Angels, Sinners and Madmen

by Cate Masters

  * * * *

  Livvie’s insides seemed abuzz; her nerves on edge. She dressed quietly, and then crept down the stairs. If anyone saw her, they would try to stop her. Today of all days, she couldn’t let that happen. Her future hinged on what happened next.

  The front door creaked as she eased it open and pulled it shut.

  She waited a moment for any commotion inside the house.

  Nothing.

  She hurried down the steps and onto the street, following the most direct route to Sam’s cabin. By the time she reached his street, she labored for breath. She stopped to calm herself. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

  His door opened, and her heart leaped. Did he see her coming? She took one step, and then froze at the sight of Millie emerging from within. What was she doing there so early in the morning?

  Livvie’s skin chilled. She hadn’t seen Sam for days. She’d assumed he worked the wreck, same as the others. Assumed he’d been too tired, too busy to see her.

  Now she knew what had occupied him.

  Millie laid her hand on Sam’s chest. When he brought it to his mouth and kissed it, he might have shoved a knife in Livvie’s heart. The pain made her gasp.

  Millie stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Sam smiled down at her. The traitor!

  Livvie bit the back of her hand to keep her strangled cry to herself. How could he betray her so? And Liam, not even buried yet?

  Blinded by tears, she ran all the way to the Crowell’s. A buggy sat out front.

  Livvie wiped her cheeks and ran up the stairs.

  On the sofa, Mrs. Locke’s head snapped toward her. “Where have you been? The carriage is here to take us to the ship.”

  The ship. Livvie’s stomach lurched. Another journey in Mrs. Locke’s company. She would endure the torture to escape this place.

  “I’ll only be a minute.” She hurried upstairs to her room. She already wore the clothes she owned; she hadn’t much to pack. Some of her writing. Two letters from her brother. The seashell basket sat on the table by the bed.

  She lifted it, running a finger over the delicate whorls. Perhaps she should leave it for the next occupant of the room. No, she needed it. Not as a memento. As a grim reminder to guard her heart more carefully.

  After one last look around, Livvie shut the door, and then went downstairs. Florie stood in the hallway, dabbing her eyes. “You take care, miss.”

  Livvie hugged her. “I shall miss you, Florie.”

  Martha clutched Livvie’s arm. “Hurry, Olivia. We must get to the docks.”

  “They will not sail without us, Mrs. Locke.” She turned to Mrs. Crowell. “You have my address in New Orleans, if any adjustments are needed to the balance.”

  Mrs. Crowell took her hand. “Take care, child.”

  Her unexpected kindness, even so small a gesture, brought tears to Livvie’s eyes. Nodding, she went outside to the buggy, where Martha struggled to climb inside. Livvie steadied her, following behind. The driver clicked to urge the horse ahead. Livvie bit back her tears.

  Mrs. Locke patted her arm. “There, now. You can write Mrs. Crowell. I hope you will write me also. I will be sure to give you my address before we make port.”

  Forcing a brief smile, Livvie turned away. Yes, she would write. She had so much to write about now. She could do so with authority. Sam had helped her experience every possible emotion since she’d arrived.

  The ride to the docks took only minutes. The buggy jerked to a halt. Livvie’s heart caught in her throat at the sight of The Florida. Of the two men aboard, she recognized only one. No sign of Sam. Relief and sorrow mingled inside her. She steeled herself. The buggy driver led them toward another schooner. Maybe Millie hadn’t left his cabin after all.

  The driver helped them climb aboard, preparing to sail to The Excellent, waiting beyond the reef. Five other schooners floated near the wrecked ship, their crews working industriously to retrieve crates from the deep.

  Livvie’s vessel pulled alongside The Excellent. Two crewmen helped them board a lifeboat, latched it to the hooks and signaled the men above to haul up the lines.

  While the crew guided the lifeboat upward, a schooner raced toward The Excellent. Livvie froze, her throat thick. The Florida’s flag flew on its mast. Sam stood at the helm. Was something wrong? The schooner swerved away within inches of striking The Excellent.

  Sam yelled up, “Livvie, you’re taking my heart with you.”

