“I do apologize, Grandmother. But Hannah insisted on dressing. Not that she was undressed, just in her night clothes.” Clad only in his boots, black pants—one leg tucked in the boots, one leg not—and white collarless shirt, Slade threaded his way through the Garrett-domestic-packed parlor to bend over Isabel and buss the rouge-reddened cheek she raised to him. “Didn’t Hammonds tell you we were…?”
His words trailed off to a pregnant silence. Isabel arched a taunting brow at her freshly scrubbed grandson and his damp hair. “Tell me you were what?”
She cut her gaze to the equally scrubbed and damp-of-hair Hannah. After taking in her wrongly buttoned blouse and twisted skirt, she repeated her question to the girl. “Well? Tell me you were what?”
Not getting any answer there, either, she sighted on both the red-faced children. And squelched the insane urge to leap up and hug them desperately, so happy was she for their obvious love for one another. “You have no idea what Hammonds told us, do you?”
She waved her hand at the couple. “Well, don’t look to him for help. I had him take Esmerelda outside, lest she piddle on the carpet. I suppose the least you can do is produce a great-grandchild out of your bold afternoon shenanigans.”
“Isabel!” Hannah’s hands went to her reddening cheeks.
“What?” But she knew full well what. She’d spoken out again in front of the help. She turned to them now.
The tiny parlor overflowed into the foyer with the ancient domestics, all of them seated on hastily brought in chairs and sipping at tea and nibbling suspiciously at the cakes Mrs. Stanley offered. After the housekeeper passed by with her tray, a visiting maid or two ran her fingers over a table or window sill, looked at the evidence, weighed it with her neighbor, and judged the young master’s help with a sniff.
Isabel shook her head and turned back to her granddaughter-in-law. “You’ve no reason to be so coy in front of them. They know how to make babies.” She turned to the room at large. “Don’t you?”
Some gray heads nodded, some bald heads continued looking around the room, some deaf ones poked at their neighbors, asking what she’d said. Pemberton stood, taking it upon himself to yell out the question, as if this were a town meeting and he was presenting the next issue on the agenda. “Mrs. Garrett asked if we know how to make babies.”
A hand or two went up in the doddering crowd. When Pemberton made as if to call on one of them, Isabel cut him off. “Sit down, you old fool.”
The old fool turned to her, shrugged, and edged himself into his chair, with Rowena’s and Serafina’s help. “As you wish, madam. But one may never get an answer, as matters stand now.”
Rolling her eyes, Isabel turned to Slade and Hannah. “You sit down, too. This is a social call, not a command appearance. You’re making me nervous.” Her heart warming dangerously at the sight of these two precious people, Isabel nevertheless kept her expression imperious and forbidding as she waited for them to obey her. “That’s more like it.”
She watched approvingly as Slade put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a smile full of awareness. Isabel noted Hannah’s darting, loving glances his way. A gloating smile almost got away from her. They were in love. She wondered if they knew it yet.
“Well, Isabel, what brings”—Slade gestured to include everyone in the room—“you here today?”
Pemberton answered. “As I recall, four carriages and both broughams.”
Isabel turned with Slade and Hannah to stare at the man. “Pemberton, just drink your tea and leave the conversation to me, please.”
“Yes, madam.” He took the cup and saucer handed him by Rowena, making a terrible clattering sound with the delicate china in his tremulous hands. Under his breath, he muttered, “One was asked what brought us here. One would think one could take the liberty of answering.”
Isabel huffed out a long-suffering sigh as she turned to her host and hostess. “What brought me here—Pemberton’s interpretation not withstanding—was my concern for your wellbeing. I believe you both ought to return posthaste to Woodbridge Pond.”
She watched Slade and Hannah exchange a glance and a smile. Her grandson turned to her. “Isabel, dearest, do you miss us?”
Isabel dearest puffed up to her full seated height. “Hardly. Barely noticed you were gone. However, I can’t help but be concerned by this recent turn of events. Why, a man was killed and your wife almost was. And we all know that was no accident. That being the case, do you think it wise to spread your men so thinly by having a few here, some at my place, and even others at Olivia’s mother’s? It’s too much. I say we pool our strengths and make our stand together at Woodbridge Pond.”
