Courting Susannah

by Linda Lael Miller

  Aubrey chuckled. “How can you know all that? You’re only guessing.” He tugged on the top sheet, revealing her breasts, which he had enjoyed with unabashed enthusiasm the night before. Now, he regarded them with frank admiration and not a little avarice. He pulled the sheet down further, to lie across Susannah’s hip bones, and, when she reached for it, seized her hand. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “You’re my wife, and I want to look at you.”

  A hot shiver went through Susannah, leaving a toeto-hairline blush in its wake as it passed. It was then that she realized that her will was no longer entirely her own; in some very elemental ways, she belonged to Aubrey.

  Using just the tip of one index finger, he made a small, feather-light circle on her belly, ’round and ’round her navel. In spite of the grimmest determination not to react, she made a whimpering sound and stretched under his caress.

  He chuckled and kissed her, and when that happened, all was lost.

  “Delphinia Parker’s body washed up on Alki Point, sometime last night,” John Hollister announced. He had come to the Fairgrieve house to bring the news in person. Out of the corner of her eye, Susannah saw her husband brace himself for what would inevitably come next. “They’ve arrested your brother for her murder.”

  Aubrey closed his eyes against the announcement. Susannah, standing beside his chair behind the desk in his study, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why Ethan?” he asked.

  Hollister sighed. “The two of them had a serious row before she disappeared; there’s no doubt of that.” He paused and regarded Aubrey for a while. “You might have been a suspect yourself, were it not for your—incapacitation.”

  “What happened to her? How was she killed, I mean?” Aubrey’s flesh was gray; his jawline turned to granite while he awaited Hollister’s reply, which was slow in coming. When he spoke, there was no doubt of the reason for his hesitation.

  “He used a knife. She was nearly unrecognizable, in fact, but the manager of the Pacific Hotel identified her, all right. Said she’d had a suite in his establishment since—” The detective glanced at Susannah and cleared his throat. “Since you and she became acquainted.”

  Aubrey let out a long breath. His expression was grim, and little wonder. Whatever his feelings for Delphinia might have been, he wouldn’t have wished her dead, especially not in such a horrible way, and neither, of course, would Susannah. “Ethan couldn’t do a thing like that. Hell, he’ll hardly skin a rabbit or clean a trout.”

  “She shot him,” Hollister pointed out. “Had his only brother beaten within an inch of his life. Accused him of trying to rape her—” Another wary glance at Susannah, followed by an awkward silence.

  “I’ve heard the word rape before,” Susannah said crisply. “My husband is right. Ethan isn’t capable of murder, and I don’t believe it would even occur to him to force himself on a woman.”

  “Especially that one,” Aubrey remarked thoughtfully. He turned his gaze back to Hollister’s face. “Has bail been set?”

  The former Pinkerton man shook his head. His carefully brushed derby hat sat on the table beside his chair, along with a pipe rack and a copy of a very thick book written by a man named Adam Smith, and he reached for it with some relief. “He’s considered dangerous,” he said. He cleared his throat as he stood. “Fact is, there are those who say he hasn’t been right in the head since that Chinese girl left the country. The one he was going to marry.”

  A sigh of exasperation erupted from Aubrey. “You don’t need to explain Su Lin’s identity to me, Hollister. I remember her well enough. And yes, Ethan loved the girl, and it tore him up when she went away. He went through hell, and so did she, I’m sure. But he wouldn’t have killed Delphinia or anybody else, I know that much.”

  Hollister looked anxiously in the direction of the entryway. “Somebody killed the woman,” he said with a sort of dogged weariness. “And right now, your brother is the most likely candidate.”

  Aubrey, too, was on his feet. “No,” he said.

  Susannah suppressed an urge to link her arm with his. He would not have welcomed any gesture of sympathy just then. “Might we visit Ethan?” she asked.

  Aubrey glanced down at her in surprise. “You aren’t to go near the police station,” he informed her. “It’s no place for a woman.”

