The Valentine Legacy by Catherine Coulter
Jessie shoved her head back. “That’s too good a story, Oslow. I think you made it up.”
“No, he didn’t, actually.”
“James, goodness, whatever are you doing here?”
“Peter told me the two of you were swapping outrageous tales.”
“She’s all upset about poor Alice Belmonde. I don’t know why since the girl’s now quit of a scoundrel of a husband. I wanted to cheer her up. I’ve succeeded.”
“Good. Now, don’t disarrange yourself, Jessie. That’s a new hat, isn’t it?”
“I found it in a trunk in the attic. It just needed to be cleaned and reshaped a bit. I like it.”
“It does have character. It does keep the sun off your nose. However, I think I smell moth powder. How old is the thing, Jessie?”
“I think it was my grandfather’s.”
He looked at that hat a moment longer, shook his head, and said, “Gordon Dickens, the magistrate, is here. He wants to talk about Allen Belmonde. It seems Gordon heard that there was quite a commotion here just a few days before Allen was shot and that Belmonde was so mad he wanted to take Sweet Susie away that night. Jessie, why are you rubbing your throat? Why have you turned whiter than my stable cat’s belly?”
“I did threaten him, James. In front of witnesses. You nearly had to drag me off him. Do you think I’ll be hanged?”
“No. Did I really drag you off him? Odd that I don’t remember it happening exactly that way. Now, come along, the both of you. Dancy Hoolahan is here—the whole cast of characters, I guess you could say.”
Gordon Dickens had hated tea since his stepmother made him drink it until he’d peed in his pants. An excellent punishment for a smart-mouthed little boy, she’d told him with a good deal of satisfaction when he’d finally lost control. He even hated to see anyone else drinking the foul stuff because it made him want to relieve himself. He could barely contain himself, watching Jessie Warfield drink that dreaded tea, but he knew he had to. He was here to do his duty. He had to be alert. He not only had to listen to everyone’s words but also carefully study their expressions. His father had always told him that you could see guilt on a man’s or woman’s face if you knew what to look for. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he always looked carefully. He couldn’t think about his luscious bride, even now lying in their bed, all warm and naked and tousled. He swallowed and forced himself back to his duty. He looked from that tea-drinking female, Jessie Warfield, to Dancy Hoolahan to James Wyndham. He cleared his throat.
“Would you like a muffin, Gordon?”
“No, James, thank you. I’d like to hear what happened after Jessie Warfield brought the mare back here. Yes, Thomas, you come in here as well. You were one of the parties present that night.”
“It wasn’t really a party, Mr. Dickens,” Thomas said, all austere because he knew this was proper business. “Poor Miss Jessie was all bloody and Mr. James was holding her up. No, it weren’t no party.”
“That’s not what I meant. Tell me what happened.”
When all the facts had been wrung out of all of them, Gordon Dickens stroked his whiskers, stared at Jessie, and said, “I understand that you and James Wyndham are rivals. I always wager on James, but you beat him at least half the time, which surely isn’t the thing to do. I’ve seen you try to shove your horse into him. I’ve seen you kick out at him. I’ve seen him try to ride you into a ditch. You’re enemies. Why would you defend him and threaten Allen Belmonde? Why would you even bother saving that mare? It wasn’t your mare.”
“I like Sweet Susie. She’s a fine mare. I don’t suppose you’ve found the two men who stole her? Or whoever hired those men to steal her?”
He’d been too busy getting married and learning the awesome joys of the marriage bed to pursue the matter, but Gordon Dickens didn’t say that. He thought about how he’d spent the early-morning hours and blushed. He shook a bit. Who cared about a damned horse when Helen was lying there waiting for him, smiling at him, her arms out? “Not yet,” he said, and his voice was as chilly as a Baltimore spring rain. How dare the damned girl question him? “You haven’t answered my questions, Miss Warfield.”
“It didn’t matter that Sweet Susie belonged to Allen Belmonde, who wasn’t a very nice man. I would have tried to save Sweet Susie if she’d belonged to Mortimer Hackey, a truly despicable man. Anyway, Allen Belmonde was annoying everyone, shouting accusations at James—totally unfounded accusations—and I wanted to hit him.”
