The familiar sights and scents of the Perkins kitchen soothed her; she reminded herself that these two people had been an intimate, daily part of her life until a few months ago. Why did she hesitate to reveal Ambrose’s horrible story and threats? Why did she sense, as Patrick and Eula took their places at the small table, that they would use her vulnerability to their own advantage?
It was too late to regret coming here. The high-pitched whistle of the kettle announced that tea would soon be served . . . the beverage she’d gossiped and lamented over for most of her twenty years . . . the drink that had ended Mama’s life, and now marked the start of renewed ties with the house where she had died.
Celesta cleared her throat. “Well, it started when Katherine and I heard an approaching horseman,” she began in a voice that sounded too timid to be her own. “He beat on the door, demanding to be let in yet refusing to identify himself. I grabbed the poker, but he was so tall and powerful he could’ve snapped it in two, I think.”
“Oh, my,” Eula breathed, glancing away only long enough to pour their tea. “I would’ve been petrified! And you two all alone up there in that house—why, we might not’ve found you for days, had it been a stranger.”
“He’s not the Ambrose I remember,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Paid no attention to Katherine when she keeled over and ...”
Patrick listened to her account with resigned patience, because now that the head of the Ransom household had returned from the grave, as it were, his grand designs were tumbling into a tomb of their own. As she told about Bill Thompkins’s involvement and outlined Ambrose’s plan to hold Celesta hostage while forcing Katherine’s marriage to his spy—all to keep his holdings beyond this trembling waif’s reach—he realized how frightened she was. Ordinarily Celesta would’ve seen the gross improbabilities of the scheme her uncle had cowed her with, but his sudden reappearance and her aunt’s reaction had sent her mind into a tailspin . . . which could work to his advantage, until he found out what Ambrose Ransom, Jr., really intended to do.
“You did the right thing, coming here to tell us about this,” he reassured Celesta. He reached for her hand, so small and fragile in his own. “He never gave you or your mother a thought before the Phantom’s boiler exploded, and it’s obvious he still considers you beneath him, even though you’ve cared for his wife and sister these past several months.”
“Who would’ve guessed he had the gall to deceive Katherine so?” Eula said with a disgusted shake of her head. “She’s my concern, now that you’ve gotten away from—”
“But I doubt he’ll do her harm,” Patrick insisted. “She can’t challenge him, and if he’s rattled off such a scheme to protect his secrets and his money, he’s no doubt formulating more lies now that Celesta’s gotten away. Katherine may be his ace in the hole. He won’t hurt her as long as she can be useful to him.”
Celesta nodded, relieved. She still didn’t trust Patrick and had never felt comfortable confiding in Eula, but their influence and protection would prevent Ambrose from carrying out any of his rash plans. Their involvement meant that Harlan Jones wouldn’t look the other way as he had when she produced the incriminating evidence against Damon Frye. She didn’t feel entirely secure now, but at least she wasn’t fighting by herself.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked quietly.
Patrick stroked her hand between his. Lord, she was a beauty with her flushed cheeks and huge green eyes, her ebony hair tumbling in windswept disarray around her shoulders. All was certainly not lost, now that she’d returned to his home.
“Why don’t we all get some sleep,” he suggested, “and I’ll take you to see Jones first thing in the morning. Ambrose won’t go anywhere—he’ll wait to be confronted. And we’ll be sure he’s exposed for the scoundrel he is before he deceives anyone else.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Eula reached over and squeezed their joined hands. “You’ll always have a home here with us, Celesta,” she said in an emotion-choked voice. “I’ll get you a nightgown, and you can sleep in your old bed. Patrick will see your uncle gets his due, and I’ll be sure Katherine’s out of harm’s way. We’ve missed you, Celesta, and it’s the least we can do.”
As she ascended to the bedroom she had occupied for so many years, Celesta had a strange feeling she’d betrayed Mama, and Katherine, and even Justine by coming here. But where else could she turn? Ambrose was a force she couldn’t handle by herself, and the Perkinses were the only close friends she had now that Damon was gone. It was frightening to be so alone.
