The Lightkeeper's Ball

by Colleen Coble

  She shook her head.

  “Did he gamble?”

  She stared down the street, willing the man to reappear. “He hates gambling. He says gamblers are fools.”

  She remembered the tilt of his head. “Could it be Richard? Maybe he looks like Mr. Stewart.”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible.” He turned her back toward the house. “I want to get you safely inside. I should never have brought you out in the night.”

  The guard joined them and hustled them back to the manor. She kept glancing back for another glimpse of the man, but all she saw were shadows and shrubs.

  Silver chinked at the luncheon table on the terrace and mingled with the birdsong in the background. Lady Devonworth had insisted Harrison stay the night at Stewart Hall, and he’d been happy to oblige to ensure there were no more attacks. Though he hadn’t done much to prevent last night’s stalker. Harrison had tried to push the events from his mind by talking about aeroplanes with Will during the meal, but his thoughts kept going back to what had happened.

  Mrs. Stewart’s mouth was pursed and her eyes went distant every time she looked at him. He knew she blamed him for last night’s near miss. And rightly so. He should never have taken his fiancée from the premises. He still shuddered when he thought about what might have happened. The man might have had a gun.

  “Did you see this man Lady Devonworth claimed was Marshall?” Mrs. Stewart asked. She stared out the window.

  “Only from the back. I thought he looked too slim to be Mr. Stewart.” He raised an apologetic glance Lady Devonworth’s way.

  “I was probably mistaken,” Lady Devonworth said.

  How much of what Lady Devonworth saw was wishful thinking? If that man last night had been Mr. Stewart, he would have spoken to her. It was dark. No one was around. There was no reason for him to hide.

  “What I don’t understand is that if it really is Mr. Stewart, why would he want to harm you, honey?” he asked her.

  She blanched. “Harm me?”

  “He threw you over a cliff into the sea,” he reminded her.

  “That wasn’t him. That man’s voice was huskier than Mr. Stewart’s, younger somehow too. I believe Mr. Stewart had left, and the attacker took advantage of the opportunity.”

  “You heard him call your name just before you went outside.”

  She bit her lip. “True. That lends more credence to the possibility that it’s Richard Pixton.” She stared at him, then at Mrs. Stewart. “But I’d thought he was trying to protect me,” she said.

  “Who, dear?” Mrs. Stewart speared a section of orange.

  “Mr. Stewart. He saw us leave the premises and was watching to protect me. When we saw him, he had to run.”

  Harrison stared at her, not sure how her mind worked. “How do you reason that out?” Not that he totally disbelieved it, but it seemed a leap in logic.

  “I keep seeing him just before danger strikes. I think he’s doing the best he can for me.”

  Mrs. Stewart banged down her fork. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! If my husband is out there, he would let us know. He’s not a cruel man, and letting me mourn him if he’s not dead is the height of cruelty.”

  Lady Devonworth’s lips flattened. “I didn’t mean to offend, Mrs. Stewart.”

  The doorbell rang. Who would call right at lunchtime?

  “I imagine it’s my brother Philip,” Will said, scooting back his chair. “That lad pays no attention to time.” He darted through the door to the dining room, leaving the door open behind him.

  Harrison heard backslapping and boisterous greetings between the brothers. It appeared they had been separated for several months. Will returned to the terrace with two men in tow. Harrison appraised the younger of the two, Philip. Very young and a snappy dresser. But Will had said he was good at his job. The older, portly gentleman must be the attorney, Mr. Grayson. His hunch was confirmed when Lady Devonworth and Mrs. Stewart leaped up to greet him.

  “Have you had luncheon, gentlemen?” Mrs. Stewart asked.

  To his credit, Philip flushed. “No, ma’am, I came straight here from my boat.”

  “Nor I,” Grayson said. “But don’t trouble yourself. I can eat in town.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Stewart said. “I’ll have two more plates brought. Sit here by me, Mr. Grayson.” She indicated the chair to her right.

  A hummingbird sat on the back of the chair, and it darted away when Philip approached. When he sat down beside Lady Devonworth, he eyed Mrs. Stewart as though he wasn’t sure whether she would snarl or smile.