Slade’s smile turned soft, entreating. “Are you scared, sweetheart?”
Isabel nearly came to her feet. “I have no use for fraidy cats. However, I will point out that I now have on my shoulders the full responsibility for the upcoming celebration of your marriage. Now, is that fair, and me an old woman?”
Slade’s black eyes sparkled. “Admit you miss us, admit you’re afraid—for us, of course—and we’ll consider coming back. Won’t we, Hannah?”
Isabel’s heart beat eagerly as she watched him turn to Hannah. That one raised her eyebrows and grinned, nodding. Ha! They wanted to come back. She’d make them squirm—but then she caught the serious, attentive expressions on her domestics’ faces. Great Thanksgiving turkeys! They’d turn her out if she didn’t have Slade and Hannah in tow when they left today.
Frowning up into her best irascible expression, she blurted out, “Oh, all right, then. Yes, I’m afraid—for you, of course. You’re merely children. Can’t take care of yourselves. And yes, I miss you. They miss you. We all miss you. Esmerelda spends her days moping about in your rooms, baying dreadfully because she can’t find you. We can’t stand the noise anymore. Either you come back with us, or we leave Esmerelda here with you.”
As if conjured up, the front door flew open and in bounded Esmerelda, her leash dragging butlerless behind her. On her heels, a winded, gasping, clothes-awry Hammonds clutched at the door’s knob and stumbled in. The mastiff ignored the commotion behind her as her ears perked up. Grinning hugely, she cavorted over to Hannah and Slade, circling their chairs and loudly barking out her happiness. Everyone in the room covered their ears and squalled out their protests.
Esmerelda finally took pity on them all and went to lay her great head on Hannah’s lap. Laughing, Hannah rubbed and smoothed the dog’s head, leaning over to hug her fiercely. That was when Hammonds made his way into the parlor, leaned his back against the wall, and sank to the floor in a spread-legged heap, his stiff collar springing open in punctuation.
With all heads turned to him, he managed to gasp out, “We … outran—not by my choice—your brougham, Mr. Garrett. That little … lady’s maid and … and Rigby are outside. I think … something’s wrong. They have a … a baby with them.”
* * *
Within seconds the combined households were out on the walk and braving the cold air to gather at the brougham’s door. Hannah put her shaking hands to her mouth as Slade leaned in with a soot-covered Rigby to help Olivia out. It was hard to say which one was crying more—Olivia or her baby.
When the girl’s feet touched the ground, Hannah had them in the best hug she could manage while still allowing for the child. Smelling the acrid scent of smoke which clung to them, Hannah cried, “What happened, Olivia?”
The girl put her head on Hannah’s shoulder and sobbed. Hands reached in to take the squalling child. Hannah glanced up, exchanged a look with Isabel, and helped her bundle the blanket-wrapped baby to the older woman’s soft bosom. Isabel bounced and soothed the baby with low, chirping tones of grandmotherly sympathy. Every gray head and gnarled hand ringed her, vying with all the others to pet and coo at the chubby-fisted little girl. Esmerelda managed to nose her way in and sniff at the child’s bottom.
Hannah turned her head to see Slade pull Rigby aside and begin questioning him.
Then, two huge men, of the Hardy and Temple and Cates sort, climbed out of the brougham. Her eyes widened at the glimpse of strapped and holstered guns under their unbuttoned chesterfields. Both men bore signs on their faces of a recent fisticuffs session. They too joined Slade and Rigby.
Hannah’s attention centered again on Olivia when she raised her head, which jerked with the force of her gasping emotion. Ignoring the biting cold that seeped through her thin blouse, Hannah smoothed a hand over the girl’s cheeks. Olivia swiped her hair out of her face. “There was a fire. And me mum’s dead.”
“A fire? Your mother? Oh, Olivia.” Hannah hugged her to her again. “I am so sorry.” A horrible thought swept through her, chilling her in places the cold couldn’t reach. She pulled back and held the shaking girl out at arm’s length. “How did your mother die, Olivia? Was it the fire? Or was it—?”
