Scandal on Rincon Hill (42 page)

The parlor suddenly erupted in applause, and I realized Melody had finished singing.

“Just keep Gerald Knight away from her,” I told Samuel, Robert, and Pierce, then started into the parlor in an effort to reach the girl before the newspaperman.

This proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated. Guests were giving the girl a standing ovation, and blocked my efforts to move through the room. Melody hardly seemed to notice the many accolades. Tears were coursing down her pale face as she rose from the piano bench. To my alarm, I saw Gerald Knight approach her, lending her a steadying arm when she appeared to trip on her skirts.

I hastened my step, but it was difficult pushing through people without being rude. And of course the train Mama had insisted on adding to my dress made it challenging to walk more than a few inches without someone stepping on it. Several guests stopped me to inquire about the beautiful young girl with the marvelous voice. Ironically, a few even went so far as to declare that a talent like hers belonged on the stage!

Pierce made better progress than I did, and I saw him introducing Joseph Kreling to Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine. Major Tremaine stood with his son and Faith, and was beaming with pride as he shook Kreling's hand. Melody's parents, on the other hand, looked more affronted than honored when the theater impresario praised their daughter's talent.

“You own the Tivoli Opera House?” I heard Reginald Tremaine say as I drew closer. “But I don't understand why you're here. We have informed our daughter that a career on the stage is out of the question. I'm afraid you have wasted your time coming here this evening, Mr. Kreling.”

“Come now, Mr. Tremaine,” Kreling said, turning on considerable charm. The young man wasn't tall or particularly imposing, but I could see why he had achieved so much success in his brief twenty-six years. He had the sort of face people naturally trusted,
along with more than his fair share of charisma. His brown eyes were focused and sparkled with sincerity. Despite her objections to Melody's pursuing a career, it was obvious that Faith Tremaine was taken with the young man.

“I can see where Miss Tremaine gets her beauty,” Kreling said, giving the woman an admiring smile. “But surely you must be her sister. You look far too young to be the girl's mother.”

Faith blushed prettily. “Actually, I am her stepmother, Mr. Kreling. But she is as close to my heart as is my own daughter.” She actually fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I married quite young, you see, but I have raised Melody since she was a small child.”

“Then you are much to be commended, my dear lady,” Kreling said. “Not every bride would dedicate herself so selflessly to the care of a stepchild.”

“Stepchildren,” Faith corrected, with a coquettish smile. “Melody has a twin brother, David.”

“Does she?” Kreling fawned. “Then you are truly to be admired as a gem among women.”

I could stomach no more of this twaddle. With many apologies and a contrived smile, I made my way more briskly through the crowd of guests. When I finally reached the piano, however, Melody was nowhere in sight.

Standing on tiptoes, I surveyed the room, but could see no sign of the girl. Nor, I thought with growing unease, could I see Gerald Knight! Spying Eddie coming through the parlor with a tray of coffee, I beckoned him over.

“Have you seen the young lady who was just singing and playing the piano?” I asked him.

“No, but I wish I had,” he answered with awestruck eyes. “She's a real looker, ain't she?”

“She's a very attractive young lady,” I agreed. “Please tell me at once if you should see her.”

“I'll do that, Miss Sarah,” the boy said cheerfully.

“Oh, and Eddie,” I said as he turned to leave. “When you get a chance, pull up your trousers. They're sagging.”

“Did you speak to her?” Samuel asked as I left the parlor.

“No. She was talking with Gerald Knight, but they left the room before I could reach her.”

“Where did they go?”

“I wish I knew.” I could not hide my concern, and I was certain from my brother's expression that he was equally worried. “Eddie hasn't seen her, either.”

“I caught a glimpse of Kreling doing his utmost to charm her parents,” Samuel observed. “Mrs. Tremaine appears quite impressed by the man.”

“I noticed,” I said. “But I doubt if anything he says will change their minds.”

“You don't suppose Knight took her off somewhere?” he said with fresh concern. “Surely she wouldn't leave the house with a strange man.”

“I should hope not,” I said, but had to repress a shiver of fear. In her present state of mind I had no idea what the girl might or might not do.

