Brandon’s gaze shifted again to the window. “Jeff, I want to talk to Lulu. Can you get her for me?”
The younger brother nodded. “You know something then?”
Brandon shrugged. “I may. I’m not sure. I must talk to the girl before I can say.”
Jeff smiled, no longer uncertain of his brother’s innocence. “I’ll go find her. You’d better have some facts before Townsend gets here.”
When he was gone, Brandon lifted Heather’s chin and looked into her eyes.
“Thank you for believing in me,” he murmured.
“I wouldn’t be much of a wife if I didn’t believe in you,” she returned softly, caressing his cheek.
He drew away from her and turned his back. “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have killed her, Heather, had I gotten to her first. I was in such a damnable temper I knocked Jeff down when he tried to stop me. I wanted to kill her when I read her note. When I saw her lying on the floor, the clothes ripped from that body she thought so highly of, I realized how close I had come to taking her life. It scared the hell out of me when I thought of what I almost did to us.” He turned back to her. “You see, it didn’t matter that she was dead. There was no grief in me for her loss of life. I just felt relief at being rid of her and not having to be hanged for the deed. But, Heather, I could have killed her if . . .”
“Oh, my darling,” she choked, flinging her arms about his neck. “Perhaps you were angry, but nothing in this world can make me believe that you would have committed such an act. It’s just not in you.”
He held her to him, his arms crushed about her slender waist, and found solace in her steadfast faith.
“Oh, Heather, Heather,” he murmured. “I love you so much. I need you. I want you always.”
Joyful tears brightened her eyes as she clung to him. It was so good to be loved by him.
Brandon breathed in the dewy fresh smell of her and the fragrance of her hair, and his eyes dropped to the hand he had clenched behind her back. His fingers relaxed slowly and there in his palm was one of Catherine Birmingham’s diamond earrings.
Sheriff Townsend came and arrested Brandon that night. There was no talking to the man. He was convinced that he had his man and didn’t waste time in discussing the matter with them. He told Brandon he was under arrest as soon as he entered the house and fifteen minutes later they were on their way to Charleston, accompanied by two deputies.
Heather was left fretting. Brandon had not been able to talk with Lulu. In fact, the girl could not be found. She had disappeared. No one could remember seeing her after she fled from the fields. The few slaves at Oakley were keeping well away from the big house and safe in their own cabins, preferring to know nothing of the comings and goings that went on there as Louisa’s body was prepared for the journey to Charleston the following morning, thus they could not say if Lulu had returned at any time. Jeff sent several men to comb the countryside while he and George rode to the city, but they failed to find any trace of the girl in either place.
In the late hours, Heather paced the floor of their bedroom, feeling the loneliness of the room without Brandon there, and she wondered about his comfort. Sheriff Townsend had been so bullheadedly stubborn, not listening to her pleas or Brandon’s reasoning, he might even be treating her husband now as if he were already condemned. She shuddered at the thought and went to the window where she pressed her face against the pane. It was pitch black without and the wind whistled around the corner of the house, leaving the trees astir. It had begun to rain but Heather found no comfort in it, only despair and misery. Wearily she dragged herself to bed and crept between the sheets and stared into the darkness at the white glow of the canopy above her, very much aware of the empty space beside her.
She rose in the morning to the sound of howling wind. Heavy gray clouds raced across the sky pushed by raging gusts and a yellowish light seemed to shroud the land. The rain was moderate but the drops beat hard against the window panes driven by the force of the gale. A storm was brewing.
The day wore on and the rain played havoc with Heather’s nerves. Jeff came in once or twice from his search for Lulu, soaked to the bone, and when she gazed questioningly at him, he slowly shook his head. Though no one expressed it, they had begun to despair that something had happened to Lulu too.
It was late afternoon when Heather, no longer able to sit at Harthaven and not help her husband in some way, dressed in riding habit and heavy-hooded cloak and cautiously made her way from her bedroom and down the stairs. She feared that Hatti might see her. It was going to be difficult enough getting James to saddle Lady Fair without an argument, but to let Hatti see her going out in a storm certainly meant having her way blocked by the stubborn Negress.
Her escape was successful and she found James busy putting fresh hay down on the stable floor. He looked up with a start when she opened the door and stared for a moment in surprise as she struggled with the heavy panel, the wind threatening to send her flying if she held onto it for very long. Dropping the pitchfork, he came running to her aid.
“What is you doing out in weather like this, Mrs. Birmingham? You should be in the house, away from all this wind.”
“I wish to take Lady Fair out, James. Will you saddle her for me? I’ve ridden before in the rain so there’s no need to worry.”
“But, Mrs. Birmingham, this is a bad storm brewing. When it gets like this, shutters fly off houses and trees fall down. It ain’t safe. Master Birmingham would skin me alive if he heard I saddled a horse for you in this weather.”
“He won’t hear about it from me, James. If he finds out, I’ll tell him I made you do it. Now hurry and saddle Lady Fair. Lulu must be found so she can tell Sheriff Townsend that Master Birmingham didn’t murder Miss Louisa.”
His dark, frightened eyes gazed at her as if he would say something more, but she frowned him down.
