldia said. “That one is too smart for his own good.”
Olivia waved away the concern. “I’m more interested in finding out what his mother knows about Eleanor’s death.”
“I’m sure we shall find Mother in the parlor,” Harrison said as he led Lady Devonworth down the hall. Had he ever been so aware of a woman’s presence before? The slightest movement of her hand on his arm made him uncomfortable. “I am most grateful you agreed to my mother’s request. She doesn’t have many friends.”
“Because of being crippled?” she asked. She paused to take in the portraits of his ancestors in the foyer.
He nodded. “It’s difficult for her to meet for lunch or tea, and the sidewalks are not always easy for her attendant to navigate with the wheelchair.”
She turned back toward him. “You are her only child?”
“I had a younger brother who fell from a tree when he was ten. He died of a broken neck.”
“I’m so sorry.”
The odd thing was she seemed to mean it. Her husky voice was soft, and the dark eyes she turned on him were liquid with warmth. There was so much about her that he didn’t understand. Her presence in the graveyard raised so many questions. Her reddened eyes and obvious distress were out of place. She herself had said the Stewarts were friends, not relatives, so why such obvious grief? And every time he tried to dig into her background, she turned the conversation away from herself.
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