Nobody's Secret (18 page)

She crossed out a few words and tried jotting a few other choices. She waited, but nothing more came to her. She carefully tucked the notebook back in its hiding place and began searching for the ghostly pale petals and wooden stems of an Indian pipe. She found a stand almost immediately next to a half-rotted log. In the bright afternoon, the eerie plant looked almost ordinary.

“All right, I’ve found the flower that isn’t a flower. Can I prove that James was indeed here?” Emily began searching, lifting dead branches and pushing aside foliage. Before long she noticed an area where the pine needles were scuffed, as though some violent disturbance had taken place. A glint of gold where no gold should be caught her eye. She brushed aside a patch of feathery ferns to find a gold watch with the monogram “W.”

“Proof,” Emily said aloud.

“Proof of what?”

She whirled around, shoving the watch into her skirt pocket. Henry leaned against a tree not five paces away. How had he come up behind her so silently? His face was in shadow, and she couldn’t see his eyes. He seemed an altogether different person than the charming suitor who had helped her with the baking.

“Nothing,” she said. “Did you follow me here?

He hesitated, his lips pressed tightly together. Finally he said, “We saw you walk by Uncle’s house. I wondered if you were still meddling in our family’s affairs.”

She took a step backward. “And if I am?”

“Everyone is satisfied with my cousin’s death . . . except you.”

Emily’s heart beat faster as she realized how far she was from home and help. “I must be going now,” she said and tried to move past him. Henry suddenly grabbed her wrist.

“Let me go,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. His hand remained, and she repeated in a higher voice, “Let me go! Henry, my family knows that I am here.”

“First you have to listen to me,” he said. “I seem to recall you made a similar bargain with me.”

His genial voice belied the threat she heard only too clearly. Emily pressed her knees together, as though that could stop the trembling of her whole body. “I’m listening.”

His fingers still tight around her wrist, he called into the woods. “Uncle, come out.”

A twig cracked, and Sam Wentworth emerged from behind a stand of trees. Emily tugged futilely at Henry’s grip. Two men with a secret—and no help within earshot. And Reverend Colton had warned her that very morning!

“Good morning, Miss Dickinson,” Sam said slowly. He was still frightening, but Emily noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and his skin looked mottled. He looked like someone who had suffered a great loss. “I’d like to apologize for the way I treated you the other day.”

Emily said nothing.

“You are angry,” he said. “I can’t blame you. It was unforgivable.”

“He’s been under a great deal of strain,” Henry said.

“Is that any excuse for threatening me, an innocent passerby?” Emily countered.

“Innocent! You were trespassing. And stealing. And asking impertinent questions!” Sam almost shouted.

“This is how you apologize?” Emily asked, glaring at Sam.

“Uncle!” Henry said warningly. “We’re trying to make things right.” He stood close behind her, his arm pressing against her body.

Emily lifted her chin and asked, “Why did you follow me here?”

“First, tell me how you found this place, girl,” Sam said in a more measured tone. But Emily saw that his eyes still had a wild look.

“Let me go,” she said. Henry glanced at his uncle and released her wrist. She rubbed the soreness.

“A flower led me here.” Emily’s voice quavered. She cleared her throat and went on more forcefully, “James died here, didn’t he?” They stared at her as though they had seen a ghost. “Don’t bother to deny it. I already know almost everything.” A sense of prudence suggested she add, “And my father, the attorney, knows everything, too.” How she wished that were true.

Sam stared at her, and the tension filling his body seemed to unwind like a spool of thread. He sank down on the rotting log and wiped his brow. “Last Sunday, I went to visit my sister. As I arrived, I met my nephew James on his way out of their garden. I couldn’t believe that he was alive. I was so glad to see him.”

“What did he say?” Emily asked, fascinated to learn the details of James’s last day.

Sam stared at her with empty eyes. “He was in a temper. Someone had struck him in the face—I could see the mark. He brushed me aside. He said I was as criminal as the rest of the family. My sister Violet and her husband, Charles, were standing in the door watching us.”

“Was anyone else there?” Emily asked.

“Just Ursula, watching from the window. I could see she had been crying,” Sam said. “I went after James. I didn’t want him to think he had been cheated.”

