Forever Waiting (48 page)

“When we get to New York,” he said, ignoring her desperate promise, “I’ll buy you something more appropriate to wear. Then, if I do find my father and John, I’ll tell them you stowed away, hoping to see the city sights. Is that acceptable?”

She didn’t answer, and he was uncertain if anger or pain left her mute.

Thursday, December 27, 1838

Benito St. Giovanni took the intrusion of John Ryan in stride. Things could be worse: the tunnel he’d nearly completed could have been discovered, or his time could have run out. When Ryan came careening into his prison almost four weeks ago, Benito had cautiously observed him for a week.

“What’s this about John Duvoisin’s wife?” Ryan had demanded.

Benito did not immediately answer, his thoughts lingering on the new Mrs. Duvoisin.
So, this is her family background
.
How revolting!

When Ryan pressed the issue of John’s wife, Benito said, “Does the name Charmaine Ryan ring a bell?”

John Ryan eyed him speculatively.
How does this man know my daughter’s name?
Enlightenment came slowly.

The priest smiled. “That’s right, old man. Charmaine is John Duvoisin’s wife. I’d say your daughter has done quite well for herself. You, on the other hand, have not.” Giovanni allowed the words to sink in. “It’s common knowledge Charmaine’s father—that would be you—beat her mother to death. John will not be happy when he returns to find you here. He has quite a temper, if you didn’t already know.”

“Whaddaya mean, when he returns?” John Ryan sneered.

“He’s abroad right now,” the priest supplied, “chasing down another murderer. Then he’ll be back for us— you and me.”

John Ryan pulled two rumpled letters from his pocket. “So these must be from him,” he mumbled.

“Where did you get those?” the priest asked, his interest instantly piqued. Charmaine’s name was written across both envelopes.

“Aboard ship. I heard Simons talkin’ to the captain, heard my daughter’s name mentioned, and I saw him hand these here letters over with a whole pile of others. Later, I moseyed on over to where they was settin’ and helped myself. I can’t read none too good, but I know how my daughter’s name is spelled.”

Giovanni smirked. “Would you like to know what they say?” Clearly, Ryan wanted outside information, but when Giovanni motioned for the letters, the man refused to hand them over.

“What did
you
do?” Ryan asked.

“I’m not prepared to talk about that.”

“Well, maybe you ain’t interested in readin’ these,” Ryan responded in kind.

So
 … Benito thought,
you and I speak the same language
. “Blackmail,” he finally answered, “only blackmail.”

Satisfied, Ryan shoved the letters toward the priest. Giovanni quickly ripped into them, then smiled broadly. They had plenty of time. John and Frederic were still searching for Blackford in New York, working on the assumption he had changed his name. It could be months before they returned.

By the next day, Giovanni decided he had no choice but to include John Ryan in his escape. In fact, Ryan might prove useful along the way, and in the end, he’d rid himself of the degenerate. Benito smiled with the thought. Once they were on the open sea, that wouldn’t be difficult at all.

During the second week of John Ryan’s incarceration, he learned how to dig a tunnel with a spoon. By the end of his third week, they had broken through. In four months, Benito’s only apprehensive moment was Buck Mathers’s simple declaration, “Either I’m getting taller or this ceilin’s getting lower.”

As December came to a close, their plan came together. Buck informed them Paul had left in search of Frederic and John. The time was ripe. An hour after sunset on the twenty-seventh of December, Giovanni and Ryan crawled out of the meetinghouse cellar and escaped into the night.

Luck was with them. The brilliance of the nearly full moon muted the star-spangled sky and cast eerie gray shadows on either side of them. They trudged the seven miles to Benito’s cabin, reaching it just before midnight. They had planned carefully in jail, so there was no need to speak, Giovanni demanding silence, alert to any unusual sound.

Taking a lantern from the cabin, John Ryan went into the pine forest behind the outhouse and searched until he found the skiff tucked in a dugout and covered with brush. Turning it over, he placed the oars, spar, and sail inside and dragged it along a path Giovanni had told him would take him to the shoreline. Dusting off his hands, he headed back toward the small abode. He’d let the priest set the sail.