“If you don’t saddle her, James, I will.”
He shuffled off, shaking his head, and it seemed like hours before Lady Fair was saddled and ready to go. James checked the girth for the fifth time.
“Mrs. Birmingham, she may be skittish in this storm.” His brow creased deeply, betraying his concern. “Ma’am—Mrs. Birmingham, you just can’t!”
“Oh hush, James. I’ve got to go.”
He yielded grudgingly and gave her a hand into the saddle. She settled herself and looked down at him. He stood holding her bridle, his eyes wide with fear. The same fear made his lips tremble, and she thought for a moment he might yet hold her there. Finally his hand dropped from the reins, and he turned to open the stable door. She put her heel to the horse and urged her out into the storm. It was as if she had entered a different world. The wind and rain and lightning blended into a fury of confusion. The chestnut paused and snorted, but her thumping heel drove the mare on. Sharp fingers of wind snatched her cloak and the rain soaked her through in a moment. Blinding bolts of brightness rent the heavens above and were quenched in belching peals of thunder.
Heather glanced over her shoulder and saw James braced against the storm, watching her as she rode away. For a brief second she was tempted to turn back and calm his fears—and hers. There was no denying that she was frightened. But the thought of going back passed quickly. If she didn’t feel her going was necessary she’d have stayed, but Brandon’s life depended upon Lulu being found and what better place to hide in a storm than in her mistress’s now deserted house?
Horse and rider entered a forest gone wild. Once lazy branches lashed and stung and whipped and clawed. The trees bent and swayed in what seemed a frenzied determination to snatch her from the horse and failing, moaned their frustration to the wind. The mare slipped and stumbled from side to side on the muddy trail, now slashing her legs in the razor-sharp palmetto, now thrusting away from a thicket of brush. It took all Heather’s concentration to cling to the slippery saddle. In desperation she twisted the reins about her fist and buried her face in Lady’s mane. The ride became a tiring fight for
both horse and rider as they battled the wind and rain, the forest and mud.
The wind seemed to abate and the rain no longer pounded her shoulders. Heather realized the horse now stood still, trembling with fatigue. She raised her face and found they stood in the shelter of the Oakley plantation house. The facade of the manor loomed above her in the storm, palely lit by the gloomy day. She slid from the horse’s back and found her legs barely capable of support. She leaned against the steamy warmth of the animal and her strength gradually returned.
With her hopes and fears driving her on, she strode across the portico and entered the ominous structure. She closed the door against the storm and gazed about, doffing muddy boots and soaking cloak. The great house seemed to lean into the wind, of which small wisps crept through each crack in the shutters and stirred curtains and drapes and rattled panes of glass and seemed to set the house in motion. The floors squeaked and popped with the strain, the walls moaned and the shingles fluttered their fear on the roof. Shadows crept about each room and occasionally from somewhere deep in the bowels of the storm-battered house, a door creaked or slammed. The manor seemed to resent her intrusion and wailed its discontent, but her purpose overrode her apprehension. She must assure herself that Lulu was not cowering in some nook or cranny.
She called but received no answer. She searched through each room of the house with a thoroughness born of desperation. The rooms of the first floor were dark. Drapes were pulled over all the windows and there was little light from outside to filter in. Here and there she found a window left gaping. She went about her task, missing no space large enough to conceal a person. Drapes were snatched aside and no door left closed. Her labors warmed her and the chill from the journey left her bones.
She raced up the stairs in an unladylike manner, her skirts raised high above her knees, and pressed her search through the second floor. Here the storm seemed closer. The drafts were chilling and the rain battered with heavy hand upon the roof. Branches slammed against the shutters and set them banging. She flung each door wide and searched beneath each bed. She paused but a moment beside Louisa’s bed and realized that here was where Brandon most likely had exercised his manhood on that woman’s charms. In a quick, bitchy rage, she tore the satin covers from the bed and trod across them to continue her search.
The house was empty to her efforts. The attic entry was a small ceiling trap door, unattainable without steps or aid. She returned once more to the first level and realizing she had not looked here, entered the drawing room.
Heather drew a deep breath which seemed to freeze in her chest. Draperies were torn from the windows and a chair lay broken in the tangle of its pleats. A small table balanced precariously in front of the fireplace on three legs, the fourth leg missing. A writing desk stood with nothing on top of it; papers, pens and inkwell were scattered on the rug beneath. Several books lay tumbled from the bookcase and those remaining in it were in a sad state of disarray. The room bore evidence of a raging quest as if some object of great concern had gone astray. There was no reason to believe that the object had not been found, yet Heather began to probe the room as only a woman’s query can. She had no idea for what she sought. She only knew something might lie here. Her eyes swept the rug and dusted the top of every level surface. Her hands rearranged bric-a-brac and knickknacks, straightened the hangings on the wall, and her fingers tested each crack for what it might contain. The fireplace screen stood slightly ajar and her woman’s sense of neatness demanded it be righted. As she moved the screen, a twinkle at its base caught her eye. The object was lodged in a crack between two bricks on the fireplace floor. She bent and gasped.