“Perhaps you shot him instead.”
James, who was leaning his shoulders against the mantel of the fireplace, jerked forward to tower over Gordon Dickens. He pulled him up by his collar out of his chair and shook him. “That is the most ridiculous thing that’s emerged from your mouth. Just look at her—she’s perfectly white with fear. Mind your tongue, or else I’ll mind it for you.”
“See here, James, I’m just doing my job. She did threaten him, she plays at being a man, just perhaps she also uses a gun like a man, and—”
Wanting only to distract James, who he could see was itching to send his fist into Gordon’s jaw, Dr. Hoolahan said quickly, “I don’t suppose you know that Allen Belmonde had once wanted to marry Ursula Wyndham, James’s sister?”
James whipped around, staring at him as if he’d grown an extra ear. “Well, he didn’t marry Ursula, so I had no reason to shoot him. How the devil do you know about that, Dancy?”
“Mr. Belmonde’s wife became ill shortly after they were married. She was also depressed, pale, and on the verge of tears the whole time. She told me that he began avoiding her almost immediately after their marriage, that he’d even called her Ursula several times during moments of, er, affection.”
James turned to stare at Dancy Hoolahan. He released Gordon Dickens, absently brushed his coat front, and gently shoved him back down into his chair. “I told Alice not to marry him,” James said. “He married Alice Stoddert out of spite after Ursula married Giff, hoping to make her jealous I suppose, only it didn’t. He wouldn’t believe she didn’t want him, that she preferred Giff Poppleton. And Alice didn’t believe me either.” He looked Gordon Dickens straight in the face. “You will contrive to keep all this behind your teeth, Gordon. All of it, do you understand? And you as well, Dancy, and yes, I well understand why you dug it up and spit it out when you did. Well, I’m under control now and I won’t throttle Gordon, at least in the next five minutes. Remember—all of you—that none of this has anything to do with Belmonde’s murder.”
Gordon Dickens fiddled with his cravat. “I must do my duty. However, I agree with you, James, that none of this seems to have any bearing on Belmonde’s unfortunate death.”
Jessie said, “Who do you think killed Mr. Belmonde, James?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea. As you said, Jessie, he wasn’t a particularly nice man. Listen, Gordon, Allen Belmonde had two business partners. There was probably a good deal of strife among the three of them. Have you looked into that?”
“Oh, yes. They all hated one another. They accused one another of villainy, of embezzlement, of cheating.” Gordon Dickens rose, looking gloomy. “This is a proper mess. I was hoping that one of you would be guilty. It would have made things so much simpler.”
“Why, thank you, Gordon,” Dancy Hoolahan said.
“There’s the horse racing,” Oslow said. “Mr. Belmonde made bets at the racetracks, big ones, I heard, and he didn’t always pay up when he lost. There’re also rumors that he was responsible for poisoning Rainbow—a four-year-old thoroughbred whose sire was Bellerton and whose dam was the Medley mare—at last year’s Baltimore Plate. The horse he backed won, so he also won, a lot of money. All unproved of course.”
“Everything is unproved,” Gordon Dickens said, and sighed. “The world is unproved.” He sighed again as he rose. He straightened his waistcoat. It was loose. He’d lost weight. It felt good. He knew it was from all the unaccustomed activity he was getting at night and in the early mornings. “Dam
Mrs. Wilhelmina Wyndham had a firm hold on her son’s arm. “Whoever is visiting poor Alice? You will get rid of who it is, James. We are here now and thus the only ones who should be offering sympathy to the poor girl. Some folks have the manners of rodents.”
James had ridden to the Belmonde town house on St. Paul Street, to offer Alice whatever support he could. And here was his mother, just emerging from the landau he’d bought for her three years before. “Ah, my dearest boy,” she’d said, allowed him to assist her to the ground, and took hold of his arm.
“Did you tell Alice you were coming to visit her?”
“Certainly not, but that doesn’t matter. Go see to it, James.”
