I tore free from Angie's grip. I raced across the field toward him, and he stood there with the same bored look in his eyes as the red blossom spread on his shoulder. The doctor! Where was the doctor? Why wasn't he hurrying over with his bulky black bag? The color had drained from Derek's face. His cheeks were ashen. He staggered again, swaying for a moment before maintaining his balance. I seized his arm. Derek pulled away, looking at me with cool hostility.
"It's over," he said.
"You're hurt!"
"It's only a flesh wound. The bullet passed through my shoulder. It's over, Marietta. My ship is leaving this afternoon. Go to him now."
"You're leaving—without me. You can't mean—"
"He's dying, Marietta. I aimed for his shoulder. His bullet struck me just as I pulled the trigger. My shot went through his chest. He's dying. You've caused me to kill a man. You've brought me to that. We have nothing more to say to each other."
"Derek—"
"Go to him!"
As he turned and strode briskly away from me, the impact of what he had just said suddenly hit me. I had been so stunned when he told me he was leaving that what followed had hardly registered, but now it was as though an arrow pierced my heart. I cried out and stumbled across the field to where Kyle and the doctor huddled over Jeff. I pushed them aside and fell to my knees to gather him in my arms. He looked up at me with puzzled eyes.
"Marietta?"
"I'm here, Jeff."
"It's you? Marietta?"
"I'm here, darling. I'm here."
He grinned that foolish grin. "It is you. You called me darlin'. I imagined it, didn't I? I must uv imagined it."
"No, darling. My darling."
"You said it again," he murmured.
"Of course I did."
"I wish—" The words were barely audible.
"Yes?"
"—wish I coulda been th' one. Wish it coulda been me.
I cradled him to me, gathering him closer, and he rested the side of his head on my shoulder and looked up at me with that grin still playing on his lips. His face was terribly pale, and damp, and I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and rested my hand against his cheek. I could feel the warmth leaving his body and feel the chill stealing over him, and I knew.
I looked up at the doctor. He shook his head. There was nothing he could do. He and Kyle had stepped back, and Kyle had his arm around Angie. Tears were spilling down her cheeks. Jeff shuddered. I tightened my arms around him.
"—only I'd had more money," he said. It was little more than a whisper. "That day—woulda all been different. If only—he'd 've lost and you'd 've been mine and—"
I realized he was talking about the auction. I stroked his cheek.
"I am yours, darling," I said. "Surely you know that. You—you're going to be all right. We're going to be married. We're going to be very, very happy—"
"Marietta?"
"I'm here, Jeff."
"I can't see you!"
"Darling—"
"Don't leave me!"
"Never. I'll never leave you."
He clutched me with amazing strength, looking up at me with eyes that could no longer see. He coughed. It was a hoarse, rattling cough, and his whole body shook with it. I held him, folding him against me, and when the cough was over, he blinked his eyes and peered up at me, and his eyes filled with joyous recognition.
"—didn't go away," he whispered.
"I'm still here, darling."
"—love you. Always did."
"I love you, too, darling."
He seemed puzzled. "You do?"
"I do, Jeff. I do."
I saw the happiness in his eyes and he tried to say something else, but the words wouldn't come. He frowned, and then he clasped me with desperate strength, trying to speak. The light went out of his eyes. The arms that had been clasping me dropped limply. I cradled him against me, rocking him gently in my arms as the tears streamed down my cheeks. Jeff was dead.
CHAPTER 26
He examined them carefully, unable to conceal the acquisitive gleam in his eye. Mr. Dawson had been recommended as the man most likely to give me a fair price for the diamonds, but I saw at once that I was going to have to bargain hard. He was a plump, robust man with ginger-colored sidewhiskers and shrewd brown eyes. The sign on his door identified him as a merchant, and his office was indeed plush, but I strongly suspected that most of the merchandise he handled was acquired through dubious means.
"Lovely gems," he admitted.
"They're quite genuine, I assure you."
"And you want to sell them?"
"That's why I'm here, Mr. Dawson."
