* * * *
The Coroner's inquest was held at The Fisherman's Rest— a fitting venue, since Sally had worked there. A large crowd attended, morbid fascination, and the notoriety of the Deverell family, drawing locals out from every nook and cranny. Kate heard that there were people there from as far afield as Plymouth.
Bert Soames, his head and hands dramatically swathed in bandages, gleefully gave his account of the night Storm Deverell supposedly beat him in an unprovoked attack. "It seems to me that the fellow has a mean temper and all it takes is a little spark. There I was, talking to that young lady," he pointed a bandaged fist across at Kate who sat on one of the benches nearby, "on a matter of business, and he came dashing in to beat me about the head, first with his fists and, when that weren't enough, with a table leg." He held out his arms to demonstrate the length and breadth of this gruesome table leg.
A gasp rose up from the audience. Kate looked down at her hands rather than see Bert's smug red face beaming. He was enjoying himself, of course, relishing his moment in the light. He knew she would not want anyone to know why he'd really been there, for then her past would come out. Not to mention the sizeable theft for which she was responsible.
"My good friend, Joseph Dowty," he gestured to the man who sat beside him, arms folded, a satisfied smirk lifting his mottled cheeks, "told me about the missing local lass and how she were once that fellow's sweetheart. It seems to me an obvious conclusion that he," a stubby finger thrust now across the room at Storm, "done it to her, just like what he done to me."
Further gasps from the crowd were silenced by the Coroner, yelling and banging a heavy book upon the table before him. The action disturbed a thick cloud of dust that shimmered in the sunlight through the small crooked windows of the tavern.
"Another friend o' mine," Bert continued, hooking his thumbs around his coat collar, "a very fine gent, were coming here today to speak against Deverell too— he were also assaulted by that savage fellow on the same evening. But he had to leave and dash back to London very suddenly. I reckon he were intimidated or blackmailed by that family o' reprobates."
"Or paid off," Joe Dowty snorted. "Deverells like to throw their money about and we all know that, but they can't pay their way out of this one."
"Beaten I were," Bert added gravely, "to an inch o' me life. I'm surprise I can still stand, but I shall never be the same again. I'm a broken man."
"Yes, Mr....Soames," the Coroner croaked wearily. "Thank you for your opinion. It is duly noted. You may sit."
"But I ain't done, sir. There's more."
"I'm sure there is," came the dreary reply. "But we have others who wish to speak."
It had been something of a free for all for most of the morning, with many people shouting out theories— some quite outlandish— about the demise of poor Sally. Now there was a muted stir as Chief Constable Gallworthy elbowed his way into view. He was late arriving, but had put on his top hat for the additional air of authority and he looked very official.
Rolling his bloodshot eyes, the coroner reluctantly signaled for the constable to come forward. Since the expansion of the police force and its new powers into even these far outposts of the country, the old system of inquiry into suspicious deaths faced a new world. Thus the grumpy old man was obliged to listen to the constable, whether he wanted to or not.
"I must apologize for the delay, sir, but evidence has come to light most recently of an accident near the site where the body was recovered. I went up there myself this morning for another look, upon learning some new information about Miss White's last actions."
Faces turned like flowers seeking the sun, people twisting around in their seats.
"I have also conferred with the driver of the mail coach to Exeter and discovered that Miss White traveled that way on the first day of her disappearance. She did, however, return west from Exeter in the company of Mr. Ransom Deverell— the gentleman who came forward yesterday."
"See! A Deverell," someone in the crowd shouted. "It had to be one of 'em."
"O' course it was." Joe Dowty leered. "Who else but a Deverell would abuse a woman, beat her and leave her for dead."
Chief Constable Gallworthy did not look up from his notebook, but spoke clearly to be heard above the mutterings. "Mr. Ransom Deverell confessed to driving Miss White across the moor with an intent to visit his brother. At some point Miss White insisted upon taking the reins and an accident occurred shortly after in the dark. "
"A likely story!" Joe Dowty stood, shouting. "Accident, indeed! I shouldn't be surprised if they were both in on it. Both brothers. I tried to warn that girl many a time to stay away from them Deverells. They're no good! None of 'em."
"Sit down, Mr. Dowty."
Gallworthy continued, "It would appear Miss White was thrown from the vehicle and wounded. When Mr. Ransom Deverell regained consciousness he was unable to find her and in a state of some confusion about what had occurred."