“Then where is she? Have you seen David? He's usually hovering about somewhere near his sister.”

“If he's with Melody, then I'm sure she's safe,” I said, taking comfort in this thought. “He would never allow anyone to harm her.”

We were still standing there, trying to decide where to search next, when Pierce and Robert joined us.

“I wish now that I had taken what you said about Knight more seriously, Sarah.” Pierce appeared more worried than I'd seen him. “I'm beginning to regret that I ever hatched up this little scheme. If I've placed that poor girl in danger I'll never forgive myself.”

“She's seventeen,” said Samuel unexpectedly.

“What?” Pierce and I asked in unison.

“Wasn't that Brielle Bouchard's age when she became Knight's mistress?” my brother asked.

“Dear God, yes,” I replied, panic rising in my throat. “Come, let's spread out and look for her.”

Samuel headed toward the front door, obviously to ensure that
the girl really was too smart to leave the house with a strange man. Pierce entered the dining room and Robert went to check the parlor again, as well as the sitting room.

For my part, I went to the kitchen to see if any of the servants had seen the girl. Although it was mid-December, the room was still uncommonly hot, due to all the preparation for tonight's party. I found Cook sitting on a straight-backed chair fanning herself with a copy of yesterday's newspaper.

“Mrs. Polin, I was wondering if you, or any of the staff, have seen a very pretty young girl wearing a dark pink dress?”

“You mean the poor little thing who came running through here crying her eyes out?” Mrs. Polin nodded toward the door leading out to the back porch. “Far as I know, she's still out there. Probably still crying, too. She looked that upset.”

I crossed the kitchen and went out onto the porch. Heedless of her gown, Melody was sitting on the top step leading down to the garden sobbing into her hands. I sat down beside her.

“What is it, Melody?” I asked softly.

She shook her head, trying to control her tears, then looked up from her hands. “Mr. Knight. He—” She hiccupped. “He wants me to go against my father's wishes and appear on the stage. He—he said he would take care of me, that I need never again worry about my future. Then he—” She drew a ragged breath and wiped at her tears with a lacy white handkerchief.

“He what, Melody? What did Mr. Knight do to you?”

“I hardly know how to tell you, Miss Woolson. It was so unexpected, and vulgar. One minute we were talking quietly, then suddenly he—he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.”

“Dear Lord,” I exclaimed.

“I'm afraid that is not all,” she went on, lowering her face in obvious embarrassment. “He—Oh, Miss Woolson, then he placed one of his hands on my—my bosom!” Once again she began crying. “I—I thought he was a gentleman.”

“Gerald Knight is no gentleman, my dear,” I told her through gritted teeth. “Indeed, he is far from it.” I put an arm around the
girl's shaking shoulders. “If you are ever unfortunate enough to encounter that man again, you must ensure that you are not left alone with him.”

“I never want to see him again,” the girl said through her tears.

“I sincerely hope you never do.”

I heard the sound of running footsteps, and a moment later the back door flew open and Eddie bolted outside.

“Come quick, Miss Sarah,” he shouted. “There's a man hurt. His head's cut plum open and there's blood all over the place.”

I jumped up from my seat on the stairs. “Melody, you stay here,” I told her. “Take me to the injured man, Eddie. Quickly!”

“I heard a god-awful ruckus comin' from that room over there,” he threw over his shoulder as he ran. “I looked in to see what was goin' on, and I seen this gent lyin' on the floor with his head bashed in.”

The room he was referring to turned out to be the library. Opening the door, I spied Gerald Knight sprawled on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Papa's bronze bust of Abraham Lincoln was lying on its side by his crushed head.

I was so shocked by the sight of the newspaperman, that it was a moment or two before I saw Major Tremaine kneeling beside Knight's prone figure. His hands and suit trousers were covered in blood.

“Major, what has happened?” I started to kneel down beside the elderly man, but he held up a hand to stop me.

“There is nothing you can do for him, Miss Woolson,” he said somberly, his face nearly as white as the man lying before him. “He is beyond human help.”

“But—how did it—?”

