Fox River (40 page)

“M
ister Ian wasn’t even as old as Alice when his own daddy tried to teach him to ride.” Lettie was setting the table for supper, and although I hadn’t said anything as I arranged roses with trembling hands, Lettie knew what was upsetting me.

“It was a sad day for all of us when he learned,” I said bitterly. Alice was asleep upstairs, and we were expecting guests. I knew I would spend a good part of the evening soothing her nightmares. Ian had left our daughter tied to the saddle for nearly an hour, and by the time he returned her to me, she had been incoherent. I had spent the day rocking and calming her. She’d fallen asleep at last from sheer exhaustion.

“His daddy taught him the way Mr. Ian’s teaching Alice.”

I didn’t really care if Ian had learned his unforgivable behavior at his father’s knee or if he had learned it from a heavenly visitation. He had harmed a sensitive child who wouldn’t easily recover. Perhaps he had been the same sort of child himself, but I didn’t want my Alice to become anything like Ian, the adult.

“It won’t pay you none to try to change him,” Lettie said. “That’s all I’m saying. Some things run deep.”

“I can’t exactly send Mr. Ian down the road the way you sent your first husband, can I?”

“I’m just the cook.”

I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Lettie. You’re more than the cook. You’re a friend, and I appreciate it.”

I thought she was finished giving advice, but I was wrong. “Sometimes, you can’t send them away, you go away yourself.”

I lowered my voice, although Ian was still outside, and told her the decision I’d reached. “I’m going home to my mother. She’s growing sicker. I’m taking Alice. Tomorrow, before Mr. Ian comes to get her for another riding lesson.”

“You want Seth to take you to the train station?”

I had planned to walk to Sweetwater and throw myself on the mercy of Etta Carrolton, but Seth’s assistance would make the escape much easier. “I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

“Then don’t tell him why you’re going. I won’t tell him, neither. He won’t know Mr. Ian don’t approve.”

I squeezed her hand. I had an ally, the very eyes and ears who had watched Ian develop into the man he was.

I was as charming as I could manage that evening so that Ian wouldn’t suspect anything. I avoided him, something he surely expected under the circumstances, but I was a good hostess and the dinner party went well. Alice slept through it and only awoke as I was going to bed myself. I went to her and soothed her back to sleep. When I reached my room, Ian was waiting for me.

He was pacing and didn’t stop when I entered. “You may think what I did was harsh, but it was the only way to break the cycle. She won’t be nearly so afraid tomorrow.”

I knew that if I acquiesced, his suspicions would be aroused. “Is that right? And if she is?”

“Then, by God, I’ll do the same thing all over again until she isn’t. And you won’t stop me.”

“Oh, you’ve made that abundantly clear. Nobody tells the great Ian Sebastian what to do, particularly no one weaker. We’re at your mercy. Just the way you want us.”

“There’s no need for hysterics. There’s not a scratch or a bruise on that child.”

“There are bruises on her heart.”

“My father was a hard man, and I survived. No, I thrived!”

“You have bruises on your heart, as well. And they keep you from feeling the things a father needs to feel for his child.”

He moved as if to strike me, but I stood without flinching. I knew if he did, I would have proof when I returned to New York that my husband was a brutal man and my daughter and I were in danger.

Perhaps the day had taken an emotional toll on him, as well. Perhaps he had some unidentified guilt about what he had done. Instead of striking me, he stomped past and slammed the door.

There had been laughter in our marriage, tender kisses and beautiful gifts. This was the man who had given me pleasure in bed and a daughter I adored. Suddenly none of that mattered. I hoped this was the very last time I would ever see Ian Sebastian.

The next morning Alice and I arose to threatening skies, and I packed a few things for each of us. Then I explained what we were doing. “You and I are going away,” I told her. “Far away from Fox River Farm.”

Her green eyes widened. “And Patches?”

“Especially Patches.”

She showed the first enthusiasm I’d seen in twenty-four hours.

“We’re going to see your grandmother, and you can play with your new cousin Joseph.” My brother George had just welcomed his first son into the world, and I knew she would enjoy him.

“Will Daddy find us?”

I knew better than to turn a child against her father, but my own outrage was too great. “Daddy can’t come to New York.”

She seemed satisfied at that.

I knew Ian had an appointment in town, and he left without saying goodbye. I watched him disappear over the hill on Equator despite the oncoming storm. Then I told Lettie we were ready. In minutes we were in the Packard, with Seth at the wheel, heading for the train station. The thunderstorm broke when we were halfway there, as if to end my life in Virginia with one terrible flourish.

