Once more, he remained silent and without expression for so long she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then he gestured toward the boathouse, where visitors lined up to board the excursion boats. “It has to do with a boat. And me being young and impulsive and stupid and wanting my own way—like too many youths with more money than sense and discipline.” He grimaced. “I had free rein of the boats that weren’t being used at the time. Gerald and I always understood that I’d get the boathouse, and he’d get the real estate business. My father was clear that’s how he’d divide up the inheritance. And it would have been all right if—”
“Mr. Chambers?” The voice rang over roar of surf and shouts of merrymakers on the beach.
Marigold and Gordon stopped, turned to the shouting man.
Dennis Tripp charged up to them, then stood gasping for air, his hands on the threadbare thighs of his trousers.
“What is it?” Gordon demanded. “Speak now. We don’t have time. My niece is missing.”
“I know where she is.” Tripp straightened. “I was looking for coins on the beach—” His face flushed at this admission of his poverty. “I saw her on one of the boats. I thought she must be with you, but you’re here.”
“She couldn’t have,” Gordon declared.
“She wouldn’t have,” Marigold said at the same time.
Tripp looked frustrated. “Why would I lie to you?”
“You lied to me about the ledgers,” Gordon pointed out. “You claimed Randall was cheating me, but neither Miss McCorkle nor I found anything wrong with them.”
“Look again.” Tripp’s face tightened as though he were about to cry. “They’re in code or something. I know the boats are in ill repair. But after you get your niece back.”
“And how do I do that?” Gordon sounded belligerent.
Marigold understood why—worry and frustration. Not a single boat remained at the jetty.
“Find a way. That entire operation should be shut down until the boats are inspected.” Tripp turned away. “But you don’t have to believe me. I just pray no one gets hurt, someone like your niece, until you do.”
He stalked off and vanished into the crowd.
Marigold looked up at Gordon. “We must find someone with a boat to help us find her. Someone else will lend us a craft, I’m sure.”
“I am, too, but we have no idea which way to look or for which craft.” A muscle in his jaw bunched. “The man couldn’t bother to tell us.”
“Or we were rude to him and sent him away before we asked.”
“He should have—” Gordon sighed. “You’re right. Let’s find him and ask. He can’t have gone far.”
But he had gone somewhere. They searched for ten minutes without spotting a little man with ragged clothes and a sad yet peaceful expression.
“He’s just a troublemaker,” Gordon grumbled. “Now we’ve wasted time when we should have been hunting for Ruby.”
Movement on the water caught Marigold’s attention. “One of the boats is coming back in.”
Without another word, they raced for the jetty and the docking excursion boat. Laughing, chattering families poured over the gangway and onto dry land. From snatches of conversation, they’d seen only one dolphin, but it was amazing to people who didn’t live near the sea.
The instant the last passenger disembarked, Gordon, with Marigold behind, leaped aboard the boat and grabbed one of the crewmen. “I’m looking for my niece. She’s a little girl—”
“You’re going to have to get a ticket to get aboard, sir.” The crewman was polite but firm. “I don’t give out information—”
Gordon grasped the man’s shoulder. “My niece is only six and may have sneaked aboard.”
“No little girls, sir. Now, if you don’t get off this boat, I’ll have to call the police—”
“I own this boat.” Gordon shook the man.
“Get your hands off of me.” The crewman punched Gordon in the middle. “I know the owner, and it’s not you.”
Gordon barely flinched from the blow, but he removed his hand from the man’s shoulder, though curled it into a fist. “If you want to keep your position,” he said in a deadly quiet voice, “you will answer my question. I don’t know who you think owns this company, but I am Gordon Chambers, and the court will inform you that I own it by inheritance.”
“I–I’m sorry.” The man backed up, his hands in front of him. “I thought—we all thought—I’ll get the skipper.” He spun on his heel and charged aft.
Marigold touched Gordon’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“Physically, yes. Otherwise—” He faced her abruptly. “Who does he think owns this company?”
