Hannah's Promise

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Surprised and suddenly suspicious—was he reporting her day’s business to his employer?—Hannah’s hand went to her bosom. “Rigby, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you. Don’t let me interrupt—”

  “Come in, Hannah.” Slade’s voice boomed out impatiently from deep inside the room. “We’ve concluded our business. Now, what is it you want? I’ve several matters to attend to yet this afternoon.”

  That was twice he’d bellowed at her in as many moments. Hannah raised an eyebrow as she stared at Rigby’s smiling face. She spoke purposely loud enough for the lord and master to hear her. “Well, Rigby, I see he didn’t bite any chunks out of your hide. Let’s hope I fare as well with the old bear.”

  “What the—? Old bear?” A chair scraped on the polished floor, as if pushed back suddenly.

  Rigby’s eyes widened. He started to look behind him, but apparently thought better of that and settled for stepping aside, allowing her and her escort to enter. As they swept by him, he leaned in toward her and whispered, “Careful, miss. He hasn’t had his ration of raw meat yet today.”

  Hannah acknowledged the friendly warning with “Neither has Esmerelda.”

  Rigby grinned and slipped past her, exiting the room and noiselessly closing the door behind him.

  Left facing the old bear on her own now, the joke wasn’t quite so funny. With him eyeing her from behind his desk, in his own home, and with her at his mercy for the very food she ate and the clothes she wore, Hannah found she didn’t quite know how to proceed. She remained in place as she waited for him to wave her over. Or at least to finish staring at her.

  Finally, he raised an eyebrow. “You’ve brought Essie. I thought you were afraid of her.”

  Hannah looked down at the mastiff and then back up at Slade. “I was at first, but now we’re fast friends. I like having her around. Except when she thinks she can sleep with me.” Her words hit the air with the impact of a slap across the face. Hannah’s mouth dried as Slade straightened up.

  “I know. I hear you fussing at her. Every night. Through the door.”

  “I … hear you, too, getting ready for bed … I suppose.” Hannah’s hand went to the cameo brooch at her throat. “I hope I don’t keep you awake.”

  A smile fraught with seductive promise played with the corners of his mouth. “You do.”

  She didn’t need to be a woman of the world to know exactly what he meant. But still, did he have to continue to stare at her as if he could see through her clothes? Slightly disconcerted, Hannah half raised a hand to her upswept hair. “You’re staring at me. Is something wrong with my appearance?”

  “Well, let’s see.” With studied casualness, Slade stepped around his solid desk to perch a hip on its corner and cross his arms over the expanse of his chest. He casually swung his foot as he looked her up and down, making her feel certain she’d come in without a stitch on. “Not from here there isn’t. And I do like that particular blouse.”

  “My blouse?” Her hand went to her bosom. She fingered the delicate material and glanced down at herself, relieved to see she indeed had a blouse on. Feeling her face warming, she looked up again at him. And saw Esmerelda padding over to him to lay her great head on his thigh.

  Even though Slade kept his gaze on her, he rubbed the mastiff’s ears. Esmerelda shook her head at this indignity and turned away, going to flop in the center of a sunbeam that warmed the floor. Hannah watched Slade watch the dog until the animal’d laid herself down. Only then did he turn back to her. “I trust you enjoyed your outing with Isabel?”

  A sudden memory of the bits and pieces that Isabel had divulged about Slade’s childhood, and why he might refer to it as pure hell, deepened the heat on Hannah’s cheeks. “Of course. She’s delightful.”

  He nodded. “And … informative, perhaps?”

  Hannah never missed a beat. “Yes. She told me all about Boston. About the fire last year. About the annexation of Charlestown. We drove by Faneuil Hall and then to that wonderful museum—”

  “I’m sure you saw it all.”

  Hannah took a deep breath. “Actually, I came about Olivia. I just saw Serafina upstairs, and she said Olivia ran out of the house in tears earlier after getting some message. I was hoping you knew what happened.”

  Slade shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know much more than that. She showed me a note. It said that someone named Colette was sick. She wouldn’t say who that was, but I told her to go see about her and to take as much time as she needed. I was sure you wouldn’t begrudge her absence.”