The trip to New York was long and arduous, but as each new mile separated me from Ian, my aching heart began to ease. Whatever happened next, I was free of Ian’s abuse and, more importantly, so was Alice. We might be poor. We might never find a place in New York society. But we would be safe, and by leaving Ian I was teaching Alice the most valuable lesson she could learn. Her life was hers, not the property of a man. She had the power to make something of it, if only she dared.

I had telegraphed ahead to George to let him know when we would arrive and why. He was waiting for me at the station, dressed in solemn black. I took one look at him and knew my mother had passed away.

I handed Alice to him for an uncle’s hug. “Mama’s gone?”

“Last night about ten. I’d hoped she could wait for you.”

“Was it peaceful?”

“She seemed glad to go.”

“Did you tell her why I was coming?”

“No.”

I was relieved. Mama had died without knowing about my disgrace.

“There’s more,” George said heavily.

We were standing on the platform. I knew that George, even as practical a man as he was, would not have kept me there unless he had good reason.

Instinctively I reached for Alice and clutched her to my breast.

“Ian has been in an accident,” he said.

I waited, lips clamped, for the weight of the world to fall on me or lift forever.

“Apparently, after you left, he came back to the house for something he’d forgotten. He discovered you were on your way to the train station, and he tried to head you off by riding through the woods. His horse threw him. When the horse came back to the stable without Ian, his men went in search. They found him unconscious.”

“And now?”

“He was still unconscious, Louisa, when last I spoke to the doctor.”

This was incomprehensible. Ian was the finest horseman in Virginia, and Equator, older now and steadier, was not a horse that spooked easily. Ian must have been riding like a madman to catch up to us. He must have thrown all caution to the proverbial wind.

My duty was clear, and I didn’t question it. “I just need to know,” I said. “If I had stayed, George, would you have given me a home?”

“You’re a married woman. Go back to Virginia and try again.”

“And if I try and he continues to beat me? Continues to abuse your niece?”

“Then try harder.”

“Will you really be able to turn us away, if it comes to that?”

“I hope never to find out.”

So did I. I hoped that when I returned to Fox River Farm, Ian Sebastian would be dead or changed forever.

I did not bargain for what sort of changes there would be.

C
hristian wasn’t cut out to be a detective. An entire afternoon at the courthouse had gotten him nowhere. He hadn’t found any relevant reports, permits sought, documents relating to a land deal in the general area of South Land. He had discovered new restrictions on land use that made subdivisions next to impossible now. The county was fighting growth tooth and nail, and right now the county was ahead.

He made an early night of it and rose at dawn to work in the kennel, then exercise Night Ranger and walk a select group of hounds to ready them for tomorrow’s opening hunt. Peter and the kennel staff would walk the rest of tomorrow’s pack later in the morning. With his mind on other things, he was almost at South Land when he realized where he had been headed.

With no wish to revisit the site of Fidelity’s murder, he turned away and headed up a hill, cutting across the border of South Land and skirting Ashbourne, since he doubted Maisy would welcome the hounds on her property. He’d come this way with Peter when they had breakfasted with Sally Foxhall. At eighty-nine, Sally was still spry, with a crystal-clear memory of her past, if not of present day. She had lived alone until recently, but now her granddaughter had joined her, a woman in her thirties who loved the country.

Sally had said that Lucy, the granddaughter, would inherit Foxhall when she died. Lucy was intrigued by foxhunting, and Peter had been thrilled when she showed an interest in riding with the Mosby Hunt. If she did, the club could probably count on Foxhall’s sprawling acres for many years to come.

At the top of the hillside, Christian reined in Night Ranger and stared into the distance. Foxhall was a good twenty minutes by this route, but only a short distance as the crow flies. He hadn’t paid much attention the morning of their visit, but something Sally had said nagged at him now. She’d been extolling her granddaughter’s virtues. Apparently, compared to the rest of Sally’s family, Lucy was a saint.

“Lucy here came through for me,” she said. “She’s the only one who cares.”

At the time Christian had assumed Sally meant that Lucy was the only relative who’d been willing to uproot her life to care for the old woman. Now he wondered if she had been referring to Lucy’s love of Foxhall, instead.

Sally had been transparently pleased to have visitors. He suspected she would be even more pleased to have an impromptu visitor today.

“Bunnies instead of foxes,” he said, patting Ranger’s neck. “Or instead of Foxhall, huh, boy?”

