"Can you describe him?" Luke had never felt so cold, or so murderously angry, in his life. Tess had actually lived with this monster?
"Oh, sure, once you've seen Hal, you never forget him. He was tall and skinny, wiry like, with a big head of red hair, long red sideburns, a mustache he liked to keep waxed, and a laugh like a rutting moose."
"How did he get Tess?"
"It wasn't any of our business," Mrs. Carswell said, lighting another cigarette. "But we asked anyway. See, snatching kids wasn't his line of work. He said someone had palmed the kid off on him and he had seen her potential and brought her to us. We paid him plenty for her, too. Like I said, blond girls bring in the money once they start working well."
"Do you remember when you bought her?"
"Aw, c'mon!"
"At least try, Mrs. Carswell. Ten years ago? Twenty? Fifteen?"
"Ah, hell," Mrs. Carswell muttered, disgruntled. "Ernie had his Harley then, so it was probably when I was in my redhead phase. Always liked to change the color of my hair, you know? So that was somewhere like nineteen or twenty years ago."
"Do you remember what season?"
"Late summer, early fall, something like that."
"How old was Tess when she came to you?"
Mrs. Carswell concentrated on blowing an elliptical smoke ring. "I don't know. Five, maybe four. She seemed a bit small for whatever age she was, and she could already read a bit. Maybe five."
"And how long did you keep her?"
"Like I said, five or six years."
"Who did you sell her to?"
"Some black whore calling herself Primrose or Tulip or some such thing. Violet! That was her name."
Luke fought hard to hide his surprise. "Did she come looking for Tess?"
"She came looking for a blond girl of around eleven or twelve and we had three of them at the time, including Tess. She took Tess. We made her pay through the nose for her, too. By then, the girl was bringing in a lot of money for us, pickpocket, shoplifting, that sort of thing."
"Did Violet say why she wanted Tess?"
"Said she had a client with real particular tastes," Barbara Carswell said with a broad wink.
The nausea nearly overcame Luke then. It took a moment for him to regain his self-control. "Did you ever see Tess or Violet again?"
"Nah. From what I heard, Violet skipped town right after that."
"You had a lot of connections with the underworld, though," Luke persisted, almost frantic to discover what new nightmare Tess had been thrown into. "Maybe you heard about what happened to Tess after she left you. She went by a lot of names: Julia Preen, Suzanne Wentworth, Jeanne-Marie St. Juste."
"What?" screeched Barbara Carswell, lurching up from her chair, her hands clenched in fists, her face splotched with fury. "St. Juste? Why, that two-timing, murderous little bitch! She's the one that set Ernie and me up! She tipped the Feds and they ran a sting operation that got us twenty years. She got my Ernie killed!"
While Barbara Carswell paced the room cursing Tess with all of the venom in her soul, Luke leaned back in his chair, nausea replaced with warm appreciation for Tess's seemingly unlimited abilities. She was very good at what she did.
Her nonchalant recitation of her life with the Carswells and her careless attitude about their past, present, and future had been a sham. She had repaid the Carswells for the horror of her childhood and she had done it legally. More, she had spared dozens of children the hell she had endured. She had got her revenge, just as he had with Margo.
Damn! Why, in his search for evidence to put Tess behind bars, did he keep uncovering ways that they were akin to each other?
"Mrs. Carswell," Luke said, and had to call to her once again. "Mrs. Carswell, one last question. Do you know where I might find Hal Marsh or Violet?"
"No! And I hope they're frying in Hell!"
Mrs. Carswell continued to curse as Luke rose, thanked her for her time, and left the room.
He flew back to New York, unable to do any of the client work he had brought with him, unable to do anything but think about Tess and wonder and try to puzzle it all out. Yes, he had some answers now, but he also had a lot more questions. Tess had been perfectly forthright in the presentation of her past, but she had never mentioned Violet. He could understand her reluctance, it must have been an horrific period in her life. But still, Violet bothered him for a lot of reasons, primarily because he knew of no way that a prostitute could train Tess to become the kind of thief even WEB couldn't catch. The Carswells didn't go in for the kind of heists Leroy said Tess had pulled after she left Miami. Violet undoubtedly had kept to her trade. So who had trained Tess?
