Stealing Mercy (17 page)

The second argument was over Chloe joining The Puget Players.

Trent braced his shoulders, although he hadn’t any doubts about his grandmother’s omniscience, occasionally he had hopes. Hopes that were never realized. She ran the ranch, harvested hay, apples, and bushels of onions, and still had the time and ability to monitor the incomings and outgoings or her posterity.

Rita being the notable exception.

Hester slapped Han’s hide, an at ease command, and the horse lowered his head, nickered, and relaxed. “I hope she isn’t distracting you from your purpose,” Hester said, her brow furrowed beneath her straw hat. She gathered up the gear and returned it to the tackle box.

Trent followed, relieved he didn’t have to discuss his encounter with Mercy Faye and yet unhappy to deliver his unwelcome news. He pulled the jewels from his pocket and he could tell from the flash of pain in his grandmother’s eyes that she recognized them.

“Where?” she asked, her voice hoarse and thick with unaccustomed emotion. She took a seat on a bale of hay and Trent sat down beside her.

“In Steele’s safe.”

She leveled her blue eyes at him. “Was that wise?” She took the jewels and fingered them with a faraway look in her eyes. “How?”

He flinched under her steady gaze. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t utter the excuses.

Hester smiled and looked away. “A bit of bravado for the shop girl?”

“No.” Trent stood. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Hester cocked her head at him, and he had the uncomfortable feeling he looked like Old Shep when caught stealing chickens.

She picked up the bag, poured out the jewels and held them so that they sparkled in the sunlight creeping in through the wide double barn doors. A mare in the next stall neighed in appreciation. “Pretty, aren’t they?” Hester murmured. She returned the jewels to the bag. Her voice dropped in volume. “Do you think she’s dead?”

“No, I don’t.” Trent cleared his throat. “Have you heard of Lucky Island?”

His grandmother gave him a hard stare, as if to say, of course. He squirmed; he didn’t want to talk to his grandmother about prostitutes or brothels.

“Mercy knows someone who has been attempting to rescue the girls on the island.” He made his suspicion sound like fact.

“Mercy, the shop girl.”

Trent dipped his head.

“I thought she had nothing to do with this.”

Trent studied his boots. “I’m hoping she’ll take me to meet these people.”

“Do the girls wish to be rescued?”

“Mercy--” he cleared his throat. “It’s believed that perhaps some of the girls had been kidnapped and conscripted.”

Hester grunted. “Dangerous and frightening. Our Rita?”

“Perhaps.” Trent had to look away from his grandmother’s pain. “I had suspicions about Steele before Mercy’s,” he paused and felt his face flush, “…involvement,” he finished.

“So
Mercy’s
involved. I thought you said she had nothing to do with this.”

Trent didn’t answer.

Hester continued. “Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It seems an odd and perilous mission for a young girl.”

Trent looked through the door. He wanted to tell his grandmother that Mercy wasn’t that young. He had a sudden vision of how he’d first seen her on the boat, her hair swirling in the wind.

“So,” Hester interrupted his reminiscing. “You don’t know why Mercy is interested in the Lucky Island girls.”

“No.”

“Well, then you must bring her here so that I can ask.” Hester stood, brushed her hands on her overalls and said as casually as if she were asking him to pass the butter, “Bring Rita home and the ranch is yours.”

CHAPTER 16

Trussing holds a bird together during a cooking so that it holds an attractive shape.

Truss with strong string or poultry skewers.

From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

Trent spotted her across the busy street. Beyond the horses and wagons, he watched her pause outside a book shop. She turned her head as she contemplated the books, the curls poked from her bonnet trailed down her neck. He remembered kissing where the curls lay, and he resisted the temptation to vault across the muddy street. He knew rumors had to be raging after last night’s garden tryst and her aunt specialized in chitchat. Tilly had mastered and perfected gossip and he wondered how she would juggle the talk of her darling niece. Would she champion her? Defend her? Or would she control her tongue and, for once, keep silent?

Trent watched Mercy round the corner. He could either go after her, or, he stopped. He couldn’t think of a good reason not to follow. Perhaps she could lead him to her contact.

He tied Syonsby to a hitching post and began up the sidewalk. Mercy stopped on the corner of Denny and Broadway and looked around before hurrying through the black wrought iron gates of Denny Park. She looked furtive, nervous and he watched as she slipped behind a mausoleum. He hurried after her, unwilling to let her out of his sight. He wondered if she knew that until just a few years ago, Denny Park had been a cemetery. The city had relocated the majority of the gravesites, but a number still remained. Mercy hid behind the Huntington family obelisk. He could see the hem of her skirt poking out from behind a rhododendron shrub.

Smiling, he stooped to pick up a small smooth stone and pitched it into a shrub just beyond Mercy. To his surprise, a large pheasant emerged from the bush with a cry and a flurry of feathers.

He watched Mercy’s face light with astonishment and pleasure as she watched the bird wing into the air. The tail streaked behind.

“Beautiful,” he said in her ear.

She didn’t turn, but continued watching the bird. “Yes, it is.” When the bird had turned into a dark speck in the sky, she looked at him. “Did you know it was there?”

Trent shook his head. “A happy surprise.”

“And our meeting here?”

He spread out his hands and laughed. “I could ask you the same question. Are you friendly with the Huntingtons?”

“The who?”

“I thought not.” He cleared his throat and read the names etched onto the obelisk. “John, Grace, Meredith, and Robert.”

Mercy patted her hair back into her bonnet. “I’m afraid I haven’t made their acquaintance.”

“A pity, seeing as how they’re gone now.” He offered her his arm. “Maybe we could enjoy the park from this side of the veil --”

Mercy looked flushed and nervous, her eyes flitted around the grounds.