"He knew what he'd done and tried to cover it up," shouted Joe Dowty. "He'd have come forward afore now if he had a decent bone in his body. He left her up there on the moor. They all covered it up. Mark my words, Sally was a victim of that family. The father used her and the sons used her too whenever they fancied. Until they got tired of her and then they tossed her aside without a care. 'Tis shameful! Shameful, I say! That poor girl's life meant nothing to them."
Storm could not be still or silent any longer. Kate had felt his agitation while Dowty continued to interrupt the proceedings. Now he got to his feet and a hush descended. As his tall shadow fell over her, she forced herself to keep breathing steadily, taking her example from Olivia whose countenance remained unreadable no matter what anybody said.
"Sally White came to me for help. I gave her money to set her on her way. Mr. Dowty is a man to whom Sally was in debt. He hounded her until she was desperate for a way out, and I had finally persuaded her to get away. What happened to distract her from her journey and come back this way, I cannot say, but her reason for leaving was clear." He looked directly at Dowty. "The blame for what ultimately happened to Sally could be laid at the door of many people.
Including
you."
Again the room erupted in noise, some agreeing with Storm, some not. Some barely even cognizant of the case, but looking for a hanging.
Ransom stood beside his brother. "I should have come forward after the accident on the moor, yes. I have no excuse for that, but for my own stupidity. However, it
was
an accident. I never meant for Sally White to be hurt. I did nothing to her, but give her a ride in my curricle. I wish things had turned out differently. I wish that with all my heart." The young man did not sit again, but faced the coroner. "I will take the blame for what happened to Sally on my own shoulders and face the consequences. But anyone who suggests my brother Storm could, in any way, be responsible for her death is clearly hoping to divert suspicion from themselves."
At last the room was quiet— or as quiet as it could be.
The coroner reached for a glass of some cloudy liquid, which he'd sipped from throughout the day. After taking another gulp that left his lips white, he winced, screwing up his withered face. "Well, Gallworthy? What other miraculous information do you have to share with us?"
The eager young constable's scrubbed, pink face shone with pride as he looked up from his notebook. "Only this, sir, that when Miss White took the mail coach to Exeter she was accompanied by another passenger, who was observed attempting to forcibly retrieve from her purse several bank notes. Miss White protested loudly and, with intervention from several other passengers, this man was prevented from taking what he wanted. Despite this he was heard to address Miss White in a threatening manner, and was also observed following her off the coach. Several people related the tale to a groom at the coaching inn and also to the landlord's wife. I have recorded their statements in my little book, sir."
The crowd was listening avidly now.
"I'm impressed," Olivia leaned over to whisper in Kate's ear. "It seems this young man isn't so useless as we first thought."
"And the same angry gentlemen rode the returning mail coach back this way that evening, making inquiries about Miss White as he did so. Upon further investigation I learned that he hired a horse in Truro. A horse he returned the next day in a tired state."
"Constable, kindly save us the lengthy tale and point this fellow out will you?" the coroner exhaled wearily.
Gallworthy pointed a straight arm. "There he is, sir. Joseph Dowty."
Again faces swiveled.
"Me?" The accused looked as if he'd been caught napping, when, of course, he'd been listening closely and inching a little more toward the door at every syllable uttered by the constable. "I was nowhere near the moor that night. I've got witnesses here that will tell you I was in the tavern here until first light."
"Witnesses known to owe you money, Mr. Dowty? Like your business associate Mr. Albert Soames here?" Gallworthy was getting into a stride now, his confidence building with every gasp he was able to solicit from the crowd.
"So I hired a horse," Joe blustered. "Don't mean anything. You can't prove I rode out on that moor. The horse can't bloody talk. Or have you got that down in your little book too?"
Things began to get out of hand again now, as various folk stood to shout their opinion. At one point a leg of roasted pheasant was thrown across the room and hit the coroner in his forehead.
But the fiery debate came to a sharp halt, when Kate Kelly got to her feet, cleared her throat and stepped forward in her fine blue riding coat.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, but while it has been established— by his own admission, freely given—that Mr. Ransom Deverell was on the moor that night, I believe we can prove that someone else was there too. Someone who has cause to hide the fact. A man who possibly came upon the scene while Mr. Deverell was unconscious and while Miss White lay wounded and defenseless."
