The Lightkeeper's Ball (25 page)
W
ITH HER MOTHER
upstairs resting, Olivia finished a letter to her cousin back in New York, then hopped on her crutches out to the garden with a journal. She always thought better when surrounded by nature. Her list of ominous events was tucked into the front cover.
She sank onto a stone bench by the topiary and dropped her crutches to the ground. The breeze brought her favorite aroma of freesia to her nose. This area of the garden held only white flowers, which lifted her spirits. A pond full of koi added the only touch of color to the area.
Opening her journal, she perused the list she’d started, then added Mr. Fosberg’s accusation about Harrison, much as it pained her. Bees droned a sleepy song in her ears, but she was much too energized to think about a nap. She was missing an important piece of the puzzle, something that tied all these things together, but what?
A car door shut and she lifted her head from her journal. Peeking over the shrubs, she saw Frederick Fosberg striding toward the pillared porch. What was he doing back so quickly?
Hanging on to one crutch, she rose and hailed him. “Mr. Fosberg, I’m here.”
His confident stride faltered, and he changed direction to join her in the side yard. “I’m sorry to disturb you again, Lady Devonworth. There were some things I wished to inform you of that I didn’t want to mention in front of my mother. They are of a most confidential nature.”
She settled back onto the bench, and he joined her. “Confidential?”
He swatted away a bee. “Indeed. This matter involves Eleanor’s mother. It was for this reason I first met Eleanor. I wished to get a message to Mrs. Stewart.”
She studied his earnest blue eyes, the determined jut of his jaw. “What message?”
He leaned forward. “As you know, I work for a large law firm based in San Francisco. Our headquarters building was demolished in the Great Fire that followed the earthquake. Fortunes were lost in that fire.”
She knew it well. Her own family had suffered some financial setbacks, but her father had quickly recouped with wise investments. Or so they’d thought. “The news was full of it.”
“We sold the lot recently. The new owner began excavation and discovered our vault, still untouched, under the ruins.”
She had no idea where this was going, but she nodded. “Go on.”
“I was sent to examine the contents. One of the safety-deposit boxes belonged to Eleanor’s father.”
She sat up straighter. “You found money? Stocks?”
He shook his head. “A will.”
She waved her hand. “The way I understand it from the family, Mr. Stewart’s will was on file with his attorney in New York. Odd that he had a copy with a San Francisco lawyer.”
“When was it written?”
“Ten years ago.”
“I have another will in my possession, Lady Devonworth. Newer than that. Written in 1906.”
Four years ago
. She couldn’t contain a gasp. “And you told Eleanor this? Why did you not contact Mrs. Stewart directly?”
“I tried but was unable to get her address. I contacted Mr. Stewart’s business partner, Mr. Bennett, but he told me it was of no matter. He claimed there was an even newer will on file.”
“He lied to you?” It hardly surprised her. She didn’t trust Mr. Bennett. “But that still doesn’t explain why you took this matter to Eleanor.”
“When Bennett refused to let me talk to Mrs. Stewart, let’s just say I became suspicious. The man has a reputation in the city that is less than savory. When I learned that a member of the Stewart family was in residence, I decided it would be too good an opportunity to pass up. I showed the will to Eleanor.”
“I fail to see where you are going with this, Mr. Fosberg. What difference does the will’s date make? Mr. Stewart is hardly likely to leave his estate to anyone but his wife and daughters.”
He held her gaze. “It seems there was an heir that the family knew nothing about.” He hesitated and cast his gaze to the brick path, then stared at her again. “This heir made a difference to the execution of the will.”
She didn’t care for the somber expression in his eyes. “An heir?”
“A son.”
“Mr. Stewart had no son.”
He glanced away. “It’s a delicate matter to discuss with you, Lady Devonworth.”
She realized her hands were clenching her skirt, and she forced herself to loosen her fists. “You mean an illegitimate son?” Her voice trembled. Her father had always wanted a son.
“Indeed.”
“Did Eleanor discuss this discovery with Mrs. Stewart?” She knew there had been no such discussion. Her mother would have been prostrate with the news. It would have been impossible to keep from Olivia.
“She did not. She asked my help in investigating the matter further.”
“What is this son’s name?”
“Richard Pixton. But I suspect he’s changed his name.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “We managed to track him to San Francisco, where he boarded a steamer bound for Eureka four years ago. That ship reached port, but no one by that name has emerged in this area.”
She studied the passenger list in his hand and found the man’s name. “So you think he’s here—in Mercy Falls—but under an assumed name?”
“I do.”
“For what reason?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Do you think he came here to confront Mr. Stewart? I believe Mr. Stewart first began his trips to Mercy Falls about that time.”
“I thought of that. I even wondered if Mr. Pixton killed him.”
“What would that gain him?”
“A fine inheritance.”
“Which he has never claimed,” she pointed out.
“True enough. Eleanor wondered if he wanted more of the money. The will states that if Mr. Stewart’s other heirs are dead, Mr. Pixton would inherit all of it.”
The attempt on my life
. “He must be here then. He must be the one who has been stalking me since I arrived. It was only by luck that I survived the murderous attempts.”
He frowned. “Why would anyone wish to harm you?” He stared at her. “
You
are Miss Olivia, are you not? There is somewhat of a resemblance to Eleanor in the tilt of your eyes. It makes sense now why you would be investigating Eleanor’s death.”
Mr. Fosberg’s stare was still drilling into Olivia. His question hung in the air between them. There was no way to get out of this without a flat-out lie, something she wasn’t willing to do.
