Her Safe Harbor: Prairie Romance (Crawford Family Book 4) (10 page)

“I heard today that your friend O’Brien was set upon and
severely beaten last evening,” Rothchild said, looking at her over his
wineglass as he took a sip. He sat the glass down and picked up his knife and
fork, poised to cut the braised beef on his plate, but stopped and looked at
Jennifer again. “Not your concern, my dear, as it is already being said that
she was not a well-bred woman. Perhaps she taunted one of her lovers too far.”

Jennifer’s fork clattered to her plate. She was staring at
Rothchild with a dawning recognition for what he implied—that her friend was
somehow to blame for her beating.

“Mr. Rothchild,” Jolene said. “The O’Briens have been with
us for decades, and Miss O’Brien was educated at one of the better schools in
the city. I will not have you cast aspersions upon her name; I’m sure you are
well ready to apologize to me and to my sister Jennifer. Perhaps you do not
understand the nature of the relationship between the O’Briens and the
Crawfords.”

Rothchild laid his silverware down neatly on either side of
his plate. Zeb could see Jolene’s face, stern with one raised brow, and he
recognized the haughty tone of her voice. It served him well as Zeb was
inclined to pick Rothchild up by the throat and send him flying through one of
the long windows. The father, though, was finally paying attention.

“Apologize to whom?” Jane Crawford said. “The girl is
beneath our notice. Why shouldn’t Jeffrey believe what is being said about her?
She is a servant and always acted as if she were more than she was, more than
just the daughter of a man who mucks out our stalls. The lower classes are
noticeably without morals. You will have nothing more to do with her,
Jennifer.”

Tears were running down Jennifer’s face when she stood and
threw her napkin down on the table. “That is enough, Mother. More than enough.
I cannot abide your hatefulness,” she said, and hurried to the door.

The dining room was silent for a moment until Zeb heard the
scrape of Rothchild’s chair and watched him hurry to the door of the room, but
not before stopping to bend over Jane’s hand. “I will go and speak to your
daughter, Mrs. Crawford. She certainly misinterpreted what I said and was
disrespectful to you. I can’t imagine what has caused this overemotional
response during polite dinner conversation.”

Rothchild turned from Jane to find Zeb standing in the
doorway. It was clear that he thought Zeb would step out of the way, with one
intimidating glance. “Perhaps Miss Crawford would like some quiet time,” Zeb
said.

“This is no concern of yours,” Rothchild said and shot his
cuffs. “She is my concern and my fiancée.”

“Really? Is she your fiancée?” Zeb asked quietly, meeting
Rothchild’s glare with one of his own.

“Mr. Rothchild? Please come back to the table,” Jolene said.
“Your meal is becoming cold. Would you like me to have it warmed?”

Rothchild turned to look at Jolene, glanced back at Zeb, and
returned to his seat. He turned to Jane.

“I have a surprise for you Mrs. Crawford,” he said. “I have
obtained tickets to Sir Benedict Fitzhugh’s talk and was hoping you would
accompany me as we both have an interest in science.”

Jane leaned forward in her seat. “Fitzhugh? You have
attained tickets for Fitzhugh? How wonderful! After our discussion last week I
am very interested to hear the man speak!”

“Fitzhugh?” William Crawford said as he sliced another piece
of meat. “Don’t remember hearing about him. What particular discipline does he
discuss?”

“It is all very exciting—” Jane began but was cut off by
Rothchild.

“He studies the stars. Really remarkable man, educated at
Oxford. Your wife has shown an interest in such matters, and I thought I’d
return your frequent hospitality to me by escorting her to hear this lecture,”
Rothchild said, and smiled cordially at William.

William waved his fork. “By all means. I’m in your debt for
seeing to Mrs. Crawford’s entertainment.”

