A Silent Ocean Away (18 page)

The front doors clapped open, and Paul and Stephen strode onto the portico with Agatha tucked comfortably between them. Colette frowned at the trio, but her attention was diverted as the children came bounding across the lawn. Yvette was shouting
enthusiastically, reaching the colonnade first. “Mama!” she heaved, completely out of breath. “Chastity is going to have a foal!”

Jeannette and Pierre drew up alongside her. All three had wandered over to the paddock when Gerald, the head groom, had led the chestnut mare into the yard. “That’s right, Mama,” Jeannette added, “Gerald says she’ll have her baby sometime in August. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“That is wonderful,” Colette answered with a smile. “And I can just imagine what’s going to happen when that filly or colt is born. Mademoiselle Charmaine and I won’t be able to get the three of you out of the barn.”

Yvette agreed with a happy nod. “Do you think Martin will have to come when it’s time for her to foal?”

“Perhaps…but only if there is some difficulty,” Colette replied. “Why?”

“He was teaching me how to spit the last time he was here,” Yvette answered proudly. “But I don’t have it down just right.”

“Yvette!” her mother chastised, mumbling something about Martin being a vile man.

Dinner was served at seven. Charmaine brushed out her hair and decided to wear it down. Using the combs she’d received for her birthday, she swept it back from her face and placed a comb high above each ear. The entire mane cascaded down her back. She was a fetching sight when she entered the dining room, and Paul drew a ragged breath, glad to know her birthday gift would encourage her to wear the lovely locks in such a fashion.

Stephen Westphal was astonished when Paul beckoned the governess to sit in the chair Agatha had occupied the last time he had dined at the Duvoisin manor.
So the pretty governess has caught Paul’s fancy,
he thought.
Agatha’s concerns are warranted.

A five-course meal was served, beginning with a delicious pea
soup. Fatima Henderson, her wide hips swinging, bustled in and out of the kitchen with more ease than Felicia and Anna, who often dawdled. Since Colette’s reprimand, Felicia found the evening meal less interesting—she was no longer allowed to flirt with Paul—and she dillydallied over her serving chores. Why the maid was kept on at the manor, Charmaine could only wonder.

George appeared minutes later. He’d obviously been apprised of the banker’s visit this time, for he greeted the man cordially and elected to sit near Charmaine. With Jeannette between them, he leaned in and struck up a conversation. Before long, Charmaine and Jeannette were giggling.

Paul preferred having George sit opposite the governess, where he was able to control their repartees, but now their heads were bent overtop his sister, and he experienced an unusually sharp stab of jealousy.
It’s time George and I had a little talk,
he decided.

Thus resolved, he turned back to Stephen. “I’ll be contacting Thomas and James Harrison when I arrive in Liverpool. Father dealt with their shipping line when he had the
Vagabond
manufactured. Though I’ll be commissioning the vessels in the States, they’ve become renowned, so I’ll take under advisement any recommendation they can make concerning steam propulsion.”

“Right,” the banker agreed, and so it went for the better part of the dinner.

Agatha chafed at the seating arrangement that placed her far from the financier. She had hoped to participate in Paul’s business discussion. She couldn’t do so from where she sat; there was too much chatter between them.

As dessert was served, the conversation turned to personal matters. “I’ll need an endorsed note for the Bank of Virginia,” Paul said. “I’ll deposit funds there, liquidate half, and then draw from one resource.” He paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his
words were hard. “John is not to be involved, Stephen, so I’d prefer you not share this with your daughter.”

“Anne?” he asked in surprise.

“You mentioned some months ago that John was courting her.”

“Yes,” Stephen confirmed. “In fact, I just received a letter from her. She hints an engagement is imminent. A marvelous match, wouldn’t you say?”

“Marvelous,” Paul muttered, thinking of all the money his brother would come into. But John had never cared about such things. How then, had the widow London caught his fancy? She was attractive, most likely in her late twenties, but Paul didn’t think she was John’s type.

As if reading his thoughts, Yvette added her own two cents. “I don’t think Johnny will marry her.”

George chuckled. “Why not, Yvette?” he asked.

“He told me the woman he loved was already married and he’d never marry anyone else.”

