The Lightkeeper's Daughter (14 page)

Addie sat on the bench at the grand piano. The ragtime music that poured from the instrument made John tap his foot. Edward cavorted with the dog on the wood floors, and John was of half a mind to join them.

“Who taught you how to play?” he called.

Her pensive smile faded. “My father taught me. He studied music and had thought to be a concert pianist before consumption changed his plans.”

Her mouth grew pinched, and he wondered about the relationship with her mother. There was pain there. He stood and walked over to lean on the piano lid. Before he could ask more questions, he heard a bellow behind him. The music tinkled to a stop and faded to an echo of its vibrant energy.

Henry’s broad form filled the doorway. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted.

Addie’s hands still lay on the keys, and she turned to face Eaton, her green eyes wide. “I was told I would be allowed to play the piano,” she said.

“Not trash like that. This isn’t a bordello.” Henry’s face reddened. “Pardon me for mentioning something so indelicate to a lady, but Miss Sullivan, that kind of music is most unsuitable for my grandson and for anyone to hear echoing from the Eaton house.”

She paled even more. “I meant no harm, sir. My father paid for lessons, and these are the tunes I learned. To me, they express the joy I find in the Lord.”

Henry’s feigned smile was more of a grimace. “Well, you must unlearn them. Hymns will do more to connect you to God than that drivel can. There is suitable sheet music in the piano bench.” He turned and stomped out.

Watching Addie’s stricken face, John realized she was already feeling the pressure to conform, as he’d feared. He extended his hand. “I believe luncheon should be ready. Shall we go?”

She took his hand and rose, releasing it once she was on her feet. “I didn’t mean to offend him.”

“He’ll get over it.” The scent of Addie’s honeysuckle cologne smelled better than the aroma of roast beef, which grew stronger as they approached the dining room. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Carrington at the sideboard, dishing compote onto his plate. If John had realized the man had been invited for lunch, he would have made his excuses. He’d respected Carrington until his attention to Addie had commenced.

When they were seated, he turned to Clara. “Miss Adeline and I were in the attic looking for a desk for Edward.”

Clara stirred sugar into her tea. “Adeline? You’ve moved to first names?”

“A slip of the tongue,” he said hastily.

Her gaze slid to Carrington, who was obviously besotted. “You appear to have some competition, John.”

He resisted the impulse to tug on his tie. “About the desk?”

She took a sip of her tea. “Did you find one? There should be something suitable up there.”

“Yes, we did. We also stumbled across a writing desk. I told Miss Sullivan I saw no reason she couldn’t use it.”

She stilled. “A white one? With a painted scene on the front?”

“That’s the one.”

She directed a gaze at Henry on the other side of the table. “Henry, dear. Adeline would like to use Laura’s old desk that’s in the attic. That’s quite all right, isn’t it?”

Laura’s desk? John heard the taunting tone of her voice under the sugary sweetness that lay over it. He glanced at Henry and wasn’t surprised to see red running up the older man’s neck.

“Of course she can use it. Might as well get some good out of that old thing,” Henry said in an overly hearty voice.

Addie’s expression was stricken, and John knew she had caught the undertones too. It was clear to him that Clara had always known she was Henry’s second choice. Pictures of Laura and baby Julia were in Henry’s study somewhere, and he still wore the cuff links Laura had given him as a wedding present.

“I’ll have one of the servants bring it down,” John said. He noticed the Englishman was about to engage Addie in conversation again. “Miss Sullivan, since you’re finished with lunch, I wonder if I might have a word with you. About Edward,” he added when he saw a frown gather on Carrington’s face.

“Of course.” She put down her napkin and rose. “It’s been a pleasure, Lord Carrington.”

Carrington half rose. He took her hand and kissed it. “I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Sullivan.”

She withdrew her hand and moved away from the table. John wanted to believe it was relief he saw on her face. He’d like to think she was too smart to be taken in by Carrington. She took his arm, and they stepped out of the dining room. Once the clink of silverware was behind them, he stopped in the hall.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant North?”

“Beware of Carrington,” he said.

“Mr. Carrington was very kind,” she said. “He made no untoward remarks.”

“He’s already got you lined up in his mind as his next wife. He’s buried one already.”

