Sadie's Secret: 3 (The Secret Lives of Will Tucker) (53 page)

Sadie held her tongue and allowed Jefferson to continue conversing with Mr. Montfort. In her experience, men like the attorney might not listen quite as closely to a woman as they did to a man. And right now, Jefferson had Montfort’s full attention.

“That is preposterous. I suppose they will come with us to the Valletta home?”

“They will keep a discreet distance, but yes, I think it prudent, don’t you, Agent Callum?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded to the door. “Shall we go, then?”

They emerged into the warm May morning to find a pair of Newport’s finest waiting. Jefferson went to speak to them while Sadie allowed the driver to help her and the attorney into Mr. Astor’s carriage.

The men rode along behind the carriage until they turned onto a street filled with modest homes bordered with tidy gardens. They paused at the corner while the carriage deposited Sadie and her companions at a home midway down the block.

After a moment’s discussion, it was decided that the lawyer would approach the door while Sadie and Jefferson stood just out of sight. Mr. Montfort looked as if he might tumble forward, but somehow he managed to lift his hand and knock.

The door opened almost immediately, and a man stepped outside to envelop the lawyer in an embrace. “Welcome, Louis. To what do we owe this honor? Is Mr. Vanderbilt in need of another sarcophagus?”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Sadie gasped and stepped out of her hiding place. “Gabriel?”

Her childhood friend froze. Slowly he stepped away from the lawyer and looked over in Sadie’s direction.

His mouth opened and then slammed shut. A moment later, so did the front door.

Jefferson pushed Montfort aside and signaled to the police officers. Trying the door, he found it locked. After giving it two swift kicks, the door gave way.

Sadie held her gun at the ready as Jefferson raced inside. The house was small—tiny, really—and filled with all sorts of mismatched but well-kept furniture. Lace curtains covered the windows, and the smell of something delicious filled the air.

A woman’s scream urged Sadie forward. In the kitchen, she found an elderly lady huddled in the corner, a pot of what appeared to be some sort of stew bubbling on the stove.

“I am a Pinkerton agent. We mean you no harm.”

“Well, I doubt that,” she said in a thick Irish brogue. “Your man’s done chased my son-in-law right out the back door and into the yard, and an innocent man, he is.”

“Gabriel is your son-in-law? But that isn’t possible.”

“Isn’t it?” The woman moved past Sadie to retrieve a frame containing a tintype portrait of a couple on their wedding day from the wall. “What do you say to that, then?”

Sadie took the portrait and held it up to the light. Indeed, there was the man she knew as Gabriel Trahan standing beside his bride.

“Julia?” She looked over at the woman. “Julia Oakman is your daughter?”

“She is, only her name’s Valletta now. Mrs. Julia Valletta.”

Sadie leaned against the chair as Jefferson hauled Gabriel back into the kitchen. “So you’re acquainted with this man?”

“I am, but he is not a Valletta,” she said. “I don’t care what he’s told you, Jefferson. That man is Gabriel Trahan.”

Her childhood friend laughed. “For a Pinkerton agent, Sadie, you certainly are naive. My mother was married to a Trahan, but that man was not my father.”

She pulled out the chair and sat down in a most unladylike fashion. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, of course you wouldn’t.” He swiped at a trickle of blood that escaped his nose.

“Get him a handkerchief, would you?” Jefferson asked the older woman.

“Here,” Montfort said from his place at the door. “He can have mine.” He moved toward Gabriel and handed him the handkerchief. And then he made to leave. A second later, he turned around and punched the man in the stomach, doubling him over. “That is for ruining my reputation, Valletta. And when I see your father, there’s one coming for him too. You
promised
the purchases were valid. You gave me receipts and assurances of provenance. You took photographs and—”

“I think that’s enough, Montfort,” Jefferson said. “Why don’t you let the officers get you settled? I’m sure something can be worked out, but you will need to stay in their custody until all of this is finished.”

“The protection will be welcome, Mr. Tucker. Without officers in tow, I might have to come back and show this boy how I feel again.”

Gabriel remained mute, the handkerchief held against his nose. One of the police officers stepped into the kitchen. “I have transport here, sir. We can take him and the old lady over to the jail now.”

At the sound of the word jail, the woman began to cry. She made no move to interfere, however, as the policeman assisted Gabriel in standing.

Sadie, however, could not let her friend leave so easily. “Could I have a moment?”

Jefferson nodded to the officer, who escorted the woman outside. He turned off the fire under the stew and then regarded Gabriel with a look that told Sadie that Montfort wasn’t the only one who wanted a piece of this man.

When they were alone, Sadie let out a long breath and said one word. “Why?”

He looked down at her, impassive at first and then, slowly a smile emerged. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

“Tell me.”