In the third year of his sentence, Christian had shared a cell with a confidence man who’d swindled senior citizens with the enthusiasm a politician or circus performer has for his job. He had shared his secrets with Christian until Christian had threatened to tie the man’s tongue into knots.

But Christian had learned one thing. Always pretend to know what you don’t.

He reached the offices of Virginia Vistas just before closing. He knew Bard Warwick was there, because he spotted his BMW in the parking lot. For old times’ sake Christian parked his pickup against the back fender of the Beemer.

The office itself was overdecorated, a la English country house, but he recognized one painting, a particularly fine landscape, as one of Julia’s. Her style had ripened and grown more sophisticated, but she hadn’t lost her preoccupation with horses and hunting. Her talent was immense, but her scope was larger. She painted the perfection of nature, the joys of camaraderie, and values like honor and respect, which had fallen into disuse. She did not paint foxes and hounds, she painted hope and expectation and man’s quest for the elusive.

When the receptionist asked for his name, he told her that Bard was an old friend and he wanted to surprise him. She pointed out Bard’s office and turned her back.

Bard was on the telephone and didn’t notice when he entered. Christian closed the door and waited until the call was over. He watched the surprise on Bard’s face when he spun in his desk chair, ready to reprimand whomever had interrupted him.

“We’re going to have a conversation,” Christian said.

“How’d you get in here?” Bard’s gaze flicked toward the door.

“I knew the password.”

“I’m about to have it changed.” Bard lifted the receiver.

“Go ahead. I’ll be more than happy to share what I have to say with an audience. We’ll start with Callie and work down from there.”

Bard put the receiver back in place. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m the man whose daughter you stole.”

“I married your daughter’s mother. Hardly the same thing.”

Christian noticed Bard didn’t seem surprised that he knew. “You claimed her as yours. Your name’s on her birth certificate.”

“Julia had a little something to do with that.”

“I’ve already spoken to Julia.”

“Is that all you’ve done?”

“What are you asking?”

“Julia moves out of the house. You get out of prison. I can put two and two together.”

“Not very well. Whatever’s between the two of you is between
you.
Leave me out of it.”

“I’ll bet she ran right straight into your arms yesterday after she decided she was leaving me.”

Christian didn’t betray surprise. Julia had left Bard. If he stopped to think about it, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else. “You seem to be putting in a full day’s work.”

“You can count on a good business deal. You can’t count on a woman. Remember that, if she does the same thing to you.”

Christian crossed the room and sprawled on the edge of Bard’s desk like an old friend. He hooked one boot over the crosspiece under Bard’s chair and folded his arms. “You’ve counted on a lot of business deals in your time, haven’t you?”

“Get out of my office, Carver.”

“For instance, there was that deal you tried to negotiate with Sally Foxhall. Remember her? She’s almost ten years older than she was when you lavished all that attention on her. She still speaks highly of you, even though she can’t figure out why you don’t come around to visit, the way you did after her heart attack.”

Bard was as good as Christian about keeping his feelings hidden. “I know Sally Foxhall. I grew up here, remember? She was old when I was born, and a little dotty even then.”

“When did you get the idea she should sell her land to you? When she thought she was at death’s door?”

“To my knowledge Sally hasn’t sold Foxhall to anybody. Have I missed something?”

“Not a thing. You’re good, as a matter of fact. If you’d pulled off that deal, I’ll bet you’d be a rich man.” He paused. “But then, you’re already a rich man, aren’t you?”

“I told you once, get out of my office.”

“When I do, I’m going straight to the sheriff.”

“With what?”

“Well, I’ll start by telling them that on the morning Fidelity was killed, you were at Foxhall sweet-talking Sally. She had just about decided to let you handle the sale of her land. She’d lost hope she’d be able to keep up with it. None of her heirs wanted it—until Lucy came along. Of course, you would have bought the land yourself without putting it on the block, but your name wouldn’t have appeared on any documents. I’m guessing a consortium of one kind or another would have been named. And nobody could have traced the impending development to you.”

“You’re guessing.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. Here’s what it took me the longest time to figure out. I couldn’t understand why you’d tolerate a housing development in Millcreek’s backyard. But you wouldn’t have, would you? You knew that was never going to be an issue, because as soon as the word of a development got out, you knew the Sutherlands and Peter Claymore and everyone else in earshot would band together to buy the land back at ten or twenty times what you’d paid Sally for it. Maybe you’d have thrown in something on the deal yourself, just to deflect suspicion. In the end, there would have been no development and lots of profit for your consortium of one.”