“There you have it!” the banker piped up. “All these years he’s harbored the hope that one day Anne would be free to wed. I knew he was enamored of her when I visited Richmond some years ago.”

Paul snorted.

“You don’t believe me?” the man queried, clearly insulted. “Well, then, time will tell the tale.”

Paul’s stormy gaze shifted to Colette, but the woman was whispering to Pierre. “You are right, Stephen,” he said. “But in either case, Anne is in contact with my brother, and I do not want him informed of this undertaking.”

Westphal grunted derisively. “And how do you expect to keep this from him once you’ve initiated transactions with the Virginia bank?”

“I don’t,” Paul answered smugly, savoring the thought of John in the dark for a change. “But by the time he figures it all out, contracts will be signed, monies will be withdrawn, and any unpleasantness will have been avoided.”

“Unpleasantness?”

“Come, Stephen, you know my brother. Is an explanation necessary?”

“What of the legal issues? Richecourt or Larabee is sure to contact him.”

“Visiting their firm is foremost on my agenda once I reach Richmond. John has made an enemy of Edward Richecourt. That being said, Mr. Richecourt will be more than happy to deal with this matter in an expeditious and confidential manner. He is well aware that my father’s business dealings keep his practice solvent. Therefore, he can be trusted to keep quiet about Espoir.”

Colette cringed over Paul’s surreptitious plans. Not that she blamed him. John’s needling was relentless. It was that very type of unpleasantness Paul was trying to avoid. However, this scheme was certain to backfire on him. John always found out, simply because he was far more unscrupulous than Paul. John was the inventor of breaking all the rules.

“That being understood,” Paul continued, “can I count on you to keep this to yourself, Stephen?”

“If that is what you want, Anne won’t be told.”

Satisfied, Paul leaned back in his chair. “So, what else does Anne write? Any Richmond events I need to know about before traveling there?”

“Actually…” the banker said, clearing his throat, his eyes darting down the table, catching Agatha’s raised brow. “She writes about your new governess.”

Intensely interested with this unexpected topic, Paul leaned
forward and gave Westphal his complete attention. “Really? What does she write?”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat again and shifting uneasily in his chair, aware that every eye was on him. “I don’t think I should say—not in front of the children, anyway.”

Charmaine’s heart accelerated. Disaster was about to strike, and she had no way of stopping it.

Paul scratched his head. The man had obviously uncovered something scandalous if he felt it was only fit for adult ears. “How would your daughter know about our governess?” he mused. “Are you saying some sordid information accidentally fell into her lap and she just happened to write to you about it?”

“Actually, Mrs. Ward expressed her concerns a few months ago,” he replied. “She was anxious about Miss Ryan’s background. She came into the bank and asked if Anne might make some inquiries.”

“Agatha?” Paul queried, bemused yet annoyed. He peered down the table and questioned her directly. “On whose request?”

“My own,” she replied haughtily. “I took it upon myself to petition Stephen. I had legitimate misgivings about Miss Ryan, and when no one else seemed concerned, when no references were required other than those Loretta Harrington provided, I was compelled—for the sake of the children—to investigate.” She breathed deeply. “Thank goodness Stephen’s daughter agreed to assist. I fear the children are at grave risk. Not even I was prepared for what she uncovered. It is far worse than any of us could have imagined.”

Colette checked her anger. “I think Mr. Westphal’s allegations, whatever they may be, had best be left for another day. My children have no place in this conversation.”

“Colette is right,” Paul concurred. “Rose, would you take the children to the nursery?”

Charmaine’s reprieve lasted but a moment; Rose quickly jumped to do his bidding, ushering the children from the room, unmindful of Yvette’s protests.

Colette cast turbulent eyes down the table at Paul, her stormy countenance rivaled only by George’s. Paul remained unperturbed. “All right, Stephen,” he breathed. “You now have leave to speak. Tell us, what have you found out?”

Mortified, Charmaine pushed from the table. But Paul foiled her escape, grasping her arm and holding her to the spot. She would be forced to listen to the macabre story, relive it, while those she had come to love sat in judgment over the terrible secrets she had kept. Tonight, they would brand her the offspring of a maniac, a murderer, and she had no defense against the horrific truth. Great shame washed over her, and she bowed her head.