He'd have to get Leroy to start looking for Hal Marsh and Violet. If they were still alive, they had a lot of explaining to do.
He pulled out his credit card and lifted the phone from the armrest beside him, dialing the number automatically. He gave Leroy the facts in less than thirty seconds, hung up, and then called New York. It took him a minute to get through a receptionist, and secretary, to finally reach his client.
"I'm heading back," he announced.
"So what did Barbara Carswell have to say?" Jane demanded.
"A lot, not all of it complimentary. It basically boils down to this: Barbara Carswell positively identified Tess. Her age and date of purchase by the Carswells fit well with the kidnapping timeline. Carswell said she bought Tess from someone named Hal Marsh. I've got Leroy Baldwin trying to track him down. Maybe this Marsh character was one of the kidnappers, or at least knew one of the kidnappers."
"To finally capture the people who took my granddaughter…" Jane murmured. "This sounds very promising, Luke."
"It depends which side you're on," he muttered. "And there is something that bothers me. Barbara Carswell said that Tess had asthma as a child. Elizabeth didn't have asthma, did she?"
Jane was silent a moment. "No, she did not."
"You realize there are three possible explanations?"
"Either the asthma was psychosomatically induced by the kidnapping, or she developed asthma like so many children do, or she's not Elizabeth. But I believe more and more that she really is Elizabeth, Luke."
"I wish you'd tell me why," Luke said plaintively.
"Later, dear, not just now."
"Well, you know my analytical, overly suspicious mind, Mrs. Cushman. I will want proof in triplicate before I recognize the pretender to the throne."
"So will I. Thank you, Luke. For everything."
Luke slowly smiled. "No, no, Mrs. Cushman, thank you. I haven't been on a roller coaster since I was ten."
He hung up the phone and stared without seeing through the tiny window by his seat. He had wanted to interview Barbara Carswell to save himself from himself and instead… The roller coaster was taking him up, up, up to the top of the highest hill. Below him lay every belief and illusion and expectation he had clung to for so many years. All would be shattered as he rocketed downhill. His heart was hammering so hard in his throat, it was an ache that wouldn't fade away.
* * *
Luke wasn't sure if he was ready to see Tess again, and when she walked into the living room that evening dressed in a long-sleeved gown of silver and green, an emerald necklace clasped at her throat and matching earrings dangling from her ears, he knew he wasn't ready… Because all he wanted to do was kiss her again. Because he felt plunged into emotional depths. Because he was remembering Tess as an abused child, terrified, ill, hungry, alone. The contrast with the woman before him was stunning. How many people had the kind of strength and courage it took to transform themselves and their lives as she had done?
Generosity toward Tess began welling within him and Luke couldn't have been more amazed. He never cut anyone any slack. Never. But looking at Tess now…
His old walls were useless against her. He was thrown back on his last defense: he would have to use a blunt instrument to fend her off.
"Nice emeralds," he said as she sat beside Jane on the couch.
"Belong to anyone we know?"
"Jewel thieves do not wear their ill-gotten goods, Mr. Mansfield," Tess retorted, her smile glittering, her blue eyes hard with anger. "It's an easy way to get yourself arrested. Unless," she said brightly, "you have them recut and reset."
Luke grimly held back a smile. Anger was supposed to protect him, not charm him. "And to whom did those emeralds used to belong?"
"Tiffany's. I bought them last week. Want to see the receipt?"
"That is enough, dear," Jane said firmly, patting Tess's knee. "And as for you, Luke, your bad manners will ruin my digestion. Amend them!"
"Yes, ma'am," Luke said.
Hodgkins entered to announce dinner. Luke gallantly offered his arm to Jane, she deigned to accept it, and they began to walk toward the dining room.
"The watchdog never far from her side," Tess murmured from behind them.