She spoke clearly, summoning all her most impressive vocabulary for the occasion, performing for her audience and holding them enthralled. Kate Kelly may not be able to bake a pie, but she could put on a show. A good show.
"It is my theory, gentlemen, that someone took Miss White's money from her little net purse that night, as she lay hurt after the accident. The constable here will tell you he found her purse empty." Turning on her heel, she took a swaying walk back the other way and let her gaze wander across the faces of the jurors who were appointed by the coroner. Every one of them watched her attentively, some even smiling. She touched the collar of her lovely riding habit and then smoothed her fingers down over her velvet buttons. "I have an exhibit for the jury that I believe might be of interest in this case and prove who else was on the moor that night," she continued. "I retrieved it from the riverbank close to where Miss White's body was recovered." Now she strode grandly up to the jurors' table. "If I might suggest you check the soles of all the suspect's boots, you should find a vacancy that this will fill."
She placed before them the little rusty hobnail from Joe Dowty's boot.
Every person present leaned forward to see, the hurried surge knocking one poor fellow off his seat in the melee. A twitter of excitement rolled around the room.
"I could 'ave dropped that anywhere!" Joe Dowty bellowed.
Kate turned and looked at him. "I hadn't suggested it was yours. Yet."
The twitter gained volume, until Chief Constable Gallworthy held up his hand again and called for quiet. "And I found one of those too. Right beside the body of Miss White, with a little blood on it. I think I'd better have a look at your boots, Mr. Dowty."
She suspected the villain might have made a run for it, if the tavern was not so crowded. He didn't have a chance. Even Bert Soames had slipped aside in some attempt to distance himself.
Suddenly Kate realized Storm was looking at her with those warm, admiring blue eyes. And it was as if there was no one else in the room but the two of them.
Chapter Eighteen
"You do like the drama, Kate," Storm laughed, pulling her into his arms the moment they were truly alone again. "I might have known you had something up your sleeve."
"Surely you didn't imagine I would let you or your brother get blamed for this terrible thing." She tipped her face up to his. "Finally
I
saved
you.
"
"I knew you would one day. I knew it when we met. That's why I had to keep you."After everything that had threatened to come between them, it seemed almost too good to be true that they were here at last.
He took the butterfly choker from his coat pocket. "Turn around, wench. I want to put this back where it belongs."
"I thought you said I couldn't have it until I agreed to marry you."
Storm fidgeted with the velvet strap. "I'm almost afraid to ask again."
"Very well, then. I'll ask you."
He frowned. This didn't seem right at all. A woman asking a man?
"Marry me, Storm Deverell."
"Kate, I'm not just any man, you know."
"I know."
"I can be difficult to live with. I'm more accustomed to housemates with four legs."
"I know."
"And my manners leave a lot to be desired. I tend to say things as soon as they—"
"Marry me, Storm Deverell."
He looked down into her wide green eyes and felt himself pulled in. There was no resisting the woman. From the moment he first saw her he hadn't had a chance in hell. "Yes," he muttered. "As soon as possible. If not sooner."
She smiled broadly. "Good. Now give me my butterfly." Spinning around and holding up her hair with both hands, she presented her slender neck for his once disdained gift.
Ought to make the impatient madam wait, he mused. But he couldn't. God help him. He was powerless.
Carefully the butterfly choker was fastened around her neck. This time his fingers were steady. Although the same could not be said for his pulse.
When she turned to face him again, he lowered his lips to hers, but waited before he kissed her. For a moment he merely wanted to relish the softness of those lips and the anticipation of claiming them for himself alone.
"I love you, Storm Deverell," she murmured. "I swore to myself I'd never say that to a man ever again."
Slowly her lips melted to his and he felt that warm satisfaction deep inside his heart. "You'll never regret saying that to me, Kate, because I will earn your love anew, every day."
She laughed. "You'll be exhausted. I'm very demanding."
He couldn't wait to find out just
how
demanding. "Where's Flynn?"
"With Olivia."
"How long?"
"All afternoon."
"
All
afternoon?"
She took his hand. "Come with me."
Storm had never gone so willingly to bed.
* * * *
They undressed each other in her bedroom, where light slid through the open window and warmed their skin with a kiss of gold.
