Angel In My Bed (16 page)

But her father knew.

In the years since running from Calcutta, Victoria had prayed he would take the treasure's whereabouts to his grave, always believing that if it was never found, it could never be connected to her.

For she had been as responsible as anyone who had taken part in that crime. She had been sixteen, and already a skilled thief. She had gotten her father into the vault. The theft had been clean and so beautifully executed that it had been six days before authorities discovered the loss. By then the treasure had been secreted out of India with plans to retrieve it later. But as the months passed, her father's bloated arrogance began to defeat them all. By the time Victoria turned eighteen; she had met David and only wanted out.

But nobody left Colonel Faraday.

When the authorities closed in on her father, she took the locket and fled Calcutta. The pragmatist inside her knew that piece of gold might make the difference between escaping or dying in some foreign country. But she had not been able to trade it. Blame that on the sentimental part of her. She could not throw away her only link to her mother.

Closing the locket, she looked away.

Next to the lamp, she recognized the trunk belonging to Nathanial. Her small cry broke the heavy silence as she rummaged through baby clothes and toys stored through the years. Pulling out his baby blanket, she held it to the light and, caught by the tears trapped in her eyes, pressed the well-loved fabric against her cheek. The yellow quilted squares, frayed from constant handling by little hands, still smelled like him.

Something brushed her hip. She startled when Zeus climbed into her lap. She had brought the old tom with her from the cottage for company. “You miss him, too, don't you?”

No matter what David thought of the choices she'd made, Nathanial had been raised in a loving home. His birth had been a blessing in so many ways. She had changed her life
for him. She'd become the parent her mother might have been had she lived longer and her father could never have been if he'd lived a hundred years. Sir Henry had supplied the foundation to begin her life anew, and she had built on it one brick at a time, struggling even through failure because she was working for something greater than herself. She'd begun to read the books in Sir Henry's surgery, taking on the role as his assistant, expanding her participation in the affairs of this town, and eventually finding her place as a person people respected. Slowly she'd learned to celebrate each triumph as a new milestone. She'd dared to believe she could become something special, never truly comprehending that the past was not something she could escape, but a part of her.

Now, having lived the lie for so long, she didn't know how to fix her life or if that was even possible. Sir Henry said a person could only choose between doing what was right or wrong, but for her it was a choice between doing nothing at all—or turning around to fight.

She had reached, without fully understanding it, a crossroads that would decide not only her life, but the kind of woman she really was. She only knew that for her son's sake she could no longer do nothing. She had never had a real home, and the significance of this one to Nathanial and Bethany became all the greater in her heart, for her father threatened that which she held most dear. In many ways, she and David had always been on the same side.

Victoria shut the trunk lid. Snuggling against a purring Zeus in her arms, she walked to the dormer window and stroked the black cat as she looked out. The first pale line of light appeared above the treetops and, like golden wings spreading across the sky, the sunrise topped the distant belfry.

Her gaze held to the steeple as if she had the eyesight to
see beyond the vague shadows, and wonder if someone was even now watching this house.

Had that someone really tried to kill David and shot her instead? The idea frightened her. Under the circumstances, it would make more sense, yet neither Mr. Rockwell nor Pamela had been attacked, and they were all here for the same purpose. Her father was many things, but he was not a sharpshooter, even on his best day, which meant someone else was working with him. Someone who knew about the caves that honeycombed these bluffs, a nice place to hide and never be found.

Local legend told stories of those caves, once used by pirates, but they'd been sealed half a century ago. The excise officers didn't even know where to look anymore on their yearly inspections of the area. But there was someone she suspected who did know.

And his name was Tommy Stillings.

For a timeless interval these past weeks, Victoria had been without real purpose, suffering from more than just a physical wound on her body and in her heart. But there was more than one front to this war, and as the sky began to pinken and daylight replaced darkness, she turned out the lamp and padded downstairs in soft-soled slippers, returning to the beautiful golden drawing room where she and David had made love. If she could realize one feat in her lifetime, then let it be in finding a way to save Nathanial's future.