He set the diamonds aside as though they were baubles hardly worth considering. That was part of the act. He would denigrate them now. He would tell me how the market for diamonds had dropped. He would offer me a tenth of their value and act as though he were doing me a favor. I knew what they were worth. I knew approximately what I could expect to get. I intended to stand firm.
"I hear you've had a spell of bad luck, Miss Danver. It is Miss Danver, isn't it? You and Rawlins weren't married?"
"Mr. Rawlins and I were not married," I said coldly.
"Hear he made a lot of foolish investments, lost a fortune speculating. Hear there were so many debts the Palace had to be sold, all the furnishing auctioned off. Hear there still wasn't enough to pay all he owed. Seems he bought a lot of stocks on credit, lost 'em, still hadn't paid for all of 'em when he died."
"The diamonds belong to me, Mr. Dawson. They're my personal property. You have the bill of sale marked paid-in-full right there in front of you. Perhaps you'd better examine it again."
"Oh, no question but what they're yours. His creditors would've got 'em otherwise. They got everything else, I hear. Understand the new owners are going to take over the property tomorrow."
"Are you interested in the diamonds, Mr. Dawson?"
"I'm interested. Lovely gems, just like I said, but the market's not what it was. Gems like these, they ain't so easy to resell. Hardly worth my time making an offer. More trouble than it's worth."
"Perhaps I'd better leave, then. If you'll hand me the diamonds—"
"Hold on, hold on. I didn't say I wouldn't take 'em off your hands. I'm sure you need the cash—need it badly, if all I've heard's so. I'll give you five hundred pounds for 'em."
"I'm afraid that isn't enough."
"It's the best I can do, Miss Danver."
"Then I've wasted your time. Mr. Rawlins paid three thousand pounds for those diamonds. I won't take a penny less than a thousand for them."
"A thousand!"
"Take it or leave it, Mr. Dawson."
"I'll give you seven hundred," he said grudgingly.
"Sorry. I'm really in a bit of a hurry, Mr. Dawson. There are three other gentlemen on my list. I'm sure one of them will be more than willing to meet my price."
"Eight hundred. Not a penny more."
His cheeks were a bright pink now, his brown eyes gleaming with greed. He wasn't about to let the diamonds go. He stood to make an enormous profit from them, would probably be able to resell them for more than Jeff had paid originally. I was well aware of that. I stood firm. He blustered and argued. He protested vehemently and finally resorted to personal abuse, informing me that he had no intention of being held up by a debtor's fancy lady. Calmly, I picked up the diamonds. They flashed and shimmered like chunks of frozen rainbow. I thought Dawson was going to have apoplexy.
"All right, all right, I'll give you the thousand!" he exclaimed.
"I'm afraid they'll cost you twelve hundred now, Mr. Dawson."
"Twelve hundred! But—"
"I don't appreciate pompous little crooks making personal remarks."
"You bitch! If you think—"
"Fifteen hundred, Mr. Dawson."
Dawson went through another siege of apoplectic gestures, cheeks flaming, but he couldn't take his eyes off the diamonds. I stood there in front of his desk wit
h an icy expression, and he finally admitted defeat. He heaved a weary sigh and gave in. I demanded payment in cash. He opened the safe and counted out the money. I felt a terrible humiliation at having to deal with such a repulsive creature, but I had no choice. I needed the money. When I left his office a few minutes later, I had fifteen hundred pounds in my reticule, five hundred more than I had counted on. That helped considerably.
I could go ahead with my plans now. I could survive, on my own terms. Half a dozen men had rushed to the gambling house with generous offers, assuring me I needn't worry about a thing. All had been eager to take care of me, but I would have nothing to do with them. I didn't intend to be dependent on anyone. I would make my own way, and selling the diamonds had given me the means. As I walked down the bright, sun-splattered street, I felt a strong determination inside. I felt hard, too, and cold. I was going to fight back, and the encounter with Dawson had given me a great deal of confidence.