Chapter Nine

Jennifer stood staring at herself in
the long mirror in the ladies’ retiring room in the Randolph mansion. She had
wondered all week why she was as weak-willed as she was. Why what she convinced
herself she would do, she didn’t do when the time for a decision arrived. She
did not wish to go anywhere with Jeffrey or even speak to him, but here she was
arriving at the Randolphs’ dinner party with him. Jolene had insisted on riding
with her in Jeffrey’s carriage, much to Mother’s dismay. Jeffrey was openly
hostile to Jolene, who responded as if he had not been rude to her in the
least. Mother was furious, of course, with everyone but Jeffrey.

Jennifer straightened her gown a final time and opened the
door.

“I thought perhaps you had become ill, Jennifer,” Jeffrey
said as she opened the door, and he shrugged away from the wall.

“Perhaps I am ill,” she said, suddenly furiously angry at
herself for not going directly to the police with her suspicions about Jeffrey
and O’Brien’s attackers. She started down the hall without stopping to wait for
him. “Perhaps I am sick of you.”

He grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “What
did you say?”

“I said I am sick of you. What will you do, Jeffrey? Will
you hit me again? Perhaps blacken my eye in a crowded ballroom?” Jennifer
whispered.

Other guests turned the corner at the end of the hall and
Jeffrey attempted to pull her close as if they were lovers in an embrace.
Jennifer stepped out of his reach.

“I am going to find my father and sister,” she said.

Jeffrey followed her until they joined her parents and Jolene.
He quickly turned to her mother. “Mrs. Crawford, won’t you please allow me to
introduce you to some young men and women of good families that I am acquainted
with? The young ladies especially are very excited to meet you.”

“How lovely! Of course I will meet your friends,” Jane said,
and patted her elaborate hairstyle. “Young people do gravitate to me, you
know.”

Father smiled and nodded while Jolene pulled a face. “How
ridiculous she sounds when she speaks to him,” she whispered to Jennifer as she
looked around the room. “Ah. There is someone I was hoping to meet again.”

Jennifer looked through the throng of faces. “Who would that
be, Jolene?”

“Lenora Gladfoote,” Jolene said. “I am a happy and contented
woman, but who wouldn’t take the opportunity to share her husband’s recent
senatorial election and business fortunes with an old nemesis. And how
fortuitous that I am wearing the large and rather gaudy diamond ring that
Maximillian insisted I have when I announced I was expecting. I shall wave it
in full view.”

Jennifer watched as Jolene raised her hand and called to her
old friend. “Why Lenora! How marvelous to see you!” Jolene was quickly gathered
into a tight crowd of beautiful, well-coifed women and the men at their elbows.

Jennifer smiled and accepted the glass of wine that her
father brought her. The crowd parted, and she had a clear view of her mother
surrounded by people her and Jeffrey’s age. Did none of them think it strange
that he was introducing her mother rather than
her
to his friends, although
she herself had no interest in meeting any of them? But then she noticed
several of the young women catching each other’s eyes as if privy to a private
joke. Jeffrey was standing beside Mother, but slightly behind her, too, and
Jennifer was certain her mother could not see the faces he was making, the
raised eyebrows and wry smiles that he was sharing with the other young men.

“You do not know your science very well, young lady,” Jane
Crawford said loudly enough that heads turned.

Jennifer made her way to the crowd but other young people
were gathering around after hearing the tittering and giggles, and she could
not get close. But she could hear.

“Sir Benedict is a brilliant man, I’ll have you know. I was
fortunate enough to hear him speak recently on the subject. His credentials are
impeccable! I was even able to speak to him briefly, was I not, Mr. Rothchild?”
Jane said and looked over her shoulder.

An appropriately serious Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, Mrs.
Crawford. You were indeed fortunate to meet such a . . . brilliant person and
have his undivided attention.”

“He was very attentive,” Jane said, and winked at one of the
young women. “He referred to me as ‘the queen of Boston society.’ What fine
manners he has for an academic. He’ll be speaking in New York within the month
at one of their leading universities.”

“What a ninnyhammer,” whispered a young woman to her friend,
both standing just in front of Jennifer.

“Who is this Fitzhugh fellow who is so enamored of her?” the
friend whispered back, and giggled at her own joke.