"I beg your pardon?" Luke said.
"Woof!"
It was a good thing his back was to her so she couldn't see his smile. "There are some, Ms. Alcott, who feel a responsibility to others."
"Jane can take care of herself. Besides, she's perfectly safe."
"No one," Luke said bitterly, "is safe in your company."
"Enough, you two," Jane said. "I want dinner, not your bickering."
Luke meekly held Jane's chair out for her and then sat down opposite Tess. Dinner was served with all of Hodgkins's usual pomp and ceremony.
"I'll have you know, Luke," Jane said after a sip of soup, "that Tess has insisted that I pull the Vermeer from next week's auction."
"Our art expert objects to selling one of the few Vermeers still available on the open market?" Luke inquired. "A painting that will bring the best price at the auction?"
"If it was real, I'd say go for it," Tess retorted. "But it's a fake and it stands a good chance of causing Cushman's an unholy amount of trouble."
"It is not a fake!" Jane insisted.
"Yes, it is."
"Ms. Alcott," Luke said with great condescension, "The Housekeeper has been authenticated by Ernest Hall himself."
Tess shrugged as she continued to eat her soup. "It's been authenticated before."
"Ergo," Luke said with some heat, "it is not a fake!"
"But it is."
"How do you know?" Luke exploded.
"Because I know who owns the original, illegally of course, but possession is nine-tenths of the law. I've even seen it. It's in superb condition."
Jane stared at her. "How do you know this illegal owner doesn't have the fake?"
Tess grinned and began to butter a roll. "Because the family bought it … well, stole it, really, before the fake was ever produced. The Napoleonic Wars saw a lot of shifting around of artwork, you know. The Vermeer got shifted into this family's private collection around 1808 and has been held secretly ever since. The heirs to the rightful owners, you see, would undoubtedly want it back."
"Undoubtedly," Jane said. "How do you know so much about this?"
"Because I know all about Anna Shively," Tess sanguinely replied.
Jane started. "Are you telling me that that Vermeer up for auction is—"
"A Shively," Tess pronounced.
"Who?" Luke demanded.
"Probably the best art forger the world has ever known," Tess replied. "Half of her work is hanging in museums the world over and called Delacroix, Chardin, Caravaggio, Rubens. The other half is hanging in private collections and called Goya, Rembrandt, Renoir. Shively was an absolute genius. She used the same canvas, the same paint, the same brushes that the masters used. She knew how to age a forgery to perfection. There are only a handful of experts in the world who can tell a Shively from an original."
"She was active in the mid- to late nineteenth century," Jane said somewhat grimly after a fortifying sip of wine. "It was, in a way, her form of protest against the male artist autocracy that kept her out of the Royal Society of Artists and every exhibition and gallery in Europe simply because she was a woman artist. Her little bit of revenge has been haunting art collectors ever since."
"A woman after my own heart," Tess said with relish. "Better pull the Vermeer until you've had Antoine Giracault take a look at it, Jane."
Jane sighed heavily. "You're right of course. A Shively. That someone would try to sell a Shively through my auction house."
"Oh, it's not the first time," Tess said.
Jane looked at her with the utmost horror.
Tess burst out laughing.
Luke leaned back in his chair, smiling at the ensuing argument which ignored his presence entirely. While everyone else in the art world treated Jane Cushman with slobbering deference and respect, here was Tess Alcott not merely contradicting her, but laughing at her. If nothing else, from the way Jane's eyes sparkled and the color stained her cheeks as she leaned toward Tess to drive home a point, the jewel thief was a wonderful tonic for the matriarch. Luke hadn't seen Jane look so alive and happy in years.
And when was the last time he had felt alive and eager to see what the next moment held? How long had he lived without anticipation? Curiosity? Joy?
It began to feel like a lifetime. He had made of his world a barren cave that habitual fourteen-hour workdays had not filled. It would have been nice to blame this on the fight he had had to wage all of his life against the assumptions others made about him because of his looks, his family, his money. It would have been nice to blame this on his parents' insistence that he fulfill his stifling duty to the family. He might at least blame this on all the women who had burned and betrayed him in the past.
