Jo Goodman (6 page)

Berkeley was aware of conversation around her but not the content or the outcome. What she knew with certainty was that she still held the earring. The next wave of heat from it was accompanied by a wave of nausea. The room started to spin. "He comes to you." The words were spoken suddenly, forcefully, as though she were compelled to say them, even against her will. Berkeley was no longer addressing Colin. Her body had shifted slightly. She looked past Jonna Thorne's shoulder to where Decker stood at the fireplace. "He comes here, to you. He is in pain. He thinks he may die." Berkeley frowned as the emotions she felt leaped forward in time. "It's yours again. You hold the earring; you think it's yours." Her voice diminished to a whisper. "You only realize the truth after he's gone. You try to catch him... you can't. He disappears... he—"

Berkeley cried out, startled and in pain. She shot to her feet and flung her arms outward. The earring made an arc of gold light as it was hurled toward the window. It skittered across the glass like a water strider skimming a pond before it dropped to the fringed perimeter of the carpet. As though they expected it to move under its own power, everyone save Berkeley stared at it. Berkeley stared at the droplet of blood in the heart of her palm.

They would notice her again, she thought, when she fainted.

* * *

Berkeley's lashes fluttered open. Her brow wrinkled and her mouth curled to one side. She made a halfhearted attempt to push away the smelling salts that were being waved under her nose.

"She's coming around nicely, Mercedes," Jonna said. "I think you can put the salts away."

Mercedes corked the bottle and set it on the stand beside the settee. She saw Berkeley's eyes wander about the room. "Your husband has gone with Colin and Decker to the library. It was Jonna's idea to banish them, and I quite agreed. Men are invariably not at their best around a woman suffering from the vapors."

Berkeley's reaction was somewhat defensive. "I don't have the vapors. I've never fainted before." She struggled to sit up, but Mercedes laid a gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder and held her in place. "I really should like to go now."

Jonna pulled a chair up to the settee and sat. "It's been a trying experience," she said. There was no condescension in her tone. "I can't say I would want to go through what you did. May I?"

Berkeley was unsure what she was being asked to give permission to, but she nodded anyway. Her right hand was immediately taken by Jonna, and the palm was turned up.

"Do you have a handkerchief, Mercedes?" Jonna asked. "I seem to always misplace mine."

Mercedes gave hers over and watched as Jonna wiped away the droplet of dried blood at the center of Berkeley's palm. Almost immediately another crimson drop bubbled to the surface. "Let her make a fist around it," Mercedes suggested. "It will stop the bleeding."

Jonna folded Berkeley's fingers around the handkerchief and held them in place. "There. That's better, isn't it? You wouldn't want to ruin your gown."

Berkeley didn't care at all about the state of her gown. She didn't say so though for fear of offending the other women. They were both so fashionably turned out that she couldn't imagine they would understand or appreciate her lack of concern. Anderson had chosen the leaf green silk gown she wore now. He said he had a particular fondness for this dress because it made her own eyes seem impossibly green. To Berkeley's way of thinking the gown was merely a uniform, and she wore it because it was what was required for the occasion. "How did I cut myself?" she asked.

Jonna's dark brows lifted in surprise. "You don't know?"

Mercedes smiled. "I believe if Mrs. Shaw knew, she wouldn't have asked, Jonna." Mercedes turned her attention back to Berkeley. "I think the earring's post punctured your hand. You were holding it very tightly. I shouldn't wonder that your fingers will be stiff."

Berkeley flexed her fingers around the handkerchief. Mercedes Thorne had accurately described the state of her hand. "I didn't damage it, did I?"

"Oh no, not even when you threw it."

"I
threw
it?"

"Yes, you did. Quite forcefully, too. I take it that's never happened before."

