Petals on the River (109 page)

grandson, of all people.

Maurice's dark eyes glittered with ill-suppressed rage.
 
"Shemaine is

alive, married to a colonial, and carries his child .
 
.
 
.
 
and I would

give my whole wealth to be where that man is in her heart today."

Edith's own heart sank at the news of Shemaine's continued existence,

but she was as accomplished an actress as Morrisa.
 
"Your whole wealth?"

She forced herself to laugh at her grandson's exaggerated assertion and

waved an elegant hand to banish his claims.
 
"Really, Maurice, no man in

his right mind would give up the like of your fortune for a little twit

of a girl...."

"Her name is Shemaine, Grandmother,'' he stated with sharp clarity.

"Shemaine Thornton now.
 
It should have been Lady Shemaine du Mercer. If

not for you, it would have been."

"Come now, Maurice, you're overwrought and don't know what you're

saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying." Maurice slipped his hand into the

pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew the silky-smooth leather pouch.

With a flip of his wrist, he tossed it onto the table near her hand.
 
It

landed with a clink of coins.
 
"Recognize it, Grandmother?" he

questioned caustically.
 
"You've always been rather proud of your simple

but elegant tastes.
 
I need not look inside to see your initials to know

that it's yours.
 
I wonder just how many of those fine leather pouches

you've had made for yourself over the years?
 
I've seen them all my

life.
 
You gave me several while I was growing up.
 
You were trying to

teach me the value of a coin, remember?"

Edith's face remained a stiff, careful mask that effectively hid the

inner turmoil that was raging inside of her.
 
Her grandson's tone

revealed far more than his words had yet disclosed.
 
She knew down deep

inside that she had lost this murderous game she had set herself to

because of some silly mistake of her own making.
 
She had instructed

Morrisa to give Potts a few coins and to promise him more to hasten his

return.
 
How could she have known that a tiny little pouch would be her

undoing?

"How did you come by this purse?" Edith questioned carefully.
 
"I

thought I had lost it."

Maurice curtly denied the possibility.
 
"You didn't lose it.
 
You gave

it to Potts when you sent him on a mission to kill Shemaine.
 
But he

failed you, Grandmother, and paid for it with his life.
 
That little

twit of a girl you can't abide shot him when he tried to kill her

husband.
 
You probably promised a sizeable reward to Roxanne Corbin,

too, but she won't be back .
 
.
 
.
 
except in the coffin Gage Thornton

made for her.

What I would like to know, Grandmother, is how you could have been so

cruel to me .
 
.
 
.
 
and my betrothed."

Edith du Mercer sat in dignified silence, refusing to answer as she

stared unseeing across the room.
 
Her bony hand clasped the silver

handle of her walking stick, which she had braced upon the wood floor.

"Answer me!" Maurice barked, slamming his palm down upon the top of the

table and startling a gasp from his grandmother.
 
"Damn you for your

cold bitch's heart!" he snarled.
 
"I know now that you must have

connived with sticky-fingered magistrates and ambitiously arranged for

Shemaine's arrest in London and her banishment from England, probably

all the while thinking you were doing me a good service .
 
.
 
.
 
for my

fame and future as a marquess.
 
It grieves me to think of what Shemaine

suffered because of you.
 
After the O'Hearns discovered what had

happened to her, I refused to allow myself to believe that you had any

part of it.
 
But her disappearance was too convenient, hardly a month

after our engagement.

You were so calm in your assurances to me that Shemaine would be found.

I saw more distress in your eyes when I announced my intention to marry

her." He sneered at his only kin, feeling nothing but contempt for her.

"You were probably hoping that news of Shemaine's death would reach you

so you could skillfully arrange for the information to come to my

attention."

A bitter smile curved his handsome lips.
 
"I'm sure you could buy your

way out of any English prison I tried to send you to, so I've chosen a

more fitting punishment for you, Grandmother.
 
From this day forward,

you shall never see me again.
 
If I go back to England at all, it will

be to collect my possessions.
 
But I shall be returning here posthaste

to live out the rest of my life as an ordinary colonial gentleman, and

you will never, ever be welcomed in the house that I will build for

myself and my family, should I be fortunate enough to marry.
 
