The Flame and the Flower (61 page)

"But why was he there?"

He glanced away.

"Jeff, answer me," she demanded. "I have a right to know."

He released a weary wigh. "Louisa sent him a note while we were out in the fields. It said that she knew something about you he should know. I tried to stop him, but he knocked me down and vowed to close her filthy mouth for good. Lulu brought him the note and he scared her plenty. She took off like a scalded dog, though I swear she was shaking like a leaf before she handed the damned thing to him. When I got to Louisa's, the damage was done. He came tearing out of that house like the devil was after him, and Louisa's stable hand, Jacob, saw him too and now that good man has gone to fetch the sheriff."

Heather's mind whirled in confusion. A note? A note about her? What more could Louisa have told him?

She gasped audibly as she thought of Mr. Hint and his association with the woman. If he had told Louisa about William Court she would have tried to tell Brandon. Possibly in blind fury, he might have killed her. He had threatened her last night...

No! She couldn't believe him capable of such a crime.

"No! He didn't do it! I just know he didn't!" she said stubbornly, shaking her head furiously. "He is my husband! Wouldn't I know whether he was capable of that or not?"

"Lord, Heather," Jeff groaned, tormented that he should be the one to accuse his brother. He pulled her to him, crushing her against him. "Baby, don't you know I want to be wrong? I love him too. He's my own flesh and blood—my brother!"

Her firm resolve only tormented him more. Abruptly he whirled from her and ran toward the house and she followed. They went through it, Jeff frantically trying to convince himself that he was mistaken, Heather determined that he was, until he reached their bedroom door and flung it open. She came to his side when he made no move to enter and saw Brandon gazing out the open window overlooking the yard where they had just been. With a cry, she ran toward him and he turned and caught her tightly to him.

"Tell him, Brandon!" she commanded, clinging desperately to him. "Tell him you didn't do it!"

"My sweet," he murmured softly.

Jeff came forward, afraid to ask and have it confirmed. Brandon looked at him and smiled sadly.

"Do you think I killed her, Jeff?"

"Oh God, Bran," Jeff choked, shaking his head. His torment was deep. "I don't want to believe it, but I saw you leave her house and when I went in I found her dead. What am I supposed to believe?"

Brandon smoothed Heather's hair under his hand. "Would you believe me, Jeff, if I told you I had nothing to do with murdering her—that she was already dead when I got there?"

"Bran, you know I'll believe whatever you tell me. But if you didn't murder her, who did?"

The older brother sighed. "Why would anyone rape Louisa, Jeff?"

Heather gasped.

"Rape?" the younger brother started.

"You didn't notice?" Bandon smiled.

"She was raped!" Jeff asked incredulously. "But who would have raped her? She gave it away free."

"Exactly."

"My Lord, I really didn't think of that," Jeff admitted. He slid into a chair and stared at nothing in particular, reflecting upon what he had seen. After a long moment, he rose again and walked to the window near them to gaze out toward distant trees swaying in a strong breeze.

"It must have been as you say," he murmured thoughtfully. "When I first saw her—the room torn apart, her clothes ripped from her. I just thought that you had fought with her. Rape didn't enter my mind. You wouldn't have..." He blushed and glanced at Heather and found her listening calmly. "You wouldn't have bothered her that way," he continued, turning back. "And as I think back I agree with you that she had been forced into the act. The way she lay, she looked as if the man had just left her. Undoubtedly she was killed while they were still engaged. But who would she have refused so violently?"

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.