He just smiled down at his mother, knowing nothing short of a hurricane could ever dissuade her from anything. Maybe not even a hurricane.
Her visitors were Glenda and Jessie Warfield.
A thin woman with stooped shoulders ushered them to the large Belmonde parlor. Glenda was prettily arranged on the settee wearing a pale yellow muslin gown. Jessie was standing beside Alice, with her hand on the widow’s bowed shoulder. She was wearing another of her sister’s castaways, a pale gray wool that made her look like a young nun trying on the mother superior’s habit. Like the other gown, this one was too short and too big in the bosom. James heard her say, “Alice, Mrs. Partridge has told me that you’ve scarcely eaten at all. Come now, here are some fresh scones. Shall I spread some butter and strawberry jam on one for you?”
Alice gave her a helpless look that made James want to enfold her in his arms and pat her. He expected that most people reacted to Alice like that. But evidently not Jessie. She floored him, saying “Now this is quite enough, Alice. You’re going to eat the scone or I’ll stuff it down your throat.”
That brought a smile to Alice’s pale lips. Her frail shoulders even lifted a bit. She looked up when Mrs. Partridge cleared her throat.
“Oh, Mrs. Wyndham! James. Do come in.” Alice leaped to her feet, and Jessie knew why. Everyone leaped to their feet when Mrs. Wilhelmina Wyndham came within striking distance. The lady scared her to death. In the past, she’d easily managed to avoid her, but not today. There was no escape from her today.
Wilhelmina looked at Alice, who had two hectic red spots on her pale cheeks, and said, “You have grieved for three days, Alice. Allen Belmonde deserves no more than three days of having you wilt around not eating. It is the shock of finding him that has prostrated you, not your loss. Now, I would like a cup of tea and one of those fresh scones Jessie was talking about.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Alice said, and scurried out of the parlor.
Jessie said, “I didn’t know Alice could move that fast. Well done, ma’am.”
Wilhelmina looked at Jessie briefly, lifted her chins, then turned to Glenda, who was now sitting on the edge of the settee, at attention, ready for inspection. “You’re looking well, Glenda, but that gown of yours is cut too low. There is too much bosom on display. Here.” Wilhelmina handed her a white lawn handkerchief. Glenda took it and stared at it helplessly. “Arrange it over your bosom, dear,” Wilhelmina said.
“Now, Jessie, I had to settle myself before I spoke to you. You are as you always are, so no surprise there. At least you don’t smell like a horse today. I have no more handkerchiefs, or else I’d give you one to help fill out the chest of that gown. I shall speak to your mother. She needs to have gowns made for you.”
James, who should have been used to his mother after all these years of watching her in action, nonetheless fairly choked on his words. “Mama, I think you should sit down. Ah, here’s Mrs. Partridge with your tea and a scone. That’s right, take two. Now, Alice, stop hovering. I want to speak to you. Come with me to Allen’s study.”
Allen Belmonde’s study was a dark room with heavy leather furniture, a dull brown Axminster carpet, and books lining the walls that James knew the dead man had never opened. James gently pressed Alice Belmonde into a chair, lowered himself on his haunches in front of her, and took her white hands between his. “My mother’s a bully, Alice, but she’s right. Allen was a rotter. You have a large estate to deal with. There are people depending on you.”
“I’m a woman, James. I don’t know anything. Allen never told me anything, either. He always said I was to be here whenever he wanted me. He said that was my only role, that and having children. Now he’s gone. I feel, well, I feel sort of frozen. There’s no one to tell me what to do.”
“Did you love him, Alice?”
“I wanted to, James. You know that. I believed I could make him forget Ursula, but he never did. He was always saying that Ursula would never say such stupid things the way I did. He said she would never whine and complain and cry as I did. No, I didn’t love him anymore. I suppose that now I’ll go to Hell.”
“No, I rather think you’ve been liberated from Hell. You’ll get through this, Alice.”
“His partners have already been here telling me the business is worthless, that they’re sorry, but there’s no money for me. I really don’t care because my father will take care of me. He doled out my dowry on a yearly basis to Allen, and believe me, Allen hated it. My father’s already told me that he will continue my yearly allowance, that I don’t have to remarry if I don’t want to.”