  Susannah was willing to overlook this last remark because she knew Aubrey was under great strain and still suffering from his injuries. She left him behind to escort Mr. Hollister to the front door, where he stepped out into a day of cold, blustery winds and bright sunshine. Aubrey, unable to move quite as fast, lingered at the entrance to the study, watching them.

  “Has it never occurred to you,” Susannah whispered to Mr. Hollister, “that the very people who nearly killed my husband—at Delphinia Parker’s behest, may I remind you—might have turned on her in the end? For that matter, I might as easily have done the murder as Ethan.”

  “Hardly,” Mr. Hollister said, but he sounded tired and discouraged, and in spite of everything, Susannah found herself feeling a little sorry for him. “Whoever murdered that woman was strong, Mrs. Fairgrieve. Stronger than you’re likely to be.” He sighed and resettled his fashionable hat. “We’re looking for those hooligans she hired, if that’s any comfort, but the fact of the matter is, they’ve probably scattered to the four winds by now.”

  An icy wind blew up the walk and bit into both Susannah and Mr. Hollister, causing them to shiver. “Is that any reason to settle the blame on Ethan? Because he’s close at hand?”

  “The police aren’t in the business of hanging innocent men,” Mr. Hollister informed her. “If your brotherin-law didn’t kill Mrs. Parker, then we’ll find it out soon enough.”

  “Will you?” Susannah asked. “I’m afraid I don’t share your confidence. While Ethan is languishing in jail, the real murderers are very likely getting away!”

  Hollister set his jaw, touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Fairgrieve,” he said. “Perhaps next time I come to call, I might be able to bring better news.”

  Susannah said nothing, and when Hollister turned to walk away, she closed the door a little too hard.

  Aubrey, standing just outside the study only moments before, had vanished. Suspecting the worst, Susannah hurried through the dining room and kitchen, just in time to see him start down the rear walkway leading to the stables.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded, bounding after him without even pausing to put on her cloak. She didn’t need to look back to know Maisie and Ellie were gawking at them through the kitchen window.

  “Now that’s a damn fool question if I’ve ever heard one,” Aubrey said, and walked on at his slow, determined pace. “I want to see Ethan.”

  Susannah had to scramble to keep up, even though Aubrey was much hampered by his cracked ribs, because his legs were so much longer than hers. Once or twice, she nearly stumbled in the hard-crusted snow. “Wait,” she pleaded. “Aubrey, please, wait—”

  He stopped, and he waited, but he didn’t look happy about it. Susannah knew she could not dissuade him from saddling a horse or hitching up a buggy and heading for the jailhouse, but she couldn’t let him walk away unchallenged. “Let me go with you,” she said. That way, she would at least know what was happening.

  But Aubrey shook his head, and the expression in his eyes was downright obdurate. She would never allow him to blame Victoria’s stubborn nature on Julia; plainly the baby had inherited that particular trait from her father. “No, Susannah. There are very few things I would deny you, but this is one of them. When I said the police station was no place for a decent female, I meant it.”

  Susannah believed in choosing her battles; she knew if she did not, she would soon be exhausted. She and Aubrey would work out his misconception about where women did and did not belong another time; for now, she was more interested in getting through a crisis with the potential to destroy her new family.

  “I won’t be the sort of wife who stays meekly at ho
me and waits for her husband to grant her his permission to think,” she warned, hugging herself against the bitter cold of that crystalline afternoon. “I am a Fairgrieve now, too, and what happens to you matters to me, Aubrey. Ethan’s situation matters, too. Let me be a part of this.”

  He regarded her solemnly, looking gaunt and, at the same time, unshakable. His smile was brief and flimsy, but it warmed her heart all the same. “Believe me, Susannah—I know full well you won’t be content to confine yourself to a traditional wifely role. I don’t think I’d be happy if you did. But in this particular instance, it’s important that you do as I ask.”

  She subsided a little, stricken and yet seeing the sense in what he said. He needed to consult with Ethan, come up with a plan of action. Perhaps he feared that his own compunction to look after her, should she be present in what he regarded as a dangerous and unsuitable place, would hamper him in those efforts.

  “If you aren’t back here by sunset, I’m going to decide something terrible has happened and come looking for you,” she said.

