Beloved (28 page)

It took a moment to loosen the knot, but at last it came free. She placed the bindle onto the bed again and unfolded the corners of the square cloth. What on earth? Her breath caught as she pressed the palm of one hand over her breastbone. A silver teaspoon. A woman’s ivory comb. Some buttons. A few coins. A fountain pen. And amongst those items, Mrs. Waverley’s diamond bracelet, her mother’s eyeglass chain, and what had to be Pauline’s diamond and ruby ring.

“Oh, Ned.” She sank onto the edge of the bed.

He’d been stealing. All this time she’d thought he was adjusting well, and he’d been stealing. Not just from those within the household but from guests too.

Tyson took the stairs two at a time. “Diana?”

“I’m in here. In Ned’s room.”

He followed her voice, eager to tell her what he’d overheard, that Dillon had decided to leave Ned with them, to let them be the boy’s parents. But the look on Diana’s face caused the words to die in his throat.

She took something off the bed. “Look.” She held whatever it was out to him.

He moved forward, unsure what to expect.

“Ned took Pauline’s ring. And Mother’s chain and Iris Waverley’s bracelet.” She dropped the items, one by one, into his palm. “Among other things.”

The diamonds and glass beads sparkled in the light from the window.

“What do we do, Tyson?”

The question rolled around in his head for a few moments. “We have to act like parents.”

“If we discipline him, he might—” She broke off abruptly.

But he understood what she hadn’t said. “Run away? Choose his uncle over us and leave with him?”

She nodded.

“That doesn’t change the need for us to do the right thing.” He sat beside her. “We took him into our home. We must do whatever is best for him. Not what’s easiest for us.”

Diana stared at her hands, folded in her lap. “Perhaps I don’t make a very good mother after all.”

“You make a wonderful mother.” He set aside the stolen jewelry, then cupped the side of her face with his hand. “And Ned adores you.”
So do I
.

She drew a deep breath. “I never realized before how I’ve let fear determine my actions. Even when I’ve acted calmly and with care, even when I’ve thought things through to their rational end, deep down, fear has determined my course.” She met his gaze. “Why didn’t I realize that before?”

You don’t need to fear me, Diana
.

Her gaze lowered to his mouth. It was invitation enough. He leaned close and kissed her, slow, deep.

She broke the connection and drew back. “We shouldn’t put this off, Tyson.” A small smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “Not even in such a pleasant way.”

He wanted to kiss her again. After all, she thought it pleasant.

“We must talk to Ned now.”

He nodded. “Yes. I guess we must.”

They gathered the evidence and went downstairs. Tyson asked Joan to fetch Ned and his uncle from the barn, and then he and Diana waited for the boy in the library. His wife sat. Tyson paced as he prayed for wisdom. The minutes dragged by.

Cheerful voices entered the library just before Ned and Dillon came into view.

“Miss Diana,” Ned said, grinning, “you shoulda see Wild Bill. He—” He broke off as his gaze landed on top of the desk, the open bindle and contents in full view.

Tyson looked at Dillon. “Close the door, if you would, please.”

Dillon nodded, a question in his eyes.

“Ned, could you tell us about these items we found in your room?”

There was that stubborn expression the boy had worn so often in his first weeks in the Applegate home.

“Ned,” Diana said softly, “please tell us why you took them?”

“I dunno.”

“It isn’t right to steal from others.”

He shrugged.

Tyson pictured himself at the same age, standing before his father, waiting for some kind of discipline to be visited upon him, and for a change he felt a shred of sympathy—and empathy—for any father of a decidedly headstrong boy.

Eyes narrowed, Ned waited. Suspicious. Fearful despite his bravado.

Tyson sat at his desk. “You’re going to have to return these things to their rightful owners.”

“Don’t know where I got some of them,” came the sullen reply.

“We’ll figure that out together.”

A tense silence filled the room. Tyson wished he could glance at Diana and Dillon, wished he could guess what they thought of his approach, but he dared not look away from the boy.

At long last Ned said, “You ain’t sendin’ me away for it?”

“No.”

The boy looked over his shoulder at his uncle. “And you ain’t takin’ me away either? Like you said before. I can still stay.”