It seemed symbolic somehow, that she should begin her crusade in this room and, with both hands, stripped the remaining canvas shrouds from the furniture.

For Margaret Faraday Donally was finished running.

 

Victoria knocked on the door. When no one answered, she stood back to look up at the second-story window where green curtains were drawn against the sunlight. Carrying her physician's bag beneath her cloak, she stepped away from the house.

“Maybe no one is home,” Mr. Rockwell said, his hands in his pockets as he warded off the afternoon chill.

Sheriff Stillings's cottage sat amid a quiet glade of beeches and chestnuts just at the edge of town. Victoria turned to walk around the back of the cottage when the door squeaked opened. “My lady?” Annie Stillings swung the door wide. “Whatever are you doing here?” The younger woman stood aside to allow Victoria entrance. Her white blond hair lay mussed about her face. Six months gone with child, Annie had begun to show. She looked pale and tired. “We all heard about the accident, I'm glad to see you about on your feet, my lady.”

Of course she had heard. The entire town had heard and attributed it to a poaching incident gone awry. Yet she had come here to wage her own battle and traded her discomfiture for determination. “How are you feeling, Annie?”

“Not so well,” she admitted. “I was abed.”

Victoria told Mr. Rockwell she would not be long before closing the door behind her.

“May I fetch you a pot of tea, mum?”

Victoria set her physician's bag on the table beside the sofa. “How long have you been feeling this tired, Annie?”

She laughed. “I'm always tired, mum.”

“I told your husband that I would check in on you.”

A promise was a promise, Victoria had decided. Besides, she liked Annie. Only a few years older than the other woman, Victoria had worked with her often in the poor house
when Sir Henry used to visit the children residing there. They spoke about the weather as Victoria examined her, sidestepping any topic that had to do with her husband.

“Your baby is active, I might say. I can leave licorice and chamomile tea for stomach upset. But you need to make sure you are eating all of your meals.”

“Will you be with me when my baby comes, mum?”

Her hands stilled in the act of closing her medical bag. “Why would you ask that?”

“People are talking.” Annie sat up, averting her eyes as she fluffed her skirts. “They say you have moved back to Rose Briar. Rumor also claims that Lord Chadwick is Nathanial's father.”

Victoria sank beside her on the sofa. How would someone know that already? she wondered, appalled. Nor was it something she could simply deny. “Lord Chadwick and I knew each other many years ago when I lived in India. We were separated by terrible circumstances and, until recently, he thought I was dead.”

“You wouldn't be the first to marry another to give your child a name, mum.”

Victoria managed to breathe the words, “Is that what people believe?”

She knew tolerance only went so far and that some would ostracize her. She didn't care about what people in general thought of her, for her days as a midwife were over the day David stepped back into her life, but she did care about Nathanial and Bethany.

“How many years have you given to the people in this town, my lady?”

“Maybe not enough.”

“You may be a scandal, but you're our scandal, my lady.”
Annie said passionately and took Victoria's hands before she could speak or more like choke. “Lord Chadwick found you, mum. He owns Rose Briar now. He is a fine one, to be sure. Do you realize what he can accomplish when he tills the fields this spring?” Annie's round face brightened. “People are already talking about the tenants he will need to farm the land. Some people will be cruel, but most of us are looking to
you
, my lady. Nellis Munro was never any good for this town.”

Hands folded in her lap, Victoria turned her head. A cradle sat next to the fireplace.

“Tommy made that,” Annie said when she saw where Victoria's eyes had strayed. “With Mr. Munro still in London, he has not been so busy with…other matters.”

Looking at the cradle, Victoria was struck by the contrast to the man who could labor so long creating something so beautiful to the man who worked for Nellis.