"Never," Berkeley said. The quick, negative shake of her head lent veracity to her denial. "Who would invite me to handle their priceless valuables if I had a reputation for throwing them?" She hesitated, her eyes darting pleadingly between Jonna and Mercedes. "You won't say anything... I mean, it would damage my reputa—"

"You have no reason to fear on that account," Jonna said quietly.

Berkeley heard Mercedes murmur her agreement, and she finally relaxed. "Was I at all helpful?" she asked. She saw the women exchange cautionary glances. Berkeley sighed. "I suppose not. I'm sorry. As you know from your research, I am not always entirely successful. I wish it could have been different for both of you and your husbands."

"It's not that you weren't successful," Mercedes said. "It's just that you told us mostly what we already knew. It confirmed your incredible gift but didn't give us much hope that we could find Graham Denison."

Jonna tucked a loose tendril of glossy black hair behind her ear. Her widely spaced, beautifully colored violet eyes were solemn. "Thirty years ago Colin, Decker, and Greydon were orphaned when their parents were murdered. The details of that aren't important now." She cast a look sideways at Mercedes, assuring her that what she said was true. "My husband was four, Colin eight, and Greydon, as you understood from holding the earring, was but an infant. No family could be found to take them, so they were placed in a London workhouse for foundlings and orphans. You described it as a hard, terrible place, and it was. Greydon was the first to be taken, just as you said. Colin believes that the couple who adopted him planned to pass him off as their own child. He could be christened with any name today."

Mercedes brushed the back of Berkeley's hand. "He could be named Graham Denison."

"Is it true then?" Berkeley asked. "Did I confirm that Greydon and Graham are one and the same?"

Shaking her head slowly, her eyes regretful, Mercedes withdrew her hand and laid it in her own lap. "No, you didn't confirm it. You didn't hold out any hope. Quite the opposite, in fact. Just before you fainted you told us Graham Denison was dead."

Berkeley's luminous eyes widened. "I said that?" she asked incredulously. "Are you certain there was no misunderstanding?"

"There was no mistaking your words," Jonna said. "We can only hope that
you're
mistaken." She hesitated then rushed forward with her thoughts before she reconsidered them. "My husband was separated from Colin not long after Greydon was taken. He was raised by two actors who claimed they were missionaries when they went to the workhouse. In reality they were thieves, and they raised Decker to fend for himself on the streets. The earring that was in his possession was very much his talisman, just as you sensed.

"Colin spent most of his life searching for his brothers. He was on the point of believing nothing would come of it when Decker appeared. Perhaps you won't find it at all odd that it was the earring that brought them together. That was almost ten years ago."

Jonna looked to Mercedes for some assurance that she was doing the right thing by revealing these details. Mercedes's faint nod was all she needed to continue. "My husband left England for Boston shortly after that. At Colin's suggestion he came to work for Remington Shipping. He met Graham Denison in the course of his duties for the Remington line. They discovered they had some shared interests and formed an alliance of sorts, but they—"

Berkeley interrupted. Her skin was flushed suddenly, and this time the heat went all the way to her cheeks. In spite of the window that had been opened for her comfort, she was uncomfortably warm. "May I have something to drink?"

Mercedes rose gracefully to her feet. "Of course. I should have thought of it myself. Do you want spirits, tea, or—"

"Tea, please."

Mercedes reached for the tasseled bellpull just inside the door and rang for a servant. A young Negress appeared almost immediately, and Mercedes sent her out again for a tray of tea and cakes. "It will only be a few minutes," she said as she returned to Berkeley's side.

"Thank you," Berkeley said. Her eyes strayed to Jonna's. "Forgive me. You were saying something about your husband's common interests with Mr. Denison. Do those interests involve the abolitionist movement?"

Not for the world would Jonna admit to that. She lied without hesitation. "My husband is not involved in that cause, though there is some sympathy for it. Mr. Denison, as you seem to know, had earned the name Falconer for his part in liberating slaves." Jonna did not mind sharing this last information. It was printed in papers from Augusta to Atlanta, and Graham Denison was either a hero or a villain. Whether he received accolades or epithets depended on geography. North of Mason-Dixon he typically was lauded. South of that demarcation, he was a pariah. Still, what the papers had printed as fact wasn't the entire story, and Jonna kept these secret truths to herself.

