The Lightkeeper's Ball (28 page)

“Olivia. I need to talk to you. Come to the kitchen.”

She grabbed the speaking tube. “Who is this?”

“Don’t you recognize your own father, Olivia? Come to the kitchen. Now.”

The imperious voice was clearly her father’s. Without another thought, she reached for her dressing gown, belted it around her, then hobbled to the door on her crutches.

T
WENTY-SIX

H
ARRISON MANAGED TO
avoid Fosberg until the party began to disperse about eleven. It was difficult to keep smiling and talking to guests when he wanted to take the man by the collar and toss him into the street. He chatted with the Norths until he thought Fosberg was gone, then walked them to the door and said good night. When he turned to go back to the parlor, however, he spotted the man still inside. Fosberg stood talking to Harrison’s parents by the fireplace.

Harrison stopped in the doorway and turned to exit, but his mother called to him. He turned back and approached the three. “I believe I’ll say good night now.”

His father clapped his hand on Fosberg’s shoulder. “Good news, Harrison. Mr. Fosberg is leasing the building on Main and Sunset.”

Their premier leasehold. Harrison looked at Fosberg’s smug face. “I’m not leasing anything to him.”

His father’s smile faded. “Well, I am.”

“Then you’ll do it without me. I’m not signing any paperwork for it. The man has publicly accused me of murder.”

His father stared from Fosberg to Harrison. “What are you babbling about?” he snapped.

“Ask him.”

Fosberg was stone-faced. “You’re speaking nonsense.”

“Lady Devonworth told me of your belief that I killed Eleanor.”

“I don’t have to stay and listen to such nonsense.” Fosberg brushed past Harrison.

Harrison followed him. “Do you deny your accusation? And you didn’t even tell her the full story.”

His father was on their heels. “Harrison, that’s enough. I’ve already accepted Mr. Fosberg’s offer. I have his check in my pocket.”

“Then you have my resignation. I’ll have nothing to do with helping him get established in this town.” Harrison strode past Fosberg and slammed the door behind him. He heard his father bellow his name, but he ignored it and stalked down the driveway and down the street to his own house.

Now what? He had some money in the bank, but it would only pay his expenses for a few months. Though finances would be tight, he could devote all his energy now to researching flight. He could look for investors without being hampered by his father’s expectations and the responsibility he felt toward the family business.

Now was his chance to follow his dream. Fosberg had just done him a favor.

When Harrison stepped into the hall, Eugene met him at the door. “Your mother is on the telephone,” he said, taking Harrison’s jacket.

Harrison’s gut tightened. He went to the hall where the telephone was and picked up the earpiece. “Hello, Mother.”

“Your father is quite upset, Harrison. Come over and talk this out.”

Her tearful voice got past his defenses. “I can’t. There is nothing to talk out. I’m not going to lease Frederick Fosberg anything.”

“Your father says he’s paying a good sum. It’s just business, after all.”

“And I’ve found such business practices aren’t for me.” He inhaled and hoped to gather courage. “This has been coming a long time. You know where my heart lies. I want to spend time on my aeroplane.”

“Son, you have a God-given gift for numbers and business. How can you throw that away?”

Her reminder made him sag against the wall. It was the one thing he hadn’t thought through. The gift. Was he throwing away something God intended him to use? He thought of the way he felt when he was working on a new acquisition. Getting the new business on a solid financial footing, finding its strengths and bolstering its weaknesses. He was usually able to focus and be involved, yes, but his mind often wandered to the design of his machine. So which was God-given?

“Harrison, are you there?” his mother asked.

“I’m here.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mother. I’m not signing any lease with that man.”

“What did you mean about his accusation?”

“He suggested to Lady Devonworth that Eleanor broke our engagement and I killed her in a rage.” He’d told no one about what he’d seen at the cottage. No one but Lady Devonworth.

His mother gasped. “Surely the woman misunderstood him.”

“She did not,” he said.

“
Did
Eleanor break the engagement?” his mother asked.

“No. I did. But I don’t wish to discuss the reasons.” He exhaled heavily. “It’s late, Mother. We’re all tired. I’m going to bed.”

“At least pray about this,” his mother pleaded.

“I shall do that. But I think God has been leading me in this direction for a long time.”

“Mr. Fosberg might have been upset about something. I’m sure his words were not as serious as you are making out.”

“And I’m sure they were. Good night, Mother.” He hung up the phone and went upstairs where Eugene waited.

His valet helped him off with his vest, then hung it up with his coat. “I quit Bennett and Bennett tonight.”

Eugene paused in his brushing lint off the jacket and vest on the form. “Totally quit? For good, sir?”