“My husband is not a bad man, mum. Sometimes circumstances force us to make choices to protect others and ourselves. Don't condemn him.”

“I understand more than you think, Annie.” She stood. “Do you know where I can find him? It's important.”

“He's out back, my lady.”

Wrapped in her cloak, her hood shielding her face from the cold, Victoria walked out the back door to a smaller cottage nearly hidden among the trees. As she stepped through the doorway, she saw Sheriff Stillings in the back, whittling away at a toy duck. Her glance touched two massive oak timbers stretched across a ceiling that angled into a loft as she shut the door. Intent on his work, he didn't see her until her shadow passed across him.

“Lady Munro…” He nearly choked as he set down the carving. He wore a clean woolen shirt, rolled up his fore
arms, and appeared almost urbane if one could overlook the scar on his cheek. Quickly recovering, he stood. “What brings you here?”

“I told you I would see Annie. You will be a father before spring, Tommy.” Victoria looked from the toys spread across the workbench and picked up a wooden block. “You have a secret life, Sheriff.”

He plucked the block from her hand. “I understand you do as well, my lady.”

“Was my getting shot an accident?”

He tossed down the rag in his hand. “I had nothing to do with what happened to you.” Even wearing boots, Stillings did not have the advantage of height, and this was one of the few times Victoria appreciated her stature. She could stand her ground among men.

“None of my people would have shot you,” he said.

“I believe you. None of your men could have made a shot that accurate. But you work for Nellis. You might know things the rest of us don't.”

Stillings walked to the window and looked out at the back of his cottage. She knew Ian would find her the moment he realized she'd left the cottage. “Is it true that you are not living with Sir Henry any longer?” he asked, dropping the edge of the curtain.

“It's true enough.” She set her medical bag on the workbench. “Is there another way into the Briar Hill Church? You've lived here your entire life. Perhaps you know something the Munro family does not.”

He leaned a shoulder against the window casement. “A man would be a fool to go into the caves. They were sealed decades ago.”

“And maybe you unsealed one.”

“You and I don't agree on much,” Stillings said. “But you've been square,” he added as if his words mattered to her when he'd hurt her horses and forced most of her tenants from their homes. “If you want my help, you understand that I always have a price.”

“As do I, Tommy.” She called him that on purpose because she had always called him that when he used to bring Nathanial wooden toys after she or Sir Henry had visited his ailing mother, never realizing he had made them himself. He used to attend church and seemed to care about local problems. Before he'd found himself in trouble and Nellis got hold of him. “In exchange for your cooperation, I won't turn you over to certain authorities along with all the names of your men and locations of your various tariff-evasive enterprises these past three years.”

A malicious smile formed. “A comrade in arms, my lady. What a novel idea to learn that you and I are more alike than I thought.”

From over his shoulder, she saw Mr. Rockwell step into the clearing. Stillings observed him. “I'd say it is just as well we can't continue our chat. Your turnkey has grown worried for you.”

“Mr. Rockwell works for Lord Chadwick.”

Stillings walked to the door. He opened it wide, inviting her departure. “Curious about Chadwick showing up the way he did after I brought ye that earring. A fine man with the countess, I hear.”

Pushing back the hood on her cloak, she loosened the frogs against her neck as if the thing impeded her breathing. “Lord Chadwick isn't some naïve coxcomb,” she warned. “If
you were wise, you would grab on to what you have here and find a new livelihood. You should be on his side. Trust me when I say crime will only earn you the end of a rope.”

He forced a laugh, a faint suggestion of comprehension in his observant gaze. “Is that the right of it, my lady?”

“That's the right of it, Tommy.”

“Our fine magistrate, Munro, is confident that Lord Chadwick will be gone by the end of the year. Someone wants him out of the way.”

A chill settled in her spine. “Nellis said that?” His threatening comment only brought about the inevitable to her mind. Then David was correct when he'd said that bullet had been meant for him. She wondered if Nellis wasn't working with her father. But how?