Forever Waiting (34 page)

Charmaine sat at the piano, absentmindedly picking out a disjointed melody. Mercedes and George had taken the girls into town, for she had been dismal company the past five days. Even the news of Mercedes’s pregnancy had not lifted her spirits. In the quiet solitude, her mind wandered to the sea and Richmond. Any hope John would change his mind and turn back dwindled by the day. She had been a fool to ever love him—a stupid fool! She did not hear Paul step into the room.

He considered her momentarily, her sorry state. Nobody could make her see reason. His assertion on her wedding night had met its mark. How easy it would be to exploit it now, to side with her and bolster her doubts. He walked over to the piano and put his hands on her shoulders. “It is quiet now,” he said when she turned to face him. “We need to talk.” He drew up a chair and took both of her hands into his. “Charmaine, I know you’re angry with John, but you can’t go on like this. He and my father may be gone for weeks. Do you really want to be miserable the entire time they’re away?”

“You are right,” she said. “Why should I sit here pining for John, when I know he hasn’t given me a second thought?”

Inspired, Paul agreed. “Exactly! I told you I’d always be here for you, Charmaine. When you’ve had enough of this, my arms are wide open.”

She was aghast and jumped to her feet. “If you think I could forget John that easily, you insult me! I may be angry with him, but—”

Her anger instantly ebbed, for Paul’s eyes were laughing up at her. “I thought you hated him,” he said.

“I do,” she sputtered, sinking back down to the bench. “I
do
hate him and when he gets back, he’s going to hear it! But—”

“—you love him, too,” he finished for her, “so much so you hate him for leaving you in pursuit of Blackford. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But what if he doesn’t come back, Paul?” she implored, voicing her darkest fear. “I’m so worried for him.”

“Charmaine, nobody is as slick as John. He knows what he’s doing. If he can’t find Blackford, no one can. And Father is there to watch out for him. I doubt anything will happen to either of them.” He paused for a moment and added thoughtfully, “Don’t you find it strange they’ve been thrown together to set this terrible thing right, as if it is meant to be? Providence perhaps. Maybe they will come home reconciled, not only with the past, but with each other.”

Charmaine listened quietly, wishing his wisdom true. Clearly, he had been pondering the nefarious events almost as much as she and cared enough about her to offer comfort. She lifted her hand to his rough cheek. “I pray you are right,” she said softly. “And I promise not to be so very miserable from now on.”

He took her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. “I want you to be happy, Charmaine.”

The Duvoisin ship manifests revealed Blackford had left Richmond on the
Seasprit
on the sixteenth of May, which put him in New York by the eighteenth. He’d had over three months to dissolve into the hubbub of the burgeoning city.

With Frederic waiting on the wharf, John boarded the
Raven
and spoke to Jonah. They would set sail on the morrow, and the cargo of tobacco and sugar intended for England would be sold at auction in New York instead.

They settled back in the cab, and John turned to Frederic. “I would like to make one last stop. It won’t take long.”

Frederic nodded, wondering what John had in mind.

Joshua Harrington arrived home, heavy of heart. He entered the front parlor with head down, wondering how he would tell his wife what he had learned.

Loretta immediately knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

“I encountered John Duvoisin at the bank today.”

Her face lit up. “Was Charmaine with him?”

“I’m afraid not, my dear, and I fear things are not good between Charmaine and her husband. She was left behind because she
is
expecting. I knew no good would come of this.”

Loretta wondered if he meant Charmaine’s marriage to John or her idea to send Charmaine to Charmantes. Over the last two years, the letters they’d received from Charmaine often conveyed a disconcerting gloom. She wrote of Colette’s death, Frederic’s marriage to Agatha, the prodigal son’s return, and little Pierre’s terrible drowning accident. Both Loretta and Joshua surmised something more dreadful than Pierre’s death had happened to this family, and they had second thoughts about Charmaine living there. Yet, she gave no indication she wanted to return to Richmond. Instead, she wrote of her resolve to stay by the twins’ side, John’s departure, Frederic’s slow recovery, and Paul’s preparations for the unveiling of his fleet of ships and island. Obviously, she was spending a great deal of time with Paul, though she never mentioned her feelings, nor speculated where that relationship might lead. Loretta worried often, but Charmaine was a woman now, twenty years old, certainly old enough to make sound decisions.