Jennifer wondered the same but did not have to wait long for
the answer as a young, dark-haired man, full of himself, smiling at her mother
and winking at Jeffrey, asked a question. “What of his ‘moon creatures,’ then?
Has he seen any recently?”

“Well,” her mother replied, “he has not had any recent
sightings using his telescope at the Vienna Observatory; however, others here
in the States have invited him to use their observation equipment and confirm
their findings.”

“Really?” the dark-haired man said. “How remarkable! So
others are seeing the creatures as well?”

“Yes!” Jane replied enthusiastically. “And some have even
spoken to them.”

The crowd erupted in jeers and laughter. Jennifer pushed her
way through the throng, pardoning and shoving her way until she was beside her
mother.

“Come along, Mother,” she said and took hold of her elbow.
“Father is wondering where you are.”

“I’m speaking to Jeffrey’s friends. As you should be doing
as his fiancée,” she replied, and shrugged off Jennifer’s hand.

“Rothchild’s fiancée?” the dark-haired man asked. “Why has
there been no announcement? No engagement soiree for the happy couple?”

“I am not . . .” Jennifer began until she looked at her
mother’s furious, red face. She looked up at Jeffrey, at his smug smile, and
realized that much of this was by design, to humiliate her mother and to
publically announce their engagement, making it much more difficult to refute
in the future. But any denial now might prompt her mother to make more of an
embarrassing scene than had already been accomplished.

“Perhaps one of Fitzhugh’s ‘moon creatures’ can conduct the
ceremony, eh, Mrs. Crawford?”

“How ridiculous,” her mother replied. “They are not here.
They are on the moon.”

“Maybe Fitzhugh will fly his space carriage up there and
bring one down!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

“Perhaps he will!” she said in retort. “He confided to me
that he is building one!”

Jennifer took her mother’s arm again. “Mr. and Mrs. Randolph
are looking for you, Mother. Let us go and find them.”

But Jane stood immobile suddenly, her face white, and her
hand trembling in Jennifer’s. She clutched her stomach, closed her eyes, and
doubled over.

Jennifer held her mother close to her side and looked for a
way to exit the gathered crowd. One young woman asked Jennifer if there was
anything she could do to help, and she sent her for her father or Jolene.

“Clear the way,” Jeffrey said then and bent down to Jane’s
face. “I will find you a place to rest. Lean on me now.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Jane said to him and allowed him to hold
her by the waist and guide her out of the crowd through a path that had
magically opened.

Jennifer followed and saw her father hurrying to them and
Jolene not far behind. Jennifer turned to the door and found a servant to ask
that the family carriage be brought to the door immediately.

* * *

Zeb wandered through Willow Tree,
passing servants, all of whom asked if they could help him or get him anything,
or show him to the library. He declined their assistance and instead continued
walking the wide hallways until he passed a doorway that servants were coming
from and going into. He opened the door and found a stairwell leading to a
labyrinth of rooms, including a massive kitchen.

Cooks, maids, and housemen all were at work, doing their
assigned duties. A short, round woman approached him.

“Are you looking for Mr. Bellings or Mrs. Gutentide, sir?”
she asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know who I’m looking
for. I wanted to speak to someone who knows the O’Briens and may be willing to
introduce me to them.”

Several people stopped what they were doing and looked at
him. Others gathered around him. An older man looked at him from the top of his
head to his shoes. He took a sliver of wood out from between his teeth. “Who’s
asking?” he said.

“My name is Zebidiah Moran. I’m here at the request of
Senator Maximillian Shelby, to see to the safety of his wife, Mrs. Jolene
Shelby, and her sister, Miss Jennifer Crawford.”

“How do we know you’re who you say you are?” the man asked.

“He’s telling the truth,” a brawny young man said as he
leaned against a doorframe. “I took Miss Jennifer’s and Eliza’s trunks on the
train to Senator Shelby’s home last month. Delivered them as I was told to do a
day before they arrived. Saw this gent. The houseman said he was aide-de-camp
to the senator.”

“Why on earth would the trunks not travel with them on the
day they went, Luther?” someone asked.