“Especially by his own flesh and blood,” Emily said.

Sam winced as though Emily had struck him, but he continued. “James walked away, furious. I was hard put to keep up with him. At first I thought he was coming to my house, but he passed it by and came here.”

“How did he even know about Amethyst Brook?” Emily asked. “I’ve been walking around Amherst my whole life and I’ve never been here.”

“I showed him,” Henry said unexpectedly. “Do you remember how I told you that when we were boys, we visited our uncle? We explored all these old trails. This was a favorite spot.”

“I finally caught him up here,” Sam said. “I admitted what we had done.” His voice stumbled, as though he couldn’t bear to say it.

Henry rested his hand on his uncle’s shoulder.

“The Langstons faked James’s death so they could inherit your brother’s fortune,” Emily said impatiently. “I know that. But what happened next?”

“How do you know all this?” Henry spluttered.

“James said he had more than enough proof to prosecute the whole family for fraud,” Sam continued.

“He would have had a good case, too,” said Henry, ever the law student.

Emily considered that. Sam would go to jail, and possibly Mr. and Mrs. Langston would too. Henry, even if he wasn’t involved, would be ruined. Who would hire a lawyer whose parents were in jail for fraud? And Ursula would be left penniless, for all intents and purposes an orphan.

“I told James that I hadn’t known that he was still alive,” Sam said. “His eyes seemed to stare through me, into my soul.”

Emily’s skin prickled—she knew that gaze.

“Finally he said, ‘I believe you, Uncle.’ He also said he didn’t want to prosecute.”

Emily frowned. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes!” Sam cried. “James said he wanted to try his hand at prospecting in California. The family could set him up handsomely and he wouldn’t trouble them again.”

Emily saw the doubt written across Henry’s face and knew it was mirrored on her own. “Then what happened?” Emily asked, although she knew how this had to end. Somehow James’s dead body had been dressed in new clothes, a telltale Indian pipe fortuitously trapped in his borrowed collar to lead her to this place.

“James laughed,” Sam said.

“What?” Emily exclaimed. “I don’t believe it.”

“As surely as my bees love clover,” Sam said. “He sat on this very spot and laughed. He said his Aunt Violet had always scolded him for being a ne’er-do-well. And now she had committed a crime and stolen a fortune. It was a great joke to him.”

Emily was torn. On the one hand, it sounded exactly like the young man she had so briefly known. On the other hand, Sam Wentworth’s tale was convenient. If it was true, then he had no reason to kill his nephew.

Sam saw her indecision and became agitated. “I’m telling the truth! He even gave me his proof.” He pulled out a sheet of paper that matched the blotter Emily had stolen. “You will never guess what this is.”

“An affidavit from a law clerk named Mr. Ripley, admitting he forged a codicil to Jeremiah’s will?” Emily asked.

“You are a witch,” said Henry, stunned. “How do you know all of my family’s secrets?”

Emily shrugged, not taking her eyes from Sam. “Why did he give you that document? Why not use it to get his fortune back?”

“I told you—he said he wouldn’t prosecute. Giving it to me was his sign of good faith.”

“Or you took it from him after he was dead,” Emily said.

“That’s a lie!” Sam roused himself enough to protest. “Besides, Ripley is a coward. By all accounts, he would happily confess again. I’d have gained nothing from killing James. He gave me the affidavit.”

Steeling her courage, Emily said in a stern voice, “Give it to me.”

Sam hesitated. “I’m not going to give you proof that I’ve committed a crime!”

Emily went on, “My father is the attorney who wrote your brother’s first will. The affidavit comes from his office. Besides, you said yourself that Mr. Ripley would tell anyone who asked.”

Henry leaned over and whispered in his uncle’s ear. Sam thought for a few moments, then handed it over.

Emily scanned the document, her eyebrows raising higher and higher. “Why didn’t he give it to the Langstons?”

A wry smile appeared on Sam’s lips. “He was enjoying their consternation.”

Henry grinned. “He always had a wicked sense of humor.”

“He’s not the wicked one here, Henry,” Emily snapped. “Mr. Wentworth, your story is missing an ending. How did Mr. No—James die?”

Sam lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know. He pulled out a flask and we drank to his miraculous resurrection.”