  He laughed and came back to place a quick, light kiss on the top of her head. “Fair enough,” he said. “Now, go back inside before you take a chill. Please?”

  She sighed and returned to the house with the greatest reluctance. It was quite impossible for her simply to wait; she needed to be busy, yet Ellie and Maisie had the housework and the children well in hand, and she was too unsettled to play piano or sit down to read.

  It was for that reason that she decided to finish the task she had begun while Aubrey was resting—she would sort through the last of Julia’s things, putting aside personal items like books, ornaments, and jewelry for Victoria, turning some of the simpler, more practical dresses over to Maisie and Ellie, donating the rest of her friend’s extensive wardrobe to Reverend Johnstone for the church’s charity work. The baby’s furniture would be moved in later that day.

  “You aren’t overdoin’ it now, are you, Mrs. Fairgrieve?” Maisie was standing in the doorway, a troubled expression on her face.

  Susannah sighed. “Please, Maisie—don’t start addressing me as Mrs. Fairgrieve, as if we were strangers. You and I will not be observing the formalities. We’re friends, remember?”

  “I ain’t likely to forget,” Maisie replied.

  “Then, please, just call me Susannah, as you always have,” came the answer. She surveyed the boxes and other clutter that remained. The weather was mild, so she’d opened a window to air the place out. “I guess the most important things have been done.”

  Maisie narrowed her eyes. “You ain’t thinkin’ of movin’ in here with the baby, are you?” She slapped one large thigh and chortled, a startling sound. “I’d have sworn things was better’n fine betwixt you and the mister.”

  Susannah blushed but refrained from comment. What was there to say, after all—that she was very happy in Aubrey’s bed? Plainly, Maisie knew that much already. Maybe the whole neighborhood knew. Although inwardly she was smiling, for the Benevolents had come to her mind, she winced at Maisie.

  “Don’t be consternated now,” the older woman advised with a waving gesture meant to dismiss Susannah’s embarrassment as unfounded. “It weren’t all that much hollerin’, really. ’Sides, it showed your man was makin’ you happy—nothin’ wrong with that.”

  Susannah closed her eyes for a moment, then turned and busied herself sweeping out the armoire in order to hide her flaming face. It was then that she spotted the drawers in the back, near the floor. Expecting to find special pieces of jewelry and other keepsakes to save for Victoria, Susannah instead discovered stacks of old letters, some written in her own hand, a packet containing photographic likenesses of various subjects and sizes, and a thick leather-bound journal.

  Holding belongings so personal to Julia brought the loss of her home to Susannah all over again, and with a cruel clarity. For a moment, it was as though the news of her friend’s death had just reached her, fresh and terrible and so very unjust. Her hands shook as she set the letters and the diary on the bureau top and concentrated her attention on the tintypes.

  There was an informal wedding picture of Julia and Aubrey, both of them smiling with their eyes, if not their mouths, the bride standing proudly behind the seated groom, as custom dictated, one slender hand resting on his shoulder. She found a very handsome likeness of Ethan, too, and a tattered picture of herself and Julia as children at St. Mary’s, taken by an itinerant photographer one Christmas. Parts and pieces of a life ended far too soon.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed, all the starch gone out of her knees, and stared blankly into the past for a long time. Let them go, Julia, she thought. Aubrey, Victoria, Ethan. Let them all go.

  Chapter 17

  Victoria sat in the midst of a pile of soft pillows, chewing industriously on her doll’s foot and watching Susannah’s efforts at cleaning and sorting with wide hazel eyes. Aubrey’s eyes. The child seemed to find the whole enterprise cause for fascination and mirth.

  “Silly bug,” Susannah said once in a burst of affection, crouching to kiss the top of the infant’s downy head.

  Victoria chortled and waved both plump arms and the cloth doll in exuberant emphasis. Susannah laughed and kissed the baby again, then went back to her tasks.

  It could have waited, she knew, this final dispersement of a dead woman’s dresses and shoes, trinkets and books, but Ethan was in jail, charged with murder, and Aubrey had gone to his aid immediately, despite the fact that he was still dangerously weak. Working kept her from thinking too much.