Michael Andrews’s peculiar visit nearly five months ago rekindled their concern. Not two weeks later, Joshua and Loretta entertained Raymond and Mary Stanton, just returned from Charmantes and Paul Duvoisin’s commercial debut. Mary was burning to recount the most unexpected and quiet wedding that had capped the week’s events.

“You knew nothing about this, Loretta?” Mary had exclaimed, reading Loretta’s surprise, ravenous for more gossip. “Surely Charmaine wrote she had feelings for this man—that he was courting her? No?”

When Loretta remained speechless, the woman rushed on, tickled to tell what she knew. “It was so strange—the whole thing.” Then she paused, reliving the grandiose event. “Oh, it was a most impressive affair. Charmaine, however, was there in the capacity of governess, nothing more. I spoke with her before the ball. She was plainly dressed, with the children at her side. She said nothing about having an escort for the evening and disappeared not two hours later, settling the girls for the night, no doubt. I can assure you no one expected her to return—certainly not on John Duvoisin’s arm, anyway, and so elegantly garbed! She remained at his side for the rest of the evening, danced nearly every dance with him. As for Paul—he may have squired the widow London to the festivities, but everyone could see he was preoccupied with Charmaine. He appeared highly agitated. Either he did not want her there or he disapproved of her partner.” Mary shook her head as if she could not fathom it. “My, you should have heard the talk when
he
danced with her! Something was amiss to be sure!”

Loretta shuddered, displeased Charmaine was the subject of much Richmond gossip. Though she dreaded the rest of the scandalmonger’s narrative, her desire to know was greater than the woman’s humiliating glee, and so, Loretta allowed her to prattle on.

“I heard that, at Mass the following morning, John was seated beside her again, a most unexpected sight, as everyone who is anyone knows he
never
attends church services. They say Charmaine’s head remained bowed for the entire time, feeding speculation as to her involvement with the heir to the Duvoisin fortune. But nobody was prepared for the announcement John made at the conclusion of the service. They were wed not two hours earlier! And I have it on good authority Paul was furious.”

“What of Charmaine?” Loretta probed worriedly. “What was her reaction?”

“Anne London maintains she couldn’t stop blushing, as if—” Mary lowered her voice to a whisper “—as if she had something to be embarrassed about.”

“Mary,” Loretta chided sharply, “you don’t know that. After all, Mr. Duvoisin must feel strongly for Charmaine if he proposed marriage to her.”

“Really?” Mary rejoined. “Well, if he feels
strongly
for her, why didn’t he arrange a proper ceremony and celebration? He can well afford it, can he not?”

Why indeed?

For weeks, Loretta and Joshua fretted over Mary Stanton’s news.

Eventually, they received word from Charmaine, the correspondence lively and gay. She
had
married John.
I know this will come as a shock to you and Mr. Harrington
, she wrote,
but nearly two weeks ago, I married John Duvoisin. Tell Mr. Harrington not to worry. I am very happy. As I insisted some months ago, John is not the man I thought him to be when first we met
.

Though Loretta remained confused, she was at ease with Charmaine’s decision to wed. She had no reason to feel otherwise. The young woman had, in fact, done very well for herself, even if the man she had chosen was notorious.

But today, all of Loretta’s concerns were revived. She was dismayed Charmaine was already pregnant and left behind while her spouse traveled abroad. She considered her husband woefully. “What has happened, Joshua?” she whispered. “What do you suppose has happened to our dear Charmaine?”

“I’m afraid to guess,” Joshua bit out, “but I intend to find out.”

“How?”

“I will book passage to Charmantes,” he said determinedly. “And if you’re willing to brave the voyage, my dear, you are welcome to join me.”

“Do you think I’d allow you to travel there without me?”

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the St. Jude Refuge, and Frederic allowed John to help him down to the cobblestone. “What are we doing here?” he queried in surprise.

“A bit of investigating,” John explained, as they entered the sanctuary. “I have a friend here who may have the means to provide information on our good Father Benito. We mustn’t forget the part he played in this atrocity.”