“It was an accident,” he told me, placing a hand on a nearby chair to aid him in rising to his feet. I noticed, as if in a dream, the bloody handprint he left on the chair cushion. “I came in here several minutes ago to find this man fondling my granddaughter. When I pushed him away from her, he crashed against the fireplace and the bronze bust fell onto his head.”

My eyes went to the mantel, which was at least a foot lower than Knight's six feet plus height. I vaguely realized that I must be in some kind of shock, yet I could not visualize how such an accident might occur. Even if by some chance the bust had fallen on Knight, it most likely would have hit his shoulder, not his head. And never with the force necessary to inflict the kind of damage he had sustained.

I turned back to the door to find Eddie staring at the body with a mixture of alarm and fascination.

“Eddie, get my brother Charles,” I told him. “And tell him to bring his medical bag. Hurry, please!”

With some effort the boy tore his eyes off the body, then turned and fled, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Major,” I said, regarding the elderly man steadily. “Tell me the truth. What really happened here? Gerald Knight surely did not meet his death the way you described it.”

“My head!” cried a voice from behind the Major. “Oh, God, my head.”

I looked across the room and for the first time realized that someone was standing where the spill of light from the overhead gasolier did not quite reach. It was young David Tremaine.

“David,” I called out. “What's the matter? Are you suffering one of your sick headaches?”

“Leave him be,” the Major said rather sharply. “I am bringing him home and will see that he takes his medicine. It's the only way he'll obtain relief.”

“Wait,” I said, as he moved to help the boy. “First you must tell me how Gerald Knight died. How he
really
died.”

“He was just like all the others,” David said, his face contorted in pain. “They all wanted to take Melody away from me. I—I couldn't let them.”

“David. Be quiet!” Major Tremaine commanded. “You are ill. You don't know what you're saying.”

I stared at the elderly man and his grandson, and suddenly I saw what I had been missing for the past two weeks. Everything seemed
to shift in my mind, then neatly click into place. The mystery surrounding the three murders—four murders now—became tragically clear.

“You killed them, David,” I said quietly. “That was what Nigel Logan, Dieter Hume, and Patrick O'Hara had in common: All three men had been attracted to Melody. You feared they would convince her to leave you, and you could not allow that to happen.”

“It's always been Melody and me,” the boy cried, still holding his head. “Can't let anyone come between us.”

“You even murdered a man you admired,” I said. The words rushed from my lips, but my mind was still struggling to accept their truth. “It must have been very hard for you to kill Mr. Logan.”

“He was the first,” David said, his eyes becoming glassy with pain. “I liked Nigel. But—but I could see he was in love with Melody.”

“David, that is enough!” Major Tremaine had reached his grandson and was leading him toward the door. “I must take him home, Miss Woolson. The boy is unwell, you must see that.”

“I see everything now, Major Tremaine. I know how much you love the boy, but you cannot protect him. These senseless killings must stop.”

He stood still and looked at me. The despair written on his face was so heart-wrenching it robbed me of breath.

“Melody must never hear of this,” he said, his voice ragged. “It would kill her. She adores her brother. She can never know that, because of her, he took the lives of four men.”

His eyes burned into mine, pleading for me to understand. “I am the one who murdered those men, just as I killed Gerald Knight here in your library. That must be the story told to the police. Please, Miss Woolson, promise me that you will never tell anyone what—what really happened.”

He looked with great affection at his grandson, using his fingers to stroke the hair out of the boy's face. David seemed very small, almost like a child, wrapped in his grandfather's protective arms.

“I should have acted sooner,” the old man said. “Ever since the
O'Hara boy's death I suspected that David might be involved in—” He choked, and I could see he was fighting back tears. “But I didn't—I couldn't believe it.” With an effort, he pulled himself together. “There will be no more murders, Miss Woolson, I promise you. Just, please, leave poor David out of it.”

I did not immediately answer. What he was asking me to do went against all my principles, as well as my integrity as an attorney. I was an officer of the court, sworn to uphold the law. And yet, was the truth more important than a young girl's life? I believed the old man when he promised there would be no more murders. Wasn't that the important thing? He was willing to irreparably tarnish a lifetime of distinguished service to his country in order to save his beloved grandchildren. What purpose would be achieved if I put the lie to this last sacrifice by a brave soldier?