Dillon answered with a nod.

“All right, then.” Ned shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I guess I can take them back.”

April 1900

Diana listened intently, Brook Calhoun by her side—where he had been more and more over the last year—as the attorney explained what she should expect when her husband of the past seven years was declared dead.

“And when it is finished, Mrs. Applegate, you will be a very wealthy woman. The firm has ascertained where in Europe your husband kept his fortune. We cannot access full information about it until Mr. Applegate is declared dead, of course, but it is no small amount.”

Diana didn’t care about the fortune she would inherit from Tyson. Well, that wasn’t true. It would be nice not to have to count every penny she and her mother spent, but she didn’t care about being rich. A wealthy widow, that’s what the newspapers would call her.

But she wouldn’t be a widow for long. Brook had finally asked her to marry him. Although their engagement wouldn’t become official until after Tyson was pronounced dead, her future with Brook was assured.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Diana stepped from the carriage into the street outside of the hotel, Ned following right behind. “We won’t be long, Gibson,” she told the driver.

Good moments and bad alike had filled the last six days since the discovery of the stolen items. Ned had been required to face each person he’d taken something from and apologize. This final confrontation had been delayed—much to Diana’s temporary relief—because the Kingston twins had been visiting Yellowstone National Park. They’d returned to their hotel yesterday.

Diana reached for Ned’s hand, wishing she hadn’t insisted she and the boy come without Tyson. Two weeks ago she’d stood up to Pauline on behalf of their household staff and had been right to do so. But in the end, someone in her home had stolen the ring. She must face the woman and admit it, and she needed to do it without Tyson at her side.

It was part of the new Diana. The woman who would take courage from God even when afraid in her spirit and flesh. It was enough to propel her forward into the lobby of the hotel, Ned in tow. A short while later, they were shown into the suite of Pauline and Quentin Kingston.

Pauline stood near the fireplace, a look of dislike in her dark eyes. “Mrs. Applegate.” Her gaze flicked to Ned, then back again. “What a surprise.”

“Thank you for seeing us.”

“Tyson isn’t with you?”

“No. Ned and I came alone. It … it’s about your ring.”

Triumph flashed across Pauline’s face. “I was right. Who took it? Your butler. Or was it that silly kitchen maid who helped at lunch? Has the culprit been arrested?”

Diana released Ned’s hand and gave the boy a nod.

He took a few steps toward Pauline. “I took it, Miss Kingston. I’m sorry.” His gaze locked on the carpet, he held out one hand, palm up, revealing the ring.

“The orphan boy.” Pauline plucked the jewelry from his hand. “I should have known.”

Ned returned to stand beside Diana.

Pauline tipped her head slightly to one side. “You are not who I thought you would be before I met you, Mrs. Applegate. And I gather you are not who Tyson thought you were when he left you alone all those years.”

Diana knew the woman hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but she took it as one, all the same. “Perhaps none of us are who people think we are.”

“You were afraid of me when we first met.”

“Yes, I was.”

“You thought I might take Tyson away.”

Yes
.

“But you aren’t afraid of me now.”

“No.” Diana smiled, realizing how true it was.

“I suppose you have won.”

Yes!

“Then this is good-bye, I suppose. My brother and I aren’t likely to return to this horrible little town again.”

Diana grabbed Ned’s hand and they hurried out of the suite. Her heart felt lighter than it had in days. But when they exited through the lobby doorways a short while later, the carriage wasn’t waiting near the curb. She looked up and down the street. Where had Gibson gone?

“One of those horrid motorcars frightened the horses.”

She turned at Brook Calhoun’s words.

He tipped his hat. “It’s good to see you again, Diana.” His gaze lowered to Ned. “And you, young man.”

Brook had lost weight since she’d seen him in the park on Independence Day. Dark shadows underscored his eyes, and his skin had ghostly pallor. An uneasiness shivered through her.

“I saw what happened with your carriage horses and told your driver to wait for you around the block on Idaho Street. There’s less traffic there at this time of day.” Brook offered the crook of his arm. “And I promised him I would escort you.”

