The Lightkeeper's Daughter (18 page)

John couldn’t imagine that his father-in-law would get involved with organized crime. When John poked his head into the office, he found Henry standing at the window and staring out over the bustling street. “Who was that man?” he asked.

Henry turned with a scowl on his face. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“It sounded as though he were trying to extort money from you.”

Henry snorted. “It will be a cold day in purgatory when I give money to the likes of him.” His expression cleared, and he dropped into his chair. “What brings you to town, son?”

“I wondered if you’d arranged for the Pinkerton agent. I’d thought to do it if you didn’t have time.”

“I made arrangements as soon as I arrived. The man should be at my estate by now.”

John’s brow puckered. “Could the fellow who was just here have had anything to do with Edward’s attempted kidnapping?”

“I’d wondered about that myself, which was the only reason I spoke with him.”

“And what was your conclusion?”

Henry picked up a pipe and chewed on the end of it. “Frankly, I don’t know, but I mean to get to the bottom of it.” He turned a genial smile on John. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m in need of your assistance.”

John had learned to be wary of Henry’s congeniality. “In what way?”

“The bank is all a muddle. My manager quit without giving notice and left the books in a sorry state. I need someone with organizational skills to get it straightened out. Now that you’ve been here a few days, I’m hoping you’re a bit bored and wouldn’t mind helping me out with it. It shouldn’t take you more than a few days.”

“I manage supplies for the navy. I’m not a banker.”

“But you know numbers and how things have to match up. You’re an excellent manager. You could whip this into shape in no time. In the meantime, I would be interviewing applicants for the job.”

John considered the request. He was intrigued, because working at the bank might give him the opportunity to find out what was behind the attempted extortion he’d just overheard, which might lead to whoever had dared to lay hands on his son.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll help you out for a few weeks, but I have no intention of staying here permanently.”

“Excellent! Let’s head over there now, and I’ll explain the job.” He held up his hand when John opened his mouth. “I understand it’s temporary, but I’m very appreciative of your assistance. Come along.”

John followed him across the street and down one block to the bank. He followed Henry past the wooden counter to the hall of offices. Henry pulled out a stack of ledgers, then launched into an explanation of logging deposits and verifying withdrawals that left John’s head spinning. He jotted everything down and followed Henry to the vault, where he explained the procedures for locking it up at night. By the time his first training session was completed, it was nearly five.

“Come along, son. I’ll give you a ride home.”

John had seen nothing that would explain the stranger’s demand on his father-in-law, but he meant to find out.

E
IGHTEEN

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING,
Addie worked until ten on Mrs. Eaton’s dress. Just before bedtime last night she had requested this afternoon off so she could go see her mother, and she had much to accomplish before noon. The basic outline of the gown hung on a mannequin, waiting to be finished. Cream lace overlaid the lilac silk that Addie had drawn up into an empire waistline. More lace fluttered from the V-neck to frame Mrs. Eaton’s face and peeked from a cutout in the side of the gown and from under the hem.

The sophistication matched Mrs. Eaton’s style, and the older woman was delighted with it. She’d also asked Addie to create a seaside dress and hat for the yacht race coming up in a few weeks, as well as several merry widow hats and a lingerie hat. It would be challenging to find the time to do all her benefactress wanted and still attend to Edward. She wished she’d never admitted to making her own dresses and hats.

Addie left Gideon in the schoolroom with Edward, who was copying his letters with a fat pencil. Mrs. Eaton had sent a request for her to come to the salon to discuss the final details on her dress. The telephone rang as Addie passed it in the hall. No one came running, so she picked up the candlestick phone and detached the earpiece. “Eaton Manor,” she said into the mouthpiece.

A young woman’s voice spoke in her ear. “This is Central. Mr. Eaton’s secretary asked me to call and tell him she’d made the arrangements for his trip to Fort Bragg.”

“Fort Bragg.”

“He goes there twice a year,” the friendly voice said. “Though it’s a little sooner than usual this fall.”

Addie smiled. “You must know everything, working for the switchboard.”

“Oh, honey, the things I hear,” the girl said.

“I’ll tell him,” Addie said.

“Are you new there?” the woman asked. “I don’t recognize your voice.”

“I’m Addie Sullivan, the new governess.”

“Oh, so you’re Addie. I’ve heard a lot about you. I overheard Mrs. Eaton tell Countess Bellingham that you make the most divine hats.” The girl’s voice grew eager.

“I rather like making them,” Addie admitted. “From the time I was a little girl, I was making up hats with the bark from trees and ferns.”

“I quite adore hats. I’m Katie Russell.”

Russell
. “Are you related to Inez Russell?” Addie asked, curling her fingers tightly around the phone.

“She’s my mother. How do you know her?”

“Someone mentioned her name. She used to be friends with the first Mrs. Eaton.”

“That’s right. I’ve heard her talk of Laura.” There was a pause. “Oh dear, I have to go. The switchboard is going crazy. I’d like to meet you sometime, Addie.”

“Nice to meet you, Katie.” The phone clicked off before Addie could say good-bye.

She hung the earpiece back and set the phone on the stand. So Mrs. Eaton had been talking about her. Maybe she could use the contact with Katie to meet Inez Russell.

Carriages and buggies crowded the street, and Addie craned her neck to look to her heart’s content. With no one along, she was free to express her wonder at all the people, shops, and excitement. It was a far cry from her former isolated life. Today she could forget that Friday was Henry’s birthday ball. She dreaded having to appear.

Her afternoon off stretched in front of her with all the anticipation she used to feel waiting for her father to come from the mainland with a promised Hershey’s bar. So many shops to browse through, so many plate-glass windows to gawk at!

She could try to find the Russell house.