It was one of Catherine Birmingham’s diamond earrings, her own earring, one of the pair she had given Mr. Hint. Picking it up, she stared at it in disbelief.
In her note to Brandon, Louisa had stated her knowledge of some interesting information. And what other secret could the woman have learned except the one concerning William Court? There was no other. But why had Mr. Hint told her? Surely he realized that Brandon would not let her continue to pay blackmail to keep him silent, and if Louisa had knowledge of William’s death she would do everything in her power to let Brandon know, for spite if not for another reason. So why had Mr. Hint told Louisa? Why had he given her the earrings? For what reason would he jeopardize a fortune by such a stupid act? Had he fallen in love with the woman and thought to bribe her with these trinkets? That ugly man? Louisa would have laughed in his face.
But was that it? Could he have killed her for laughing—or to insure her silence? Did he have the strength to break her neck with his bare hands? Brandon had such ability, she knew, but could a man almost half his size possess enough power for such a feat?
“Well, if it ain’t my good friend, Mistress Birmingham.”
Heather whirled in alarm. There was no denying who that high pitched, squeaky voice belonged to. Pure terror gripped her, paralyzed her. Mr. Hint smiled at her and showed a face clawed and bruised.
“Ah-h, I see you’ve found the earring.”
She nodded once slightly, cautiously.
“In the hearth yet,” he laughed. “I didn’t think of that. Bless you for findin’ it for me. I thought it be lost forever.”
“Did . . .” She swallowed and began again. “Did you give my earrings to Louisa?”
“Well—not exactly. ‘Twas like this, you see. I showed them to her and I promised her a life of ease with me.” His mouth tightened hideously. “She seen them though and knowed them as being yours, she did. She would not rest ‘til she found out why I had them. Then a queer shine come into her eyes when I told her about poor Willy and she grabbed the earrings in her fist and vowed to have her revenge. She went crazy. I had a hard time understandin’ her. She was like a mad woman, one minute laughing, the next crying, all the time screaming what revenge she’d have on you. She vowed to see you hanged. I had to slap her face ‘fore she come to her senses again. A cold look came in her eye and she told me what she was going to do. I tried to tell her she was being a fool, that she could have her revenge by the money we took from you. I knowed once your man found out about you there’d be no more jewels for me, you see, and he might kill me to hush my mouth. But she refused to listen. She was wantin’ to see you hanged, but first she wanted to tell your man and watch him plead for your life. She sent Lulu to fetch him with that note. The girl seen I was mad and run off quick with the note while Louisa and me was arguing. I tried to reason with Louisa and tell her we could be rich, but she said she wanted to see you hanged. She was all set to tell your man about you and show him the earrings as proof, and she laughed at me and called me an ugly toad—said she’d been leading me on for what I could give her. I made every gown she ever wanted and give them to her without gettin’ a farthing, and she called me a swine, a loathsome caricature of a man. I loved her, I did, and she called me that.” Tears were streaming down his face and he began to sob. “She hit me too when I told her it was your gown I copied for her and called me worse names that I ever even heard from a man, foul words what tore me insides to pieces. I couldn’t help myself. My hands reached for her neck without knowing what they were doing. She got panicky and jumped away from me into the drapes, but I caught her in them and dragged her down. I didn’t know she had such strength. She kicked me and give me a wallop like a man would. Knocked me off her, she did. I never knowed a woman what was so strong. We had a regular fight as you can see by this room. I had my pleasure on her though, and she had hers. I could tell, her amoaning and moving under me. I be thinking we could still be happy together, but I sees her eyes go narrow when she was through with me. She spit in my face and called me a freak, said I’d be seeing what a real man was when your spouse come. My hands flew round her throat and they squeezed the life from her. I couldn’t stop them. I’d just pulled my hands from her when your man come riding up. Furious, he was. Never even stopped to knock on the door. Hardly give me time to get off her and hide.”
“You mean you were here when my husband came?” Heather choked out.
“Aye. He come a raging in here like the very devil, he did. He scared me good with him being so big and there I was hiding behind the door. Mayhaps it were the shock of seein’ his work done that saved me from him. A man what looks the same as your man come in right after he left, and he didn’t see me either.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Mr. Hint?” she asked, already afraid of the answer.
“Why shouldn’t I now? You knowed it were me what killed Louisa when you picked up that earring. I’ll take it now ‘fore it gets lost again.” He snatched it from her hand and stared for a long time at the piece. “Louisa told me when I made her gowns that I wasn’t a cripple in her eyes. She called me her love and let me touch those white breasts and kiss them. I loved her, I did, and she called me a toad.”
Tears streaked down his ugly face. He looked up at her, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“She weren’t the first woman what I killed for laughing. That dress you wore when you ran from Willy’s shop belonged to another what laughed. Willy, the bloke, he thought she never come back ‘cause she couldn’t afford the gown.” He laughed wildly. “She couldn’t come back, you see, she was dead. I broke her bloody neck for her like I did Louisa’s. I fixed Miss Scott too, for laughing.”
He moved toward Heather menacingly and she was again aware of that strong odor of cologne. She realized what he had just said, and with a start she remembered where she first had a whiff of the cologne. Her eyes flew open wide.