The Lightkeeper's Daughter

by Colleen Coble

  The photograph shook in Mr. Eaton’s hand. “She looks very much like Laura in this.”

  “The lighting favors that impression. But the way she stood, the curve of her cheek. They were enough to draw me to investigate. When I met Adeline, I saw the locket and was certain.”

  Addie saw the picture over her father’s shoulder. She’d only heard about it until now. Mr. Driscoll must have been busy gathering proof. “What did you find today?” she asked.

  Mr. Driscoll reached into his pocket. “Here are two pictures of Addie. One at age three and one at eight. Compare it to the picture of Julia at two. The one in the newspaper clipping.”

  Addie’s mouth gaped. She hadn’t been aware he had them. Josephine must have supplied them to him.

  John reached for the photos. His brows gathered as he studied them. “There’s no doubt it’s the same child,” he said, passing the photos to Mrs. Eaton.

  She gave them a cursory glance and handed them to her husband. “What is it you want, Miss Sullivan?”

  The older woman’s stiff return to a formal mode of address signaled her displeasure, and Addie clasped her hands together once more. Any hope she had for a warm reception into the bosom of her family evaporated like the morning fog.

  “I’d prayed for a warm welcome,” Addie managed to say past the boulder in her throat.

  Mrs. Eaton dabbed at her eyes. “Of course, if we were sure you really are Julia, it would be different. I fear I don’t quite believe you yet.”

  Mr. Eaton glowered. “How can you argue with these pictures, Clara?” He turned toward Addie with a smile. “I don’t quite know what to say, my dear. But I’m very glad you’re home.”

  When he enveloped Addie in a hug, she hardly knew how to react. She inhaled the smoky scent of his pipe tobacco and the spicy hair tonic clinging to him, then put her arms around him and hugged him back. The awkwardness grew until he released her and stepped back.

  “Might I see the pictures?” she asked. When he handed them over, she stared with fascination at her younger self. Any lingering doubt she might have had vanished when she saw her three-year-old self compared to two-year-old Julia. In the older picture, she stood in the front of the lighthouse with Roy. Her gaze lingered on the father of her childhood.

  Mr. Eaton held out his hand for the pictures when she was done. “We must celebrate tonight,” he said. “A night on the town! I’m taking you all to dinner.”

  “It’s been an upsetting day,” Addie said. “I really am not up to it.” Though Josephine hadn’t really loved her, Addie still mourned.

  “We’ll come home early,” Mr. Eaton said. “We’ll dine in a private room.”

  She couldn’t bear the thought of more scrutiny, more questions. Her head throbbed, and she had never been so weary. “Very well,” she said. She smoothed her plain gray skirt. “What should I wear?” she asked.

  Mrs. Eaton rose. “Come with me. I shall find you something suitable. We can’t have my niece not in the very top of fashion.”

  “Not black,” her father called after them. “This is a celebration.”

  It wasn’t a celebration for her. It was acceptance of a sort. Though not the homecoming she’d hoped for.

  TWENTY-TWO

  GASLIGHTS GLITTERED OVER sparkling crystal and fine china in the private dining room at the Colony Bay Restaurant. Through the large plate-glass windows, John watched the water on the bay reflect the lights along the boardwalk. He couldn’t get his mind around the fact that the beautiful young woman beside him was his wife’s half sister.

  Addie took a sip from her water glass. The tension radiated from her shoulders and showed in the tight press of her lips. She hadn’t smiled since they’d been seated. She was a true Eaton tonight. Her hair was piled onto her head, and a tiny beret perched on her curls. The emerald gown was lavish with lace and glitter.

  Several men came up to talk to Henry. “Lord Carrington, please join us,” Henry said.

  John wanted to roll his eyes. He watched the English lord bow over Addie’s hand. The man’s interest was palpable. John couldn’t gauge how Addie felt. When he couldn’t take any more, he rose and held out his hand to Addie. “Would you care for an after-dinner stroll along the waterfront, Addie?”

  She sent a relieved smile his way, then rose and put her gloved hand on his proffered arm. “We’ll meet you at the carriage later,” he told Henry.

  He led Addie out past the soft murmur of laughter and voices in the main salon, to the doors, and onto the waterfront. The soft waves lapped at the shore but failed to drain away the anger that had built in him through the evening. There was no reason for it. She’d confessed to him before the news came out, but watching her step into the bosom of the Eaton family sickened him. And it was all about how they’d change her. He knew what was in store for her and wished he could abort it.

  He stopped under a gaslight. “It’s about to begin, Addie. They’ll try to make you just like Katherine. She wanted the biggest house, the most glamorous clothes, the most expensive buggy.”

  “Money means nothing to me, but family means everything. I never knew my sister, so her behavior has nothing to do with me.”

  In the wash of golden light, he studied the curve of her cheek, the shape of her eyes. “Now that I know, I’m astounded I didn’t see the resemblance. You’re an Eaton through and through.”

  She winced. “You say that as though it’s a curse. You’re part of the family as well. As is your son.”

