Page 35 of For the Love of Lilah
I know I paled as quickly as the children. Even Fred whimpered, pressing his face to my breast. “Fergus, you can’t be so cruel.”
There was surprise in his eyes, I have no doubt of it. It had never occurred to him that I would speak to him so, and in front of the children. “Madam, do as I bid.”
“Mama said we could keep him,” Colleen began, her youthful temper lifting her voice. “Mama promised. You can’t take him away. Mama won’t let you.”
“I run this home. If you don’t wish a strapping, mind your tone.”
I found myself clutching Colleen’s shoulders, as much to suppress her as to protect. He would not lift a hand to my children. Fury at the thought of it blinded me to all else. I know I trembled as I bent to her, to shift Fred back into her arms.
“Go upstairs to Nanny now,” I said quietly. “Take your brothers.”
“He won’t kill Fred.” Is there a rage more poignant than that of a child? “I hate him, and I won’t let him kill Fred.”
“Shh. It will be all right, I promise you. It will be all right. Go up to Nanny.”
“A poor job you’ve done, Bianca,” Fergus began when the children had left us. “The girl is old enough to know her place.”
“Her place?” The fury had my heart roaring in my head. “What is her place, Fergus? To sit quietly in some corner, her hands folded, her thoughts and feelings unspoken until you have bartered her off into a suitable marriage? They are children. Our children. How could you hurt them so?”
Never in our marriage had I used such a tone with him. Never had I thought to. For a moment I was certain that he would strike me. It was in his eyes. But he seemed to pull himself back, though his fingers were white as marble against the glass he held.
“You question me, Bianca?” His face was very pale with his rage, his eyes very dark. “Do you forget whose house you stand in, whose food you eat, whose clothes you wear?”
“No.” Now I felt a new kind of grief, that our marriage should be brought down to only that. “No, I don’t forget. I can’t forget. I would sooner wear rags and starve than see you hurt my children so. I will not allow you to take that dog from them and have him destroyed.”
“Allow?” He was no longer pale, but crimson with fury. “Now it is you who forget your place, Bianca. Is it any wonder the children openly defy me with such a mother?”
“They want your love, your attention.” I was shouting now, beyond restraint. “As I have wanted it. But you love nothing but your money, your position.”
How bitterly we argued then. The names he called me I can’t repeat. He dashed the glass against the wall, shattering the crystal and his own control. There was a wildness in his eyes when his hands came around my throat. I was afraid for my life, terrified for my children. He shoved me aside so that I fell into a chair. He was breathing quickly as he stared down at me.
Very slowly, with great effort, he composed himself. The violentcolor faded from his cheeks. “I can see now that I’ve been too generous with you,” he said. “From this point, it will change. Don’t think you will continue to go your own way as you choose. We will cancel our plans for this evening. I have business in Boston. While I’m there, I will interview governesses. It’s time the children learned respect, and how to appreciate their position. Between you and their nanny, they have become spoiled and willful.” He took his watch from his pocket and studied the time. “I will leave tonight and be gone two days. When I return I expect you to have remembered your duties. If the mongrel is still in my house when I return, both you and the children will be punished. Am I clear, Bianca?”
“Yes.” My voice shook. “Quite clear.”
“Excellent. In two days then.”
He walked out of the parlor. I did not move for an hour. I heard the carriage come for him. Heard him instruct the servants. In that time my head had cleared and I knew what I had to do.
Chapter Seven
“What the hell good is messing with all these papers?” Hawkins paced the sun-washed room in the rented house. He had never been a patient man and preferred to use his fists or a weapon rather than his brain. His associate, now going by the name of Robert Marshall, sat at an oak desk, carefully leafing through the papers he had stolen from The Towers a month before. He had dyed his hair a nondescript brown and had grown a credible beard and mustache that he tinted the same shade.
If Max Quartermain had seen him, he would have called him Ellis Caufield. Whatever name he chose, whatever disguise he employed, he was a thief whose unscrupulous mind had centered on the Calhoun emeralds.
“I went through a great deal of trouble to get these papers,” Caufield said mildly. “Now that we’ve lost the professor, I’ll have to decipher them myself. It will simply take a little longer.”
“This whole job stinks.” Hawkins stared out the window at the thick trees that sheltered the house. It was tucked behind a grove of quaking aspen, and the cool leaves quivered continually in the breeze. With the windows of the study thrown open, the scents of pine and sweet peas wafted into the room. He could only smell his own frustration. The bright glint of blue that was the bay didn’t lift his mood. He’d spent enough time in prison to feel shut in, however lovely the surroundings.
Cracking his knuckles, he turned away from the view. “We could be stuck in this place for weeks.”
“You should learn to appreciate the scenery. And the room.” His partner’s nervous habit was an annoyance, but he tolerated it. For the time being, he needed Hawkins. After the emeralds had been found... well, that was another matter. “I certainly prefer the house to the boat for the long term. And finding the right accommodations across the bay on this island was difficult and expensive.”
“That’s another thing.” Hawkins pulled out a cigarette. “We’re spending a bundle, and all we’ve got to show for it is a bunch of old papers.”
“I assure you, the emeralds will be more than worth any overhead.”
“If the bloody things exist.”