“I don’t know.” Marigold felt sick, not from the gentle rise and fall of the deck as the tide sloshed against the pier, but from the apprehension that Dennis Tripp was right and something was terribly wrong besides Ruby going missing, and not taking him seriously enough was the worst judgment either she or Gordon had made.
Thirteen
Gordon grasped Marigold’s arm. “Stop anyone else from coming aboard. I’ll find the skipper myself.”
“What are we going to do?” She looked pale, frightened.
“Find Ruby, if she is aboard one of these boats.”
“I think she is. I think Mr. Tripp’s right.”
“I agree. That crewman should have known who owns this company. That tells me something is not right here.” He released Marigold. “Let’s hope Tripp’s not right about the poor repairs.”
Gordon should have taken an active role in the business instead of planning to leave as soon as possible. He should have been more responsible toward others, toward his nieces.
Yet once again, he wasn’t thinking and was taking actions that hurt those he cared about, like seeking a school for the girls, like kissing Marigold.
He’d thought going through the ledgers would be enough, but of course it wasn’t. He should have known that as soon as Marigold pointed out the name discrepancies. But he couldn’t be bothered with details because they got in the way of his plans to sell the business as soon as the court had probated Gerald’s will and gave him the go-ahead.
“God, please let Ruby and the boat be all right. Or let her be on land somewhere safe.”
He reached the pilothouse, where the skipper of the craft and crewmen stood at the wheel, talking in low voices. They turned on Gordon, their faces tight.
“I’m Gordon Chambers, the owner of this boating business,” Gordon said. “We are going to go on your usual route and find the other boats in the event my niece is aboard one of them.”
“I can’t do that without Mr. Randall’s permission, sir.” The skipper spoke with more respect than the crewman had, but his bearded jaw was set in a pugnacious line.
“Mr. Randall isn’t aboard. I am.” Gordon glanced through the window and saw Marigold disappear into the cabin.
Seeking Ruby? Of course she would, bless her.
“Mr. Randall won’t object, Captain,” Gordon said with as much pleasantry as he could conjure. “Even if he does, I am in a position to ensure nothing happens to your position.”
“But I don’t know you.” The skipper glanced toward shore.
Several people, who looked like passengers, lined up at the foot of the gangway. Lawrence Randall was pushing through them.
Gordon stepped in front of the skipper again. “You don’t recognize my resemblance to my brother?”
“Why should I?”
“Because he owned—”
“We’ll ask Mr. Randall now,” the crewman said and shoved past Gordon.
He followed, along with the skipper. Marigold was nowhere around.
“Sir,” the skipper called to Randall, “this man insists I take the boat out to look for his niece.”
“Then, by all means, do it.” Randall smiled ingratiatingly. “Of course, we’ll disappoint a number of people, which won’t do the business any good, but it’s his company to ruin, if he doesn’t wan
t to sell it for much.”
A bell louder than any ship’s timer boomed in Gordon’s head. He frowned at the company manager. “Would you like to buy it, Mr. Randall?”
“Beyond my price.” Waving, Randall headed down the gangway and began speaking to the waiting passengers.
“What are you waiting for?” Gordon asked the skipper. “Take this boat on the tour the rest take. We’ll try to intercept them and see if my niece is aboard.”
“If she ain’t aboard this one,” the crewman grumbled. “People who can’t take care of their families. . .”
Apparently thinking better of whatever he’d been about to say, he turned away and followed the skipper back to the pilothouse.
Gordon began to hunt around chairs and tables set out on deck. They all looked well, painted with bright, white paint and clean. The deck, too, seemed to have been painted recently. Brass on railings and the cabin door gleamed in the sunlight.
Surely Tripp was wrong.
Gordon opened the door to the cabin. It resembled a luxurious parlor, with velvet-covered sofas and chairs set in groupings around the chamber. The windows could have been cleaner, and he caught one or two worn places on the cushions; however, keeping windows clean on a vessel and repairing furniture used as much as this was, was nearly impossible.