Three weeks had passed since that dreadful day when my whole world had fallen to pieces. Just three weeks, and it seemed a lifetime ago. There had been little time for grief, no time to give way to the guilt, the dreadful sorrow. Jeff was dead. Derek was gone. He had sailed that afternoon. After Jeff's funeral there had been an onslaught of creditors, and then there had been a public auction. Everything was gone now, and I was alone. I had my clothes, a few personal possessions, and I had the money in my reticule.
I was going to survive.
Someday, perhaps, I would be able to forgive myself for what I had done to Jeff, and perhaps someday I would be able to forgive Derek Hawke for what he had done to me. In a perverse way, I was almost glad, for I was free of Derek at last. He had murdered the love in my heart. It had been replaced by icy resolution. I had learned my lesson. I had let my heart guide me. I had been ruled by my emotions. No more. From now on, I was going to use my head, and never again would I permit my heart to dictate. The empty place that Jeff had left there would never be filled.
After the auction, I had taken a boat upriver to Natchez. I spent a full day there, investigating, asking questions, and finally selected a site, a small white frame building near the center of town. I signed a lease, promising to pay at the end of the month. Back in New Orleans, I had several long sessions with Lucille and made arrangements for goods to be delivered in Natchez. Now that I had the money, I could go ahead with complete confidence. I had waited until the very last to sell the diamonds, reluctant to part with them. Now the deed was done.
It was fifteen minutes before I finally reached the gambling house. It looked bleak and empty in the sunlight, as though the plundering within had left its mark outside as well. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The hall was dim, empty, stripped of its finery. The gaming rooms were empty, too, the vast ballroom like a shell, furniture and chandeliers gone. Tomorrow the new owners would take over. I had no idea what they intended to do with the place. I didn't care. It was already a part of my past, and the future was all that mattered now.
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, I looked up to see Angie descending. Angie and Kyle had stayed on, had stood by me. The man who had bought the furniture had kindly agreed to let us keep a few token pieces until our departure, so at least we had beds to sleep on. He would come for the rest tomorrow.
"Did you sell it?" Angie asked.
"I got fifteen hundred pounds."
"Fifteen hundred pounds! That's wonderful! You'll be able to open your shop with plenty to spare."
"I suppose I will."
"I know it'll be a grand success, luv. No one knows more about dresses than you do, and those ladies in Natchez will flock to your place. They'll be the best-dressed women in the territory."
"Is Kyle in?" I asked.
Angie shook her head. "He's gone to purchase our passage. The ship'll leave next Thursday. We'll stay in an inn until then. Lucky he saved his money these past three years!"
"Indeed," I said.
"Come on upstairs, luv. I've finished my own packing. I'll help you with yours. There's some brandy Kyle put aside. You look as though you need a glass. I know I do!"
My sitting room was bare, and in the bedroom only the bed, the wardrobe, and two chairs remained. A valise and two large trunks stood ready to be packed. Angie scurried off to her own room and returned a moment with a bottle of brandy and two glasses.
"I still can't believe it," she said. "Me, married to a Welshman, about to leave for Wales! It's supposed to be dreadfully gray and gloomy there. I just know I'll be utterly miserable."
"I doubt that, Angie."
"I do, too, frankly," she confessed. "As long as I'm with Kyle, I'd be happy anywhere. You know, I don't feel married. I suppose because it was such a dreary little ceremony in that dusty office with stacks of yellowing papers and that plump white cat snoozing on the windowsill. The bloody sod didn't even give me a ring! He says he'll buy me one later, after the pub is established and bringing in enough to pay for it."
"He's going to open a pub?"
"I didn't tell you? There's only one pub in that pathetic little village where he was born, and he aims to put it out of business. He's got a lot of relatives still living there, and there's even a cottage. It passed on to him when his folks died. It's been rented out all this time to a cousin of his. God knows what his people are going to think about me."
"I'm sure they'll find you enchanting."
"They'll probably be shocked speechless. A flashy little London whore who used to do tricks for tuppence! One husband already in his grave—poor George. That seems such a long time ago. I—I feel like a different person."
