by Diana Palmer
Matt had learned more than he really wanted to. He understood more about John’s troubled marriage than he’d been told, too. “I won’t tell him where she is unless I have to.”
“That will do nicely. Thank you. When I give my word to keep a confidence, I don’t like to break it.”
Matt’s opinion of the man went up a notch. “Neither do I.”
“Now, can I help you with anything else?”
Matt smiled. “As a matter of fact, you can. I fancy a new vest.”
Kenny grinned. “I have some good silk ones, just in from New York City. Let me show them to you.”
THE NEXT MORNING, VERY EARLY, Matt went to see Mr. Dawes at the bank. It took him less than two minutes to get every single thing he needed out of the little man and propel him forcibly to the nearest precinct to spill his guts to a police stenographer.
Dawes immediately gave up Eli Calverson to save himself. Two police officers were sent around to the Calverson residence with orders to arrest the man, no matter how sick he was. But to their surprise, when they forced their way in with a search warrant and went up to his quarantined bedroom, it was empty.
“Why, the doctor said he was too ill to move!” Diane gasped theatrically when they saw the neatly made bed and the empty room. “Wherever could he have gone?” she added ingenuously.
“Perhaps he died and was removed without your realizing it,” an older policeman said sarcastically.
She glared at him. “I am not shielding my husband! He asked me not to risk myself by coming in here. And he gave me this in case anything really terrible happened to him. He said I was to show it to the police.” She took a sealed envelope from her pocket and handed it to the man, looking up at him with guileless blue eyes and a sweet smile. “I can’t imagine what it says.”
I’ll bet you can’t, the veteran officer thought, but he only nodded. He tore the envelope open and scanned the handwritten lines. His lips made a thin line.
He turned, motioning to the other officer. They bade Mrs. Calverson a good day and went quickly out the door.
The letter, in Calverson’s own hand, accused John of embezzling thousands of dollars from the bank. His wife, Diane, had had nothing to do with the theft and didn’t know his plans, so she shouldn’t be questioned. He would make himself available to the police the minute John was safely in custody. The bookkeeper, he wrote, would verify his story. John was trying to steal his wife, Eli wrote plaintively and because, he charged, “Hawthorn knew he would need huge sums of money to keep her—money that he didn’t have—he stole that, too.” Dawes would never testify against John, he alleged, because John had threatened the little man, who led a secret life that included evil sexual practices. And now, he, Calverson, was going to go into seclusion at a friend’s house in town until John was apprehended. He added in a postscript that he feared for his life.
The letter, with a signature and handwriting that was confirmed by Eli Calverson’s own secretary, was evidence enough for the police to arrest John.
JOHN WAS DEMORALIZED and furious to be led out of the bank in handcuffs. He vehemently denied any knowledge of the embezzled money, but Calverson’s story sounded very logical. And to clinch it, Calverson had sent the same letter via his lawyer to the newspapers to be opened and published in the case of John Hawthorn’s arrest. The next morning, the front pages of every Atlanta paper carried the story that the young vice president of the Peachtree City Bank was under arrest for embezzling the bank’s money.
John sat in his jail cell in a brown fury of impotence. He’d lost his wife and he was the prime suspect in a bank theft. If his life had seemed hopeless before, it was certainly hopeless now.
Eli Calverson, as he’d promised, had immediately reappeared on the doorstep of his home, apparently completely recovered from his “illness” the minute he knew John was safely in jail. He invited reporters to his home so that he could give them his sad tale of intimidation by his vicious, embezzling vice president, while his beautiful wife charmed the male visitors. Everyone believed him, with the exception of one hawkeyed reporter who wanted to know, quite loudly, where the bookkeeper Dawes was.
“Oh, he’s in hiding, too,” Calverson said quickly. “But I know where he is, and he’ll come forward at the appropriate time to testify. I’ve told the police so.”
“Wasn’t there a case of suspected embezzlement filed against you some years ago?” the reporter said persistently.