They made an odd foursome as the carriage rolled up in front of Ransom Manor the next day. Patrick’s blue eyes blazed protectively as he looked toward the windows for signs of Ambrose, while his mother fretted about what they should do for poor Katherine if she still wasn’t talking. Police Chief Jones had looked skeptical about coming—seemed to think this whole story about Ambrose Ransom’s return was a hoax Celesta dreamed up to infuriate him further. When Patrick chided him for letting Damon Frye escape unpunished and suggested someone else could handle his position more effectively, however, he agreed to hear Ransom’s story for himself.
As she was helped down between Patrick’s strong hands, Celesta’s pulse throbbed weakly. “I hope he doesn’t do anything impulsive. I hope Aunt Katherine’s all right,” she murmured, glancing fearfully toward the door.
“Everything’ll work out, I promise you,” he replied firmly. “He may be conniving, but he’s nobody’s fool when four witnesses are present.”
As though anticipating their purpose, her uncle opened the door and stepped outside, his wife beside him. “Welcome, friends,” he said jovially. “I imagine after what Celesta’s told you, you have some questions. Please come in! Katherine’s got tea brewing.”
While Eula stared openly at the scarred, peg-legged man, Celesta felt the chief’s eyes questioning her, felt Patrick’s grasp tighten on her arm. “Be ready for anything,” she murmured. “He’s obviously changed his ploy.”
“Why don’t you and Mother help with the refreshments? Harlan and I can start quizzing your uncle.”
She nodded, a lump of fear hardening in her throat. What if Katherine were behaving as the perfect wife because she’d been threatened? What if she never recovered her faculties or her ability to speak? The little woman was smiling at her now, an oddly detached expression, and it took every ounce of Celesta’s courage to approach her.
“How are you today?” she asked as they preceded her uncle into the hall. “You look rested in spite of our little . . . surprise.”
“You—you must’ve been quite surprised,” Eula twittered with a nervous glance toward Ambrose, “but if my Tom returned, I know I’d be speechless with joy myself.”
Once in the kitchen, Celesta grasped her aunt’s hands and looked her over. She saw no bruises or signs of abuse, only a dear, familiar face with a faraway smile. “Are you all right?” she whispered earnestly.
Katherine nodded once.
“Thank God she understands now,” Celesta breathed as she glanced at Eula. She rubbed her aunt’s cool, freckled hand, wondering how to proceed.
“Can you talk to us, dear?” Mrs. Perkins asked. “If there are things you’d rather we didn’t repeat, we’ll certainly understand. It must’ve been such a shock to see Ambrose standing there.”
Again her aunt nodded, and then pulled away to arrange cookies and the tea pot on the silver tray she’d laid out.
“She can’t answer yet. We’d better not press her,” Celesta mumbled. Yet when Katherine picked up the tray, she took the other side of it, forcing her aunt to look at her. “Do you understand why I had to leave last night? Why I came back with people to help us this morning?”
Her hazel eyes went blank for a moment. Then she started purposefully toward the door, silently insisting the tray was her responsibility.
Celesta blinked back sudden tears as she and Eula followed Katherine to the front parlor. �
�She’ll recover in time, dear,” Mrs. Perkins insisted softly. “At least she’s performing like the gracious hostess she’s always been. No telling what stories Ambrose may have filled her poor muddled head with while you were gone.”
When they entered the men’s company, it was clear that her uncle had indeed changed his tune to suit his own purpose. He patted the spot beside him, inviting Katherine to share the loveseat as though they’d made up for more than a year apart, and she complied.
“The stories Celesta’s told you have done their job,” he said, smiling at each of them. “I hope my niece will forgive me for taking advantage of her flustered state. Poor dear was so agitated she threatened me with a poker! But I knew she’d be back with responsible people—people who can prepare Hannibal for my unexpected return. I can understand why my family and friends would question my motives and past actions, and I want their confidence in me to be restored.”
Celesta took a seat beside Patrick, glaring at her uncle. “So you’re making me out as a liar? Telling the Perkinses and the police chief I was out of my head? I know what I saw and heard last night!”