  “No, of course not.” Hannah walked over to the leather chairs facing his desk, sweeping her cashmere skirt by Slade’s dangling foot. She sat down in the one closest to him and studiously ignored the play of shifting muscles in his thigh as he swung his foot lazily back and forth. To keep her hands from reaching out on their own to touch him, she tightly laced them together in her lap. “I find this strange, Slade. You know how much Olivia talks. Well, she’s never said a word about family, or having anyone to care for.”

  Slade squinted down at her with a sudden critical stare, putting Hannah on the alert as her heart beat faster. She sat up straighter. “What?”

  “I think we’ve just crossed some line, Hannah. We’ve been residing under the same roof for the past week, seeing each other daily as we go about our lives and our routines. But that’s the first time you’ve called me Slade without my prompting you.”

  Hannah slid her gaze down to her lap. She didn’t even remember saying his name. Was he becoming that familiar, that comfortable to her? She finally managed to raise her head to look him in the eye. “Is it?”

  His answer was a very warm smile. But what he said was, “It is. But back to Olivia. I see it didn’t take you long to become a Brahmin, like the rest of us.”

  “A Brahmin? How do you mean?”

  His smile changed from intimate to mocking. “It’s in the blood. We Brahmins have no clue regarding our domestics’ private lives. Neither do we care enough to ask.”

  Stung, Hannah jumped up. “You speak for yourself because I most certainly do care. But where I come from, we don’t pry into other folks’s lives. You live a lot longer that way.”

  Slade came to his feet and towered over her. “Lucky for you, I’ve seen fit to pry into a lot of folks’s lives lately—and on your behalf. Otherwise, you wouldn’t live much longer, if at all.”

  Hannah stared into the gleaming jet of his eyes and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. With apprehension robbing her of spine, she flopped limply into her chair. “What do you mean? What’s happened?”

  Slade perched again on the desk. He laced his fingers together, resting them at the juncture of his thighs. “While you and Isabel were out on the town, your beloved great-aunt and -uncle arrived home. You’ll have to be more cautious now in your comings and goings.”

  Hannah’s heart leapt at that news. “I keep a gun with me at all times. And I already have armed men practically escorting me to dinner. How much more careful can I be?”

  Slade looked at her as if she were a naughty child. “Hannah, you’d do well to have a healthy fear of Cyrus and Patience. They’re dangerous people with a long reach. And they’re becoming more desperate with each passing day.”

  Hannah huffed out her exasperation. “Are they now? And just how should I know? You keep me squirreled away here and practically hog-tied, making it all but impossible for me to learn anything for myself. So, you tell me about Cyrus and Patience’s desperation.”

  The very air in the room seemed to be holding its breath with her as she watched the flicker of emotion over his face and the hand he reached up to rub over his jaw. “All right, I will. First of all, you’re right about the Wilton-Humeses. I don’t have any proof, but—”

  “But you do—that scrap of their own letterhead! You do still have it?”

  “Yes. It’s safe at my brownstone. Do you want it back? No? Then I’ll leave it there for now. But all it proves is that they wrote you
r mother.”

  “After twenty-five years, they just wrote her? Hardly. I found that paper burning in the fireplace at home on the same night we … found Mama and Papa.…” She turned her head as her voice trailed off on a sobbing catch.

  “And my name’s on it. No wonder you thought I was involved with them.” His voice, mixing compassion with irony, brought her attention back to him. “We’ll save that mystery for later. Right now, I need to tell you—Well, this next part’s harder. Are you up to it?”

  She raised her chin. “I came a long way for answers.”

  “So you did.” He thinned his lips into a grim line and then plunged ahead. “Your mother was killed for no other reason than your great-grandmother’s will. Except for sizable trusts left to each of her sons—both of which Cyrus now has since Hamilton’s death—Ardis left her entire estate to your mother.”

  A fist clutched at Hannah’s heart. She gripped the chair’s padded armrests. “Mama’s own kin had her killed because of … because of money? Not because she married Papa?”