Paul’s grip tightened, the pain igniting her wrath, and she glared at him furiously. But he seemed oblivious, his eyes fixed on the banker. “Out with it man!” he snarled, aggravated by Westphal’s hesitation.

“If I had known sooner,” the man wavered, uncertain if Paul really wanted the truth, “I would have come to you with the information immediately. But as you know, the ships were delayed. Anne’s letter is weeks old.”

“Yes, yes, get on with it.”

“Actually,” he faltered again, beads of perspiration dotting his upper lip. “I regret it has fallen to me to reveal the deplorable facts.” He glanced down the table. Colette appeared as irate as Paul. Only Agatha remained smug.

“Tell him, Stephen,” the dowager prompted, her satisfied eyes leveled on Charmaine. “It is best he and Colette know the type of person they have hired and are harboring in their home.”

“Yes, Stephen,” Paul agreed. “You’ve primed us for this terrible
tale. Let’s have it out! What has Miss Ryan done that we must know about, lest the children come to harm?”

“It is not what
she’s
done. It’s her father.”

“And?”

“He is—a murderer.”

The room fell deadly silent, all of Charmaine’s deepest fears realized. Even the sounds from the kitchen ceased, as if ears were pressed against the swinging door. The truth was out, and now Paul, who had allied himself with Agatha during her interview, could gloat. He’d been right about her all along.

Charmaine refused to look his way again. With her disgrace mounting, she renewed her efforts to escape, twisting against his unyielding fist. “Please,” she whimpered, to no avail.

“What exactly are you saying, Stephen?”

“Miss Ryan’s father is a murderer,” he reiterated, “did in fact murder her mother.”

“Have you proof?”

“Most assuredly,” the financier stated, taking courage from Paul’s sudden interest in the facts. “According to Anne, who spoke to one of the Harringtons’ housemaids, John Ryan barged into the Harrington house late one night. When Joshua Harrington sent him on his way, he went home and attacked his own wife. Of course, Anne wanted to make certain the story wasn’t fabricated, so she contacted the sheriff and was shocked to find that not only had John Ryan committed murder, but is still at large, a fugitive. Apparently, the sheriff was relieved to let the case drop once the hullabaloo calmed down, because the Ryans were nothing more than white trash, living in a shanty in the slums of the city.”

“How did Mr. Ryan kill his wife?”

“He beat her to death. According to the sheriff, those beatings were a common occurrence. This time it just got out of hand. Miss Ryan”—and the banker nodded across the table toward
Charmaine—“came home to find the body near death and cried on the Harringtons’ shoulders once it had grown cold in order to get the sheriff involved. Sheriff Briggs conveyed to Anne his disdain for being pulled into the nasty affair.”

Charmaine had had enough. She had allowed the man to humiliate her, to expose her deception and label her as riffraff, no better than her father. But she refused to allow him to degrade her mother. With eyes flashing, she shot to her feet. “That ‘body’ as you call it, was
my mother
, a good and kind woman, whom I loved and lost because of my wretched father!” In spite of her anger, her eyes were flooding with unwanted tears, her anguish painfully apparent in the words she could barely force out. “And yes,” she hissed, “he beat her, beat her often, and there was no one to turn to, no one to stop him! Not even when she lay dying. If it wasn’t for Joshua and Loretta Harrington, no one would have even cared. Mr. Harrington petitioned the sheriff, but little good that did! It’s over a year since my mother’s death, and still, my father walks free. I know he will never pay for his heinous crime. So cringe if you will. I tell you, there is no one who despises John Ryan more than I—no one who seeks justice more than I. But that will never happen, will it?” The rhetorical question echoed about the room.

Paul sympathized with the young woman who had yet to look his way
. This is why she is wary of me.
Her father had never given her a reason to love any man, had in fact terrified her. Paul was filled with the desire to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and shield her from all she had suffered.

“No, I thought not,” she said in answer to her own question. “There is only one reason my father remains at large, and that is owing to people like you, Mr. Westphal, who are more interested in blaming the innocent rather than looking for the guilty.” She turned on Paul. “Punish an easy victim. I’m right here. Now,” she
snarled, twisting against his hand, “if you’d release my arm, I’d like to retire. I refuse to be further humiliated!”