Page 73 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Carlton shook his head. “I don’t know. At this point ... is it out of the question? No.” He met Effie’s eyes, and she knew that her father was listening now. Finally and truly listening.
Anderson pulled her aside into an alcove by the carriage house. She had agreed to take a stroll with him. Her parents believed it was to help strengthen her, to give her fresh air. She knew differently. Now Anderson looked down at her, wordless, and studied her face.
“Why keep Cora a secret?” Effie insisted. He owed her that information, didn’t he? She had followed Floyd for baby Cora alone. She had been subjected to violence because she was hoping to rescue Anderson’s daughter.
“I can’t risk further harm coming to her,” he stated frankly.
“But doing nothing will potentially bring her further harm also.”
Anderson drew in a steadying breath and let it out slowly. He glanced around them. They were out of view of the main house, and he seemed to take comfort in the privacy afforded them. “You must understand, Effie, there are implications—reasons far beyond that affect the entire situation. I must tread delicately.”
Effie nodded.
“I must go now. The men inside will begin hunting for the Oppermans by noon, which will only exacerbate things.”
“If they can apprehend Floyd and his mother—”
“Do you truly believe it is them, Effie?” Anderson’s question made her pause.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Think of it.” Anderson pointed to the side of his head. “What motive would they have to kill Isabelle? To take my child?” He leaned closer to her, his eyes glistening with a shrewdness he’d not revealed when he observed the meeting with her father, the constable, and Gerald Ambrose. “The last few times I saw Isabelle Addington, she had been in thick with someone, and that someone is what brought her here.”
Effie knew confusion was stretched across her face.
Anderson continued, “Perhaps the story of Predicament Avenue and the events since make sense as a viable theory from Shepherd’s point of view, but that doesn’t hold a candle to being legitimate from mine. At best, Floyd is a bystander who is causing his own sort of trouble.”
“WhoisIsabelle Addington to you?” Effie struggled to understand. She deserved to know the truth.
Anderson’s expression darkened, and he looked away.
Effie dared to reach out and touch his arm lightly. It drew his attention back to her, and all the little parts inside of Effie that made her nervous around him evaporated. She could see his pain. Not only pain, but a sort of lostness that came with the absence of loved ones and the uncertainty of their return.
“If she is not your wife—has never been your wife—then who is Isabelle Addington?”
Anderson shook his head. “I’ve come too far to risk—”
“What risk is there?” Effie interrupted. “I’m a woman from a small town who has spent her life reading books and wishing to one day have her own home, a husband and children.” Sheblushed as his eyes came up to meet hers. “I’m not an exciting woman, and when I’m not motivated to protect my family, I’m rather dull to be honest. How would I be a risk to you and your purposes of getting baby Cora home to you?”
Anderson’s jaw worked back and forth. He moved suddenly, taking her hand and leading her from the alcove of the carriage house into the building. It was quiet and stale. It smelled of wheel grease and straw. It was evident he wanted to command their privacy as he closed the carriage house doors.
He turned as he dropped the latch on the inside of the doors. His head was tipped to the side, his tie in place and his shirt crisp—Gus’s doing no doubt. He struck an interesting pose, one that in another time and place Effie might have given more thought to. Not handsome exactly, but striking. Not imposing, but forceful. Not aggressive, but confident. Not untrustworthy, but full of secrets.
“My full name and title is Lord Lewis Anderson Archibald Mooring of Tiffany Ridge.” Anderson paused, allowing it to sink in.
When it did, Effie lifted her fingers to her mouth to cover her silentohhh.
“My family goes back many generations in England. My wife, Laura, was also from an established family. Isabelle Addington was brought on to our staff as a nursemaid when we discovered that Laura was expecting our first child. Isabelle was a blessing to Laura—we both appreciated and liked her.”
He stopped, stretching his neck as though the very act of conversation was exhausting every part of him.
“What happened?” Effie breathed.
“I’m not entirely certain what soured Isabelle toward Laura and me. Shortly after Cora’s birth, Laura passed into the hands of God, and I was left with an infant. Cora was three weeks old when I awoke one morning to find Isabelle gone, and she had taken Cora with her.”
Effie leaned against a wooden post for strength. The very horror of Anderson awakening to find his motherless infant daughter missing was awful.
He continued, his voice without emotion as if reciting a long, memorized, but never given explanation. “There was evidence left behind that Isabelle had been having an affair with an American man. I believe a plan came together for Isabelle to steal my daughter from me and meet this man here in America, wherein they would together proceed to blackmail me for a ransom for my daughter’s return.” Anderson cleared his throat. “At least that is my assumption. But somehow between London and Shepherd, Isabelle had a change of heart. She mailed me the letter. I believe she was found out, and that is why she is dead. It is also why no ransom for Cora has been delivered.”