“And I think you’d better state your case pretty quickly, sir,” Patrick added emphatically. “I won’t be party to some slick game you intend to pull over on—”
“Oh, it’s no game! And believe me, I understand your concerns,” Ambrose said, casually dropping two lumps of sugar into his cup. “My deception undoubtedly strikes you as callous and cruel, but hear me out! What man, having been robust and vigorous in every way, would willingly return to his home a cripple? I lost more than a leg in the explosion, gentlemen. At the risk of being indelicate, I’ll just say that some of the qualities Katherine admired most no longer serve me. I had to face that about myself . . . had to have a plan for success in other areas before I returned to her.”
Celesta could see that Harlan and Patrick were swallowing the line about his lost masculinity, but to her it sounded like a sympathy plea. “How much of what you told me was true, then?” she demanded. “Was Bill Thompkins your liaison to Hannibal and your family?”
“Yes, and he’s been paid handsomely for it,” Ambrose replied, his dark eyes looking directly into hers. “And now that I can take care of my own business, he no longer has to keep my secrets.”
“So you’re saying that story about holding your niece hostage and remaining here, in hiding, while Thompkins took your, uh, place with Katherine, was merely an idle threat?” Jones leaned forward, apparently enjoying this turn of events.
“How could I possibly get away with such a scheme?” Ransom replied with a chuckle. “I was merely rattling Celesta so she’d do something rational. And here you are!”
“I don’t believe a word of this,” she muttered, but when she scooted forward Patrick took her elbow.
“And why are we so important?” he demanded. “Why the shenanigans at Celesta’s expense? Any decent man would—”
“Any shrewd businessman would realize the repercussions of returning from the dead,” he countered. “The plans I have require a foundation of trust, based upon my previous integrity. When people think they’re seeing a ghost, in the guise of a one-legged man with scars, their reason flies out the window. Bless her, poor Katherine’s proof of that, and I hope you’ll bear with her. She’s greatly improved but—”
“Don’t change the subject. What’s this plan you keep hinting at?” Perkins eyed the man across from him. Ambrose Ransom was banking upon his physical disabilities and family name to reestablish himself, and the whole story turned his stomach. He sensed Celesta’s instincts were right, and that the burly coward had only returned to protect his fortune . . . which wasn’t what Patrick wanted to hear.
“I’m starting up the shipping business again,” Ambrose stated with boyish enthusiasm. “Never cared for my father’s macabre names and outdated steamers, so now’s the perfect time to begin anew. And instead of one vessel on the Mississippi, I’ll have three—King’s Ransom, Queen’s Ransom, and in honor of my lovely niece, Celestial Fortune.”
She sucked in a furious breath, but managed to hold her tongue as her uncle continued. He was doing this to provoke her—overextending himself financially instead of easing back into business, and making a mockery of Grandfather’s empire!
“. . . and of course such a venture requires the unquestioned backing of my banker,” he was saying, “as well as the quick completion of my three new steamers. That’s where I need your help. When you return to town, I’d be forever grateful if you’d spread the word of my return—get people excited about my new venture, get a story in the Courier Post. My wardrobe and belongings should arrive from St· Louis by tomorrow, and then I’ll be ready to answer to Hannibal society.”
He gazed fondly at Katherine and took her hand. “My wife and sister have done a wonderful job of redecorating our home, as though they were anticipating just such a rebirth. When my steamers arrive, well host a christening party like this town’s never seen—a coming-out my darling certainly deserves, for the agony I’ve put her through this past year. Won’t that be wonderful, love?”
Katherine was gazing raptly at him, but when her smile went out of focus he looked at each of his guests. “I’m sure you’ll understand that this lovely lady and I have some catching up to do,” he said pointedly. “If she’s to be recovered for her return to society, she’ll need your understanding and support. And her rest.”
“We were just leaving,” Eula stated, standing suddenly, “and you can count on Celesta and me coming regularly to check on her.”