Kate had only seen one other man naked, of course, and it was nothing like this. Mellersh could not compare. She ran her hands across those firm, strong shoulders, and down over the hard-worked muscle of his chest, to his lean thighs as he knelt before her on the bed. At first she was too timid to touch his manhood, until he took her hand and guided her to it.
Her throat was dry, her heart fluttering recklessly.
He kissed her again and she fell back, tumbling into a cloud. With her eyes closed she let her other senses absorb his touch, his taste, his scent.
It was thundering very low in the distance and a chalky essence of lavender blew in through the window. His hair was warm, slightly damp at the scalp. She could smell earth on his skin and sweat. Good, honest sweat.
His tongue teased her nipple and then his lips closed around it. She arched, moaning with pleasure and a certain amount of relief. For how long had she been dreaming of this? Long before she'd allowed herself to admit what she wanted. With firm, masterful strokes of his fingers— and his tongue—he caressed her body, all the intimate places, leaving her quivering and hot.
The thunder drew closer, bubbling across the moor.
He began to concentrate his attention between her thighs and she gripped her pillow, writhing, her heels pressing into the bed.
She still dare not open her eyes. It felt safer, somehow, to keep them closed.
The air vibrated warmly around her, and she shuddered as perspiration broke over her skin, her body afire inside and out. In a spiraling rush a climax ripped through her. He didn't stop, but teased her mercilessly until she sank limply into the bed, flinging her arms out, breathless. She didn't think it could get any better.
But it did.
Now she could hear the wind rattling the latch on the open window, and his groans, deep and husky, speaking to her without words.
Swiftly, suddenly, he moved up over her, covering her body with his weight. Kate wrapped her legs around him urgently.
He breathed hard in her ear, using words now — words that were definitely not in Dr. Johnson's dictionary— and then his hand slid under her knees, lifting them. In the next instant she felt the first sharp thrust.
She cried out, just as the thunder burst over them again. And as the rainclouds broke open, he claimed her with his own pulsing, ruthless spear of lightning.
Kate opened her eyes then and looked up into incandescent, powerful, wild blue heat.
It was terrifying and yet excitement tore through her. The challenge of taming all that brute manhood, she suspected, might be addictive.
"I love you," he groaned, shuddering, trembling. "Stay, forever, with me."
She lost her fingers in his hair and kissed him, taking all that fierceness into her body, holding him with every part of her, loving him with all the trust of her heart and eagerness in her soul.
* * * *
They planted poppies around Sally White's grave.
"I'm sorry she didn't find everything she wanted," Storm said softly, as he stood looking down at the simple headstone in the churchyard. "I'm sorry she didn't get far away and make a new beginning."
Kate held his hand, curling her small fingers around his much larger ones, and he brought it to his lips. "At least she got her vengeance on old Joe in the end. He won't hurt anybody else now."
He nodded.
"She's sleeping forever now in Heaven," Flynn assured him. "I expect she had more to do there."
It was a pleasant thought and so that was how he would think of Sally from now on, serving ales and gossip in Heaven. As they walked out of the churchyard, he stopped at the grave of his mother and introduced his future wife. Surely that was the right thing to do.
"I wonder what she'd think of me," said Kate anxiously.
"Oh, I think she'd love you very much," he replied. "Particularly the way you shout at me."
* * * *
The wedding of True Deverell and Olivia Monday took place a week after the inquest. Joe Dowty's guilt would now be put before the magistrate at the next Assizes and there were a great many local folk relieved at the prospect of seeing him gone forever. Bert Soames had, with some gentle persuasion, been persuaded to take monetary compensation in exchange for releasing Kate from his "contract".
"I don't suppose I can entice you to work for me at Deverell's?" Ransom had the cheek to ask her at the wedding breakfast. "I mean to say...if you ever miss performing. I can see you are a natural at it. Soames was right about that."
Storm stepped in and said firmly, "My future wife will not be showing her ankles on a stage for you or anybody."
"Just thought I'd offer her the opportunity."
"To leave me and go to London with you?"
"Wouldn't you do the same if you were me?"
"I wouldn't be you."
"Ah, no, of course. You're the good son and I'm the wicked one for which there is no hope."
"If you say so, brother."