“I really feel too weak to continue,” Eli said, pretending to swoon. “I’ve been ill. Thank you all for coming. I’m sure you’ll do the proper thing with this story. Investors must be protected from such charlatans. To think he was my own protégé, and my friend!”
The reporters ate it up, glaring at the man who’d asked such harsh questions that he had poor, dear Mrs. Calverson in tears. When they left, Calverson gave his wife a hard look.
“You did very well, my dear,” he said, with cold menace. “Continue to do as I tell you, and we’ll pull this off.”
Diane was unusually pale. “I do not want to run—”
He caught her arm roughly. “But you will,” he said firmly, twisting it until she cried out. “This was as much your fault as mine, with your incessant demands for pretty trinkets and clothes. Now you’ll pay the piper with me! Do you understand?”
She choked. “Yes, Eli. Of course. I’ll do whatever you say!”
He scoffed, but he let her go. She’d do as she was told or face the consequences. His only real concern now was escape. He had to do it while attention was focused on John Hawthorn. His revenge on the man who’d attempted to cuckold him was sweet, indeed—and made even more so by the thought of the money he’d squirreled away. All he had to do was get to Charleston and take a ship to the West Indies. There, he could live like a king. He’d use Diane as a blind until then. But afterward…well, a rich man could get any woman he wanted. Diane’s coldness had wearied him. He was ready to ditch her and look for a woman with beauty and a kind heart. She could go back to Hawthorn, with his blessing. And the fool was welcome to her!
JOHN, SITTING ALONE in his cold cell, wondered if Claire ever thought of him. She probably believed he still loved Diane. That was a joke. Diane was surely in league with Eli. What a pity, he thought bitterly, that he’d been too blinded by his obsession with her to see clearly why Eli Calverson had hired him in the first place. The old man had surely been planning this for years, taking little bits of money out of the bank and letting Dawes cover up for him. If he wasn’t lynched, the absence of Dawes, and Calverson’s continued attacks in the press, would surely convict him. His future was sorely in doubt—and he hadn’t a friend in the world to come to his rescue. Not even his wife was likely to come to his aid, if, wherever she was, she knew of his ill fortune.
IT WAS INEVITABLE that the Savannah papers should pick up the story about a young bank executive arrested for embezzlement in Atlanta. But it wasn’t the story in the newspaper that alerted Claire to her husband’s predicament. It was a telegram from Kenny Blake.
“Your husband arrested for bank fraud and in grave danger,” the telegram read. “Come at once. Kenny.”
“Oh, heavens!” Claire exclaimed, falling back in her chair as if she’d been struck.
Maude and Emily rushed to her side. Maude read the telegram with no thought for courtesy. “It must be in the newspapers, too,” she added, and rushed to the front door. She came back with the paper in her trembling hands. “Yes, it’s in here, too. Oh, Claire! They say he’s stolen thousands of dollars and that there’s talk of lynching!”
“But this is ridiculous. John is the most honest man I know. He would never steal from investors.”
Maude looked at the younger woman with love and gratitude. “I know that. I’m so glad that you know it, too. But what shall we do, Claire? If I tell Clayton, the shock may finish him.”
“I don’t think so,” Claire replied. “I think it will provide the challenge he needs to bring him to his feet a
gain.”
“It’s a terrible gamble,” the older woman said worriedly.
“Yes. But think of the reward if it succeeds.”
And the tragedy if it fails, Maude was thinking. But she kept her worries to herself. She studied Claire for a long moment.
“Very well. But let’s break it to him gently.”
And they did, as gently as it was possible to tell someone that his eldest son had been arrested for theft. They showed him the newspaper, the headlines of which he could barely make out.
“Of all the damned outrages,” he exploded, and then begged the women’s pardon for his language. He shook the paper at his wife. “If I catch the scalawag who did this—and blamed my son for it—I’ll cane him bloody!”