“There’s no need of inconveniencing you. Ned and I can find him.” To prove it, she turned and moved along the sidewalk.

“No inconvenience, my dear. I’m headed in that direction myself.” He matched his stride to hers.

She tried to tell herself it was silly, this uneasiness. Still, there was something in the way Brook glanced at her, a particular light in his eyes that seemed … different.

They turned the corner. She looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of Gibson and the Applegate carriage.

“I wonder where he is,” Brook said. “Not a cab in sight either. Come with me to my office, and I’ll call for one.”

“That isn’t necessary. Really. Ned and I will walk home. It’s a pleasant morning, and it isn’t all that far.”

His hand closed around her upper arm. “Please, Diana. I insist. I feel as if this is my fault. Allow me to make it up to you.”

From the window in the library, Tyson saw the return of the carriage. He waited for Diana and Ned to come into the house, anxious to know how things had gone with Pauline, hoping nothing had gone awry to shake the foundations of his marriage once again. He wasn’t really afraid of that happening, but Pauline could be unpredictable.

Tired of waiting, he headed toward the back of the house, guessing Diana had stopped to talk to her mother and his father in the garden before coming inside. But she wasn’t there. Nor were their parents.

Peculiar.

He strode down the path toward the carriage shed. When he arrived, he saw Gibson and Fernando leading the team toward one of the paddocks.

“Gibson!”

The coachman stopped and turned.

“Where are Mrs. Applegate and Ned?”

“At the hotel, sir.”

Tyson frowned. “You left her there?”

“She sent down a hotel message boy to tell me they were staying for lunch with Miss Kingston and I was to return home as they would hire a cab when finished.”

Lunch with Pauline? That seemed unlikely. Didn’t it? Pauline Kingston wasn’t the forgive-and-forget sort. He couldn’t see her issuing such an invitation, no matter what Diana said to her.

Maybe he should go into town. Then again, Diana hadn’t wanted him along. She’d felt the responsibility was hers and had
been determined to see it through on her own. She wouldn’t welcome his interference now.

Turning on his heel, he started back toward the house at a slower pace. He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he knew why this bothered him so much. It shouldn’t, but it did.

Upchurch opened the back porch door as Tyson started up the steps. “I was coming for you, sir. There are some gentlemen to see you. I showed them into the parlor.”

“Did they give their names?”

“Yes, sir. A Mr. Crawley. I didn’t catch the other gentleman’s name.”

Crawley, calling at his home. And it could only be about the second matter he’d asked the investigator to look into. Diana’s family. Finding Dillon Macartan had turned out well. Tyson could only hope the same would hold true again.

When he reached the parlor entrance, he stopped. Lawrence Crawley stood near the front windows while another man looked at photographs lining a table near the far wall. The stranger was tall with the build of a working man, something attested to by his attire—cotton shirt, Levi’s, and boots. He held a hat by its wide brim in his left hand.

Tyson cleared his throat.

Both men turned.

Crawley grinned. “Mr. Applegate, I have more good news.” He motioned for the other man to come forward. “This gentleman is Hugh Brennan. Turns out while I was looking into his whereabouts he was doing the same about your missus. Mr. Brennan, this is Tyson Applegate, your sister’s husband.”

They shook hands.

Afterward, Hugh pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. A clipping from a newspaper, it looked like. When he unfolded it,
Tyson saw it was a photograph. A photograph of him and Diana from a recent campaign event. “Diana looks like our mother, even in this grainy photograph.”

“Where did Mr. Crawley find you? How far have you come?”

“Not far. My wife and I live on a ranch along the Boise River. Our other sister and her family live in Frenchman’s Bluff.”

“Both of you, here? So close to Boise? All these years?”

“No.” Hugh shook his head. “Not long. I didn’t come west from Illinois until just over a year ago. Felicia grew up in Wyoming and moved to Frenchman’s Bluff to teach school in ‘97. I found her last year, but locating Diana was more difficult.”

“Excuse me a moment.” Tyson went to the doorway and called for Upchurch. “Send Gibson into town at once. Tell him Mrs. Applegate is required at the house immediately.”

Concern filled Upchurch’s eyes. “Is something amiss, sir?”