  “Will tells me you have some experience in tracing missing men,” Lady Devonworth said.

  “It’s my passion,” Philip said. “How can I help you? Will was very vague.”

  Under the table, Harrison took her hand. She squeezed his fingers and a smile lifted her lips. Did she sense his feelings? Every time he tried to tell her, something interrupted. He was unsure if God was warning him off or if it was coincidence.

  Mrs. Stewart dabbed her lips with the napkin. “My husband was reported dead after a diamond mine he was examining caved in.”

  Philip took a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and began to write. “Where did this occur?”

  “At a black-diamond mine in Africa.”

  Will whistled. “I hadn’t heard that. Black diamonds. I’ve never seen one.”

  “Marshall was most excited about the acquisition of that mine,” Mrs. Stewart said. “The explosion buried fifty men. Their bodies were never recovered.”

  “Who informed you of this accident?”

  “I received a telegram from Mr. Bennett. He’d been on the scene and was able to give us the details of what happened. Apparently, Marshall was there when a new lode was discovered. In the excitement, he wanted to see it for himself. Mr. Bennett was ill and stayed behind.” She shot a narrowed glare at Harrison.

  Lady Devonworth’s grip on Harrison’s hand had made his fingers numb.

  “Do you suspect foul play?” Philip asked.

  Mrs. Stewart played with her fork. “I didn’t. Now I don’t know.” Her voice faltered. “Lady Devonworth here found a letter he sent to Eleanor. According to this letter—in Marshall’s handwriting—he isn’t dead. And he warns her against the Bennetts.”

  “Have you found any evidence this is true?”

  Mrs. Stewart glanced at Lady Devonworth, who stared down at the table and said, “I heard a voice in the speaking tube that claimed to be Mr. Stewart. After I went down to meet him, I was attacked and thrown into the sea after being rendered unconscious by chloroform. And last night Harrison and I saw a man who resembled Mr. Stewart.”

  “Last night, you say? Where?” Philip put down his pencil.

  “Just down the block.” She described the man they’d seen. “I don’t believe it could possibly be Mr. Stewart, though. He would never harm me.”

  “If he’s here in town, someone has seen him.”

  “And no one has,” Mrs. Stewart said.

  “That’s not exactly true,” Lady Devonworth said. “Goldia thought she saw him in town.”

  “That girl is a flibbertigibbet. You can’t believe anything she says.” Mrs. Stewart glanced at the attorney. “You need to find out if these documents are forged.”

  “I’ll take them back to San Francisco with me. I have plenty of genuine examples of your husband’s handwriting,” Grayson said. “We shall soon root out the truth of the matter.”

  Glancing at Lady Devonworth’s hopeful face, Harrison hoped she wasn’t about to be hurt.

  The next two weeks passed in a whirlwind. Harrison had to go to San Francisco to talk to investors about his aeroplane. Olivia made personal long-distance calls to her friends but was not able to coax anyone to come to her Lightkeeper’s Ball. All of them were distant and aloof. They’d seen the article about her being in the wilderness with Harrison, though none would have said so to her. Olivia ended the calls with a sense of disquiet.

  Did
she have any true friends? People who cared about her for herself and not her name or her money? Now what? She called Katie and Addie, and they helped her make calls to local people. Harrison’s mother and some of the women from the church helped too, and by the end of the week, the butler was bringing in a flood of acceptances every afternoon.

  Mr. Grayson had called with news that the signature on the will appeared genuine, and the news put her mother into a funk for two days, even though Olivia encouraged her with the reminder that Richard Pixton had not been found, and Mr. Grayson was filing to contest the will. Not even Will’s brother had succeeded in locating her half brother. Nothing was going right.

  Thursday morning she put on her hat and called for the car. She had to find out if what Mr. Quinn had mentioned about her father and Mrs. Fosberg could possibly be true. The driver took her by the Fosberg house first, and a gardener told her Mrs. Fosberg was inside. Olivia instructed the driver to wait and went to the door, where she was escorted to the parlor.