Calmed by the outwardly good appearance of the craft, as well as the familiar chug-chug-chug of the engine, Gordon headed out the forward end of the cabin in search of Ruby, in search of Marigold.
He heard her scream a moment after the boat left the wharf.
“Marigold?” His heart raced faster than the screw pushing the boat forward. “Marigold, where are you?”
“Here.” Her voice was faint, muffled. “I’m. . .fine.”
The hitch in her voice told him she wasn’t quite telling the truth.
He followed the sound until he saw a companionway leading below. Nothing should be down there but a small cabin, perhaps, for the crew, the engine room, and a hold full of fuel.
And Marigold. She sat on the next to the bottom step, her foot caught in a hole in the bottom tread.
“I’m a bit clumsy, as you know.” She smiled up at him, but the whiteness of her face betrayed pain.
“My dear girl.” Gordon moved past her with care, testing each step to ensure it could hold his weight. “How did this happen?”
“I was just coming down here, and all looked well. . . .”
It did. Like on the deck, the paint appeared fresh. But the board beneath was rotten.
The icy waters of the North Atlantic seemed to flow through Gordon’s veins. Sick to his stomach, he knelt at Marigold’s feet and worked her foot from the hole. Thanks to the high top of her shoe, she hadn’t cut it, but her gasp of pain and his probing fingers told him the ankle was swelling.
“I think a sprain,” he said. “I’ll have to carry you up.”
“You can’t. And if Ruby’s here. . .”
“I’ll find her when I get you settled.”
“I’m too heavy.”
“No, you’re not.” Before she could argue further, Gordon scooped her into his arms and headed up the way he had come.
She remained stiff in his hold until they reached the top. Then she relaxed against him, her head lolling on his shoulder, one of her arms encircling his neck.
She wasn’t a burden at all. He liked his arms around her. With her face so close to his, the yearning to kiss her nearly left him breathless.
His guilt stopped him. He had caused this, just like he had caused many of Louisa’s troubles. He hadn’t wanted anything to be wrong with the company—so selling it would be easy and quick—so he’d ignored the warnings.
“I’m so sorry, my dear.” He brushed his lips across her brow. “So very sorry.”
“I’m all right. I’m sure Ruby is all right. Now, put me down and go look for her.”
“In here.” He carried her into the cabin and set her on a sofa. “You may wish to remove your shoe in case your ankle swells more. Even if they are as ugly as your gray dresses, you don’t want to ruin good shoes.”
She laughed, brushed his hair off his forehead, and kissed his cheek. “Don’t blame yourself for this.”
“How can I not?” He turned and left as quickly as he could.
Hunting through every recess of the vessel, annoying two more crewmen down in the engine room, he sought for other signs of decay covered over with fresh paint. He found none. That didn’t mean other problems didn’t exist, problems he should have found.
“God, where did I go wrong?”
With no sign of Ruby aboard, he returned to the deck. He saw Marigold through the cabin window, wanted to go to her, but didn’t dare. She deserved better than a man like this Lucian, who had jilted her because she’d asked him to wait, for a good reason, and she deserved better than a Gordon Chambers, who wanted things the way he wanted them—a life free of commitments, free of responsibility. . . .
“I’m despicable, Lord. I deserved to be rejected by my father.”
Yet God was a father who hadn’t rejected him for his shortcomings, for going his own way. Gordon paid lip service to being a Christian, yet how often had he asked God what he should do? Not when he tried to help Louisa and caused disaster. Not when he’d invested years of savings in a mine that had been paid out years earlier. Not when he’d returned to Cape May determined to leave as soon as possible so he could try to make another fortune and prove his father wrong to predict he’d come to no good.