But this hollow existence was his own damned fault and Luke knew it. He had been a coward, not a hero, as the various dragons of life had advanced on him. He had barricaded himself in his work and the arms of soulless women who had inspired nothing in him except boredom. He had deliberately chosen the straightest, easiest path, avoiding every bump, every turning. Avoiding life. He had turned his back on every dream, every joy, in the name of safety. He had existed, not lived.
Did he know what it felt like to be alive?
"Oh, give me a break!" Tess retorted.
Tess and Jane's argument had strayed into wildly differing opinions about artists including, Luke vaguely recalled, Jan Van Eyck, Piazzetta, Boucher, and Salvador Dali.
He stared at Tess as she and Jane battled back and forth and it came to him that he did know what it felt like to be alive. He had known it the moment Tess had first walked into his life. Whatever her motives, he owed Tess Alcott a lot and it was time and past time to start treating her accordingly.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
« ^ »
Tess followed Jane into what she privately called the Belle Epoque salon. It was half the size of the living room and overflowing with turn-of-the-century
French furniture, paintings, ceramics, and wall hangings. It was undoubtedly Eugenie's doing and she had done it very well. Tess stopped once again before the early Degas hanging over the fireplace mantel. She had wanted this painting from the moment she had first seen it during her tour with Jane.
"I don't suppose you'd consider selling—" she began.
"No," Jane said dryly, "I wouldn't."
Tess sighed and turned just as Luke walked into the room. Her wrists ached from the throbbing of her pulse. Her breath, what there was of it, came only in small, sharp bursts. He had insulted her as no other man had ever done, and yet she still felt … this.
She was beginning to hate Luke Mansfield with a passion of which she had hitherto been unaware. She had lived safe and secure these last twenty-five years, serene in the belief that she was frigid. Luke's kiss had demolished that delusion.
She hated him for that, she really did. She had kissed him in a moment of weakness and the next thing she knew, Gladys was calling to report that Luke had flown off to Miami. Tess racked her brain once again. Was there anyone or anything in Miami that could blow this job apart?
Luke sat down at the chess t
able. Her mouth throbbed with the memory of his kiss.
Get a grip on yourself, woman, Tess silently commanded, or you can flush this job away.
Jane sat in a red velvet chair near an ornate gold table. Tess would have taken the chair opposite her, but Jane shooed her away.
"Don't even think of joining me, Tess," she said. "I have a stack of reports to get through to prepare for Monday's staff meeting. I suggest that you settle your differences with Luke over a chessboard. Your little feud is beginning to bore me. You play chess, I trust?"
"A little," Tess replied, feeling mulish and not caring if it showed. "I would hardly provide entertainment for the steel-trap mind of Mr. Mansfield. I'll just see if I can find a book—"
"What? And abandon Luke to a quiet evening of boredom? Nonsense! You will play chess, Tess."
There was a frozen moment of silence in which Tess weighed her options. From what she could tell, there weren't any. With the stiffest of upper lips, she saluted Jane, spun around, and stalked to the chess table where Luke now stood meekly waiting. Jane's chuckles followed her across the room.
"Care to play?" he innocently inquired.
"Love to," Tess growled.
He grinned at her. It did terrible things to her brain waves. They got all tangled up.
"I tell you what," he said, "I'll make the game worth your while. Chess is always more interesting when the stakes are high enough. If I win, you tell me what you're really doing here, and if you win, you can repay me for all kisses and aspersions I have cast upon you by breaking this chess board over my miserable head."
Tess gave the proposition serious consideration—the chess board was solid marble, it had possibilities—but still… "Not good enough. Smashing your head would only provide momentary pleasure." Inspiration struck. "Let's up the stakes. If I win, you pack your bags and leave by dawn tomorrow and you don't return until after I've checked out of the Hotel Cushman. If you win, I'll be the one checking out. Deal?"
STOLEN HEARTS Page 8
