From This Moment (36 page)

Her anger subsided, replaced by fear and despair. Again she began to pray.

It was dark by the time the train arrived in Boulder Point. A few circles of gaslight illuminated the train depot, but all Stella could see of the surrounding area was the dark silhouettes of trees looming in the distance.

There weren’t many people on the platform, and she scanned them frantically, searching for her father. He wasn’t here. Was that a good thing or not? If her mother was still alive, surely he’d be at her bedside.

She waited for the porter to unload her traveling case from the baggage compartment, scanning the station for a hack she could hire to take her to the hospital. Boulder Point wasn’t exactly a bustling city, and at this time of night, the train station was almost deserted. There seemed to be only one carriage at the far end of the platform, and she prayed it was for hire. She grasped the leather handles of her bag and headed toward it.

“Miss West!” a familiar voice called behind her.

She was surprised to see Ernest Palmer from the city’s archives heading toward her. He had a flushed, eager look on his face. The last thing she needed right now was to get entangled in a conversation with him.

“Hello, Ernest,” she said. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m here on urgent family business and need to move along quickly.”

“I have a carriage for hire. I believe it is the only one at the station. I’d be happy to share it with you.” He gestured to the single carriage at the far end of the platform. The horse was already harnessed, and a cabbie waited on the driver’s bench.

“Let’s go,” she said, heading off at a brisk pace, her heels thudding on the wooden planking of the station platform.

Thank heavens there was a carriage available. It was a miracle that Ernest was here and willing to—

She froze. “What are you doing in Boulder Point?”

The pleasant expression on his face never wavered. “I’ve come to meet Horatio Kettering, a fellow typography enthusiast. He has a fine collection of eighteenth-century Garamond type. I can never visit without . . .”

He continued rambling about the unique qualities of Garamond type as they walked toward the carriage. It was darker over here, with no other passengers or station employees. She glanced nervously at Ernest, who continued to speak, but she could no longer focus on his words. All she noticed was his
tight, smiling expression. Ernest never smiled. Usually when he discussed typeface he was solemn and intense. Collecting was serious business to him.

And it was altogether too much of a coincidence for him to be at this train station at the same time she’d arrived. A part of her was tempted to hop back on the train and continue heading toward the next stop at Ipswich. She could return tomorrow, when it was daylight and more people were about.

But was she merely being paranoid again? Her mother was in a hospital bed at this very moment, clinging to life by a thread.

Or was she?

On the far side of the platform, the stationmaster strode down the length of the train, shutting the doors. The noise from the engine rose as steam pressure escalated. It was too late to get back onboard.

“I’ll hire my own carriage,” she said as she headed back toward the brightly lit ticket counter.

Ernest sprang in front of her, and she almost bumped into him. “But there are no other carriages to hire,” he said. “I told you I have the last carriage.”

Yet another coincidence? With trembling steps, she moved backward, almost stumbling over a loose plank. Ernest reached out, his hand clamping around her arm, tugging her forward.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked. A foul rag clamped over her nose. She tried not to breathe, but the chemical stench was already in her nose, her mouth. Everything went black.

18

R
omulus was thrilled to see Evelyn waltzing into the managerial wing of
Scientific World
just before lunch. Even better, she’d brought a skilled accountant from their bank who was prepared to take over the accounting books until she could return to work. She would be staying at home with Clyde for at least another week, so the accountant was a blessing. As soon as they had him set up at a desk, Romulus rushed Evelyn inside his office for a complete update on Clyde.

“There’s been no change in his hearing, but everything is going beautifully,” she said, looking happier than he’d seen her in years. She filled him in on their arrival home and their plans for a book. Depending on Clyde’s recovery, she warned Romulus that she might be frequently absent in the coming months.

“Are you really going to write a book together?” It seemed impossible that these two, who hadn’t cooperated with each other in years, were suddenly undertaking such an ambitious project together.

“Who knows?” Evelyn said with a shrug. “If his hearing returns, he’ll go back to work in the field. If not, he will find
some other use for his talents, but I couldn’t bear seeing him stuck in that chair, staring off into space. In the meantime, we have a project. A mission. And it is making us very, very happy.”

Considering the gorgeous blush staining her cheeks, he suspected there was something else making her happy, and he was glad for them.

But he was also desperately eager to return to the injunction against
Scientific World
. During the most hectic professional crisis of his life, his time had been completely fractured, first by Stella, then Clyde’s accident, and then Evelyn’s absence and the accounting mess. At last he could shift his attention back where it belonged. His new lawyer had just delivered a lengthy brief he needed to read and answer. The hearing for the injunction was coming up soon, and he could afford no more delays.

He crossed the floor of his office and held the door open for her, but Evelyn lingered at the desk, watching him apprehensively. He forced a pleasant expression on his face. “Anything else?” he asked.
Please say no
.

“It’s about Stella,” she said.

“What about Stella?” He deserved a medal for how cordial he pretended to be. He wasn’t going to let Stella interfere with saving the magazine, not again.

“Close the door and have a seat,” Evelyn said.

It was hopeless. It seemed he was biologically incapable of resisting news of Stella. Frustration had built to a low simmer by the time he sat down behind his desk, but it evaporated the moment Evelyn told him about the photograph Stella had found misfiled in the city archives. A photograph showing her sister’s bruised throat and staring, vacant eyes. It was the only remaining photograph of Gwendolyn’s body after it had been pulled from the river. She’d left it at her home for safekeeping, but Romulus did not need to see it. He believed her.