Celesta blinked, but at Patrick’s urging they said hasty goodbyes and were boarding the carriage within minutes. The ride was shrouded by an oppressive silence, as though each of them was stunned by what they’d seen and heard.
Celesta sat numbly on the swaying seat, wishing she could sort the truth from the hypocrisy. It wasn’t her concern how Uncle Ambrose spent his money, but—any sensible person would know not to sink so much into a shipping enterprise in this era of railroads and—
“This is an outrage,” Eula’s muttering finally ended the silence, “and he’s lost more than his manhood if he thinks people will fall for it. And the way he scared Celesta into playing his pawn! I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to that insufferable bastard again!”
Celesta couldn’t help smiling, just as she couldn’t miss the way Patrick was grinding his teeth to keep from exploding. “I—I hope you don’t think I made up those things I said last night just to—”
“Of course you didn’t,” he replied more brusquely than he intended to. He forced himself to give her a lingering look, which softened as an idea occurred to him. “I know you’re concerned about Katherine,” he said quietly, “but I think for your own protection you should stay with us rather than returning to the Manor. I don’t trust Ambrose any farther than I could throw him. How about you, Harlan?”
The police chief grunted. “Damndest stunt I ever saw. And with his money, he’ll get away with it.”
“Then, it’s settled,” Eula clucked. “We’ll fetch your things, and you’ll be back in your own room, dear. It’s probably best your aunt’s so far gone she doesn’t realize what he’s up to, because the husband she adored is still buried with his father’s steamer, far as I’m concerned.”
Why wasn’t her heart glowing with gratitude? Her friends were siding with her against a ruthless schemer, but she found little comfort in their support. Mrs. Perkins had implied she had a job again, a roof over her head—and Jones was grudgingly admitting she wasn’t merely a hysterical little lady after all. And Patrick—
Well, Patrick’s deep scowl suggested that today’s events had upset him more than he cared to admit. And Celesta had the uneasy feeling it would affect his dealings with her.
Chapter 28
Hard work and the familiar routine of the Perkins household were balm to Celesta’s soul. In addition to the cooking and errands, Eula asked her to do as much fall cleaning as she could fi
nd time for, because the two interim housekeepers had left the windows unwashed, the rugs unbeaten, and dust clusters under the beds.
Patrick was quick to praise her meals and the improvements he saw around the house, yet Celesta sensed he had other things on his mind. The third day after her return, when Eula was attending her Ladies Aid meeting, the handsome young heir to Perkins Lumber sauntered into the kitchen at noon and pulled her into a ravenous kiss.
“It’s been so long,” he murmured as he ran his hands over her firm, rounded hips. “This house has been like a tomb without you, Celesta. When you came to your senses and had Frye arrested, I felt a flicker of hope and prayed that—tell me you missed me, too, honey.”
His blue eyes were delving into hers, and his golden hair and skin glowed with the warmth of his words. But he would never fill the void Damon left, could never mend the heart the crafty architect had shattered with his betrayal. She couldn’t tell him that, though—and she couldn’t rebuff her gallant defender’s affections until she was sure Uncle Ambrose meant her no harm.
Celesta’s kiss was sweet and gentle, so innocent for a woman who’d been had by the likes of Frye, he thought. Soon she’d respond to his fire . . . soon she’d give him the satisfaction he deserved, even though her money was temporarily out of reach. Together they’d remedy that. Celesta was smart, capable of revenge against an uncle who’d made a fool of her while floating her inheritance down the river.
Patrick released her with a final brush of his lips, frowning as he noted her reddened knuckles. “Mother works you too hard,” he muttered. “It’s time she thought of you as her future daughter, a lovely young woman who shouldn’t smell of ammonia or have chapped hands.”
Celesta shrugged. “It’s better than living under Ambrose’s thumb. And the house does need some looking after.”
“Not every waking moment. Not to the point you’ve got no time for your writing ... or for me.” He flashed her an ornery smile. “Meet me at the office tomorrow and we’ll eat dinner in town. Wear the choker I gave you, honey. If you still have it.”
Missouri Magic Page 29