Giovanni prayed that the four items he’d secreted away months ago were where he’d left them. He wasn’t surprised to find his home ransacked. He shook his head. Did they really think he was stupid enough to hide his booty here? Or were they the stupid ones? They hadn’t even uncovered the pistol hidden beneath a loose floorboard under his bed. He dropped a bullet into the chamber and pocketed the extra ammunition. He retrieved his compass hidden in a cup in the cupboard, and took a length of rope from the laundry spilled all over the floor. Lastly, he lifted a silver key off a hook concealed behind a painting of the Savior. It unlocked the gates to the Duvoisin compound. He possessed another key, one that had been hidden on his person since the morning of his arrest. It unlocked his future.

Ryan returned just as the priest stepped outside. They nodded to each other and Ryan fell in step behind Giovanni. Their next stop: the Duvoisin mansion.

Wade Remmen sat at the kitchen table, running his hands through his hair. Rebecca had been missing for two days now. He knew his sister had been unhappy. She’d complained often enough of her boredom in the tiny bungalow, but he had ignored her, and now, he was beside himself with worry. When he awoke the day after Christmas and found the house empty, he hadn’t been too concerned. He didn’t like her going off on her own, but, lately, she’d grown exceedingly headstrong. Real anxiety took hold yesterday when he’d returned home from work and she was still missing. Where had she gone?

Felicia Flemmings hadn’t been any help. She seemed to think Rebecca’s disappearance revolved around her “love” of Paul Duvoisin. Wade was cognizant of his sister’s infatuation, but Paul was a mature gentleman and Rebecca an uneducated girl with silly romantic ideas. When Wade left Felicia, he was no closer to knowing where his sister might be. Paul had departed the island on the
Tempest
; Rebecca knew that. Had she gone off to moon over Paul until he returned?
No
, Wade reasoned,
she’s probably annoyed with me
.

Tonight, he knew he was deceiving himself. Something terrible could have happened to her. He hadn’t been able to look for her during the day; however, he wasn’t needed at the mill until morning. That gave him hours to search Charmantes. He stepped out into the night, a bright gibbous moon lighting his way. Why he headed toward the Duvoisin estate, he didn’t know, other than it was Paul’s home. Perhaps Rebecca was drawn there, even if he was away.

Jeannette couldn’t sleep. It had been a long time since her French doors opened all by themselves. Ever since Pierre’s death, the “ghost” had become a distant memory. Not so tonight. Tonight she heard the door unlatch and blow open, even though there wasn’t a breeze in the air. Unlike before, she wasn’t afraid, though she would have felt a lot safer if her father, Johnny, or Paul were home. She woke her sister.

“What’s the matter?” Yvette asked, rubbing sleepy eyes.

“The doors,” Jeannette whispered, “they opened by themselves again.”

Unperturbed, Yvette jumped up and pulled them closed, slipping the latch in place. “Let’s see what happens now,” she said.

“Can I sleep with you?” Jeannette queried, not at all pleased her bed was closest to the glass panels.

Her sister smiled. “Sure.”

They snuggled under the covers, staving off the chilly December air. Minutes later, the doors blew open again. The girls looked at each other. Yvette rose and approached them guardedly this time. Then, on impulse, she stepped outside, determined to confront the elusive specter. There was nothing there.

She turned back into her room when a noise from below drew her around. She peered over the balcony in time to see the outer door to the chapel close, a reverberating “thump” assuring her she wasn’t imagining things; the manor had indeed been breached. She frowned. Who would be going into the chapel at this time of night?

Giovanni and Ryan walked purposefully up the short aisle of the sanctuary. Their escape had gone without incident. Before long, they’d be far out to sea, watching the sunrise. While Ryan held the lantern, Giovanni stepped up to the altar. The chalice and ciborium had been restored to the sacrificial table, but not returned to the tabernacle. A good sign—only he possessed the key.
Idiots, the lot of them, not to question me about it!
He inserted the key and opened the small ark. The coins and precious jewels he’d extorted from Agatha Duvoisin were still cached there. Weighing the heavy treasure in his hand, he tied the bag around his middle with the rope, then carefully concealed it under his shirt.

“Is that all?” John Ryan whispered, his eyes narrowed in displeasure.

“It’s enough,” the priest assured.