  He touched her cheek, so soft under his fingers. “A fact I would be swift to change if I could. You’re too good for them.” He dropped his hand and began to walk again. He steered her toward the pier. “How will all your talk of God and praying fit in with this family whose god is possessions?”

  Her gloved fingers tightened on his arm. “God is the most important thing in my life.”

  “I expect that to change very quickly. Henry will have plans for you. You’ll be expected to live up to the Eaton name.”

  “I’ll always be Addie Sullivan,” she said. “Nothing will change that. Can’t you understand my desire to know my roots?”

  “They’ll make it more than that, Addie. Or should I say Julia?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t answer to that name.”

  She had no idea how her life was about to change. He clasped her hand tighter. “Henry will be quick to call you Julia.”

  He stopped at the edge of the pier. Lanterns glowed upon the yachts out for an evening sail. The slap of the waves against the boards under their feet should have been peaceful but only contrasted with the storm of emotion he somehow kept in check. Her perfume mingled with the scent of brine. Somehow he’d begun to care about her. That was the real reason for the emotion churning his gut. Things would change now. Henry would want her to marry money, a title. John could see it coming.

  She was close, so close. Her eyes widened and grew luminous in the light. He saw her hitch in a breath. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he knew she felt the same attraction he did.

  He took her shoulders and pulled her to him. Her palms lay against his vest. He bent his head. Her lips were soft and tasted of the cinnamon apples she’d had for dessert. Her hands stole around his neck, and he drank in the sweet taste of her, the way her softness molded against him. Taking his time, he pulled her closer and deepened the passion sparking between them. Her glove moved up and cupped his face, and her breath stirred his skin.

  He broke the embrace and stepped away. “We should go back.”

  Her kiss was untrained, and he knew she was as innocent of men as she seemed. This might have been her first kiss. And he found himself wishing he could do it all over again.

  The household slept. Though Addie was exhausted, she kept replaying the kiss she’d shared with John earlier in the evening. She touched her lips and swung her legs out of bed.

  Her mother’s desk might distract her. She made her way quietly to the schoolroom. The white paint glowed in the sha
ft of moonlight slanting through the window. The thought of what was in the drawer hadn’t been far from her mind all evening. It seemed even more important tonight, having lost the mother who had raised her. She needed a knife or a letter opener to get it open. She slipped into the hallway. It was pitch black, and she had to feel her way down the stairs. She found a letter opener in her father’s desk drawer, then returned to the schoolroom.

  She turned the wick of the gaslight higher when she entered. The light chased the shadows from the room. She sat in front of the writing desk, then fit the edge of the letter opener into the crack of the hidden drawer. Patiently, she pried at the panel until it gave a bit; then she used her fingers and managed to pop it open the rest of the way.

  She reached into the cavity and felt around the space. Paper crackled under her fingers, and she released it from the tape holding it in place. A simple letter in an envelope. That’s all. Why would this letter be important enough to hide away? She replaced the panel, then carried the letter over to the light. The envelope was addressed in her mother’s familiar looping handwriting.

  To Whom It May Concern.

  She stared at the words. Was this her mother’s last will and testament? Addie hesitated, not knowing whether she had the right to read it. Maybe she should give it to Mr. Eaton. Or Mr. Driscoll. She flipped it over. The flap was loose on the back. Either it had come loose with the passage of time or her mother had never sealed it. She lifted the flap. The letter was right there.

  She couldn’t resist the temptation. Her goal here was to find out who had paid for her to be kept from her family. This could be a vital clue. She slid out the letter and unfolded it. Her mother’s legible writing filled the page.

  To Whom It May Concern,

  If you are reading this, then I am dead. Or worse. I fear leaving all the evidence in one spot, so I’ve left it in three places. Sunshine, dust, and pigeons. If you find this, tell no one in this house. Trust no one. Remember me.

  Laura Eaton

  What could it mean? Addie studied the words. Sunshine. The solarium, perhaps? She glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. Nearly midnight. No one would be up and about. Even John shouldn’t be prowling around now. She could slip downstairs and search the solarium. It was on the backside of the manor, and she should be able to turn on the lights without alerting anyone to her presence.

  She stuffed the letter back into the envelope, then put it in the pocket of her dressing gown. The door creaked when she opened it, and she froze and listened for any movement or noise from the hall. Nothing but silence. She moved to Edward’s room and found him peacefully sleeping. He wouldn’t miss her dog for a few minutes. Gideon would alert her to the presence of anyone else, though when she heard his nails click on the wood floor, she regretted her decision.

  Downstairs, all was silent except for the ticking of the great clock in the entry. She felt her way along the dark hall, past the library and the music room. The door to the solarium stood open, and she stepped inside and turned on the gaslight. The illumination eased the prickles along her back, though the great glass windows reflected the light back at her so that she couldn’t see out into the yard. Anyone might be out there watching.

  She told Gideon to lie down, then surveyed the space. Where might someone have hidden something that would ensure its invisibility through decades of cleanings and new arrangements? The rattan furniture had cotton cushions that would have been beaten and even replaced in the twenty-three years since Laura ran from here. A couple of tables added style to the furniture. Pots of plants and plant stands lined the windows. There were even three full-grown potted palm trees. Anything hidden in the plants would have rotted.