  Horrified, she put a hand to her mouth, removing it only when her next words spilled out of her. “Poor Papa. He died protecting Mama.” She lowered her gaze and stared blankly at the floor. “He was lying across her body.”

  Slade leaned forward to cup her chin and raise her head. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t.”

  Hannah brushed away his hand. “Why should you have seen it coming? At Cloister Point, you said something similar—something about knowing they were responsible. You could know only if you’re as guilty as they are. Only if you’re involved.”

  She’d just accused him—again—of murder. The first time she’d done so, he’d reacted violently, causing her enough doubt to place herself under his protection. But this time, he didn’t jump up and bellow out his innocence. Instead, without blinking, without breaking eye contact, Slade confessed, “I am involved. But I’m not guilty.”

  Hannah’s grip on the armrests tightened. “How can that be?”

  Slade ran a hand over his jaw. “I’ll start at the beginning. Ardis left your mother a tremendous fortune, Hannah. In the millions. Cyrus and Hamilton believed it would be left to them when their mother died.”

  Shaking her head, staggered by the sum, Hannah sagged back into the chair. “I never realized.…” She looked up at Slade. “Why did Ardis leave her sons trusts?”

  Slade huffed out a breath. “The trusts are big enough to sustain them through their lives. But it galls Cyrus to have his money doled out to him by Ardis’s solicitors and to have to give them an accounting of his expenses. He’s a lavish spender, way beyond his means. But as to why, I know only what Isabel tells me. She says Ardis never forgave Hamilton for disowning your mother. And Ardis knew what Cyrus is like. She never trusted him. So, who’s to say why she did it? Maybe she was trying to right the wrong done your mother. Isabel says Ardis loved your mother very much.”

  “I know. Biddy told me.” The numbness seeped slowly from her bones, leaving in its place a clammy sickness that kept Hannah in a slump.

  “Who’s Biddy? And what did she tell you?”

  Hannah frowned at the sharp note in his voice. “Biddy’s … well, she’s everything to us. She was Mama’s lady’s maid when she had need of one. And then she was our nanny. But now she’s like a grandmother to us. She told us stories of Boston and how Ardis loved my mother. That’s all.”

  “I see. She … never mentioned my family?”

  Hannah stared hard at him. “Maybe in passing, but I was nothing more than a girl when I last heard stories of Mama’s life here. We didn’t talk very much about Boston. Remember—I didn’t even know your estate was next to Cloister Point.”

  “That’s true.” Seemingly satisfied with that, he relaxed again.

  Storing away that reaction, Hannah went on. “Mama never would’ve taken the money. She said being rich like her family chained a person’s soul. She probably would’ve given it right back to Cyrus. He didn’t have to kill her.”

  Slade again surprised her by hesitating, by scrubbing his hands over his face. When he lowered them, she could describe his expression only as tortured. “She couldn’t have given it back to him.”

  “Why not?” Wariness crept over Hannah’s flesh when Slade didn’t answer, but just stared at her. Her heart set up a pounding tempo that seemed to make her palms feel slick. She clutched at the folds of her woolen skirt as she noted every detail of his chiseled face. The high cheekbones, the square, stubborn jaw, the black eyes, the shadow of a beard. Although they caught at Hannah’s heart, they gave nothing away.

  When he finally spoke, he made a simple statement of fact that sounded as if he were reading from a will. “In the event your mother didn’t want the money or was already dead, Ardis named me as her heir.”

  “You.” She should have been afraid for herself. She should have jumped up and gotten away while she could. She should have been crying for everything she felt for him in her heart. But instead, she stayed where she was. And felt nothing. Hearing only a loud ringing in her ears, she sat very still, so still she feared she was becoming one with her chair. And repeated the only word she seemed capable of uttering. “You.”

  He said nothing, offered no explanation as to why her great-grandmother would leave him the Wilton-Humes fortune.

  Unblinking, Hannah turned her head toward the window. Dust motes danced in the pooled sunbeam that shone on the sleeping mastiff. Whimsical though the sight was, it couldn’t penetrate Hannah’s armor. She saw instead that piece of writing paper—with his name on it. Heartsick, hating him, hating herself, she nevertheless turned back to him. “You are in this with them.”