“Enough for you,” Ryan muttered, scanning the stone enclosure until his gaze returned to the vestibule by which they had entered. He began to formulate his own, very different plan. “This is some grand house. There’s got to be a lot more in there,” he said, throwing a thumb toward the side portal that opened into the manor. “We got plenty of time before the sun comes up. Let’s see what else we can find.”

“No!” Giovanni ordered. “We’ve been over this before. It’s too dangerous!”

“You’ve
been over it before,” Ryan growled. “Now it’s my turn to make some of them decisions.”

“Go in there, and I leave you to your own devices,” the priest threatened. “There will be no boat when you reach the shore!”

“And what if I just rouse the family,” John Ryan rejoined. “You wouldn’t want me to do that, would ya?”

Giovanni hesitated. Ryan was shrewd. He should have shot the slovenly albatross back at his cabin where the report of the pistol would have been swallowed up by the forest. Now, he had no choice but to give in.

Gloating, John Ryan attempted to placate the priest. “With all the men gone, it should be easy to get some more loot. You know this place like the back of your hand. Where should we look first?”

Yes
, Giovanni mused,
why not pillage the house? Ryan is anxious to carry any additional treasure to the boat, and I’ ll be that much richer when I shoot him later on
. “The master and mistress’s chambers,” he breathed, allowing the old man his momentary victory.

“Lead the way.”

Yvette shrank into the shadows of the ballroom just in time. She hadn’t expected the chapel door to suddenly swing open, and she gulped back a startled scream. Her eyes widened farther as Father Benito stepped through the doorway. She didn’t have to be a genius to figure out who was with him. Charmaine would be very upset to know her father roamed the manor.

Wade stood outside the Duvoisin compound. The imposing mansion was bathed in moonlight, but every window in the house was dark. He leaned into the gates, surprised when they gave way. The stable hands usually secured them by ten o’clock each night, unlocking them at dawn. Strange—they weren’t locked tonight. He pushed them open and walked up the drive.

Jeannette began to fret when her sister did not return. She went out on the balcony again and peered over the balustrade to the chapel doors below. They were still shut, and all was quiet, but as she straightened up, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the figure of a man approaching the house. She quickly ducked back into her room. It was time to go and wake up Charmaine.

Yvette followed the two intruders, keeping a safe distance behind them. They slunk across the banquet hall and passed through the ballroom kitchens before entering the rear service stairwell. They were headed for her parents’ chambers. For a moment, Yvette debated taking the main staircase back up, but she discounted that idea, deciding it was safer to keep the two men directly in front of her. She waited until she heard the upstairs door close before racing up the steps herself, clutching the railing in the blackness. Reaching the second floor, she put an ear to each door and listened. All was quiet. Not knowing which door they used, she chose her mother’s, slowly pulling it open and peeking around it. Moonlight spilled into the room through the French doors. No one was there. She tiptoed forward, past her mother’s bed to the sitting room door. She listened at the door again. Nothing. She waited unending minutes, her breathing thundering in her ears, fearful of where the two men might be— perhaps in her father’s chambers. Biting her bottom lip, she turned the doorknob gingerly, cracking the door, her eye pressed to the small opening. No one was there either, and she sighed in relief. She would head for her father’s quarters next.

She pushed through the door and stepped into the room. Without warning, she was grabbed from behind and lifted clear off the floor. A filthy hand clamped over her mouth, muffling a scream. A man growled near her ear as she resorted to kicking and punching. “You better stop your goddamn thrashin’ if you know what’s good for ya, girl!” She did not desist until Father Benito stepped out of the shadows, brandishing a pistol.

“You’ve spied once too often, Yvette,” he whispered.

When she struggled anew, he cocked the trigger, and she immediately stopped. “I believe you lost a riding crop behind my outhouse a year ago.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “To think your dear stepmother thought it was the wind that spilled those crates to the ground.”

Her brow tipped upward, and the priest chuckled menacingly. “Yes, I thought so. And now you’ll learn what happens to meddlesome children.” He looked at his compatriot. “I do believe we have a hostage, Mr. Ryan.”

Ryan’s lips curled into a greedy grin, his covetous eyes upon the girl he held. Giovanni smiled as well. “Tell us, Yvette,” he said, stepping over to the table and relighting his lantern, “where did your mother keep her most valuable jewels? In a whisper, please. I’d hate for something to happen to your sister or your governess’s new baby.”