“I’m pleased, Alice. Now, don’t worry about his damned partners. Allen’s lawyer, Daniel Raymond, will see to those villains. You might not care about the money, but there’s got to be justice. Now, there’s the farm, Alice. I think it would be good for you to learn about the management of a stud farm.”
“That’s what Jessie said. She said she’d teach me.”
That gave him pause. What the devil was Jessie up to? “I didn’t realize you and Jessie were such good friends.”
“Oh yes, for years now. Nelda and Glenda, too. I was always very protected by my papa and mama. And there was Jessie, so free, doing exactly as she pleased, not minding if her mother yelled at her or ordered her to stay in her bedchamber for a week if she got sunburned or tore her dress or got kicked by a horse. Jessie was always brave. I was always a coward. But she says that doesn’t have to be true. She says there’s no man now to tell me what to do. I can do and be whatever it is I choose. She believes I can unfreeze myself. She says money will help me unfreeze even more quickly.”
Jessie had said all that? Could he possibly be wrong? James had always thought that Alice Stoddert Belmonde was one of those ladies who absolutely had to have a husband to take care of her, or a brother, whose role he, James, had taken. He would have staked a good amount of money on his belief. He could just stare at her now. Was there a firmness he’d never heard before in that insubstantial voice?
He said, “Jessie’s not all that free, Alice. She’s still a female. She’s still a daughter living at home. Her mother still tells her what to do.”
Tears shone in Alice’s eyes. “You don’t think she can help me, James?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that all isn’t necessarily what it looks to be. Now, Raymond and I are meeting with Allen’s erstwhile partners. He will come by later with papers to sign. You just see to eating more and unfreezing yourself, just as Jessie said.”
“There’s Mortimer Hackey,” Alice said with a delicate shudder.
Hackey owned a small racing stud to the west of Baltimore. He was petty, dishonest, and gave racing a worse name than it deserved. “What does that scoundrel have to do with anything?”
“He wants to buy the stud. I think he wants to take Allen’s place, too. He’s been here at least five times a day since Allen was killed. He holds my hand overlong, James, and once he even kissed my cheek. I wanted to vomit. He’s horrible.”
“Tell Mrs. Partridge not to let him in again. I’ll speak to him, Alice.”
When they returned to the parlor, James heard his mother bellowing loudly enough for the watch at the far corner of St. Paul Street to hear. “There is nothing more deplorable than a girl who lacks respect for her elders. You, Jessica Warfield, will not speak to me like that again. You will not disagree with what I know is perfectly true.”
“But ma’am, Nelda married her husband because she wanted to. You’re wrong about Mama making her marry Bramen. As for Papa, he said it turned his innards to have his own daughter married to a man older than he was. No, ma’am, it was Nelda’s idea.”
Wilhelmina Wyndham snorted, an inelegant sound, but effective. “You’re nothing but a girl, Jessica. You don’t know anything at all. I know your mother. She connives. She schemes. She’s quite good at it, actually. I taught her quite a lot. She wanted buckets of money for Nelda and she latched onto Bramen. Nelda had no say in the matter. Now, don’t disagree with me or else I’ll have to speak to your mama about you. Indeed, I would tell her how to deal with you.”
Jessie jumped to her feet. “Glenda, we must be on our way. I’m going to say good-bye to Alice.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Jessie. Don’t be rude to Mrs. Wyndham. If everything works out as it should, then she will have every right to be involved in our lives.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Wilhelmina Wyndham said, turning an awful stare on Glenda. “I know you, Glenda Warfield. You want my son. Well, my dear, if you are willing to be guided by me, perhaps it might be done. I have reminded him that his ill-advised English marriage wouldn’t have ended so tragically if only he’d listened to me. Indeed, it never would have happened.”
James said very quietly from the doorway, “Mother, it’s time we took our leave. Alice is tired and wishes to rest. That is, she wishes to eat two scones and then she wishes to rest. Come along, Mother.”