After dinner he walked Olivia to the library door. “I’ll be happy to make the call to your attorney if you wish,” he said.
His presence gave her strength and courage. How was that even possible when she’d disliked him so intensely in the past? “I need to do it myself, but thank you,” she said. She left him outside the library and closed the door before she picked up the earpiece and told the operator she needed to make a long-distance call to New York. She gave the woman the number, then hung up to wait to be called back after the connection was completed.
She could almost feel Harrison’s presence outside, and she remembered that word treasure again. Was there any hope at all that he might come to feel that way, or would all hope be lost the moment he discovered she was a Stewart? She turned to the bookshelves so she wouldn’t run to the door and rush into his arms. She perused the titles but didn’t really see them.
The telephone rang and she answered it. “I have your party on the line,” the operator said in a nasal voice. “His wife gave me the number where he could be reached in San Francisco. Go ahead.”
“Mr. Grayson,” Olivia said. “I’m sorry to disturb you at night, but we have an emergency out here. It’s quite fortuitous that you are in San Francisco.”
“Miss Stewart, I’m always at your disposal,” he said. “How can I assist you?”
His gruff voice had calmed her fears all of her life. Mr. Grayson had been their solicitor since before Olivia’s birth. She could trust him implicitly. She launched into the latest claim on her father’s estate. “What is our next step?” she asked.
“I need to see this so-called will,” he said.
She glanced at the safe. “I have a copy in my possession.”
“I’ll be on the next packet ship to Mercy Falls in the morning. I’ll be there by early afternoon. Will that be suitable?”
“We’ll be here.” All of her questions couldn’t wait until then. “What if it’s legitimate?”
“I find it difficult to believe your father would leave your future completely in the hands of an unknown man. He was most meticulous about his desire to assure himself of your future. I suspect a forgery.”
“How would we find out if the document is forged?”
“There are experts who can determine that.”
She hated all the ifs the situation left dangling. “And if it’s real? Can we contest it?”
“We will indeed contest it if that is the ruling.”
“One disturbing detail is that this unknown half brother of mine has not come forward. Until he does, our money would be in the control of Mr. Fosberg. Do you know him?”
“I do.” It was clear Mr. Grayson was picking his words carefully. “Let me simply say I would not willingly allow him to oversee my money. What of Miss Eleanor’s fate? Have you been able to discover anything?”
“I believe someone killed her, but I don’t know who. However, I just became engaged to Harrison Bennett. So Mother’s future will be secure when she receives part ownership of the black-diamond mine.”
“Your father had great hopes for the first diamond mine, but the income from it has been less than stellar of late.”
“Less than stellar?” Harrison was estranged from his father. Would he be disinherited? She shook her head. Mrs. Bennett had been delighted by the engagement. At least a marriage would give Mr. Bennett what he wanted. Perhaps she could negotiate a settlement for her mother.
If anything came of her feelings for Harrison. The stray thought hit hard. She’d tried to deny she felt anything for him, but she did. She always had.
“Miss Stewart, are you there?”
“I’m here, Mr. Grayson,” she said, collecting her composure.
“I have not seen the will yet, and it has not yet been submitted to a probate judge, so right now you and your mother can do as you wish.”
“There’s another matter. It’s possible my father isn’t even dead.” She told him about the note to Eleanor.
“I will want to see that note as well and have it evaluated for forgery.”
“So you don’t think it likely Father is still alive?”
“I knew your father for thirty years, Miss Olivia. He could be somewhat self-absorbed, but I don’t believe he would cause you this kind of pain. Nor would he leave you to face danger alone. I’m quite certain if he were alive, he would show himself.”
The more she’d turned the situation around and looked at it, the more she’d come to that conclusion as well, but the confirmation from her father’s longtime friend flooded her eyes with tears. It was almost like receiving the news of her father’s death again. She’d clung to that thin sliver of hope, ridiculous as it was.
“Thank you for your candor,” she said, her voice choked.
“I wish it were otherwise.”
“So do I.”
“Good night.”
“Good night,” she echoed. She replaced the earpiece and opened the door to Harrison. He stepped inside with his hands in his pockets. “You reached him?”
“I did. It appears he too thinks the will might be a forgery. He claims to have experts who can determine that.”
He withdrew his hands and stepped closer. He thumbed away the moisture from her cheek. “Why are you crying, darling?”
Darling. She loved hearing that word in his deep tones. His voice was so tender, so filled with what seemed to be genuine caring. She was afraid to trust it now that she was facing her own feelings.
“He thinks the note from Mr. Stewart is a forgery too. I hate to tell Mrs. Stewart.”
Her mother’s voice spoke from the doorway. “Come to the fire. I have the maid bringing in mulled cider. You can tell me what Mr. Grayson had to say.”
Harrison’s hand squeezed hers, then dropped away. Olivia sighed and followed her mother.