  She turned her gaze to the table and chairs. In the Eastlake style, their ostentatious ornamentation could maybe house a hiding place. She pulled out a chair and examined it. The cushions matched the settee and were removable. She lifted up the cushion to reveal the smooth seat. Nothing there. When she turned the chair upside down, she checked the legs and the underside of the seat but found no obvious hiding place. She examined each of the chairs in turn. Nothing. The table held no surprises either.

  She should just go back to bed. Rubbing her eyes, she turned to go back to her room. She noticed a music box in the corner. The mahogany case was smooth and unscratched as though it was seldom used. She lifted the lid and it began to tinkle out the tune to the “Wedding March.” She closed the lid and lifted the box from the table. Carrying it to the settee, she laid it on its top and examined the underside. There was a tiny cover over something. The clockworks that turned it?

  Carefully prying the cover off with a fingernail, she removed it. At first all she saw was gears and wheels. She picked up the box and held it under the light, tipping it this way and that. The light revealed the corner of a piece of paper. She wiggled her fingers into the opening and managed to snag the paper between her index and middle fingers.

  The tiny scrap was rolled up tightly. She unwrapped it to reveal two handwritten words.

  Insane asylum.

  What on earth? What did that have to do with her mother running away?

  John couldn’t sleep. He kept remembering how soft Addie’s lips were, the scent of her breath. He was coming to love her in an intense way he never expected, and he doubted Henry would allow them to marry. With Addie’s deep desire for a family, he feared she wouldn’t stand up to her father’s tyranny either. If she even saw it as tyranny.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and noticed a glow through the window. John’s room was directly over the conservatory, and there should be no light out there at this hour. He peered out the window and realized the illumination spilled from the house. Someone was in the conservatory.

  He put on his robe and slippers, then snatched his pistol from the shelf at the top of his closet before going in search of the meaning of the light. When he reached the conservatory, he found it empty and unlit. But the faint odor of the gaslight still hung in the air, and the globe was warm.

  Maybe a thief was on his way out of the house with his booty. John moved quickly toward the back door and found it locked. On his way to check the front door, he noticed a ribbon of light spilling from under the library door.

  He brought his gun up and flung open the door. When he saw Addie whirl to face him, he dropped the weapon back to his side. A pile of books lay on the floor at her feet. She’d taken at least fifty from the bookshelves.

  He advanced into the room. “Addie, is something wrong?”

  She put the book in her hand onto the top of the stack. “You frightened me.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought someone had broken in. What are you doing down here so late?”

  He watched her as the color came and went in her cheeks, and she put one bare foot atop the other. John crossed the three steps separating them to take her in his arms. She nestled against him, her head against a heart that felt as though it would leap from his chest. Her tiny feet stood on top of his slippers, and he bent his head and kissed her again. “I’m glad I came to investigate the light,” he murmured against her warm lips.

  She returned his kiss, then pulled away. “There’s something I must tell you, John.” She colored. “I’m sorry. You haven’t given me leave to use your Christian name.”

  “I think the first time I kissed you gave you permission for anything,” he said, resisting the urge to pull her back into his arms. He would never get enough of the sweetness of her lips.

  Her smile warmed the room more than the gaslight. “I found something, John. In Laura’s desk.” She pulled a paper out of the pocket of her dressing gown.

  He took it and read it. “Your mother wrote this. ‘Sunshine, dust, and pigeons.’ What does that mean?”

  “I found the sunshine clue in the conservatory. It was in the music box.” She reached into her pocket again and pulled out a tiny scrap of paper.

  He read the two words. “‘Insane asylum’? What could that mean?”

  “I
don’t know. My mother said to tell no one in this house. She obviously feared for her life. I have to know what happened to her.”

  He embraced her again. “Darling Addie, that was a long time ago. What difference does it make now?”

  She lifted anxious eyes to him. “It’s not in the past, John. Someone killed the woman who raised me. Someone paid to keep me away from here for twenty-three years.”

  He pulled her against his chest again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Addie. I’ll help you find out who is behind this.”

  “I knew you would. That’s why I told you,” she said against his chest. She pulled back to stare into this face. “How did my father meet Laura and then Clara?”

  “He was helping his father in the blacksmith shop and met Laura’s father, the senior Mr. Driscoll, who took a shine to him. Mr. Driscoll hired Henry to work at the estate, and he met Clara there. He saw Laura from a distance and was smitten. He arranged for one of her friends to vouch for him.”

  “Did you meet Laura’s father?”

  He shook his head. “He died shortly after Henry married Laura.”

  “What about Laura’s mother?”

  “She died of childbed fever after Laura was born.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “Why all these questions, Addie? And why are you poking through these books?”

  “I came in here thinking the dust clue might be in the books.”

  “A good guess.” He released her with reluctance, then stepped over to pick up a book. “How far did you get?”

  She joined him in front of the bookshelves. “Through all of them. I found nothing.”

  “We’d better put these back and get to bed. Tomorrow we’ll figure out where to look next. We’re a team.”

  “A team,” she echoed with a smile breaking out.

  But maybe only until Henry got wind of their romance.