“Yes. And it feels great. Tomorrow I’m going to go to the club and see about finding some investors to rebuild the aeroplane.”

“I’m not sure it will be easy. Not after crashing the last machine.”

“I have a great new design that I want to work on. I want to land it on water and prove it can be done.”

“Should I look for another position, sir?”

Harrison stared at his valet. “Of course not, Eugene. I’m going to make a go of this. And I have enough savings to see us through for a while. You’re indispensable to me.”

But the reminder that others depended on his decisions tempered his elation. His entire staff looked to him for their support. He had to make this work. He looked at the bed, then grabbed casual clothes.

“I’m going for a walk,” he told Eugene. He called to Nealy and stepped into the night air.

Olivia nearly slipped on the slick surface of the stairs. Little moonlight came through the windows, and the servants had extinguished all the lamps. Holding on to the banister, she made her way down to the first floor by scooting on her bottom with her crutches in one hand. In the hall, she got the crutches under her arms, then lit the gaslight in the hall. Its hiss was nearly as comforting as the warm yellow glow it cast.

She moved through the labyrinth of rooms to the kitchen, a room she wasn’t sure she’d ever been in. The cook was usually jealous of his domain, and she tended to leave him to his territory. She thought it was through this hallway, but she found herself in a place that dead-ended at a servants’ bathroom.

Retracing her steps, she went down another hall. This time she saw a sliver of light under a closed door. She pushed the heavy door, and it opened into a large kitchen lined with cupboards, a mammoth stove, and a large chopping table. A small lamp only barely illuminated the space, but there were lots of shadowy corners that left her uneasy.

The room was empty. It held a lingering scent of garlic and cinnamon. “Hello?”

She stepped into the room, and the door swung shut behind her. She jumped and whirled when the latch clicked. Stepping back, she turned the knob and it opened easily. When she peered into the hall, there was no one there. The window in the back door drew her. She peered out into the sprawling yard, but it was too dark to see past the first two feet.

She turned back to the seemingly empty room. “Father?” she called softly. No one answered.

Where was the speaking tube he’d used? She glanced around the room and saw it by the door. There was a similar apparatus in most rooms in the house. Could he have used one in the parlor and intended to get here before she did? Pulling out a chair by the battered table against the wall, she sat down to wait.

Though it was late, all thoughts of sleep had fled. Where was he? She didn’t know how long she waited. At least fifteen minutes. Toying with a fork, she listened for any sounds in the quiet house.

“I might as well go back to bed,” she said aloud. She rose and pushed the chair back in. As it scraped against the floor, she heard something.

“Olivia,” the voice called from outside. It was right outside the back door. Or so it seemed.

She limped toward the door, then paused with her hand on the doorknob. Why would her father want to talk outside in the dark? Was it even him?

“Olivia, come here,” the man said again.

She listened closely to the voice. It
was
her father. She unlocked the door and hobbled with her crutches onto the back stoop. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, and she smelled the tang of salt in the air. “Father?” The dew drenched her cloth slippers as soon as she stepped onto the grass.

She moved farther into the yard. “Father?” The darkness was complete, and she couldn’t see more than a foot in front of her face. If only she had a lamp. A bench should be to her right, so she moved in that direction.

A sound came from behind her. Before she could turn, a cloth covered her nose and mouth, and a sickeningly sweet smell made her cough and gag. She fought the strong arms that held her tight as the man dragged her backward. She was dizzy, so dizzy. She fought to stay conscious. She was dimly aware he was dragging her toward the cliff. Was this how Eleanor had died? Drugged and thrown into the sea right outside the house?

With renewed vigor, she dug her nails into her attacker’s skin and heard him swear under his breath. Even now he sounded a bit like her father, but she knew he couldn’t possibly be. Whipping her head back and forth, she managed to catch a fresh breath of clean air that cleared her mind. She tore into his skin with her nails again and wished she could sink her teeth into his wrist, but the cloth still partially covered her mouth.

His grip loosened, and she ripped free of his hands. The cloth fell away from her mouth. She screamed but all that came out was a choked cry. The chemical he’d used on the cloth had tightened her throat and dried her lips. She stumbled toward the house, but he was on her again before she’d gone two steps.

“You little hellion,” he muttered in her ear.

That voice wasn’t her father’s. The cloth came toward her mouth again and she screamed. This time the sound was a little louder, but she didn’t think anyone in the house would hear her.

“Harrison!” The suffocating smell enveloped her again, and the strength drained out of her legs. She sagged, and the man dragged her back toward the drop-off again.

She wasn’t ready to die. It was her last thought before he pitched her over the edge.