The manor was quiet once Harrison left and the Jespersons went to bed. With Goldia following, Olivia tiptoed to the attic stairs and glanced into the yard before going up them. The guard Harrison had insisted on patrolled the property below. Not that Olivia would be unwise enough to obey a message sent through the speaking tube again.
She reached the attic floor. The lights were dim but cast enough illumination for her to make out the trunks pushed against the walls and the shelves stacked with wooden crates. She sneezed at the dust in the air and moved toward the trunk by the small attic window. Through the glass she could see the moon on the water—the sea that had nearly claimed her life twice. She shuddered and turned back to the task at hand.
Goldia clutched herself and rubbed her palms on her arms. “Miss Olivia, it’s cold up here. Can we go?”
“We just got here, Goldia. I haven’t even looked for them yet.”
“Your mama will be mad if she knows you’re snooping through her stuff.”
“She doesn’t have to know. If she’d just tell me what I need to know, I wouldn’t have to snoop.” Olivia opened the nearest trunk and sneezed again at the musty scent of old clothes.
“How do you know it’s even here? Your mama has never been here.”
“She was looking for her journals last summer and realized Father had taken the wrong trunk when he shipped out some books.”
Though she raked her hands through the soft pile, she found nothing more than dresses from the 1850s. No journals. For as long as she could remember, her mother had kept a household journal where she listed daily events and jotted personal notes as well. Olivia wanted to find out more about Lulu Pixton. It wasn’t a subject her mother was willing to discuss.
Closing the trunk, she moved to the next. Every trunk she checked had clothing. She glanced at Goldia. “Anything?”
“There are a bunch of books in this crate,” her maid said.
Olivia joined her. “Recipe books. But we must be getting close.” She replaced the lid and dusted off her hands before prying open the lid on the next one. “Here they are!” She lifted the journal on top and flipped it open.
“What are you
doing up here?”
Olivia turned to see her mother at the top of the stairs. She was in her nightdress and dressing gown, and her mouth was tight.
Her mother glanced at the journal in Olivia’s hand. “Those are private, Olivia.” She approached with her hand held out.
Olivia passed it over. “I need to know about Lulu, Mother.”
“That’s in the past. I don’t like to think about it.”
“The past just caught us. We have to think about it. I need to be prepared for what’s coming. Did the woman teach her son to hate us? Will he make our lives miserable when he shows up?”
Her mother turned the book over in her hands, then glanced inside. “This isn’t even the right journal.”
“Talk to me,” Olivia begged. “This affects all of us.”
“Come down to the parlor. I won’t have this discussion in such an unsavory place.”
Her mother retreated to the steps, and Olivia followed after dismissing Goldia. At last she might find some answers. She was possessed of a deep curiosity about her half brother. And what if he was the voice on the speaking tube? It wasn’t unheard of for a son to resemble his father in voice and stature.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Tiger entwined himself around Olivia’s ankles, and she picked him up. His gentle purr would help her endure what she had to hear. On her way to the parlor, she heard the doorbell. It was after ten, hardly the time for a social call. The butler went to the door, and she heard Harrison’s deep voice. When he stepped through the door, his tie was cocked and he was hatless.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw her. “I saw the light in the attic.”
“Were you watching the house?”
He shrugged and his grin was shamefaced. “I know you have a guard, but I just wanted to make sure there was no other attack.”
Warmth spread through her. “It’s quite good of you to care.”
“Oh, I care,” he said in a quiet voice as her mother joined them. He reached over and brushed at her hair. “A cobweb,” he said, a teasing light in his eyes.
“Mr. Bennett, do you realize the time?” her mother demanded.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stewart. When I saw the lights, I feared an intruder was afoot.”
Her mother’s expression softened. “Very well. Since you’re helping my dear Lady Devonworth with this mystery, join us in the parlor for a discussion. I’ll ring for cocoa.” She sailed down the hall to the parlor.
Olivia exchanged a glance with Harrison. He raised a brow and she shrugged as they followed her mother. “Were you planning on watching the house all night?” she whispered before they entered the room.
“Just until I was sure you wouldn’t be answering any summons by speaking tube.”
His grin enveloped her with its easy intimacy. When his hand touched her back at the door, she wanted to lean into him and brush her lips across the faint stubble on his chin. Shocking. She moved quickly to sit by her mother on the sofa while he took the chair.
“This is most distasteful,” her mother said after the maid left cocoa for them on the table. “I quite dislike remembering this time, my dear.”
“I know.” She waited to see if her mother would continue or if she would go to her room with another headache.
Her mother rubbed her head. “I have the most dreadful headache coming on.” She sighed and stirred her cocoa. “I thought I could trust that girl. She’d been with me for so long.”
“When was this? I don’t even know how old Richard would be,” Olivia asked.
Mrs. Stewart cast a wary eye upon Harrison. “It was right after my daughter was born. I nearly died after her birth. The woman took advantage of my infirmity to entice my husband into a relationship.”
Olivia had heard the stories of how her mother hadn’t left her bed for several months following her birth. “How did you discover it?”
“My mother told me about it, of all things. She caught them in the kitchen.” The older woman shuddered and sipped her tea.