A nun opened the door. John pulled off his cap, and she led them into a tiny interior room, a makeshift office with sparse, worn furniture. They were seated for only a few minutes when a tall priest entered. His face brightened when John stood to greet him with a handshake. “John,” he breathed, belatedly noticing Frederic. “This must be your father.”

Frederic read the priest’s stunned expression and surmised he knew of their stormy relationship. As John introduced them, Michael stepped forward to shake hands. Something in his manner, his directness perhaps, put Frederic at ease.

“Please, have a seat,” Michael offered, pulling up a chair close to them. “I’m glad you decided to stop by. I’ve tried to get in touch with you for months now.”

“We’ve just arrived in Richmond,” John said.

The priest’s eyes returned to Frederic. “I gather your visit went well?”

“At the onset,” John answered grimly, “but this is not a social call, Michael. We learned the deaths of my son and Colette were not accidents. They were murdered.”

He recounted the evil plot that had taken the lives of Colette and Pierre. Michael listened without a word, reading the pain on each man’s face. “May God rest their souls,” he murmured compassionately when John had finished. “I’m very sorry. What can I do?”

John marshaled his emotions. “We’re seeking information on a Father Benito St. Giovanni. He shipwrecked on Charmantes almost twenty years ago and, when he recovered from nearly drowning, was asked to stay on as the island priest.”

“He claimed to be a missionary,” Frederic explained, “his destination another Caribbean island. During his recovery, he grew adamant about ‘converting’ Charmantes, assuring me the Vatican would approve such a mission, eventually boasting he’d received papal blessing from Rome. Of course, his work on my island could hardly be called missionary, but suggesting it afforded us a priest.”

John snorted. “If you could call him a priest.”

“Why do you say that, John?” Michael queried.

“He knew of the murders and was blackmailing my aunt.”

“Are you certain?”

“Oh, I’m certain,” John affirmed. “He confirmed all of Agatha’s mad ranting and raving. We even have a letter, penned in his own hand, as proof.”

“Dear God,” the priest sighed. “I’ll do what I can. It may take some time to receive word, but I’ll write to the Vatican and find out whatever I can about Father Benito St. Giovanni of Italy. When do you think you will return to Richmond?”

“That depends on how long it takes me to find Blackford in New York and—” John stopped short, but his manner and the fire in his eyes shook the priest.

“And?” Michael pressed, but John would say no more. “You don’t intend to take the law into your own hands, do you?” The silence collected and Michael looked to Frederic. “You’re not planning to murder this man, are you?” With Frederic’s muteness, Michael grew alarmed. “John, you must not do this! You may think retribution will satisfy you, but I promise, it will not. Please tell me you will not seek revenge on this man.”

“I can’t promise you that, Michael.”

Michael shook his head fiercely. “John—track him down, call the authorities, but leave it in their hands and in the hands of the Good Lord.”

“The
Good
Lord,” John bit out venomously, “allowed that man to take my innocent son, hold his head under the cold water and callously watch his arms and legs flail in unfathomable distress until the life was snuffed out of him.” Suddenly, he was crying. “Don’t tell me seeking revenge won’t satisfy me—bring me peace—because, goddamn it, I won’t know peace until the very last breath is snuffed out of him!”

Again Michael looked to Frederic. “You have to talk him out of this. He’ll be a wanted man—a murderer!”

“I can’t,” Frederic stated solemnly. “I want to see Blackford suffer as much as he does.”

“You are not in your right minds! Can’t you see this man is not worth your own souls? He’s already damned. Do not damn yourselves!”

Silence.

When the answer congealed into a knot of cold dread, Michael implored, “Is there nothing I can say to change your minds?”

“Pray for us, Father,” Frederic replied.

Michael shook his head, and John hurriedly stood, wanting only to end the meeting. “Depending on how long we’re in New York, we may head directly back to Charmantes. When you receive word from the Vatican, I’d appreciate it if you would send it to Stuart. He’ll make certain it gets to me.”

“I may deliver the correspondence myself,” Michael said softly, still shaken.

The statement piqued John’s curiosity. “Why?”

“I need to check on someone there,” Michael replied. “Actually, someone in your employ, Frederic.”