Jo Goodman (51 page)

"You mean he couldn't spot that it was a fake."

"No, I don't mean that at all. I think there must have been a story about the earring in the Denison family. Something to explain its presence. Garret believes the initials engraved on the gold drop are his mother's. Evaline Randolph. I don't think he meant Anderson or me to overhear. He has no idea the earring—if it was one of the original pair—would be more than three hundred years old."

"He doesn't know he was adopted."

"You and I don't know that either. It could be that you were the one plucked from Cunnington's London Workhouse." She sighed. "The truth is that you and Garret look more like each other than either of you resemble the Thornes. Your smile, I think, is a little like Colin's. There's a certain edge to it."

"He's Lord Fielding, you said. The Earl of Rosefield."

"Yes, that's right. But you have very little in common with Decker."

"The reformed thief."

"Your friend," she emphasized. "If you could but remember that. You
are
Graham Denison after all. That question has been settled if little else. Anyway, I was thinking of his appearance. His coloring is a shade darker than yours, and he's quick with a smile. He has a way of looking relaxed even when he's taut as a bowstring." She regarded Grey's current posture: the slope of his shoulders as he stretched out in the chair; the eyelids that were raised just a fraction above half-mast; the casual way his arms were folded across his chest. Berkeley bent to one side and looked under the desk. His ankles were crossed.

"Would you be feeling the slightest bit tense right now?" she asked curiously.

"Taut as a bowstring."

"Oh, my."

"Indeed," he said dryly. "I suppose the only people who can properly unravel the mystery are our parents."

"James and Evaline."

He nodded slowly, rolling the names over slowly in his mind. "It seems they've been able to keep a secret all these years." He raised one hand and absently touched his temple. He rubbed the spot with his fingertips, unaware of the gesture.

Berkeley watched Grey's brows draw together and tension creep into the line of his mouth. "Your head?"

He nodded. The small movement brought almost blinding pain to the backs of his eyes.

Jumping to her feet, Berkeley rounded the desk. "Lean forward. Put your head on your arms on the desk. Close your eyes." She gave him a gentle push, and it was enough to get him started. As soon as he was bent over she began massaging the back of his neck and shoulders. "Have you remembered something?"

"No."
Nothing that he could understand or explain.
He groaned softly as Berkeley's fingers kneaded his flesh. There was a measure of relief almost immediately. And still there was other business. "Why didn't Anderson deliver the earring to Garret after you left Boston?"

"I can't be certain," she said. "Two reasons occur to me. The obvious one is that the Thornes arranged our passage. The Remington Line. Jonna chose the ship herself and there were no scheduled stops until we reached Panama. It would have been difficult for Anderson to suggest that we needed to go to Charleston first. Especially Charleston. The Remington ships aren't necessarily welcomed there. There is still some suspicion that Jonna and Decker were intimately involved in the Falconer business."

"With me," Grey said dully.

"Yes. With you."

Grey considered that he had a great deal to answer for. He wondered about his first contact with Decker Thorne. Had he initiated it or had it been the other way around? Perhaps they had been introduced by a third party, and a friendship had been forged without any awareness of their deeper common bond. "And the other reason Anderson didn't give the earring to Garret?"

"He may have had some idea that he could extort more money from the Thornes for it. Remember, Anderson believes it's genuine. I made certain he couldn't doubt me by having the earring removed from the necklace and carrying it in my bag today. I also wore gloves so I wouldn't have to handle it directly."

"And if he had insisted you put it in your hand?"

"I would have given him the performance he expected." She ran her fingers across Grey's shoulder blades. "I think Anderson decided to inform Garret about the earring only after he saw you."

"Saw me? Why would that make him likely to contact Garret? It would have made more sense for him to write to Boston and tell the Thornes."

Berkeley's hands stilled momentarily.

Grey felt her hesitation. He turned his head and tried to look at her. "Berkeley? Don't dissemble now. What do you know?"

She gently turned his head and resumed kneading. "It's not what I know, but what I suspect. I don't think Anderson thought you
could
be found. I think he believed you were dead. More to the point, he knew that Garret believed you were dead." She pressed his head back when Grey would have turned again. "Garret said something this morning that has never sat quite right. He said you didn't have the earring the last time he spoke to you. He said you made a point of telling him you lost it. Those are almost his exact words. He believed you were lying, that you had actually sold it."

Berkeley waited for Grey to catch her point. Perhaps the headache was making it difficult for him to think. She went on. "It suggests to me at least that Garret saw you sometime after you left Boston. You'd had the earring until then. That means he may have seen you in Philadelphia where you left the
Siren
or, far more likely, in Charleston, where you traveled in secret to meet him."

Grey's headache was powerful enough now to make him sick to his stomach. "Why the hell would I do that?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Taking him by the elbow, Berkeley helped Grey to his feet and led him into the bedroom. He dropped like a stone onto the bed while she dampened some cloths in the basin. She placed one across his eyes then blocked more light from the room by closing the drapes. "Better?"

"Mmm." He thumped the space beside him with his palm.

Berkeley sat down and took his hand. "I imagine you went to Charleston to make your good-byes. Perhaps to make amends."

He snorted. "Doubtful."