  She gripped the edge of the life boat. “It’s a fine time to be telling me!”

  His smile flashed from below. “Come back down, and I’ll tell you again.”

  Her heart swelled in her chest, near to bursting. Sam prized his freedom above all else. After what she’d seen this morning, she couldn’t go back to him.

  The boat lurched. Mrs. Locke cried out, “You’ll tip us over.”

  Livvie sat back, her gaze locked on Sam’s. The crewmen hauled the boat alongside the deck.

  “Come back, Livvie!” Sam called. “Stay with me! Every night we can share what we had together.”

  Mrs. Locke gave a horrified shriek. The crew urged her to climb out. Her feet touched the floor, and she let out a great gasp.

  They waited to help Livvie out. Still, she sat in the boat, unable to unlock her gaze from Sam.

  One of the men extended his hand. “Take hold, miss.”

  Mrs. Locke hissed, “She’s holding up the entire ship.”

  Sam stood unmoving. Watching.

  Why didn’t he say something? Anything. Of course, he had no clever argument today, did he? His guilt must be silencing him.

  Livvie drew in a ragged breath. For once, Mrs. Locke was right. No need to hold the ship hostage to her wayward emotions. Clutching the basket to her breast, she moved toward the waiting crewman, took his hand and climbed down.

  The captain called for crew to hoist the sails, haul up the anchor and make way. The sails billowed, and the ship cast safely off the reef, its rudder set hard toward the sea.

  The Florida followed in its wake. Wind filled the great sails, and the ship picked up speed. The schooner fled along top of the waves and came alongside.

  “What are they doing?” asked a crewman.

  Glancing at Livvie, another answered, “It would appear they’re racing us.”

  Livvie ran to the side.

  On The Florida, Sam waved a white cloth. “Livvie!”

  Mrs. Locke held her hand to her mouth, her face a mask of horror. “He’s a madman.”

  Livvie clutched the side. She shouldn’t have come aboard. Too late now. The captain wouldn’t lower sails for her, he’d likely sooner have her jump overboard. To do so at this speed would mean certain death.

  Sam cupped his hands around his mouth. “You’ve wrecked me, Livvie Collins. I want no other than you!”

  Tears stung her eyes. The fool, to wait until too late to speak the words she so longed to hear. Maybe that was his plan. He knew she could not act on his confession, so he was safe. He’d go back to his life, and she’d sail on to her new one.

  “Livvie, come back to me!”

  His persistence made her blood boil. “You’re only saying it because you know I can’t leave the ship!”

  “What?” The schooner cut dangerously close.

  Her frustration burst forth in a roar. “You coward!”

  Mrs. Locke tugged at her arm. “Come away from the side, Olivia. Come below.” Her quaking voice and clinging hands felt more like drowning than falling overboard.

  She whirled toward the whining woman. “You go below. Leave me alone.” She turned back to Sam. “You leave me alone too!”

  “Only if you say you don’t love me.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I—” She bit back sobs.

  The winds weakened his voice. “Stay, Livvie!”

  Stay? Stay at home while he sailed away across the glittering seas. Or worse, into every passing storm. She’d end up bearing ten babies, owing as much to her own passion as his.
And alone, no better off than Millie. Worse, in fact, letting her feelings overwhelm common sense.

  “Livvie!”

  In a blind fury, she picked up the seashell basket and hurled it at the schooner. It fell into the waves between the two boats. If only it could have been herself, falling into Sam’s arms.

  By the look on his face, she might well have ripped out his heart. A crew mate called something to another, and The Florida’s sails shifted. It fell away, and anguish welled within her. She ran along the rail, watching the schooner become smaller, Sam rooted to the same place like an accusing statue.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The carriage halted outside a large wrought-iron gate set in an adobe wall the color of apricot. The driver, a Negro whose crisp white shirt reflected the sun’s brightness, jumped to the cobblestone street and opened the door.

  Livvie stepped down. “Thank you.”