Her breath came fast, and spots of color lodged in her cheeks. “What happened to his other wife?”

Surely she wasn’t interested! “She died in childbirth.”

“Recently?”

He dropped his gaze. “No,” he muttered, struggling to maintain his temper. “About ten years ago.”

“The poor man,” she murmured. She removed her hand from John’s arm. “But I’m not interested in becoming wife number two.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he said.

She tipped her head. “Are you? Why would that concern you?”

“He’s much too old for you,” he said.

She smiled, and her dimple appeared. “Surely he’s not more than fifty.”

“As I said. An old man.” He put her hand on his arm and steered her to the staircase. “I’m sure Edward is finished with his lunch by now. I’ll arrange to have the desk brought to you.”

Her impish smile faded. “I thought Mr. Eaton seemed not at all fond of the idea.”

“He said it was fine.”

She swept up the stairs beside him. “It was what he didn’t say that concerns me. It belonged to his first wife?”

“Clara’s half-sister.”

“Clara seemed somewhat jealous.”

“She always has been. Have you noticed the pictures of a beautiful redhead around the manor? That was Laura. Henry would be wise to take them down. Everywhere Clara turns, she sees the reminders of Laura.”

“I’ve only seen one.”

He stopped and thought. “You’re right,” he said, nodding. “Clara must have succeeded in relegating them to the attic.”

“He must have loved his first wife a great deal,” Addie said.

“It seemed quite the grand passion.” They reached the top of the staircase, and he turned her toward the schoolroom. “Katherine was always curious about the daughter, Julia. She’d wanted a sibling.”

“Julia,” she said, her voice strangled.

John hadn’t missed the change in her voice. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head violently. “You were saying?”

“She was around two. She and Laura went down in a shipwreck. I heard Henry didn’t eat or sleep for days. He searched for them for weeks, but there was never any sign of them. There were no survivors.”

“How sad,” she whispered.

He touched her chin and turned her liquid eyes toward him. “Don’t cry. It happened a long time ago. I’m sure Henry is over it all by now.”

“Love like that never dies.”

He smiled. “Such romanticism. No wonder you read poetry.”

“Does he ever talk about them?”

He released her chin and shook his head. “Clara would be in tears if he did. The servants tell how he raved like a madman when he heard the news. Molly said she’d never heard a grown man cry like that.”

Her fingers tightened on his arm as they moved toward the schoolroom. “Don’t talk about it anymore or I shall cry myself. It’s too sad for words.” Her voice broke.

“As you wish. I was just answering your questions.” He led her down the hall.

Edward’s empty plate lay on the table in the schoolroom. John stepped to the window and looked down into the side yard. “He’s tossing a ball to Gideon.”

“They’ll both burn off some energy.”

He turned toward her. “You haven’t asked how my call to Margaret went.”

She smiled. “
Now
who is very direct?”

He raised his brows. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

“I hope not. You’ll be reprimanded like me.”

“Someone has reprimanded you?”

She waved her hand. “Nothing serious. Mrs. Eaton told me not to be so forthcoming about where I am from. That I must maintain the position.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “I told you not to let them change you.” Her scent filled his head.

Her dimple appeared. “I promise not to change too much.” She gazed up into his face. “What about your call to Margaret?”

He shrugged and let his hands fall back to his side. “It was fine.”

“Did you tell her you wouldn’t be calling on her again?”

“I did. She took it graciously, then asked when I would return to the city. I told her it would be several weeks.”

Color stained her cheeks. “Do you intend to see her again?” she asked, her voice low. She turned toward the window.

He turned her back to face him. “No, Miss Sullivan, I do not. I should not have mentioned her question, but I must admit I wondered if you cared enough to be jealous. My remark was quite ungentlemanly.”

Her expression warmed. “I care entirely too much, Lieutenant North.”

No, he was the one who was smitten, and it was much too soon to be so taken with her.

F
OURTEEN

A
DDIE FOUGHT TEARS
all afternoon. Hearing how her father had searched for her and her mother had done something to the fences she’d put up around her emotions.

“You did a wonderful job on your letters today, Edward,” she told her charge.

His small face brightened. “Can I take Gideon out to play ball as a reward?”

