Running Wild
RUNNING WILD
BY DENISE EAGAN
This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are strictly the product of the author’s
imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or events are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Denise Eagan
Much thanks to Stephanie, my fount of wisdom and
information,
To Cathryn, for encouragement and trips to Salem,
To Deb for always being just one e-mail away,
And as always, Tom, husband, business manager and all
around go-to guy
And Sean and Nat, for years of sacrifice and love
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends sol’n forth of holy write,
And seem a saint when most I play the devil
Shakespeare, King Henry III
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Controlling the unladylike urge to whistle about her
morning’s tennis victory over Samantha Peabody, Star Montgomery flipped through
the day’s mail. She’d triumphed in four of five sets, in the final match of the
year. A lovely way to—
He gaze fixed upon a white envelope with a black charcoal
rose drawn in the corner. Romeo. Her exuberance fled; her stomach clenched.
Silly.
Silly reaction
she chided herself as she
absentmindedly replaced the silver post tray on the entryway table. He was
naught but a secret admirer and if Star were a natural female, she’d brag about
him instead of dread his correspondence. Opening the letter, she started across
the mahogany-paneled hall toward the parlor, the rubber of her tennis plimsolls
silent on the black and white tile.
I cannot but confess how my pen shakes as I write you this letter, for the
perfect joy of knowing that you shall shortly hold it in your beautiful hands.
It was his usual opening, employing her irritating first
name instead of addressing her by her middle name like friends and family did.
She scanned that page and the next, filled with the usual rhetoric about her
beauty: ridiculous exaggeration all of it, for she was too tall for beauty.
What she had was charm.
And then,
upon you, oh so gently, my dear, to cease and desist your continued association
with the harridans of this ridiculous Women’s Movement. You must know that a
woman’s place is beside a man, a husband if she be so lucky, with whom she
consults on all matters, to whom she devotes her life and heart, a man for whom
she cherishes and cares above all things
.
“Star? What is it?”
Star looked up to see Port sitting on the parlor sofa,
sipping tea and reading the newspaper. Her brother was meticulously dressed in
morning clothes, the subtle yet elegant shades of grey and black in perfect
balance with the blue and ivory appointed parlor. His dark hair was lightly
oiled and neat as wax and his mustache perfectly trimmed. Port would not for a
moment contemplate anything less than proper grooming, even during his monthly
visit to his boyhood home.
“Nothing, really,” she said, frowning at the letter as she
crossed the room. “Just another letter from my secret admirer.”
“Which one?” he asked dryly.
“The secret one.”
“Not that Romeo fellow? What, has he not yet regained his
senses?” Port quipped, as she sank into her favorite blue upholstered balloon
chair, situated near enough a window to read by the rays of the morning sun.
“Star, by George, you aren’t going to sit in here in your tennis clothes, are
you? You must change into a gown. This behavior is positively uncivilized.”
“I wholly apprehend your feelings on that score, Port. I
could not care less,” she retorted and continued to read.
made woman far too fragile to stand on her own. Yet you continue to be seduced
by these unnatural creatures, who take advantage of your goodness. I have
vigorously requested that you cut them from your acquaintance, but, thus far,
you refuse my wise counsel. Please, my love, you must heed me on this my only
demand. I do not wish to do so, but as I love you with my whole heart, I shall
do all in my power to save you from the hands of evil.
Save you from the hands of evil
. Star’s teeth
clenched. She knew too well the hands of evil; she’d lost her best friend,
Minnie, to them years earlier. Lost her to a bubbling, boiling cauldron of
physical and mental torture perpetrated by her husband. When Star closed her
eyes, pictures of Minnie’s bruised face flashed across her vision, and an
all-too-familiar cloud of despondency and guilt threatened to descend. One from
which only action could ever rescue her, the very action against which Romeo
railed.
She stiffened her back, shoved the darkness away and opened
her eyes just as a knock on the door rang through the room. Herman, the butler,
entered, carrying a piece of paper. The elderly man’s face showed unusual
strain as he fixed his gaze upon Port. “It’s a telegram, sir,” Herman said with
a tiny bow. “Addressed to your father and marked urgent.”
Port frowned. “You may send it directly to his office. I
suppose it is business related.”
“I could take it to him,” Star offered. She would pass
Romeo’s letter by Father as well, who would, naturally, be no more concerned
than Port, for they’d all agreed that a man so timid as to hide behind letters
could not but be harmless.
Except that, as usual, Romeo had closed the letter with “I
shall be watching you,” and on more than one occasion he’d made mention of
matters that confirmed his observation. It gave her the creeps.
“I should, sir,” Herman said, “but it appears to be from
Master Leland.”
“From Lee?” Port asked, rising to take it. “But why on
earth. . . .” he wondered aloud, and started reading. “Oh good God!” he
exploded.