Emily nodded; she remembered that flask.

“A few minutes later, he clutched his chest and began to stagger about.”

“He was poisoned!” Emily cried.

“No, he couldn’t have been. I drank some of the wine first,” Sam protested.

“Wine?” Emily leapt on the word. “Are you sure it wasn’t brandy?”

He nodded. “I’m sure. I took a healthy swallow. It was elderberry wine. If it was poison, why wasn’t I affected?”

“Did he say anything before . . . he died?” Emily’s voice was rough. She saw Henry wince, and remembered that the cousins had once been close.

“He shouted that I was turning green. Then he fell down dead.” Sam choked up and couldn’t speak.

“There’s more,” Emily contradicted him. “Mr. Wentworth, you saw James was beyond help, so you went to your sister and brother-in-law.”

“Violet and Charles were overjoyed.” His mouth twisted at the memory. “My own sister . . .”

Emily glanced at Henry, wondering how he felt hearing such terrible things about his parents. He met her gaze with a blank look before he turned away.

Sam began to choke up. “Their own nephew was dead, and all they could think of was money.”

Emily went on, “So they sent their hired man, Horace, to help you.”

Surprisingly, Sam shook his head. “Horace used to work for me years ago. He’d do anything for me.” He hesitated, with a sidelong glance at Henry. “Charles and Violet came up with a plan. No one in town was likely to remember James as my nephew—even I barely recognized him. We thought if we changed his appearance he could never be connected to us.”

“You used Horace’s clothes,” Emily said. “And Horace carried the body to the road and put him into your new carriage.”

Sam stared at her, dumbfounded. “Yes, God forgive me. We took him to the pond near the West Cemetery and slid him into the water.”

“Why did you pick that pond?” Emily asked.

Sam shrugged. “It was on the road out of town, and no one in our family has any ties there.”

“So it was merely a coincidence?” Emily said.

He nodded.

“You hoped he would be mistaken for a tramp who fell and drowned,” Henry said.

“Yes,” Sam said simply.

“If it weren’t for Emily, your plan would have worked,” Henry said. Emily thought he sounded almost regretful.

“A vile plan,” Emily cried. “How could you let your own nephew be buried in a potter’s field, unmarked and forgotten?”

“Charles said he would make an anonymous donation for a funeral.” Sam rubbed at his eyes with his dirty palms. “But I don’t think he did.”

“You are a foolish old man,” Emily said.

“I know,” Sam said, pushing himself off the log. Henry moved to assist him, but Sam shook him off. Without saying another word, the old man lumbered off toward home, bits of rotten wood falling from his pants like a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest.

“Well, Emily,” Henry said, very formally, “on behalf of my cousin James, I suppose I must thank you. Because of you, he will have the funeral he deserves.” He took her hands in his.

Emily stared down at his soft hands that had never known a day’s hard labor. She remembered the calluses on James’s hands, and how they had marked him as a man who worked for his living. Not a thief. Nor someone who was willing to profit from theft. Slowly she pulled her hands away, and once and for all she stepped back from Henry Langston.

“Nothing is finished,” she said in a low voice. “We still don’t know how he died.”

“You heard Uncle,” Henry protested. “He fell down dead. James died of natural causes.”

“He was murdered,” Emily said. There. The words were spoken and could not be taken back.

“How?” Henry asked. “Uncle drank from the same flask. Emily, I’m grateful for your help, but I can handle things from here. I’ll confront my parents.”

“And the money?” Emily asked. “What will you do about the money?”

“With James’s death, it comes to them anyway,” he said. “No harm has been done.”

“No harm?” Emily said in disgust. “The apple never falls far from the tree, and its seeds are the next generation of villainy. Your parents violated every rule of decency and betrayed every family tie. Could it be more foul?” She sank to the grass. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of clever, gallant James. He was worth ten of Henry. He deserved the truth. No matter who got hurt.

“Emily, I’m warning you—it’s finished. James will be buried properly, and the Langstons shall leave Amherst forever. That should satisfy you.” He stalked off in the same direction as his uncle.

Staring after him, Emily whispered, “You haven’t given up all your secrets yet, Henry. Until I find out everything, I won’t be satisfied at all.”

I Felt a funeral, in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through
—