"My husband and Graham became friends but not complete confidants. I don't think it is in either of their natures to be forthcoming with their pasts. We know that Graham has a family in South Carolina. A younger brother... his parents and grandparents. Remington Shipping had done business with the Denisons for years. Their plantation is outside Charleston. They call it Beau Rivage." She intercepted Berkeley's inquiring look. "It means Beautiful Shore."

Berkeley nodded and hoped her cheeks weren't flushed with her embarrassment. She felt impossibly young and ignorant in the presence of these women. It was a wonder they had any patience for her. As they had pointed out, she hadn't revealed any new knowledge to them. She had only told them what they already knew. She wondered if they understood that
that
was her very special talent.

The arrival of the tea kept her from blurting out that admission. She was allowed to sit up as Mercedes poured from the silver service. Berkeley examined her palm and found the bleeding had stopped. She traded the soiled handkerchief for a cup of warm tea. "Captain Thorne didn't know that Mr. Denison was in possession of the earring?" she asked.

Jonna shook her head. "Not until Graham had left Boston. We found the earring here among some clothes that were meant to be laundered."

"It seems odd that he didn't ask after it."

"We always thought so, but then perhaps he didn't have the same attachment to it that Decker and Colin do. It is the only explanation that really satisfies any of us." She sighed and raised her own cup slowly to her lips. "In spite of that we began a search for him. Decker took out the Remington flagship
Huntress
and chased down the ship Graham was on." Only a small measure of the enormous disappointment she had experienced on that occasion was revealed now. "He was no longer aboard when we caught the
Siren.
He had disembarked in Philadelphia. It surprised us.
Siren
was on her way to China. Graham had signed on for the voyage. He had seemed excited about the prospect, then he disappeared." Jonna took a large swallow of her tea then set the cup and saucer down. "It's been a little more than five years, Mrs. Shaw. We've never heard from him, and we've never been able to find him. I find myself quite prepared to believe Graham Denison is dead."

Mercedes gasped softly. "You don't mean that, Jonna."

"I do," she said. "God forbid, I don't wish it. He saved my life, Mercedes. I owe him so much, but it's as if he's fallen off the face of the earth. I can't credit his consciously making such a complete break with his past."

"There may be a reason," Mercedes insisted. "If he were engaged in the Underground again, for instance, secrecy would be a necessity."

"There would have been word by now," Jonna said. "A hint. He knew he would be cut off from the Denisons, but there was no reason to do the same with his friends."

Mercedes persisted with gentle reasoning. "You only mean that you don't understand his purpose."

Berkeley realized her cup was rattling ever so slightly against the saucer. She willed her hands to be steady, hoping her voice would follow. "You mustn't accept anything I said while holding the earring as an absolute," she told Jonna.

"You had already thrown the earring," Jonna said. "Your hands were over your ears and you were on the point of collapsing when you told us Graham Denison was dead."

"And that's the last thing I said?" Berkeley asked. She knew immediately that she had been wrong to hope it was. Jonna and Mercedes exchanged a look again, and it was clear they were wondering what they could or should tell her. "Please, I have no recollection of what happened in those last moments. Can you not say anything?"

"Your husband requested our silence," Mercedes answered. Her questioning gaze was her admission that she didn't completely agree with his reasoning. "He said it would cause you further upset."

Berkeley could not still her trembling hands this time. "Then I must have mentioned San Francisco."

"Yes," Jonna said. "You did. I didn't hear you. Mr. Shaw had caught you in your fall by that time, but your lips were moving around the words. He told us what you said."

"And my exact words?"

" 'You can find him in San Francisco.' " Jonna looked to Mercedes for confirmation.