“John’s in jail,” Maude said gently. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’ll do what needs doing,” he muttered, easing himself off the bed. “By heaven, I’ll see about these charges myself. Maude, send for a carriage to take me into town. I want to stop and get our attorney to go with me on the next train to Atlanta.”
“Are you sure you’re fit to travel so far, Clayton?” she asked, hesitating.
“Do I look it?”
She smiled. “I suppose you do, my dear. Very well. I’ll do what you say.”
Claire insisted on going along, and Maude wouldn’t stay behind with her husband on a long journey. She went, as well, leaving Emily—although she had wanted to go with them—in the care of Jason.
The family attorney, Harland Dennison, a thin man with a firm demeanor, wasn’t averse to the trip. They all got tickets for Atlanta and set out with the barest minimum of clothing and toiletries.
Rather than check into a hotel first, they went straight to the Atlanta jail nearest the bank. There was a small crowd outside with placards denouncing John. Clayton gave them angry glares as he pushed his way through, ahead of Maude and Claire, then led the way into the precinct.
“Send that thief out here, Chief Stanton, and we’ll lynch him for you!” an angry man called.
As Clayton and Maude went into the police station, Claire turned and moved back to the top step. She glared straight at the man who’d yelled the threat.
“My husband would not steal a nickel if he were starving,” she said firmly. “And anyone who really knew him would be aware of that! If he was the guilty party, why didn’t he run?”
There were murmurs. That hadn’t occurred to anyone, apparently.
“Would a man who stole so much money stay here?” she continued. “Would an innocent man stay in town and wait for a lynch mob? And if Mr. Calverson, who accused my husband, is so innocent himself, why is he still hiding in his house? The newspaper says he won’t even go to work at his own bank. He makes his foul accusations from hiding! Would a brave man do that? And where was he during the run on the bank, when my husband was forced to go out and defend the reputation of it? Was Mr. Calverson risking his own neck? He was not! Only my husband had the courage to face the mob. Is such courage the hallmark of a thief?”
There were more murmurs.
Claire lifted her chin and glared down at the milling crowd. “My husband has been falsely accused. And if you will be patient for just a few days, I will prove it to you.”
There was a long pause and some loud murmuring. Finally the man in front spoke for the rest. “I guess we won’t lose any more money if we wait,” he said sullenly.
“Guess he would have run, if he’d done it,” another added. “And he never ran from that mob.”
“In this country a man is supposed to be considered innocent until he is proven guilty,” Claire continued. “My husband will be exonerated, and every penny of your money will be recovered. I promise you so!”
There was another pause and loud murmurs. After a minute one man stepped forward. “We’ll see, then,” the mob leader conceded. He let his placard fall and motioned to the other men, leading them away from the jail.
When she got inside, it was to find John being brought out from the back of the building. He stopped when he saw his parents and Claire. He was so shocked he couldn’t speak.
“There you are, my boy,” Clayton said heartily, as if they’d parted in harmony only the day before. He moved forward, extending a hand. “I’ve brought Dennison. He’s going to get you out of this place. We’ll post bail. Then we’ll set about proving you innocent, whatever it takes.”
John’s eyes narrowed as he dragged them away from the joyous sight of Claire and looked at the father he hadn’t seen in two years. Clayton Hawthorn was thinner, and he looked frail, but his eyes were as determined and fiery as ever. “You’re certain that I am innocent?” he asked, with a mocking smile.
“Don’t be absurd,” his father said stiffly. “You’re my son—even if I have been an old fool of a father. I know you’re innocent.”
John met the extended hand and shook it with warmth and respect. “It’s good to see you again, sir,” he said formally, although there was sincere feeling in his deep tone.
Clayton smiled faintly. “Yes. It’s good to see you, too.”
“Such formality! Men!” Maude grumbled, pushing past her husband to hug her son fiercely. “Oh, my dear! What a mess you’ve landed yourself in this time!” she said heavily. “But we’ll get you out somehow, even if we have to bribe a judge or threaten him at gunpoint.”