Star raised an eyebrow. Although Port possessed a mild
temperament, Lee had often brought out the worst in his younger brother. When
he’d lived in Boston, he’d made a career of it. “What is it, Port?”
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Port ran a hand through his
hair. It stood on end. His face tightened into hard restraint. “Thank you,
Herman. You were quite correct in bringing this to my attention. I’ll ring
Father directly.”
“Ring Father?” Star asked. Rising, she laid Romeo’s letter
aside and reached for the telegram. “Whatever for? What has Lee to say?”
Port held tightly to the paper until the door closed behind
Herman. When they were alone, he released the telegram and strode to the
telephone on the wall. “It’s not from Lee. It’s from one Michelle Dubois, who,
if she is to be believed, says that our elder brother has gotten himself into
another scrape,” he said bitterly. “This one involving a murder charge.”
“Murder!” Star exclaimed.
“Yes, hello,” Port said into the telephone. “If you would be
so obliging, ma’am, as to connect me to Montgomery Enterprises please?”
“Good gracious, how on earth has Lee become embroiled in
murder?” Star asked distractedly.
Port put his hand over the mouthpiece and hissed, “Keep your
voice down, Star. Do you want the operator to hear of this?”
“Why, no.”
Lee and Jess accused murder, Grant, Colorado. Stop. Victim, stage manager
Robert Madison. Stop. Trial and hanging imminent. Stop. Requests, money,
Pinkertons, influence. Stop.
Michelle Dubois
“Yes, Father, it’s Port. . . . Of course you do. We have a
telegram from Lee. . . . Why as to that, sir, I believe your return would
better serve us all. . . . Yes, Father, now.” He rang off and turned to Star,
who lifted her head.
“He’s on his way, then?” she asked. “Who do you think this
Jess is?”
“How should I know? I’m not at all certain it isn’t a ruse
to milk of us money. If you recall, Ward McAllister said that his brother met
Lee in San—Oh good God, that’s who she is!”
“Who who is? It might actually be a joke, don’t you think?”
Star thought, her alarm quickly easing. Joke or not, Lee was a master at
extricating himself from scrapes.
Murder, though, could be different.
“Who this Jess is that the Dubois woman mentions,” Port
answered. “McAllister said Lee attended a ball with a woman whom he’d never
met. He prattled on and on about her beauty, grace and charm. But what, by all
that is holy, are they doing in
Colorado
?”
“Stage manager—you don’t suppose she’s an actress, do you?”
Star asked, amusement bubbling up inside of her. Only Lee would bring an
actress to a ball! “She is, I’m certain of it. Lee brought an actress to a ball
to tweak San Francisco! And they accepted her!”
“No, he couldn’t have!” Port said, sinking into the sofa.
“We shall never live it down.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Port,” Star said, reseating herself.
“It is not for us to live down, but for Lee, and you know he doesn’t care a
scrap for their opinions. Nor do you, if you reflect upon it, for when have you
ever given credence to the opinions of San Franciscan Society? Not that it is
signifies in the least, for it appears that Lee is about to be hanged for
murder!”
Port scowled at her. “He shan’t be hanged, and you know that
full well. Father shall rescue him with just a few well-placed telegrams, and
he will be free once more to disgrace us.”
“Perhaps not,” she said holding back a gurgle of laughter.
“Murder charges may require more than a few telegrams.” Perhaps even a train
trip. Colorado was over a thousand miles from Boston. Over a thousand miles
from Romeo and his watching eyes, as well. How long would such a trip take?
Two, possibly three weeks? She has two articles for the
Women’s Journal
due in that time, but one could do quite a bit of writing on a train, and the
mail could do the rest. “You know, we may even be required to travel to
Colorado.”
“Colorado? You can’t be serious. It is full of heathens and
cows. Under no circumstances shall we go to Colorado, certainly not with
Meredith in confinement and so near to her lying-in. I cannot leave her at such
a time.”
Star’s heart softened and she gave Port a comforting smile.
“Of course you cannot. Not after her past difficulties. Fear not, Port, I’ll go
alone or with Father.”
“No!” Port snapped. “I can think of nothing more apt to
exacerbate the scandal than sending
you
to join Lee. Good God, between
the two of you we shall be the talk of not just the East Coast, but the entire
country!”
“I expect not,” a voice said from the doorway. Star looked
up to see Father enter the room. “Although why Star should join Lee anywhere is
beyond my comprehension.”
“That,” Port said, grabbing the telegram and crossing the
room, “is because you have not read the telegram.”
Father, like Port, was a tall man, but possessed a wider,
sometimes intimidating build. He had thick, black hair graying at the temples,
with a few grey hairs scattered throughout the rest. For all his appearance of
cool composure, lines of tension bracketed his eyes. Communication from Lee
invariably caused tension in her father, who disapproved of his vagabond life.