“Did you confront Lulu and . . . your husband?”
“I said nothing to him. He went away on business and I dismissed her at once. Actually, my mother handled it for me.” She put down her cup. “It was quite distasteful. Lulu came crying to me, asking for me to reconsider my decision.”
“Did you?” Harrison asked, his voice gentle.
“Of course not! I couldn’t have a viper in my bosom. I had the servants remove her.”
Olivia winced at the mental image of a pregnant young woman alone and friendless. “Did she have family in the area?”
“She sometimes visited a sister. I don’t remember her name. It will come to me though.”
“At least she had someone then.”
Her mother frowned. “You sound sympathetic to her.”
“I was just imagining myself in her situation.”
Her mother fixed her with a stare. “You would never be so unwise.”
“Of course not.”
“Do you think she would be vindictive now?” Harrison asked.
“She wasn’t that kind. She would have taken in every stray cat in the neighborhood if I would have let her.”
Harrison leaned forward. “So Richard would be a few months younger than your daughter. Which one? Olivia?”
Olivia’s mother nodded. “That’s right. How do we even know if he’s still alive? He hasn’t come forward to claim anything.”
Something about the situation had bothered Olivia, and she finally figured out what it was. “Mr. Stewart knew his name. He mentioned him by name in the will. So he had to have been in contact with Lulu after she went to San Francisco. Can we check bank records and see if he supported her in any way?”
Her mother blanched. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought it through.” She rubbed her head and moaned. “That woman. I can’t believe she would have been bold enough to contact him. And knowing my husband, he probably did give her money.”
“We might be able to trace Richard that way,” Harrison said, leaning forward in his chair. “With your permission, I’ll get on it.”
“Our solicitor will be here tomorrow. He can handle it,” her mother said.
Olivia saw Harrison sit back in his chair. “I’d like you to be here when we talk to our attorney, Harrison,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”
He straightened. “I would welcome the chance to help.”
“M-Mrs. Stewart, you seem to blame Lulu for the entire situation. What of your husband’s role?”
The older woman gave her a cold glance. “Men will always be men, my dear. You’ll learn that soon enough.” She rose. “We must get to bed. Lady Devonworth, you can see Mr. Bennett out.” Her tone made it clear her daughter was not to dawdle.
THIRTY-THREE
OLIVIA WALKED WITH Harrison to the front door and stepped out onto the porch with him. She wished she dared ask him what he had started to say several times. The gaslight by her head hissed and danced in the faint breeze off the ocean.
She took his hand. “Thank you for looking out for me tonight, Harrison. I want you to go home now. I’m going to bed and I promise I won’t answer any summons.”
He raised her fingers to his lips. “I’d rather stay awhile. Want to take a walk in the moonlight?”
She hesitated. Maybe she could get up the courage to tell him her name. “Is it safe?”
“I’ll protect you,” he said, smiling. “I’ll have the guard walk a few feet behind us.”
“I’d love to,” she said.
“Need a wrap?”
“I’m fine.” Just being around him warmed her more than any shawl. She took his arm and they strolled down the drive.
“I think we’d better stick to the sidewalk,” he said, guiding her toward the street. “The gardens could hide an intruder.”
They passed the guard, and Harrison told him to keep an eye on them. She liked the way he slowed his steps to match hers and the tender way he helped her down th
e curb. It seemed so much more than mere courtesy. Was it? The path was dark except for the occasional open arc lamp. Every time they stepped into the shadows, she wished he would stop, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she was breathless—which wouldn’t take much, because she already had to force herself to drag in air whenever she was in his presence.
Was this love?
They walked in silence to the end of the block, then turned to go back the way they’d come. Olivia saw a movement near the shrubbery and paused. The glow from the arc light illuminated the figure of a man hiding in the bushes. Her fingers clamped onto Harrison’s arm.
“There’s a man watching us,” she said.
“I see him. Wait here.” He walked toward the shrubbery. “You there! Show yourself.”
The leaves erupted and the figure raced off the other way. Olivia stared. There was something about the shape of his head, the way he held his shoulders. She started to shout, “Father,” then choked back the word. Harrison gave chase to the fellow and she ran after them. The guard rushed past her and pursued the men as well.
The men vanished around the corner, and she paused to catch her breath. Her chest burned with the exertion, but she forced herself to break into a jog again. She turned the corner and saw Harrison coming back toward her.
“I lost him,” he said when he reached her.
She seized his arm. “Oh, Harrison, I think it was Mr. Stewart.”
He frowned. “Honey, are you sure? You thought the man who called you to the backyard was Stewart too. The lighting is poor. How could you tell? I couldn’t make out anything but a dark shape.”
She liked hearing the word honey on his lips. His doubt rattled her, though, made her question what she’d seen. “I can’t explain it, but I think it was him. Something about the shape of his head. But why wouldn’t he reveal himself to us?”
“We keep going round and round about that. Was he in any kind of trouble when he disappeared?”
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