Her anticipation died at the thought of walking up to a stranger’s door and asking questions. She’d rather forget her past and enjoy the day, but the nudging desire wouldn’t go away. Was it from God? She’d learned to listen to such promptings.

“Fine, God, I’ll do it,” she muttered. But how? All she knew was they lived on Ferndale Street. She stopped the buggy in the parking lot of the mercantile. Someone here might direct her. Lashing the reins to a hitching post, she walked across the parking lot to the side door as a man exited.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Could you direct me to Ferndale Street?”

The man pushed his straw hat to the back of his head. His moonround face was pleasant, with hazel eyes. “Sure, miss, it’s the next crossroad to the south. It only goes right, toward the water. You looking for a particular house?”

“The Russell home?”

He nodded. “It’s the last one on the road. Overlooks the sea. Big, gray one.”

She thanked him and went back to her buggy. Driving down Ferndale Street, she noticed the houses were large and comfortable but not as lavish as Eaton Manor. The buggy slowed as the horse struggled through the potholes along the macadam road. At the top of the hill, she could see all the way out to the sea and could even catch a glimpse of the Mercy Falls Lighthouse.

Her mother was there by now. A stone lodged in her midsection at the thought of facing Josephine’s disapproving stare again. She was going to have to go see her this afternoon too.

The last house was on the right. A large gray Victorian with white shutters and an L-shaped porch, the home hunkered amid a few straggly shrubs and trees. The salt and wind prevented the manicured look of the Eaton residence. She turned the horse into the dirt lane and sat there a moment trying to summon the courage to go to the door.

How would she announce she’d come to learn about Laura Eaton? What possible excuse could she give for her curiosity? “You’ll have to give me the words, Lord,” she whispered, clambering down from the buggy.

She smoothed her gloves and squared her shoulders before approaching the beckoning red door. A seagull squawked overhead and swooped low over evergreen huckleberry. Maybe they weren’t home. She planted her foot on the steps and marched to the door. There was no bell, so she rapped with the knocker. Moments later she heard the sound of light footsteps.

A young woman about her age opened the door. Dressed in a light-gray skirt and white pin-tucked blouse, she wore a smile that welcomed Addie. Her dark hair was in a fashionable pompadour. Very Gibson Girlish.

One brow lifted. “Hello. May I help you?” Her eyes darted over Addie’s shoulder to the buggy.

“I’m Addie Sullivan.”

The woman’s blue eyes widened along with her smile. “Addie! We spoke on the phone this morning. I’m Katie. Come in.” She opened the door wider. “I assume Mrs. Eaton sent you? She could have called, but I’m so glad you came instead.”

Were they expecting a message from the Eatons? “Not exactly,” she said. Oh, she shouldn’t have come.

“Mama will be so pleased you’ve come by.”

Addie stepped onto the wood floor. A staircase in the entry rose to the second story. There was a doorway off the hall on both sides, and one at the back.

“We’re just about to have some tea. I do hope you’ll join us.” Katie led her to the room on Addie’s right.

Wasn’t Katie going to ask why she had come or how she’d found the house? She hadn’t called ahead to find out if this was their at-home day. She followed the young woman into a parlor decorated with a blue velvet settee and chairs arranged around a fireplace. The Eastlake tables were a bit heavy for Addie’s taste, considering the delicate chairs. A piano occupied one corner of the room.

The woman on the settee had a throw over her legs. Her smile was as warm as her daughter’s. She wore a pale-blue gown, and her hair was up in a French twist.

“Mama, this is Addie Sullivan,” Katie said. “The new household member at the Eaton estate.”

“I recognized the name the moment you said it,” Mrs. Russell said. She put her feet on the floor and patted the space beside her on the settee. “What a delightful surprise.”

Addie perched on the cushion. “I know this is quite an imposition,” she began.

“Nonsense,” Katie said, pouring tea into a cup. “Sugar?”

Addie nodded. “One, please.” She accepted the tea after Katie stirred in the cube. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” she said. There was an awkward pause, and Addie searched for a way to ask the questions burning on her tongue. “I was allowed the use of Laura Eaton’s desk,” she said. “It’s so beautiful.”

Neither of the other women remarked at her comment, and she knew it was going to be difficult to explain. Mrs. Russell might be an ally. She’d been best friends with Laura. An inner conviction grew that she needed to be honest. There was no other way to explain her appearance here.

“Maybe I should begin at the beginning,” she said.

N
INETEEN

A
DDIE TOOK A
gulp of tea so hot it scalded her tongue. Her heart hammered loud enough she was sure they had to hear.

Tell them
.

She resisted the impulse to pour out her circumstances, but the compassion in Mrs. Russell’s eyes held her riveted. The entire story surged to her throat. She set her tea on the table beside her. “I’m not here because Mrs. Eaton sent me. She has no idea how I’m spending my afternoon off.”

The two women exchanged glances. “Is something wrong, my dear?” Mrs. Russell asked.

Addie clutched her gloved hands in her lap. “You must set aside all you think you know,” she said.

“About what?” Katie peeked at her mother. They both wore puzzled frowns.

“About what happened twenty-three years ago.”

Mrs. Russell’s brows gathered, and she stared at Addie. “Twentythree years ago,” she said. “My daughter was born. My best friend drowned. It’s a time I remember quite vividly.”

Surely Laura’s best friend wouldn’t betray her daughter. Addie so desperately needed a friend, someone she could lean on. She held Mrs. Russell’s gaze for a long moment. “I believe I am Julia Eaton.”

Mrs. Russell’s eyes seemed to swallow up her face. Her hand wadded up the throw on her lap. “Julia died. Drowned with her mother. How dare you come here and say such a thing?” She searched Addie’s face, and her tone lacked conviction.

“I assure you I was shocked as well,” Addie said.

Mrs. Russell rubbed her forehead. “Julia. Julia was only two wh-when it happened.”