"You're probably right. There's nothing about your character that would lead me to believe you could have a thoughtful or considerate nature."

Grey winced.

"Good," Berkeley said, satisfied her barb had found its target. "That was meant to hurt." She dropped her lips softly to his mouth and sweetly extracted some of the sting.

"It's a great deal of supposition," Grey said quietly.

"I know. It may also be the truth."

"I know."

"Garret could have been responsible for the beating that almost killed you. He may have planned just that end."

Grey lifted one corner of the damp cloth. He eyed her. "I took your point."

"Oh. I wasn't sure."

He let the cloth fall back in place. "If you're right, then I may have made a small error in judgment this morning. I probably shouldn't have hinted to Garret that I may have regained my memory."

Berkeley's heart sank. "You didn't."

"Afraid so. Watching him, seeing him laugh, so obviously enjoying the fact that he was a stranger to me... well, after you were gone I got a little of my own back."

"Do you think he believed you?"

"I think he's uncertain. That's all I wanted to achieve. I wanted him to wonder."

Berkeley groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with them. What are we going to do?"

"I'm going to the bank in a few hours to meet with Anderson. I'm paying him to leave California. I'll need the diamond necklace back, I'm afraid. He's not leaving poor."

Now it was Berkeley who lifted the cloth from Grey's eyes. "You need it back? How much did you agree to pay?"

"Fifteen thousand in gold. I wouldn't require the necklace if so much of my money weren't tied up in the Phoenix. Those diamonds were an extravagance I couldn't properly afford."

"I knew that. It was an expensive lesson. For both of us as it turns out. It seems Anderson didn't tell you he's already in possession of the necklace. That's what he extorted from me. And I promised him even more."

"Dear God."

Berkeley leaned to one side and dropped the cloth in the basin. She began to wring it out, but Grey stayed her hand. He started to get up. "Where do you think you're going?"

"If I don't have the necklace, then I'm going to have to arrange for some funding from other sources. Bankers don't generally give loans that profit blackmailers. I'll have to think of some reason for requiring the money."

Bowing her head, Berkeley studied her hands for a moment. "Let's not pay him anything," she whispered.

"What?"

"Nothing," she repeated. "No money at all."

"I thought you wanted him out of your life."

"I do." Her voice was earnest. "But I realize I can get rid of him by telling you the truth. If he has nothing to hold over my head, then he has nothing. He'll leave when he sees that you know the truth and it doesn't matter to you."

Grey frowned slightly. "What truth is that, Berkeley?"

She took a short, shallow breath. "I thought he was dead when I married you. You know I did."

"Yes? What has that to—"

Berkeley held up her hand and cut him off. "Anderson Shaw
was
my stepfather. I never lied about that. But I didn't tell you everything." She hesitated the length of a heartbeat then plunged ahead. "I didn't tell you that after my mother died he also became my husband."

Chapter 15

The bank was not crowded when Grey arrived. He made an inquiry into his account at the teller's window and a small withdrawal, and then he waited on a narrow bench in the lobby for Garret Denison and Anderson Shaw. He watched the clock and occasionally patted the inside pocket of his vest for the passage vouchers he had purchased for them. Grey wished he could derive more comfort from the gesture. Having the vouchers was not enough, not when there was no guarantee that a ship would be leaving San Francisco today. The best he was told he could hope for was that one would be sailing back East in forty-eight hours.

Grey stood. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. His head was cocked to one side, and his eyes were cast downward. No observer of this casual posture would have known it was tension that had driven him to his feet. His hooded glance seemed more thoughtful than worried, and the slight curve of his mouth gave the impression of humor turned inward. For all intents and purposes he appeared quite at his ease if slightly aloof. Several times he responded to greetings that were made in passing but he didn't invite or engage in conversation. No one of his acquaintance pressed.

Anderson Shaw entered the bank alone. His head bent, eyes on the floor, Anderson walked directly past Grey without noticing him. He stopped suddenly and turned, aware of Grey for the first time. Surprise made him slow to mask the malice in his expression.

Grey pushed away from the wall. He did not move to close the distance between them. "Shaw," he said.

Anderson made a slight nod. His acknowledgment was equally curt. "Janeway."

"Not here," Grey said. "Outside."

One of Anderson's brows arched as he considered this. It was certainly not a request. Before he gave any indication that he was going to go along with it, Grey walked out. Anderson waited, his eyes darting toward the clock. He stood there a full minute before he determined that Grey Janeway was not going to return. Slowly, his mouth tightening, he left the bank.

Grey was waiting on the lip of the sidewalk beside his carriage. When he saw Anderson he untethered the horses, climbed in, and took up the reins. He did not issue an invitation to Anderson except to glance in his direction.

Anderson climbed aboard. He sat back in the stiff leather seat beside Grey. "Where are we going?" he asked as Grey snapped the reins.

"Nowhere in particular."

Anderson looked around. Grey's open carriage gave him an unobstructed view of the street ahead. Wagons filled with feed and hardware lumbered cautiously along the rutted avenue. The rough plank walks on either side were considerably crowded with people moving briskly from one place of business to the next. Behind him he saw a pair of miners jump off the walk as soon as the carriage passed and head for the saloon across the street. "But you want witnesses," Anderson said shrewdly.