“Inside. Right now. Everyone, get inside. Go.” Slade startled the assemblage. He, Rigby, and the two big, armed men spread out and began herding everyone to the front steps. Slade took Hannah’s arm in a firm grip, allowing Rigby to pull Olivia away and keep her close to him. Both men turned the women in front of them, keeping their bodies between them and the crowded street and curious onlookers.
Slade spoke in a low voice. “This was no accident. And I was right about Jones—he double-crossed me. Bekins and Smith tell me they smelled smoke at the back of the old building and went to investigate. Jones set a fire to distract them.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “The only reason Olivia and Colette are alive is because Rigby hit Jones from behind, stunning him long enough for them to run out the front way. That damned double-crosser killed the old couple I had helping Olivia’s mother.”
“Oh, Slade, not the Hills. Those poor, innocent people. We’ve got to stop them—and I mean Cyrus and Patience, as well as Jones.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Did Jones … kill Olivia’s mother?”
Slade nodded grimly. “Yes. But Bekins and Smith caught him. Before he died, they wrung out of him that Cyrus was paying him for information. And then he paid him to do away with Olivia and the others.”
“Dear God, where will it stop?” Hannah spat her words with as much vehemence as she could while still whispering.
At the front steps now and waiting for Isabel and her gray-haired entourage to tread up the stairs, Slade answered her. “It stops right here. There’ll be no more killing. At least, not by them. We’re going to do as Isabel said—make our stand at Woodbridge Pond.”
An ugly frown marring his handsome features, Slade looked down at her. “I’ve been going about this all wrong. I’ve been sifting facts and looking for evidence, while Cyrus has been having people killed. I’ve been too civilized, and that’s cost three more people their lives. No more. My eyes are opened now. From here on out, I favor the direct approach.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That evening at Woodbridge Pond, Slade wasn’t the only one feeling guilty over the afternoon’s deaths. Nor was he the only one who favored the direct approach.
Up in her room, Hannah got down on her knees and tugged out a hard-sided case from under the bed. She snapped open the clasps and then turned for the tenth time to look all around her. Still alone. Funny how being sneaky made a person edgy. She bent again to her task. Opening the case, she eyed the two Peacemakers, lifting them, hefting their weight and balance. Just out this year from Colt. Mama’d made a present of them to Papa on their anniversary.
Hannah could see him now. He’d given his old Colt to Jacey, and then had strapped these on and strutted around the place like a cocky rooster. She saw him practicing his quick draw and challenging everyone on the spread to a target-shooting match. Jacey’d been the only one fool enough to go up against him. There they were, father and daughter, squared up, facing the cans and bottles, going toe to toe with their weapons. Papa’d beat Jacey—just barely. Hannah firmed her quivering lips and chin. No time for memories.
She wiped at her eyes, quickly loaded the guns, and slipped them back in the case and under the bed, beside her pocket pistol and a rolled bundle that consisted of Rigby’s pants, shirt, and hat. She’d have them back to him before he ever missed them.
Just as she pulled herself to her feet, the door opened and in stepped Slade. Hannah’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He was dressed for the outdoors, but he looked different somehow, as if his civilized mask were thinning. But there was something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on. He stopped in the doorway, smiling, his hand on the knob. “I wondered where you were.”
Hannah smiled, hoping she didn’t look guilty. “I’m right here.” Why was her voice so high? She cleared her throat. “Did you just get back?”
“Yeah.” His expression sobered, making him look tired. “We talked to the police, told them what we know about the fire. But that’s all. The rest is my business.” A jaw muscle jumped. “I told Olivia we’d bury her mother tomorrow.”
Hannah nodded her acknowledgment of that as she watched him remove his hat. Her eyes widened. That was it! His hat. That’s what was different. A black Stetson. She was so used to seeing men wear them that she’d barely noticed before now that he didn’t wear one. Well, now he did. Why? What did it mean?