  “My dear Lady Devonworth,” Mrs. Fosberg said, standing to greet her. “I just ordered tea.”

  Olivia smiled and settled onto the sofa by the woman. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Fosberg.”

  “You seem quite grave, my dear. Is everything all right?”

  Olivia smiled and accepted a cup of tea from the woman. “I’m fine. I hope you’re looking forward to the ball as much as I am.”

  Mrs. Fosberg clasped her hands together. “Oh, I cannot wait! I am coming as Queen Victoria.”

  Olivia hid her amusement behind her cup. The sweet woman was short and rather dumpy. The fussy clothing Queen Victoria would wear would overpower her.

  “The entire town is talking about it. Frederick’s partner from San Francisco is coming, and several of his friends. I think you shall raise all the money needed to rebuild the lighthouse.”

  “I hope so. People have been very generous.” She sipped her tea and tried to decide how to broach the subject. “Have you met Mrs. Stewart?” she asked finally.

  The woman’s smile vanished. “I have.”

  “How about her husband? He was in town on occasion.”

  The tea sloshed onto the saucer under Mrs. Fosberg’s cup. “Oh dear,” she said as it spilled onto her dress. She rang for a servant and asked for a damp cloth.

  Olivia bit her lip. Had it been a ploy to avoid the subject? “I heard you and Mr. Stewart were friends,” she said.

  Mrs. Fosberg’s lips trembled. “Where did you hear that? That nosy newspaper reporter, I presume? My son told me he’s been asking questions about our family.”

  “I did not mean to offend you,” Olivia said. “I merely wished to ensure you are comfortable meeting Mrs. Stewart at the ball.”

  Mrs. Fosberg’s lips tightened. “I’m perfectly comfortable. Marshall and I were friends. He was a lonely man, and I was lonely as well. Our relationship is hardly your concern, Lady Devonworth, if I may be so bold.”

  “D-Did he speak of his wife and daughters?”

  The older woman put the saucer down with a clatter. “His wife is a cold, heartless woman.”

  Olivia gasped at the characterization of her mother, then sat back in her chair. Perhaps the truth was not far off. Her mother had always been driven. She knew what she wanted and was determined to have it. “That’s what he told you?”

  “I heard it from other sources as well. But I’m not at liberty to repeat their names.” Her smile came then, but it was strained. “Please, shall we move on to another, more pleasant topic?”

  “Of course.” Olivia knew when she’d passed the bounds of good manners.

  Two days before the ball, Olivia started watching the clock. Harrison was due back. She had to tell him the truth when he arrived, even if it meant he broke their engagement. And she very much feared he would. The servants were busy hanging decorations and moving in extra seating and tables. The bedrooms would be ready for the guests to arrive.

  When the doorbell rang, she was engrossed in the Kewpie pages of the newest Woman’s Home Companion. She set the magazine aside and listened for one of the servants to answer the summons. When she heard Harrison’s deep voice, she pinched her cheeks and smoothed her hair. Taking care to arrange her skirt becomingly around her, she looked toward the door with an expectant smile.

  When he entered the parlor, she took in his attire. Leather jacket and hat, casual clothing. “You’re going flying?” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “The plane is ready for testing?”

  “Past ready. I’ve been up in it three times. It performs better than any other flying machine I’ve ever seen. Today the comet is supposed to be as close as it is going to get. Want to come along?”

  She sprang to her feet. “May I?”

  He nodded. “I have something for you though. I didn’t like the way your skirt was nearly caught in the aeroplane on our last adventure. I bought you an aviator’s outfit.” He held up a white-bagged garment. Unzipping it, he revealed a bloomers outfit.

  Her mother would be scandalized. Olivia eyed it. The bloomers ended under the knee and had matching argyle stockings. A leather aviator’s hat dangled from the hanger as well. Oh the freedom of such an outfit!

  She reached for it. “I love it!”

  “Get changed and I’ll take you up for a lesson. We’ll refuel, then go up again tonight when the comet passes.”

  She paused in her rush toward the door. “Aren’t you afraid at all?”