“You have a rich fantasy life.”

“Or Sally does. She told me how much she liked and trusted you and knew you’d do right by Foxhall. Too bad her health improved and she decided to stay on. You were set to make millions, weren’t you?”

“You couldn’t prove any of this in a thousand years.”

“I don’t know. Sally’s in surprisingly good health still, and she loves to talk.”

“If I wanted to buy Foxhall, it was just to add to my personal holdings. Better one of us than one of them, I always say. And you can never prove otherwise. Nobody would believe a thing Davey Myers said.”

“There’s always a paper trail.” Christian smiled thinly. “I’ve been out of jail for a matter of weeks and look what I’ve discovered.”

Bard leaned back in his chair. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Is that so? With the sheriff, too?”

“Nothing I did was illegal.”

“Sally Foxhall is just so happy to talk about the things she remembers. She remembers Fidelity, you know. But who could forget her? I never have.”

“Are you leaving yet?”

“Fidelity came to see you at Foxhall that morning. Sally remembers that, too. With stunning clarity.” He was guessing at the date. He didn’t add that Sally had forgotten a few things, too. The fact that Fidelity was dead, for instance.

Surprisingly, Bard didn’t try to deny it. “I did see Fidelity that morning. No revelation there. She came to find me.”

“And she was upset, according to Sally. Very upset, but who wouldn’t be? She’d figured out what you were up to. She was busy snooping and meddling that summer. She had time on her hands, and she was nobody’s fool.”

“Even if Fidelity had known I wanted Foxhall, she wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow. Like I said, better me than some outsider. She knew I wouldn’t let developers in. We were cut from the same cloth.”

“Not by a long shot.”

“No? You might have been raised here, but you’re nothing but the son of a drunk.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was good enough to stand at stud for you, Bard. That must say something about my bloodlines.”

A flash of anger brightened Bard’s expression. “And I was too good for your leftovers, but I took them anyway.”

Christian grabbed Bard’s shirt and pulled him forward. Bard was a big man, but he seemed to know better than to resist. “You didn’t want to get your own hands dirty, so you hired Karl Zandoff to kill Fidelity because she had learned what you were doing. You probably met him through Davey Myers.”

“Never did.”

Christian tightened his grip. “Fidelity planned to warn your neighbors, and that’s what you were fighting about at Sally’s that morning. So you decided to have her killed. I’m going to prove you conspired with Zandoff, and I’m going to make sure they send you straight to my cell at Ludwell.”

Bard didn’t move. He didn’t even try to push Christian away. “You’ll never find any link to Zandoff because there isn’t one. He didn’t kill her.” He smiled a little. “But I know who did.”

Christian knew when a man was bluffing. It was another thing he’d learned in prison. And he knew when a man was telling the truth.

He released Bard’s shirt and leaned back, but he didn’t relax his guard. “Sally says the two of you stood in the road that day, arms waving like windmills. Then Fidelity drove off, and not long afterward you followed her.”

“She wasn’t upset with
me.
She was angry at someone else. The person who killed her, as a matter of fact.”

“Who?”

“Do you think I just figured it out?”

Christian didn’t blink, and he didn’t move anything except his foot. With one flick of his boot he sent Bard’s chair lurching across the room.

Bard got to his feet. “I’ve known from the beginning who killed Fidelity, and it wasn’t Karl Zandoff. You never figured it out because you’re every bit as blind as my wife.”

Christian knew he didn’t have a chance of making Bard name the murderer. Whatever this man knew would die with him unless Christian figured it out on his own. “Then you knew I didn’t kill Fidelity, but you let me go to prison. You must have wanted Julia awfully badly.”

“Julia was a pretty prize. Almost as good as snagging Foxhall. I contented myself with one instead of the other.”

Bard was taunting him, hoping Christian would try to beat the truth out of him. The sheriff would be called for certain then. Christian would go back to jail.

He practiced the last and most important skill he had learned at Ludwell. He got to his feet.

And he walked away.

Julia missed riding. She missed the smell and feel of horses, the creak of saddle leather, the brief moments of flight when she soared over a jump. She and Callie had managed several more rides when Ramon wasn’t busy, but before the accident, horses, like painting, had been a daily part of Julia’s life.

To compensate, she visited Sandman, now comfortably ensconced in Jake’s barn. He was gentle enough that she’d finally taken to slipping inside the stall to groom him. If she kept one hand on Sandman’s side, she always knew where he was. She was becoming so confident at judging spaces that she never felt crowded or threatened.