  He gave a nod, opened the gate, and rang the bell. Livvie followed the flower-lined stone path to the interior porch. The house, of apricot-hued adobe, wrapped around an inner courtyard, overlooked by the second story balcony which skirted its length. White columns stood out against black wrought-iron rails and black shuttered windows. Tall palm trees anchored the courtyard at the exterior corners, spreading their fronds across the end of the balcony, shielding it from public view.

  Entranced by the home, Livvie strolled slowly toward the door. It opened, and Marianne stood in the doorway, flanked by two girls–one a toddler with golden curls, the other a dark-haired beauty a few years older. Marianne’s smile faded when she took in Livvie from head to toe.

  Embarrassment crawled across Livvie. Shame halted her, realizing how ragged she must appear. Marianne, by contrast, exuded the epitome of class and womanhood. Her French accent had amused Livvie at their first meeting. At the time, Livvie had met Marianne’s wholehearted approval. Six years had since passed. It seemed such a long time ago.

  Marianne pumped her face into a smile and held out her arms. “Olivia, darling sister. Welcome.” Wendell’s letters boasted of Marianne’s established reputation as a gracious hostess for the constant dinners and balls he held for partners, associates, clients, and would-be clients, and anyone else in the upper social climes. If Livvie disappointed Marianne now, her sister-in-law would not disgrace her brother by showing it.

  Only slightly heartened by her welcome, Livvie stepped onto the porch. “Thank you, Marianne. I’m most grateful for your hospitality. I apologize for my appearance.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve had quite an ordeal. You must be exhausted.”

  Livvie exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she held. “Yes. Quite.” The truth of it hit her. Her very bones ached. Oh, for a bed! A real bed, having a mattress and pillow.

  Marianne stepped aside. “Come in, dearest. We’ll get you settled in your room. Where are your bags?”

  Livvie dropped her chin to her chest. “Gone.”

  “Oh, you poor little thing.” Marianne’s wide-eyed daughters clung to her billowing skirt.

  Livvie crouched. “Hello. I’m Olivia. And who are you?”

  The older girl’s French accent sounded thick like Marianne’s. “I’m Amelia.”

  Marianne lifted the younger girl to her hip. “This is Claire. Say hello to your Auntie Olivia, my sweets.”

  Amelia curtsied, apparently schooled in formal introductions. Claire laid her head against her mother’s shoulder. Marianne whispered something in her ear, and she clung tighter.

  “I’m sorry. It’s close to nap time. Come along. I’ll take them upstairs to their nanny and show you your room.” She closed the door behind Livvie and continued talking, gliding up the wide staircase. “We’ll have Nanette draw you a nice bath, and I’ll find you some new clothes until we can take you shopping. Oh, you’ll love the new fashions.”

  “Have any letters arrived for me?”

  Marianne paused on the stairs. “Letters?”

  “Yes. I’m expecting a reply from a publisher.”

  “A publisher?” Marianne’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Yes, Mr. Kenneth Randall. From New York City.”

  “I’ll have to ask Wendell. I’m not aware of any such letter, or any mail at all having arrived for you.”

  “Oh.” If nothing had arrived yet, she doubted it ever would. Her best option was to finish the adventure novel she’d begun while en route to New Orleans, and send it off as well.

  Livvie held onto the banister and took in the high-ceilinged entrance boasting an elaborate glass teardrop chandelier winking in the sunlight. A huge room lay to the left, its polished floor suggesting a ballroom. Likely it served to accommodate—and perhaps elevate—their social standing. To the right lay a large drawing room, beyond which a servant walked, probably between the kitchen and dining room. All the accoutrements of a well-appointed house. Everything in its place, shined to perfection.

  “Olivia?” Marianne waited on the staircase.

  “Sorry. Coming.” She hurried behind her sister-in-law.

  She missed Key West already. This would never be home.

  * * * *

  Dinner, Marianne had informed Livvie earlier, was always at six thirty. Livvie understood it to mean she should bathe and make herself presentable well in advance.

  At six o’clock, Livvie descended to the drawing room in a dress borrowed from her sister-in-law, hair swept back into a barrette and curled. By six-thirty, she’d tired of waiting and grew restless to return to her room to write.