“We can’t trust Dr. Lentz,” Evelyn said. “He flat-out lied when he said there was no sign of foul play.”

His gaze drifted out the window, trying to take it all in.
Rupert Lentz?
What possible motive could Rupert have for lying about Gwendolyn? For the first time in his life, Romulus was completely speechless.

“Stella has hired an excellent private investigator,” Evelyn said. “I’m not sure how this is going to play out, but I think she’s in good hands now. She had to leave town on family matters, as I gather her mother has taken a turn for the worse. When you see Stella again, you might be a little kinder than usual. She may look like solid steel on the outside, but like any metal, she will eventually crack when under enough pressure.”

Evelyn quietly closed the door as she left.

He sat in dumbfounded silence, barely able to accept all the news he’d just heard. Stella had been right all along.

Romulus was fairly certain that, as long as he lived, the biggest regret of his life would be Stella West. The timing of their relationship had been catastrophically bad. Why did she have to drop into his life during his worst professional crisis? Why did she have to be so angry and distracted by her sister’s death? Nothing had gone right for them.

Most of all, he regretted he hadn’t had the common sense to recognize that Stella was perfect for him. He’d been an idiot time and again.

When had he started thinking of his future with her beside him? Probably the night they were stuffing envelopes. She’d embraced the mundane chore with the same bright vitality she did everything. A woman like that was to be cherished, not casually tossed aside because she had the gumption to arrive in his life before the expiration of his self-imposed bachelorhood.

He bowed his head as the magnitude of the realization sank
in. Stella was the one. He’d felt a connection with her even before they’d met. He could travel the seven continents and never find someone whose spirit flew alongside his in such harmony. And yet the last time he’d seen her he could not have been ruder.

He covered his face with his hands, trying to beat back the smile that threatened. She was going to make him grovel in epic fashion before she’d take him back, but he was good at fighting for what he wanted. At the very least, he would take more care in unraveling the mystery surrounding her sister’s death. Stella didn’t need him to grovel so much as she needed his help—

A crash startled him as his office door burst open, banging against the back wall.

“We’ve got trouble,” Michael Townsend said. The normally straightlaced attorney looked frazzled, his tie askew and a frantic look in his eye. Overwhelmed with the backlog of work, Romulus had cancelled their regular boxing match at the club this morning, which should have sent a signal he didn’t need any more interruptions in his day. And frankly, Michael Townsend wasn’t on his list of favorite people after his refusal to lift a finger on behalf of
Scientific World
and this ridiculous injunction.

“Trouble like the imminent collapse of a business you’ve spent more than a decade building and nurturing? That kind of trouble?” He didn’t even try to mask the sarcasm in his voice.

“Trouble like Stella West disappearing from town under suspicious circumstances.”

The note of panic in Michael’s voice was worrisome. “What are you talking about?”

Without a word, Michael tossed a telegram on his desk. Romulus read it quickly.

Miss West,

With regrets, your mother has attempted suicide. Condition critical. Come immediately to the Boulder Point Hospital.

The breath left him in a rush. Evelyn had warned him that Stella’s mother had suffered a setback, but this was a blow Stella didn’t deserve. She idolized her parents.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“I don’t know. All I know for sure is that telegram is a fake. I found half a dozen practice copies of that same telegram in the trashcan at the City Hall archives. The archivist is a master forger. He collects typeface for just this sort of purpose. He can imitate the stationery of the police department, a court of law, and certainly the Western Union Telegraph Company. She is being lured to Boulder Point, and I see only trouble for her there.”

Romulus stood, trying to grasp the fast-moving implications. “But why? What would the archivist have against Stella? I thought they were friends.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Michael said. “I know that a woman matching Stella’s description boarded a train last evening for Boulder Point. We need to get there quickly, and I could use some help. I can explain on the journey.”

Alarm bells started ringing. Stella had tried to tell him there was something dubious about Michael Townsend, but he had refused to hear it. She was a newcomer to Boston and prone to putting the worst possible spin on things, but perhaps she had been correct. She’d certainly been right about Dr. Lentz.

Romulus reached for his jacket, fastening the buttons with great care as his mind raced. He couldn’t afford to be stupid about this. Stella had been spooked by a frightening telegram
and possibly lured into danger. Could Michael have played a part in it and was even now ensnaring Romulus into the same trap?

He would keep an alert mind as they headed to the train station, and if Michael tried anything shady, he’d pounce. They had been sparring together for six years, and Romulus knew who was stronger, quicker, and more nimble. Michael wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

“I’ll summon a carriage,” he said. “I use a livery service one block down.”

Michael waved an impatient hand. “I’ve already got a carriage waiting in the alley behind us. It will be faster than navigating around the subway construction.”

Romulus ignored him as he strode into the editorial room and picked up the telephone receiver, the polished wood piece cool in his hands. “Please connect me to the Tremont Street Livery,” he instructed the operator.

Michael’s mouth tightened in annoyance, but Romulus didn’t trust anyone right now. It might take an extra twenty minutes to navigate around the mess on Tremont, but he intended to be firmly in control all the way to Boulder Point.