Apparently the old rivalry remained, despite that brief mellowing in a desperate moment. Another old enmity showed its jaws at the wedding, when Raven slapped Joss Restarick, although nobody knew what that was about and it was probably better not to know.
* * * *
Flynn was delighted when told that his Mama had accepted a marriage proposal from Storm Deverell. Mostly his thoughts went to all those things he could now do daily, including tend "his" lamb, go rabbit hunting with Jack the dog, and— above all else— eat a very good breakfast.
"At last I shan't starve," was his first response to the news. "It's been a good seven years, and you've done your best, Ma. But I think we both know we fell on our feet now."
As he ran off to play with the dog, she shook her head. "Wretched child, I don't know what I see in him."
Storm closed her in one of his warm, strong hugs from behind. "I don't know what you see in me either, but here we are."
"You know what I see in you," she chuckled, leaning back against his shoulder. "It's purely physical."
"Is it indeed, woman?"
"There was a spark between us from the first moment, remember?"
"Took you long enough to admit it," he muttered.
"I saw the lust in your blue eyes, sir. You couldn't hide it."
"No. I couldn't. Why should I?" After a moment he surprised her by saying, "I'm going to buy you a new spinet. To replace the one that got broken."
Kate sighed. "But I can't play." In a way it felt as if the smashing of her mother's spinet had released her from the past, from her fears and anxieties.
"You'll have to learn how to play then, madam. I need you to entertain me on cold winter evenings, remember? I've given up all my other female acquaintances, so you have to fulfill every one of my desires."
"Except the cooking."
He laughed. "Fair enough. I do want to eat."
Twisting around in his arms, she said, "I still don't know what happened to the money I had hidden in that spinet."
"Albert Soames must have taken it."
"I suppose so." But Kate was certain he would have let her know if he found it. After all he wasn't the sharpest knife in the kitchen and had he retrieved the money and snuff boxes it was doubtful he could have kept the victory to himself. A bitter, jealous fellow, there were few things he liked more than rubbing noses in whatever little success he achieved.
But Bert was not something she cared to think about anymore.
Linking her fingers behind Storm's broad neck, she drew him down for a kiss. "Money doesn't matter when one has love, Mr. Deverell. I like to keep my life simple."
"I'll give all mine away then shall I?" he teased, one large hand sliding down to squeeze her bottom.
She arched an eyebrow. "All your what?"
"Money!"
"Oh, that. You can give that away. I thought you meant that other thing of which you have plenty. You cannot give any of
that
away." She licked his chin, which was as far as she could reach when he was being difficult and keeping his lips away from her. "
That
I cannot do without."
"And to think," he mused aloud, eyes crinkling at the corners, "when I first saw you, I thought you must be a fine and fancy wench with expensive tastes and habits."
"Yet all I needed was you."
* * * *
Flynn passed him the telescope. "Go on, Pa, look! See that bump in the dirt?"
He looked through the lens to where the boy pointed excitedly. Yes, there was a bump in the field behind the house. It wasn't visible until the wheat was cut down, but now he could see it clearly.
"Let's go see, Pa! It might be that pirate treasure Steadfast Putnam buried."
Storm was surprised the boy still remembered that story. Must have stuck in Flynn's mind, just as it had done in his when Reverend Coles first told him.
So they took shovels down to the field and dug. They didn't have to go far down before they found an old sack and inside it, neatly tied stacks of bank notes, silver snuff boxes, ivory combs, rings and all manner of trinkets in silver and gold.
"It's the treasure!" Flynn exclaimed, dropping his shovel. "We found it."
Whoever buried it there hadn't taken too much trouble to hide it, but the wheat had done the job for them while it was still growing.
Of course, Storm knew it wasn't Putnam's buried treasure because the bank notes were pounds and there was no Spanish gold.
"See, Pa! We found the pirate treasure like you wanted. Finders Keepers!"
The boy looked up at him with shining eyes, sandy hair falling over his brow, rosy cheeks glowing with good health. And suddenly he realized that Flynn had done this for him. He'd taken the money out of his mother's spinet and buried it to make treasure for them to find together.
He ruffled the boy's hair and laughed. "So we did, Flynn. I never imagined I'd ever find so much treasure."
He might be the quietest of all his father's litter, he might not know a lot of big words, or possess any fashionable clothes. But Storm Deverell was the richest man alive.
It was a damnably good day to be living.