  He never moved a muscle. His voice, when he spoke, was as flat as hers. “No, Hannah. If I were, you wouldn’t have lived past your first day in Boston. I’m on your side. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Why should I believe you, when I have every reason not to?” She clenched her so-cold hands together in her lap.

  “You have every reason to believe me, if you’ll just think about it.” With his black eyes focused squarely on her, he enumerated the reasons for her. “Once I knew who you were and where you were, I became a constant presence at Cloister Point.”

  Hannah made a scoffing noise. “Are you still saying you were there to protect me? We both know you came to scare me and threaten me.”

  “Yes, I did. But that has nothing to do with this. I’ve kept a cautious eye cast over the fence since the reading of Ardis’s will. Three suspicious deaths occurred in that house right after that. Knowing that, I didn’t want you dead before I had my chance at you. So, the night of the ill-fated dinner party, I seized my chance to get you away.”

  Hannah pinched her features up into what she hoped was as much a sarcastic retort as were her words. “And such a selfless act, as it turns out. I should’ve known you wouldn’t risk your neck for someone bearing both the Wilton-Humes and the Lawless names.”

  He surprised her by glancing down and away for a moment. When he looked back at her, a stark emotion shone in his eyes and in the set of his mouth. She had the distinct impression he started to say one thing, but then settled for another. “Think what you will. But for the past week I’ve had my men asking questions, talking around. And the news is not good.”

  His words forced a fatalistic chuckle out of Hannah. “There hasn’t been any good news since I stepped off one of your trains here in Boston.”

  He swept his gaze over her face, as if weighing her mood change. “True. And I don’t have any for you now, either. I’m sure you suspect that your grandparents and great-grandmother also were killed by Cyrus and Patience?”

  Numb already, beyond emotion, she simply nodded. “I have all along. I just didn’t know why. Now I do. Money.” She rubbed at her temples as she added, “I wish to God that Ardis had just left the money to her sons. Maybe then the only one who’d be dead would be the survivor of their own treacheries.�
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  Slade surprised her by leaning over to squeeze her hand. “That would have been best, I agree. But there’s still more, Hannah. From living there, I guess you know that Cyrus and Patience are quietly selling off Cloister Point’s furnishings and family jewelry to keep up appearances.”

  Images collided with one another in Hannah’s mind. Lack of food. Lack of furniture. Lack of servants. She nodded in agreement with him. “I realize now that’s what I was seeing. But looking around Cloister Point … well, the little they still have is so much more than anything I’ve ever had that I didn’t realize the problems. It’s such a grand place.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it is. And the upkeep alone takes a king’s ransom—and half the combined trusts. Which only makes Cyrus more desperate for Ardis’s money. He’d be ruined socially if the barest hint of even any belt-tightening got out, much less if they lived in reduced circumstances. Appearances, Hannah, appearances. Money affords social acceptance—and that’s their lifeblood. And you stole it from them when you made your public accusations.”

  Hannah paused, biting thoughtfully at her lower lip. “So I guess they’ll come after me next?”

  “I’m sure of it. They’ll come after me, too—and not just because I took your side.”

  Hannah stared at him as she searched her heart. Could she believe him and trust him? She wanted to. But could she trust her own heart any more than she could trust his words? She had no proof of what he told her. Dispirited now, she leaned back in her chair and gazed up to where the wall joined with the ceiling. “What could they gain by coming after you? The money’s yours now.”

  “No it isn’t. It too is in a trust—until I marry and father a child. If I don’t, only then does Cyrus finally inherit.”

  Hannah lowered her head with a suddenness that made her dizzy. “What did you just say?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “You heard me. That damned Ardis. The old girl was as much a caution as Isabel is. Those two were lifelong friends, so she put that rider in her will for Isabel—who as you know wants great-grandchildren in the worst way.” Having said that, he turned grim. “When I was notified that I had to attend the reading of Ardis’s will, I was not pleased. I’ve made a lifelong habit of staying out of Wilton-Humes affairs. But then, when the terms were read, I was as stunned as Cyrus.