Luther shrugged. “Don’t think the mistress wanted anyone to
know she was going.”

“That’s enough with the gossip,” an older,
distinguished-looking woman said as she made her way down the hallway. The
crowd dispersed as she came, other than the man with the sliver of wood, once
again between his teeth, and Luther, now standing straight, arms crossed in
front of him.

“I didn’t say nothing out of turn,” he said.

“May I help you, sir? I’m Mrs. Gutentide, the housekeeper
here at Willow Tree.”

“I imagine you heard my introduction, ma’am. I am interested
in meeting the O’Briens.”

“You do understand that Miss O’Brien has been injured? Most
brutally.”

“I do, ma’am. I am hoping to speak to Mr. O’Brien about it.”

Mrs. Gutentide looked at Luther. “Have you carried over the
evening meal for them yet?”

“Clarice is packing it now.”

She turned back to Zeb. “Walk to the stable house with
Luther when he delivers their meal. He can ask Mr. O’Brien if he is willing to
speak to you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Zeb followed Luther through a formal garden and a series of
gates to a large horse barn and a gabled house nearby. The grounds were
well-manicured and the buildings recently painted. He would have dearly loved
to be talking to Mr. O’Brien about the horses he bred and tended, but that was
not his mission this evening. He waited at the end of a stone walkway while
Luther carried a wooden box into the house. Moments later, Luther emerged from
the house, turned and pointed to Zeb, and spoke to a man in the doorway. The
man walked slowly down the walk. He stopped when he was six feet away.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to speak to you and your daughter, Mr. O’Brien. My
name is Zebidiah Moran.”

The man rubbed his chin, looked away out over the yard, and
back at Zeb. “What are you wanting to talk about?”

“I’d like to find Miss O’Brien’s attackers.”

“What is my daughter to you? How do you know her?”

“I don’t know her, only that she was an innocent, and badly
beaten. I am here at Willow Tree to keep Senator Shelby’s wife and her sister
safe.”

“Then why are you here and not at the Randolphs’ party with
Miss Jennifer and Miss Jolene?”

Zeb smiled. “There are security men at the Randolph estate,
of course, and I have hired private individuals to guard them on their way
there and back to Willow Tree. I deemed the occasion a low enough risk that I
could rely on others, and make inquiries elsewhere about your daughter’s
attackers.”

“And why is it of interest to you?”

“I believe there is a connection between Jennifer Crawford
and your daughter and their mutual safety.”

O’Brien took a deep breath. “You may as well come inside.
But let me be clear. I will find who did this to my Kathleen and I will kill
them. Neither you nor any of your policemen or Pinkerton agents will stop me.”

Zeb followed O’Brien inside, not doubting for a moment that
the man was telling the truth. A burly, red-headed man sat in the corner of the
room, a rifle across his legs. The man stood, looked Zeb up and down, and went
to the door. “I’ll keep watch outside, Thomas.”

Zeb sat where O’Brien pointed, at a long table near a
roaring fire. O’Brien dropped two glasses on the table and a corked bottle. He
poured them both a jigger.

Zeb sipped the whiskey and took a good look at Thomas
O’Brien. The man was unshaven, unkempt, and wearing clothes that had not been
recently laundered or pressed. “How is Miss O’Brien?”

“As good as can be expected for a girl who’s been beaten and
tormented,” her father said with a sniff. “The doctor thinks her eye is healing
well. One of the stab wounds became infected but it cleared up quick, and he
doesn’t think there’ll be much of a scar.”

“I am glad to hear that she is doing better.”

Zeb heard footsteps on the stairs, and O’Brien stood up
quickly. A young boy appeared.

“What is the matter, Sean?” O’Brien asked. “Does your sister
need something?”

“She wants to know who is here,” the boy replied.

“Go back up and tell her there is nothing to worry about.
McGuire is outside with his shotgun and I am in the kitchen. She is safe.”

“Who is in the kitchen, Father?” they heard from above
stairs.

O’Brien hurried to the steps. “You are safe, Kathleen. Go back
to your room.”