He gripped the rail and gazed out across Delaware Bay. Vessels from the smallest of fishing boats to oceangoing liners scattered across the crystal blue waters. Smoke from engines drifted into the cloudless sky, and sometimes a burst of laughter mingled with the rumble of engines. It was a familiar scene, one that had told him he wanted to own this company when his father allowed it. Gerald had known it, had tried to keep their father from sending Gordon away permanently. And in the end, he’d done what he could to make things right.
“And I was going to destroy it by neglecting it and your children.”
The scene blurred before Gordon’s eyes. He was even hurting Gerald after his brother was gone from this earth.
“Lord, I can’t go on like this. Please, show me what to do. Please—”
A shout rose from the bow. Gordon spun toward it and saw a crewman waving his arms and pointing. Ahead of them and to the starboard two or three points off the bow, a vessel similar to theirs wallowed in the glassy waters of the bay.
“She’s sinking!” the man shouted. “We’ve gotta get alongside her.”
This was God’s answer—that his neglect, his desire to be away from Cape May, might cause the deaths of the fifty people aboard the other vessel?
“It can’t be worse,” he cried aloud.
But it could, for clinging to the rail between two elderly ladies, her pinafore already soaking wet, stood Ruby.
Fourteen
“A rowboat. A dinghy.” Gordon glanced around the deck as he shouted.
He saw neither craft.
“A line. Where’s there a line?”
With a rope, he could possibly climb across, secure the line and. . .
No, if the other boat went down too quickly, they risked dragging this vessel down, too. He would have to swim, risk getting sucked under with the other boat, but possibly save Ruby and a few other people. He could throw chairs overboard for people to grab. Chairs would float.
He raced to the main deck and the furniture.
“Gordon.” Marigold grasped his arm.
He turned. “I’m going overboard to help.”
“No, you’re not.” Grimacing with pain, she held on to him with both hands. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I can’t let Ruby drown, not like my brother. If I’d been here—”
“You couldn’t have saved them.”
“But I can save Ruby.” He tried to pull free without hurting her, but her grip was fierce.
“Wait,
Gordon. Look.”
Across the gap of a hundred yards of water between his vessel and the one sinking in the bay, a dozen small boats had converged. Men, women, and a few youths swarmed around the foundering craft and aided the passengers in climbing over the railings and into safety.
“If I’d lost Ruby—” He stopped himself, his eyes widening. “Bring them here.” He meant to shout the words. His voice emerged choked. His eyes blurred.
The boatmen seemed to understand anyway. They pulled toward his boat, where the crew gathered to receive wet, frightened, sobbing passengers onto the sun-drenched deck. Though her ankle had to pain her, Marigold worked alongside them. She must have hugged every lady and child lifted aboard.
Joining the efforts, Gordon wanted to hug her. Her dress was torn and sodden, her hair whipped around her face in a frizzy mass of fire, and her skin was beginning to turn pink from too much sun, but she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He reached her side just as Ruby came over the rail on the shoulders of a burly fisherman.
“Uncle Gordon.” The child launched herself into his arms and clung. “I was naughty, and the boat was going to go down to the bottom. I almost made everyone drown like Mommy and Daddy.”
“No, child, no.” He held her close. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’ve been a selfish, bitter fool.”
Ruby stopped sobbing long enough to ask, “What’s bitter?”
“Something nasty.” He started to turn to Marigold again, but Dennis Tripp emerged from the crowd and stalked up to him.
“I told you. Those boats need work. Randall claims it was done, but he’s a liar, and I won’t mince words over it.”
“Yes.” Gordon met the man’s gaze without flinching. “But the fault lies with me. I was too anxious to sell to look into matters carefully. If anyone was hurt, it’s my fault.”
“None of the boats should go out again until they’re fully inspected,” Tripp pronounced.
“They won’t.” Gordon glanced toward shore, knowing he said good-bye to his grubstake for a head start in Alaska. “I’m shutting the business down until we know all is well and safe. Can you—will you see to it, Mr. Tripp?”
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