When Slade raised a hand to run his fingers through his hair, his motion opened his coat, revealing a holstered pistol in a shoulder strap. He caught her gaze, his eyes reflecting that he knew she’d seen the gun. “Why aren’t you downstairs with everyone else?”
Hannah shrugged. “I was. It just got too crowded. We now have two households trying to be one. Pemberton and Hammonds nearly got into a duel over who’d open the door when Mrs. Hardison called on Isabel. And Mrs. Edgars is not thrilled to have Mrs. Stanley in her kitchen. I had to separate them before supper ended up on the wall. And Isabel has been raging around all evening, complaining about the noise.”
He grinned and chuckled. “Well, sorry I missed all that. But don’t let Isabel fool you. That old girl’s thrilled—all the kids and Esmerelda tearing around. When I came in, Jacko and Edgar had Colette—” Without warning, his smile fled. “What the hell’s going on here? You’re up here for another reason.”
“No I’m not.”
“Then, why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dammit, Hannah.”
“Dammit, Slade.”
His black-eyed gaze assessed her. Hannah burned with a sweaty, sneaky feeling. Then he nodded and changed the subject. “All right. You’re not up to anything. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Why don’t you go on down?”
Completely aware of the bed pressing against the backs of her legs, Hannah raised her chin. “Will you go down with me?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Will you tell me why it’s so important to you that I do?”
Great. She needed a really good reason. Or he was going to stay right here and tear this room apart until he found her out. “Because…” She had to stop when her honest heart pounded out its objection. She was getting ready to tell the biggest lie she’d ever told. Maybe not. It could be true and, right now, it couldn’t be helped. She swallowed hard and started over. “Because I want you with me for my announcement.”
Slade raised an eyebrow as he slapped his Stetson against his thigh. Again and again. For a long stretch, it was the only sound in the room. Just when Hannah thought she would snap, he spoke up. “What announcement?”
“That I … that we’re … that I’m—”
“Yes, Hannah? That we’re, that you’re … what?”
“Going to have a baby.” Hannah twisted her fingers together at her waist and stared at her husband.
The Stetson slipped unnoticed from his fingers. He stared at her as if she’d just said she was a lilac bush. “What did you just say?”
Hannah wasn’t sure she could say it again. Because maybe God hadn’t heard her the first time. She didn’t want to co
mpound her sin by confirming it for Him. But what choice did she have? “I said, we’re going to have a baby.”
“Me and you? We’re going to have a baby?”
“No, you and Dudley. Of course, me and you.”
“A baby—like Colette? That kind of baby?”
“That’s the only kind of baby there is. Except for boy babies.” Suddenly afraid the shock was too much for him, that she’d addled his brain, she looked askance at him. “Are you all right?”
He stared and nodded, stared and nodded. And then, as if made of wood, bent over to retrieve his Stetson. He put it on his head, low over his eyes, looked at her again, and backed out of the room, closing the door after him.
Hannah eyed the closed door. That went well.
Just then, the door burst open, making Hannah jump a good foot. Slade tore into the room, flinging his Stetson high and peeling off his chesterfield, revealing two shoulder straps, two pistols. A jackass-eating-briars grin on his face, he grabbed her up and swung her around, laughing and whooping for all he was worth.
Hannah’d never felt so miserable for lying in her whole life. Or so she thought until he covered her face with kisses and then dragged her by the hand all the way down the hall, then remembered her delicate condition and picked her up—protesting at the top of her lungs—and carried her downstairs and blurted it out to everyone’s astonishment and hand-clapping congratulations, and then they’d all toasted her and Slade at dinner. All of them—family and domestics alike and even Olivia—came down for the good news. That was when she felt the most miserable.
Seated in the dining room and still being toasted repeatedly made Hannah want to cry. Why had she said there was a baby, when there was no baby? And even if there was, she wouldn’t want Slade to know because she was leaving. What was worse, she had no idea how a woman in her supposed condition acted. She was only two years old herself when Mama’d had Jacey. And even though she was four years old when Mama had Glory, the only thing she remembered was Papa’d come home that day from somewhere, and then he and Mama’d shown her and Jacey their new baby sister.
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