The Lightkeeper's Bride (13 page)

F
OURTEEN

T
HE BABY PLAYED
with the buttons on Mr. Jesperson’s jacket. Katie kept her gaze on the passing scenery of coastal redwoods and hillsides covered in wildflowers. What was going on at home? Not knowing how her mother was doing moment by moment was difficult to deal with. It grated at her, not to be where she was needed most. She’d tried to see her father but had been turned away from the hospital, and then they’d tried three different avenues to get home and she’d been turned back at every one.

She stole a glance at him from under her lashes. The way he’d put his finger on her need for control unsettled her. He looked down at Jennie and smiled. The love in his gaze left a warm sensation in the pit of her stomach. Not many men would take on a burden like little Jennie so readily. She stole a second glance. She didn’t want to notice his wide shoulders or the unruly black hair that spilled from under his hat and curled at his collar. She needed the security of a stable future. Like she would have with Bart.

“Lady Carrington lives at the end of this lane,” she said, pointing to a narrow opening between neatly trimmed rhododendrons.

“Not with the Norths?”

She shook her head. “The cottage is just a summer home for them.

Lord Carrington has an estate in England.”

He guided the horse into the drive. The Carrington cottage came into view. Framed by the overhanging limbs of redwood and hemlock, the quaint cottage had been freshly painted with a coat of cheery yellow with white trim. A small porch held two rocking chairs. It was only a one-bedroom, as different from Lord Carrington’s castle in England as possible. Once the horse stopped in front of the home, Katie handed Jennie to Mr. Jesperson and clambered down without waiting for assistance. Being in Mr. Jesperson’s company had her every nerve tingling with awareness. Holding her skirts in the blustery wind, she hurried up the steps to the front door.

The door opened and Addie’s mother peeked out. “There you are, Katie. I’m so worried about your mother. Have you heard how she is?” She adjusted the sling on her arm then stepped out to give Katie a quick hug.

“She was too ill to come to the phone, but our maid seemed confident she would be all right.”

“I’m sure you’re most distressed. Come in, child. There are some things of Addie’s in the chest that should keep you for a few days.”

Lady Carrington turned a brilliant smile in the man’s direction. “Your baby has your eyes.”

The baby squirmed to be let down, but he shifted her to his other shoulder. “I found her abandoned at Miss Bulmer’s residence,” he said. “But I believe she is my niece.”

Lady Carrington’s smile faded. “Oh dear me, I hope I haven’t offended.”

“Certainly not,” he said. “Thank you for agreeing to stay with us at the lighthouse. Quite frankly, I find myself out of my element.”

His confession of misgivings endeared him a bit to Katie. She’d thought his confidence knew no bounds, and from what she’d witnessed, he was most competent. “I shall collect a few things.”

She left them on the porch and stepped into the cottage. The trunk of clothing was in the bedroom, and she selected several items and layered them in a bag Lady Carrington had evidently left out for her use. Daily laundry might be necessary for a few days, but this situation would be resolved as soon as the epidemic passed. By then she might have figured out her father’s involvement in the ship incident.

When she returned to the porch, she found Lady Carrington holding Jennie in her lap on the swing while the lightkeeper loaded the buggy with bags. Mr. Jesperson took her bag and his hand grazed hers.

Her skin felt warm from the contact, and her cheeks responded with heat as well. He retrieved Jennie and strode back to the buggy with Lady Carrington on his heels. Though he offered a hand, Katie clambered into the buckboard by herself, then settled Jennie on her lap when he handed the baby to her. He helped Lady Carrington into the buggy. Katie was glad Lady Carrington was between them.

Once they were on the road, the baby relaxed against her in sleep and grew heavy, but Katie welcomed the child’s warmth in the chilly wind that whistled through the redwoods. Fingers of fog crept out of the woods and along the ground and sank into the low spots along the road. The buckboard rounded the last curve, and the craggy coastline lay before them. Whitecaps raced to touch the land then ebbed away, leaving behind kelp and seaweed whose odor mingled with that of the salt. Katie filled her lungs with the salty scent. A dim light shone through the fog from the lighthouse perched on the hillside. There were no neighbors. Maybe this wasn’t a grand idea when she knew so little about Mr. Jesperson. And Katie had dragged Lady Carrington in on it as well.