“You had it all, you and your brothers. The big house, all you ever wanted, and more. But those of us down in those shacks your daddy called workers’ cottages—”

“Those weren’t shacks, Gabriel. They were nice, comfortable homes with—”

“Stop it, Sadie. You know nothing of any life but the one you’ve lived. My mother, she knew about that life. She was a lady before Trahan married her. He didn’t deserve her and he knew it.”

She wanted to speak but didn’t. Instead, Sadie waited to see if he would continue.

“I didn’t know until I was grown that the man I thought of as my father wasn’t my father at all. I am royalty, Sadie. Descended from Spanish aristocracy, and I was left to rot on a miserable sugarcane plantation in River Pointe, Louisiana.”

“You weren’t rotting. You went off to Tulane. You studied to become a doctor.”

He laughed. “I did nothing of the sort. I went to London and found my father, an exile living on money he made in a most inventive way.”

“By stealing artifacts and selling them on the black market.”

He shrugged. “It was commerce. I will make no excuses for people who cared nothing for where their precious baubles came from.”

“You’re a bitter man, Gabriel. And to think you pretended an interest in marrying me when all the while you were married to my maid.”

“Oh, Sadie. Julia is no maid. She’s an actress with no small measure of talent. I would wager a guess that pretending to be your maid was one of her best performances.” He paused. “But yes, I would have married you. Gladly. I would have given you a baby or two just to see that the bloodline continued. I liked the idea of a child of mine inheriting Callum Plantation someday.”

“And your
wife
didn’t mind?”

He looked her in the eyes, any trace of amusement now gone. “My wife was the one who gave me the idea.”

Jefferson stepped into the room and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s time we allow the officer to take him.”

She handed the tintype to Jefferson. “Gladly.”

After the officer had taken Gabriel away, Sadie noticed that Jefferson was still studying the picture. “You were right about Julia,” she said. “She wasn’t what she seemed.”

He set the picture aside and reached for her. She went to him and rested her head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. A thought occurred and she looked up.

“You didn’t want Julia to come with us because you suspected her all along, didn’t you?”

“I had a suspicion, but nothing I could prove.”

“Based on the fact that she and your brother interacted at Valletta’s shop.”

“Yes. And Valletta knew her last name.”

“What about the Durer? Do you think that was meant for you or was it sent there for Julia to intercept?”

“I suppose that’s something she will have to answer when she’s caught. But if I were to guess, I would think that even though the parcel had my name on it, it was meant for Julia. Your uncle just happened to stumble on it—literally—before she could find it.”

“That makes sense.” She rested her palms on his chest as she fitted another piece of the puzzle into place in her mind. “It seems as though we have everyone but Valletta.”

“We will get him,” Jefferson said.

She looked up into his eyes and mustered a smile. “We have to.”

Forty

T
hat evening a courier arrived at Hampstead Farms with a stack of files containing all of the photographic evidence Jefferson needed to prove that Sergio Valletta was accepting stolen artifacts from the British Museum dig site in Iraq and combining them with forged paintings to dupe wealthy Americans. What wasn’t purchased in America went on to be sold in shops in London, Paris, and other European cities.

Though the possibility of Valletta somehow getting word of today’s arrest was slim, Jefferson had determined he would take no chances. An officer was on guard at Hampstead Farms, and the staff had been instructed to allow no one to enter or leave the property without Jefferson’s express permission.

Sadie was upstairs with a maid in attendance and a houseboy was stationed in the hall to watch over them both. And though he was sorely tempted to allow himself a few hours of sleep before morning, Jefferson did not dare.

He settled behind the desk in Mr. Hampstead’s library and stared down at the blank page that had been defying him for the past hour. How could a letter be so difficult to write?

Finally, he stacked the stationery neatly and put it away, and then he returned the pen and ink to the drawer where he found them. He would write to his superiors at Scotland Yard eventually. But not tonight.

Threading his fingers together, he rested his head in his hands and dared to rest his eyes only a moment.

“Jefferson?”

Startled, his eyes flew open. The first thing he saw was the identical image of himself. “John.”

His brother held up both hands. “I come unarmed.”

Jefferson scrubbed at his face to wipe away the last vestiges of the sleep he should never have allowed. “How did you get in here?”

John laughed as he made himself comfortable on the striped settee beside the fireplace. “Think. What did you tell the officer out front? And the staff?”

“That no one gets in or out without my permission.” He shook his head. “And they all thought you were me.”

He shrugged. “A common mistake.”

“What do you want?”

Leaning back, John let out a long breath. “I’m tired of running.”

Jefferson laughed, an involuntary response to an absurd statement. “Then by all means, do take a nap. Or perhaps you prefer a more comfortable chamber with a nice feather bed? I have it on good authority that there are a half dozen of those upstairs. Please feel free to find one and make yourself at home.”

“Sarcasm.” He shook his head. “That’s my manner of speaking, not yours.”

“It’s been a long day.”