“Are you looking for someone?”

She tipped her head forward and stepped from her hiding place. “Are you a spiritual man, Mr. Michaels? Do you believe in a life after this one?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Perhaps, but I wonder if we should be seen together since our last meeting. We may have complicated our lives needlessly.”

He offered her his arm. “Complications can be serendipitous.”

“Is that a word?” She took his proffered arm and slid a glance at his face as she fell into step beside him.

“Absolutely, it was first coined in 1754. It's defined as "the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for." Horace Walpole, parliament member and writer, used it in a letter that he wrote to an English friend who was spending time in Italy. Walpole came up with the word after a fairy tale he once read, called
The Three Princes of Serendip.
As their Highnesses travelled, they were always making discoveries, by accidents and good fortune, things for which they weren’t searching.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” She blinked at him and looked as if she expected him to grow wings and fly away with the pheasant.

“The three princes hail from Serendip, the Persian word for the island nation off the southern tip of India.”

“That’s serendipity, not serendipitous.”

He shrugged and smiled. “If serendipitous is not a word than it should be.”

“If it is, I don’t think it applies.”

“It certainly does. Kissing you made me happy.”

“And that surprised you.”

“Your request surprised me.”

“Perhaps we should set sail for the isle of Serendip.” She bit her lower lip. “I thought I heard whispers this morning in church.”

They walked in silence through the grounds. The afternoon sun set high above them, too far to afford much warmth. After a moment Trent said, “My grandmother knew.”

Mercy stopped. She didn’t need to ask of what. “Oh dear. Have I gotten you in trouble?”

“No, but she’s drawn up plans for our cottage.”

Mercy looked heavenward at the bright and yet lukewarm sun. “In Serendip?”

He shook his head. “Somewhere much closer. But, she’d like to meet you first, before the hearthstone is laid.”

“Oh dear,” she said again, a little quieter.

“And your aunt?”

Mercy blushed an interesting shade of pink. He wondered if she had turned that color after their kiss. In the moonlight it’d been difficult to tell, although he remembered the heat from her cheeks. In the bright afternoon, it would be different.

Mercy stuttered. “I’m afraid she misunderstands.”

“No cottage plans--”

“I’m dreadfully sorry-”

Trent laughed. “Don’t be. I’m not.” He lowered his gaze to meet hers. “Are you?” He could kiss her again, watch her cheeks to see the color rise, slip his arms around her and carry her into the folly beyond the fountain.

“Trent, is that you?” A high voice called out over rows of hedges and rose bushes. Trent closed his eyes, the thoughts of the folly and kissing rapidly fading.

“Mrs. Ludlum,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Mercy’s face to watch Mrs. Ludlum, and her daughter Dorothy trotting up the path.

“How are you, my dear?” Mrs. Ludlum extended her gloved hand. Until that moment, Trent hadn’t noticed she had a Pekinese pressed against her chest. The creature’s golden fur matched Mrs. Ludlum’s bodice and Trent wondered if it was intentional as it was very difficult to tell where the dog began and the bosom ended, giving him the uncomfortable impression that she had cleavage with teeth. She wore her dark brown hair swept into a knot at the top of her head, every hair perfectly behaved despite the breeze.

Her daughter, in contrast, had a small, harmless looking chest and flyaway curls. The fine hair refused to stay tucked into its bonnet and flew around the girl’s face unmindful of the pin’s efforts to secure it.

“Hello Dorothy,” Trent said.

Dorothy stammered and blushed and held out her hand. Trent took it in his and dutifully raised it to his lips.

Mrs. Ludlum didn’t acknowledge Mercy, but Dorothy kept sliding her glance in her direction.

“How is your grandmother?” Mrs. Ludlum asked, smacking Trent’s arm with a fan. “I haven’t seen her in ages, and I do miss our little chats.”

Trent had a hard time picturing Mrs. Ludlum and his grandmother chatting. “She’s well, thank-you. Mrs. Ludlum, Dorothy, please let me introduce Miss Mercy Faye.” He reached for a hand that wasn’t there. He stared at the spot where Mercy had been standing then he looked over the garden and through the tombstones.

No Mercy.

CHAPTER 17

Vinegar can kill most mold, bacteria, and germs.

From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

Mercy arrived at the house on Sea Point breathless. Meeting with Trent had been awkward: a meeting with Steele would have been disastrous. She smiled, finding a grim humor in the fact that she’d spent the afternoon dodging the only two men she’d ever kissed. Looking up at the plain blue clapperboard house, she thought of the resident girls and all the men they’d kissed. Her heart twisted for them. She wondered if any could still harbor dreams of romance.

Not a spider or dust mite dared trespass on Georgina’s house. The windows sparkled; the brass knocker gleamed. The unpretentious house sat on the corner of a modest street surrounded by the homes of dock workers, shopkeepers, and journeymen. Mercy wondered if the neighbors knew, or what they would think, of the inhabitants of number 9 Sea Point. She hoped they wouldn’t judge harshly.

A stooped gentleman answered the door and led Mercy into the small sitting room. The pianoforte gleamed, the books marched in orderly fashion across the shelves, and a large tabby, as if he knew the rules and regulations, sat on the back of the sofa cleaning himself.

Mercy took a chair opposite the fire. Because of her encounter with Trent and her flight through the park, she felt warm and overheated in the tiny room. She bounced to her feet when Georgina entered the room. “Thank you for your message,” she said.

Georgina greeted Mercy with a hug. They pressed cheeks briefly and then Georgina nodded and settled down the sofa beside the tabby. “I must impress upon you again the need for total confidence.”

“I want to help,” Mercy nodded, sitting back down in the wingback chair. “I’d be devastated if I thought I somehow jeopardized your efforts.”