“I am Olivia Stewart,” she said. “Please don’t reveal it to anyone else. I need anonymity to find out who killed my sister.”
His lips twisted and he opened his mouth.
She held up her hand. “However, I’m not ready to believe it was Harrison Bennett who did it.” She bit her lip. A week ago she was just as convinced he’d murdered Eleanor.
But that was before I spent so much time with him
.
Mr. Fosberg scowled, then stood and paced across the grass. “I’m sure he murdered her,” he said, his voice hard.
She thought through her own misgivings. “Just because she broke their engagement is no reason to assume he is a murderer.”
“He could have hired it done.”
“Harrison doesn’t know my identity even now. If he’d hired someone, he would have needed to obtain a recent picture of me to pass on to his henchman. So he would have recognized me immediately.” Her arguments against Harrison being the killer gained strength the more she puzzled it out. Mr. Fosberg’s dislike of Harrison added fuel to her determination to defend him. “I think it has to be someone else. Who else did Eleanor see when she was here?”
His jaw jutted and his eyes narrowed. “No one. You’re as taken with the man as she was when she first came here.”
She could see the complete dislike on his face. “Did you convince her he was untrustworthy? What do you have against him?”
He shrugged. “I can see you’ll have to discover his true character for yourself. I’ll take my leave now, Miss Olivia.”
“Lady Devonworth,” she corrected.
“As you wish.” He put his bowler back on his head and headed to his car.
Would he keep her secret? It was all going to come out very soon. The moment Mr. Bennett saw her, he would reveal her identity. She had to tell Harrison, but it was going to take the right moment.
Mr. Fosberg brushed past a young maid carrying rugs and a rug beater toward the line. The maid sent him a smile that quickly faded when he didn’t speak. Olivia watched him slam the car door. The automobile rattled back down the drive.
Something about the young woman’s reaction intrigued her as the girl stood looking forlornly after the departing automobile. Olivia beckoned to the maid. “I’d like to speak with you a moment.”
The girl dropped her burden and wiped her hands on her white apron as she approached Olivia’s bench. “Yes, ma’am? Can I fetch you some tea or lemonade?”
Olivia shook her head. “Do you know Mr. Fosberg?”
The young woman was about nineteen with a fresh complexion, blond hair, and vivid green eyes. She took a step back, and her eyes grew wide. “I didn’t do nothing wrong, miss. I just smiled at him.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Olivia soothed. “What’s your name?”
“Molly Chambers.”
Olivia sent her a reassuring smile. “I’m told he spent quite a lot of time with Miss Eleanor. I’m wondering if his influence on her was of the highest nature.”
The alarm in Molly’s face ebbed and she glanced behind her, then took a step closer. “Mr. Fosberg is said to have a way with the ladies, miss.”
Olivia remembered the way the girl had smiled. “Has he paid you undue attention, Molly?”
Quick color rushed to the girl’s cheeks, and she didn’t hold Olivia’s gaze. “I’d rather not say, miss.”
The girl had probably entered service by age fifteen. Had she been here the whole time or perhaps worked for the Fosbergs? “How long have you been employed by the Stewarts?” Olivia asked.
The girl’s eyes went wide again. “You wouldn’t let me go, miss!”
“No, no,” Olivia said. “But I think you know more about Mr. Fosberg than you are willing to admit. Where did you work before you came here?”
Molly looked away and her lips turned sullen. “I was at Eaton Hall,” she said.
“The consumption hospital Mrs. Fosberg runs.”
“Yes, miss.”
“You saw Mr. Fosberg there quite frequently.”
Molly nodded but didn’t look up from her perusal of the flowers.
Olivia pressed her lips together. How could she get the girl to tell what she knew? “Did Miss Eleanor know you had a relationship with Mr. Fosberg?”
Molly’s gaze came up then, wide-eyed. “Oh no, miss!” She clapped her hand over her mouth.
“So you did have a relationship.”
“Please don’t make me leave,” Molly said, tears in her eyes. “I love working here.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Olivia assured her. “How long did the liaison go on?”
Molly wrung her hands. “Until he decided he had a chance to marry Miss Eleanor. He warned me to say nothing to her.”
“Are you still seeing him?”
Molly shook her head with vigor. “No, miss.”
“Would you say his words are trustworthy?”
The maid twisted her hands again. “Oh, miss, don’t make me talk anymore,” she whispered. “I still love him.”
The poor girl. Olivia could read between the lines. She’d best verify anything Mr. Fosberg told her. And also take anything this girl said with a grain of salt. It was possible she wanted Mr. Fosberg for herself and was seeing things through that filter.
T
HERE WAS NO
mistaking Fosberg’s flashy automobile as it whizzed past Harrison’s Cadillac. Or the fact that the man had been at Stewart Hall. It was the only residence out this way. Harrison slowed the vehicle and puttered out the macadam road to the Stewarts’ house by the sea. As he parked and got out of his car, a swell rolled in with the sharp tang of kelp on the wind.
He rang the bell, but the butler told him Lady Devonworth was out back in the garden. He went around the side of the mansion to the labyrinth of garden paths. The scent of honeysuckle and the drone of bees hovered in the air.
A sound floated on the wind and he paused to listen. A sweet voice sang, “Come, Josephine, in My Flying Machine.” He listened a moment and smiled when he heard, “Up, up, a little bit higher. Oh! My! The moon is on fire.” The moon had seemed ablaze the night he’d lain in the clearing with her head cradled on his shoulder. Or maybe his emotions had affected his eyes. Right now the attraction he felt toward her was tangled up.