  He shook his head. “Scientists continue to say we’re in no danger. But if they’re wrong, being up there or down here won’t matter much. And if we’re about to step through eternity’s door, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than with you.”

  She drank in his expression. The quirk in his brow, the daring tilt to his lips, the tenderness in his eyes. This day held more promise than she could take in.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, suddenly breathless.

  Carrying the scandalous attire, she rushed to her bedroom. Goldia turned from putting clothing in the closet. She gasped when she saw what Olivia held. Shaking her head, she approached her mistress. “Oh no, Miss Olivia. Your mama would have my hide if I let you wear them bloomers.”

  “I’m wearing them.” Olivia turned her back to her maid. “Unbutton me.”

  Muttering under her breath, Goldia did as she was ordered. “You go down the back stairs. Don’t let your mama see you.”

  “I’m a grown woman. This outfit is perfectly modest.” She pulled on the stockings, then stepped into the bloomers. Turning, she surveyed herself in the full-length mirror and nearly gasped. She was quite the modern woman. No longer a society miss but a daring adventuress. She rather liked the thought.

  Twirling, she struck a pose. “What do you think?”

  “It’s scandalous, miss.” Goldia turned away and shuddered. “What if your gentleman sees you like this?”

  “He bought it for me.”

  Goldia put her hand to her mouth and muttered something indecipherable under her breath. Olivia smiled and hurried down to meet Harrison in the entry. When he saw her, his expression warmed. She held out her hand and he took it and raised it to his lips. He lingered overly long in the kiss he placed against the back of her hand.

  “Are we ready?” she asked when he continued to stare at her.

  He released her hand. “I’ve got something else for you in the auto.”

  Jewelry? Shoes? She wondered what might go with this outfit.

  When they reached his Cadillac, he grabbed a bag from behind his seat and pulled out a pair of coveralls.

  She raised a brow. “You expect me to wear these? I hate covering up my new outfit.”

  “You don’t want it to be stained, do you? The engine throws out castor oil.”

  “Oh, very well. But I’m not putting it on until I have to.” She smiled and went around to the other side of the motorcar. She was a free woman. Harrison didn’t have expectations of her other than that she be herself.
Had that ever happened before? Not in her memory.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THE WHITECAPS ROLLED along the blue ribbon of coast below them. The sun had begun its final plunge into the sea, and cliffs threw shadows onto the sand. Harrison steered the plane along the rocky cliffs rising to their right. The engine was performing beautifully, and the new wings handled the winds without a problem.

  He glanced behind at Lady Devonworth. Her pink cheeks and wide smile telegraphed her enjoyment. Earlier in the afternoon he’d let her take the controls for a few minutes, and she’d handled them like she was born to fly. He gave her a thumbs-up, and she motioned it back to him with an even wider grin.

  The sky began to darken overhead as the sun sank, throwing off pink and orange rays. He wanted to shout, to raise his fists in the air and exult in the experience. Halley’s Comet was a bright star overhead. He saw no evidence of the tail. Smelled nothing of poisonous gas. Just the salt-laden breeze.

  He was going to tell her how he felt about her tonight over dinner on the beach.

  She touched his shoulder and pointed. He looked down at the battered lighthouse she was trying so hard to save. The perfect place. Though she was only pointing out their location, he lowered the flaps and prepared to land. The aeroplane glided on the gentle breeze. Lower and lower. The sunlight gleamed on the water, illuminating the way. He held his breath and set the plane down on the sand. The bumps were gentle. A perfect landing. A good omen for a perfect evening, he hoped.

  After leaping from the plane, he secured it with ties, then helped her out. Gulls squawked overhead as they dived for their last attempt at fishing before nightfall. The tide was coming in, bringing flotsam and driftwood.

  “Would you get out the basket in the back of the plane?” he asked Lady Davenworth. When she nodded, he rounded up an armful of dried-out driftwood and began to build a fire. He fetched the kerosene lantern and lit it. When he turned around, she had shucked the hated overalls. Her hair had come loose from its pins without the leather cap. He could only stare.

  “Hungry?” he asked.