  Marianne preened Claire’s hair, and sent her off to play with Amelia. “He’ll be so excited to see you.”

  “I’m excited to see him as well.” If the situation were reversed, she’d have rushed home early to greet him.

  At quarter to seven, the clop of horse’s hooves sounded outside the courtyard. Marianne glided to the window. “Here he comes now.”

  She rushed to the door ahead of the servant. Hushed voices echoed in the foyer.

  Livvie remained on the sofa, pretending to read despite the awful feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Wendell’s form filled the entryway. “Olivia.” At his booming voice, Amelia and Claire ran to him. He lifted one into each arm and strode to Livvie.

  “Hello, Wendell. It’s so good to see you.” Even if he was barely recognizable. Though he was seven years her senior, his hairline had receded as far as his belly had protruded.

  “And you. Are you well? You’ve had quite the journey.”

  She leaned forward to receive his cheek on her cheek. “Yes, quite.”

  “Marianne and I worried about you so.”

  “How sweet.” She began to tell him no need for worry so he’d call for dinner.

  He turned to his wife. “Where’s dinner? I’m starved. I’m sure Olivia must be, too.”

  “It’s ready, dearest. We were waiting for you.” Marianne swept into the kitchen.

  Wendell ushered Livvie into the dining room. After setting the girls in their cushioned high chairs, he pulled the next chair out.

  Livvie sat on it, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland. The wide seat could almost accommodate two people, and the high back was gilded and ornate.

  Three uniformed servers carried silver trays heaped with lidded silver dishes.

  “Soup?” Wendell winced. “I don’t want any soup. Bring the main course. And a bottle of wine.”

  Marianne appeared at the opposite end of the table and waited for a servant to seat her. “Now, darling, don’t be grumpy. Cook made your favorite gumbo.”

  “I’m not grumpy. I’m hungry. My little pumpkins can eat it all. Give me my steak.” He grabbed the bottle of wine from the servant, sloshed it into his glass, then into Livvie’s.

  Marianne sighed. “As you wish.”

  Livvie sipped. She had a feeling she might need to refill her glass before the end of the night.

  Another servant delivered his main course of steak and potato, which he ate with gusto.

  Livvie
found the gumbo a tad spicy, but delicious, as was the fish. The others ate mostly in silence, so she welcomed the end of the meal.

  “Marianne tells me your law firm’s doing very well.”

  He eased back in his chair. “That’s what I tell her.” He flashed a smile.

  How odd. “So it’s not doing well?”

  “Of course it is. But you women shouldn’t worry about such things.”

  “I wasn’t worried, Wendell. Merely making conversation.”

  “It’s rather complicated.”

  “I’m well able to fathom the inner workings of a business, brother.” Equally well able to understand her brother controlled her father’s estate.

  “Yes, you always were very bright.”

  “You make it sound like an affliction rather than a compliment.”

  “No, merely a waste.”

  “Because I’m a woman?”

  He regarded her with care. “I suppose you have grown into a woman. I shall have to start thinking of you that way instead of the scrawny little girl astride her horse.”

  “Speaking of which.” Livvie leaned forward. “Are you able to transport Sir Galahad to New Orleans? Safely, I mean?”

  “Transport him?” Wendell waved her off. “Out of the question.”

  “But Father said–”

  “I am not responsible for Father’s deathbed promises, likely made in a hallucinogenic state.”

  “Father was lucid to the end. You’d know that if…” She wouldn’t say it. Wendell hadn’t visited, but Livvie attributed it to work pressures. He simply couldn’t spare the time after launching a new law firm.

  Wendell sighed heavily. “Marianne, isn’t it time for the girls to go upstairs?”

  Marianne held out her arms. “My sweethearts, say goodnight to your daddy.”

  Livvie rose. “I’ll say goodnight as well.”

  “Olivia.” Wendell drew out her name in a strained tone of annoyance.

  She wouldn’t let him claim victory. “I’m exhausted from the journey, that’s all.” She bent to lift Claire. “Oh, by the way, I was expecting a letter. Marianne said you might have intercepted it.”