"You are a different person, Angie. The past is behind you. You're going to make Kyle a wonderful wife."
"I'm damn sure gonna try. If he can forget my past, I suppose I can, too. Here, luv, drink your brandy. We'd better get started if we intend to pack all these things. It'll take us forever—"
We drank our brandy, and then I began to pull dresses out of the wardrobe and spread them out over the bed. I had sold several in order to pay for the quick trip to Natchez. The splendid gold ballgown Jeff bought me was gone, as was the blue velvet I had been wearing the night Derek delivered the wine. I would never have been able to wear them again, and the used-clothes dealer had given me a reasonable price. I had sold others as well. I doubted that I would have need of splendid gowns in the future. Angie seemed to be reading my mind. Folding up a violet-blue silk, she gazed at me with a thoughtful expression.
"There'll be a man," she said.
"Oh?"
"In Natchez. There'll be a man, probably several. Oh, the shop will be all very well and good, it'll keep you amused for a while, but eventually—there'll be a man, luv."
"I'm not interested."
"Not just now, no, but a few months from now, after you've gotten over the initial stages of grief and disappointment—"
"If there is a man," I interrupted, "he'll be very, very rich. He'll be able to give me everything, and I'll give nothing in return."
"No?"
"I'll never love again."
"This has all made you very hard, Marietta. Very bitter, too."
"Perhaps it has. I won't deny it."
"This isn't you, you know. It's a role you're playing. You've resolved to become a cold, heartless opportunist, but it isn't you. You're much too sensitive to play that role for long. You're much too good at heart."
"I'll never let myself be used again, Angie. Derek used me. Jeff did, too, in his way. I was concerned for them, their feelings. From now on I'm going to think of myself."
"You say that. I've no doubt you believe it—at the moment."
I closed the lid of one trunk and open the other. Angie continued to fold dresses, eyes still thoughtful.
"Do you think he'll ever come back?" she asked.
"Derek? He'll win his inheritance, become an aristocrat. He'll marry a pallid blueblood with an impressive pedigree. He's out of my life for good."
"You still love him."
"I hate him!"
"You just think you do. He'll always be in your blood."
"I thought so, too. Once. I know better now."
We worked for a while in silence, filling the trunk, and at last the job was done, only a nightgown and the clothes I would wear tomorrow unpacked. Angie sighed and brushed her hair from her temples. She sat on the edge of the bed, her expression sad.
"I'm going to miss you, luv," she said quietly.
"I'll miss you, too, Angie."
"We'll write."
"Of course we will."
"And—you're going to be happy, Marietta. I feel it in my bones."
"Happiness no longer concerns me."
"It'll come, though. Eventually. Just like it came to me."
"Perhaps," I said dryly.
Kyle returned a short while later, bringing cheese and bread and fish with him. We ate in the sitting room, on the floor, candles burning in old chipped saucers. Although we tried to make it a light, festive affair, a pall hung over us. The empty rooms all around seemed to echo with ghostly voices. Kyle sat with his arm draped around Angie's shoulder, as grim and solemn as ever. I knew he blamed me for Jeff's death—that he had never approved of me—yet he had done all he could to help me these last weeks.
"I suppose I'd better take the trunks down now," he said after we finished the scanty meal. "We'll need to get an early start. Your boat leaves at seven, I believe?"
"That's right."
"I've already made arrangements with young Blake. He'll bring a carriage around at five-thirty. We'll strap your trunks on top and return for ours after you've gone."
"You've gotten us a room at the inn?" Angie inquired.
Kyle nodded, getting to his feet. In the empty room he seemed even larger than usual. The flickering candles on the floor cast a long shadow across the wall. Angie and I cleared up the things, and after Kyle had carried all of the trunks down to the hall, they retired to their room.
In my nightgown, I folded the clothes I had been wearing and packed them in the valise along with my toilet articles. I blew out the candle and climbed into bed, knowing I would toss and turn for hours, just as I had done every night for the past three weeks.
Wilde, Jennifer Page 41