“It’s nearly time for your dinner.”

His face puckered. “I don’t like lessons when I have to stay inside. Gideon has been waiting for me to play all afternoon.”

She glanced at her dog, who stared back at her with hopeful eyes as though he understood. And he probably did.
Play
was his favorite word. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll go down with you.”

It was a sacrifice, because she wanted nothing more than to shut her door and go through the letters she’d stuffed under the mattress. What might she discover in those pages? The identity of the man who had attacked her? The reason behind the events that had changed her life?

She took Edward’s small hand and led him and Gideon outside. Clouds swirled overhead, and a drop of rain plopped onto her face. “We won’t be able to stay long,” she warned. “It’s going to rain.”

She settled on the wicker chair and watched the boy throw the ball to her dog. Gideon was enjoying it as much as Edward was. The dog wasn’t used to being cramped up in the house. He’d roamed the island at their last station all day, then wandered home at night. The stress of the day had taken its toll, and her eyes drooped. A cacophony of wild barking opened them again, and she leaped from her chair to see Gideon crouched and barking at Edward. The dog lunged forward and grabbed the boy’s arm. Was he attacking the child?

“Gideon!” she shouted, rushing to intervene.

The dog succeeded in tugging Edward to a sitting position. The boy’s staring eyes did not respond to Gideon’s agitation. The child swayed where he sat, then he toppled onto his back. Gideon pranced around the boy.

She knelt beside the boy. “Good boy, Gideon,” she crooned as she checked out the lad. “You saw what was happening to Edward, didn’t you?”

Addie pulled Edward onto her lap and held him. He jerked, and his eyes rolled back in his head. She pulled her handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress, rolled it up, then thrust it between his teeth.

Someone else needed to know about this. “Help! Lieutenant North, someone. Please help!”

At first she thought no one had heard her, then the door opened and a figure stepped onto the porch. She recognized John and waved to attract his attention in case he didn’t see her in the twilight. As he started toward her, the heavens opened up with a gush of rain. She huddled over Edward and tried to protect him from the worst of the water.

John reached them. “An attack of epilepsy?” he shouted over the pounding of the rain hitting the trees.

She nodded. “Is it safe to move him?”

“Yes. Here, let me.” He lifted his son from her lap and rushed with him toward the house.

She splashed through the widening mud puddles. Gideon loped along beside her. When they reached the porch, she snapped her fingers at her dog. Mrs. Eaton would go into vapors if Addie let the muddy dog onto her redwood floors.

“Stay, Gideon,” she said. The dog whimpered but lay down. “I’ll get some rags to dry you and come back,” she promised.

When she stepped inside, she found the household in an uproar. Both grandparents hovered over the unconscious boy. John had laid him on the leather sofa in the smoking room.

Clara wrung her hands. “Oh, why does this happen to our sweet lad?” she moaned. She caught sight of Addie. “What happened, Adeline? Was he upset?”

Addie shook her head. “He had a good day of studies. I gave him permission to toss the ball to Gideon, and he was having a good time.”

“Maybe he got too hot,” Mr. Eaton said.

“I don’t think so,” Addie said. “Gideon was doing the running. I heard the dog bark and saw Edward standing still, just staring. Gideon grabbed his shirtsleeve and pulled him down. A few seconds later he fell back.”

John glanced up from his vigil beside his son. “The dog sensed it before it happened? Just like the day you arrived?”

“I think so. I watched it with my own eyes.”

“Amazing,” Mr. Eaton said. “Edward claimed it was so from the very first.” He fixed his gaze on Addie. “What magic is this, Miss Sullivan?”

“Gideon seems to sense these things,” she admitted. “He has often led me to injured animals or children.”

“Did he lead you to the child in the garment factory?” John asked in a low voice.

She nodded. “He’s a remarkable dog.”

“We must breed him and see if this trait can be duplicated. I did some checking with a neighbor who has a shepherd. She’ll have a female in heat in a few weeks. With her permission, I’d like to see what kind of pups we might get.” Addie’s cheeks went red, and Mr. Eaton stuttered. “Pardon me, Miss Sullivan. I should not be discussing something so indelicate. Have I your permission to, uh, mate Gideon?”