  Three full hours had passed when Aubrey returned to the house by carriage. Susannah watched from the window of the master suite as he climbed gingerly out of the cab. Even from that distance, she could see that her husband was pale, and his powerful shoulders drooped a little under the fabric of his finely made coat. She held herself in place only by sheer force of will; every instinct bade her dash down the stairs and fling herself upon him, fussing and fidgeting.

  He would have hated that, of course.

  The door of the carriage remained open behind him, and Susannah was startled to see Ethan climb out, rumpled and a little thinner than usual but otherwise hearty. A smile lit her face, and she scooped Victoria up into her arms and made her way out of the room, along the corridor, and down the main staircase, decorum evident in every step.

  In the entryway, she stood on tiptoe to kiss Aubrey’s wind-chilled cheek, and he looked down at her with a light in his eyes. Although he was plainly tired, she could see and sense that his strength was returning; he seemed more vigorous every time she encountered him.

  “You’ve escaped,” she said to Ethan, kissing him as well.

  He laughed somewhat grimly, shrugged out of his jacket, and allowed Aubrey to take it from his hands. “Not exactly,” he said, watching as his brother hung the garment beside his own on the massive oak coat tree next to the door. “My dear brother here, with some help from John Hollister, convinced the police that I could be trusted not to jump bail.”

  “Trust, hell,” Aubrey scoffed, already making his way toward his study. “They let you out because I put up everything I have as a guarantee that you’d be here if this thing comes to trial.”

  Ethan stopped, looking as stunned as if someone had struck him across the belly with the broad side of a plank. “You did what?” he rasped.

  Aubrey had reached the double doors of his study, which stood open. He paused on the threshold and turned to meet his brother’s narrowed gaze. “You heard me.”

  The younger brother took a single step toward the elder, stopped. “Suppose I lit out of here one dark night, hit the trail for good, changed my name—”

  “You won’t,” Aubrey said. His voice was calm, and he hadn’t moved from his station in the study doorway. “You’d have to leave Ruby behind, unless you wanted to make a fugitive out of her.”

  Ethan let the comment pass, since there was no refuting it anyway. After an interval of silence had gone by, he s
poke again, waving his arms in a gesture that took in not only that grand house but all Aubrey’s many and varied interests beyond its walls. “Everything?” he marveled.

  Aubrey grinned. “Everything.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a stupid question. Because you’re my brother.” At that, Aubrey favored Susannah with a wink, turned, and vanished into his private sanctum, leaving Ethan with little choice but to follow. They remained closeted away, the pair of them, talking until long after Susannah had fed Victoria, told her a long, made-up story, and settled her in her cradle, which now occupied a space in the corner of the splendid new nursery.

  Maisie thought it was pure foolery, Susannah’s habit of talking to the infant, reading to her from books and even newspapers, and relating fairy tales, but it was Susannah’s firm opinion that children, the very smallest included, were too often discounted and even ignored by adults. She well remembered what it was like to be looked through, not at, spoken about but not to, as though she were made of mist or smoke rather than solid flesh.

  Victoria, she had determined, would grow up with a sturdy sense of herself and of her substance, tangible and otherwise, as a person.

  Susannah was pondering this as she descended the staircase and was therefore close at hand when a visitor turned the bell. She opened the door to find Mr. Hollister, now Ethan’s legal advisor as well as a family friend, standing on the porch with his sister Ruby at his side. The strain of the day showed plainly in both their faces, and Susannah felt such sympathy that all her discomfort in the man’s presence ebbed away.

  “Do come in,” Susannah said warmly, stepping back to let them pass into the warmth and light of the foyer.

  “Mr. Fairgrieve didn’t tell you we were coming,” Ruby guessed aloud. She was very young, and pretty rather than beautiful, with an air of competence and quiet selfassurance about her that Susannah very much admired.

  John smiled. “By Mr. Fairgrieve,” he explained, “she means your husband. He invited us to join you for supper. I hope it isn’t an imposition.”