“Mother!” John chuckled, hugging her close.
“I do know a judge,” she added thoughtfully as she extricated herself. “We were sweethearts in grammar school. But he sits on the bench in Florida, so he would hardly be any help to us.”
“The truth will be help enough,” Clayton said. “And you can stop flaunting your old boyfriends at me, you hussy!”
Maude giggled, and John looked past his parents to Claire. His heart jumped at the mere sight of her, and he realized how much he’d missed her in his life. He’d never had such a sensation of joy in his life before, but even as his dark eyes glittered with emotion, she lifted her chin and stared at him with frank resentment. He scowled as he saw her belligerent expression. She hadn’t forgotten a thing, apparently. He knew then that her resentments would have to be overcome, and it would take time. That was all right. He had plenty of time—if he wasn’t lynched in the interim, he thought darkly.
“What are you doing with my parents?” he demanded.
“She’s been staying with us,” Clayton offered.
“I decided that it would be the last place you’d look for me,” she told him.
“So it was.” He appeared angry now. “I’d no idea where to find you!”
“You were occupied with Mrs. Calverson just before I left, as you recall,” she said in a near whisper. “I didn’t think you’d miss me.”
Maude stepped between them. “This isn’t the place,” she said gently.
“You’re right,” John agreed reluctantly, still angry at Claire’s jibe. “But thank you all for coming, just the same.”
“Families must stick together in times of strife,” Maude told him.
“I’ve paid the bail,” old Dennison said, rejoining them. “You’re free, for the moment,” he added to John. “Let’s go.”
John went out the door with them and down to the waiting carriage. It was a tight squeeze, but they managed to fit. The carriage took them to the biggest hotel in town.
“Do you still have the suite at Mrs. Dobbs’s house?” Claire asked John. “And is Chester all right?”
“Yes. Mrs. Dobbs refused to throw me out—even in the face of sour public opinion. Quite a woman, Mrs. Dobbs.”
“We’ll get rooms here,” Clayton said as the carriage stopped at the Aragon Hotel. “Claire, go home with John and get him cleaned up. Then you can meet us here at the hotel for the evening meal.”
“I don’t…” she began, embarrassed.
“Yes, that would be best,” John said before she could talk her way out of going home with him. “We have a lot to say to each other.”
“
Do we?” she asked coldly.
The elder Hawthorns waved at them as the carriage pulled off down the street toward Mrs. Dobbs’s house.
John leaned back and stared at Claire. She looked fine-drawn and remote, elegant in her dark suit and perfectly coiffed. He sighed as he thought how good it was to have her home again, even reluctantly. He’d wasted so much of their time together. Now, when the chips were down, she stood by him. Diane, he knew now, would have already run for the hills.
“I’m indebted to you for coming back,” he told her, “and most especially for bringing my parents with you. We’ve been alienated for some time.”
“I remember.”
“Did my father talk to you about it?” he asked persistently.
She turned in her seat to look at him. “Yes, he told me everything, just as you had. Your father will tell you himself that he deeply regrets blaming you for something that was, after all, an act of God. He has reconciled himself with God and now wishes to do the same with you. He has been very ill. But just lately, he seems to have rallied.”
He smiled. “Because of you, no doubt,” he said, and without sarcasm. “You have a kind heart, Claire. It would take a statue not to warm to you.”
“You’re very kind,” she said formally, and looked out the window at the lighted houses.
“I had asked one of the Pinkertons to find you for me,” he remarked.
“Why?” she asked, with honest surprise.
He frowned. “Because I was worried about you. I had no idea where you were, even if you were all right.” He shrugged, glancing away. “And I missed you,” he added stiffly.
“If you’d asked Kenny, I imagine he’d have told you, even though I asked him not to.”
His eyes glittered with suppressed anger. “You think I would go to that prissy little bounder to ask the whereabouts of my wife?” he asked tersely.