Whatever

offspring I produce, Grandmother, you will never see them, never hear

them, and never be able to take pride in my children or their children .

.
 
.
 
if you should live so long.
 
And you will never be able to arrange

their lives as you tried to do mine.
 
This is good-bye forever,

Grandmother.

May you have a long and miserable life."

Turning crisply on a heel, Maurice crossed to the door and left, causing

Edith to flinch with the loud, resounding closing of the portal.

In the aftermath of his passage, Edith du Mercer sat in silence, staring

across the room yet seeing nothing.
 
She felt numb inside. Perhaps she

was already dead.
 
Everything she had striven for, yearned for, grappled

for, had fled from her life with the slamming of that door.
 
She could

not even feel a spark of hope or interest when a few moments later a

rather frantic rapping came again upon the plank.
 
It was only Morrisa,

wondering what had happened.

"Potts and Roxanne are dead," Edith informed her dully.
 
"You'd better

leave as soon as you can.
 
There' s a pouch of coins in my satchel near

the bed.
 
Take that.
 
There should be enough to get you to New York .
 
.

.
 
or someplace far off."

"But what about Freida?" Morrisa asked fearfully.
 
"If'n I leave without

buyin' back me papers, she'll send someone after me .
 
.
 
.
 
may e'en

have me killed."

Edith picked up the pouch that Maurice had just delivered back to her

and handed it over.
 
"Perhaps there's enough in this to buy your papers.

In any case, you should leave.
 
I would expect Mr.
 
Thornton will be

arriving some time this morning, perhaps to bring in the dead bodies or

to search for you.
 
I shall be taking the next coach north myself and

then a ship back to England."

Thoughtfully Morrisa tossed the small pouch in her hand, knowing full

well what it contained.
 
There was more than enough in it to buy back

her papers, but as far as the other purse, she had no idea what it held.

She could only hope that it would last her for a time, but once the

money was gone, what would she do?
 
Ply her trade again?
 
It was a

terrible gamble to leave Freida without paying her back, but there

seemed no other choice if she wanted a few coins to spend on herself

after she got to wherever she was going.
 
Gage Thornton would be

arriving soon and he'd no doubt be looking for her.
 
She couldn't wait

around.
 
She had to leave now!

Hugh Corbin limped out onto the front porch shortly after he saw Gage

halting the wagon in the lane in front of his house.
 
He was aware that

Roxanne hadn't come home the previous night, and even before he caught

sight of the boxes in the wagon bed, he had already begun to fret that

something dreadful had happened to her.

Gage swept his hat off his head as he approached the older man. Hugh

squinted up at him, as if wondering at his mission, and Gage halted in

front of him.
 
It was the first time in ages that Hugh met him without

an insult.
 
"Mr.
 
Corbin, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but

I'm afraid Roxanne is dead." Turning slightly, he gestured with his hat

toward the coffins loaded in the conveyance. "Her body is in one of

those pine boxes there.
 
I carved her name in it so we'd knowþ"

"Ye bastard, why did ye have ta kill her?" Hugh snarled in agony.

"Wasn't it enough that she chased after ye an' made a fool of herself

ever since ye come here!
 
But that weren't enough for ye, was it?
 
Ye

couldn't rest til ye took her last breath from her just like ye did

Victoria."

"I didn't kill her, Mr.
 
Corbin," Gage assured him quietly.
 
"Cain did."

"Cain?" Hugh Corbin stared at Gage, momentarily convinced that he had

taken leave of his senses.
 
"Cain wouldna've killed her!"

"I'm sorry, Mr.
 
Corbin.
 
My wife and I both saw him do it."

"Why?" Hugh demanded.
 
"Why in the hell would Cain do a thing like that

to Roxanne?"

Gage heaved his shoulders upward slightly.
 
"Because Roxanne wanted him

to kill my wife, and he was unwilling to obey her.
 
He killed Victoria

for Roxanne, too, after she tricked him into doing it. When she

threatened Shemaine, Cain swept Roxanne up in his arms and leapt off the

prow of my ship with her.
 
Roxanne didn't survive the fall.
 
She died of

a broken neck after hitting her head on one of the rocks."

Hugh Corbin gaped dully at Gage, hardly able to understand what the