Mr. Jesperson stared at the lighthouse. “I didn’t leave a gaslight on,” he said. “I wonder if Philip is there?” He flicked the whip above the horse’s ears, and the animal broke into a trot. “I must get to the lighthouse and start the foghorn. This fog rolling in will soon be as thick as gravy.”

As the horse cantered up the lane to the lighthouse, a bundle of white on a black rock down by the water caught Katie’s attention. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing. She squinted to see through the fog.

“I’m not sure. Wait here and I’ll check it out.” He stopped the buggy and leaped to the ground.

Katie wasn’t about to wait behind. She passed the sleeping baby to Lady Carrington, who cradled her awkwardly in one arm, then followed him. The wind whipped Katie’s skirts and she had to grab them to stay modest. The slope was slick with moisture from the fog, but she managed to reach him when he was halfway down to the white rags. Rocks rattled down the slope and she called out to him.

“Just couldn’t handle not knowing what was happening?” He grinned and held out his hand to help her down the hillside.

She hated to be laughed at but she reluctantly accepted his assistance. The loose rocks demanded she cling to his warm fingers, and together, they sidled down the slope. As they neared the pile of white cloth, she stopped but still clutched his hand. Her gaze traveled to the heap of fabric on the sand. Swaths of white from the wedding dress lay matted on the rocks. She gasped and clutched his hand more tightly.

“Miss Russell, what is it?”

“It’s Eliza . . . she was wearing a wedding dress . . . the last time I spoke with her.” She let out a strangled cry and turned to press her face against the comforting warmth of Mr. Jesperson’s wool jacket.

Will cradled Katie against his chest. He wasn’t used to holding a woman. Her hair smelled like some kind of flowers, and her bonnet brushed his chin. When she stepped away, he had to force himself to drop his arms. “Are you sure this dress belongs to Miss Bulmer?”

She brushed the tears from her face. “I–I don’t know. Not for sure. But she’s missing, and she was wearing a wedding dress the last time I spoke with her.”

“Does the constable know this?’

She shook her head. “I didn’t mention it to him. It didn’t seem relevant.”

He glanced up the hillside to the older woman standing at the front stoop. “I’ll tend to this matter,” he said. “If you would be so kind as to get our little group settled, I’ll make sure there’s no . . .”

“Body,” she finished for him. The moisture in her blue eyes made them as luminous as the sea. “Poor Eliza.” Her gaze went back to the dress on the rocks. “And poor Jennie.”

He hadn’t stopped to think of what Miss Bulmer’s possible death would mean for the child. Now what did he do about her? His brother was going to have to bear some responsibility. “I’ll help you up the slope. Could you call the constable? And if my brother is there, ask him to join me, if you would be so kind.”

She nodded. He assisted her along the slick rocks to the top of the hill then retreated back to the yards of fabric. He studied the tides and the wind then noticed a small island offshore looming out of the wisps of fog. Gauging the distance and the force of the waves, he wondered if Eliza had been dumped on the island and the tide had carried her dress here. He didn’t disturb the dress, but he squatted beside it and looked around in the dim light. The buttons up the back were broken or torn off. He walked quite a ways up the beach but saw nothing more.

He needed to poke around the island. After all, there was no assurance the constable himself wasn’t involved in the piracy. It wasn’t uncommon for a man sworn to uphold the law to be found breaking it. Footsteps crunched on the sand, and he turned to see his brother striding toward him.

“You found Eliza?” Philip’s voice was hushed.

“We found a wedding dress,” Will corrected. “Miss Russell said that when she spoke last with Miss Bulmer, the woman mentioned she was trying one on.” His brother stepped closer, and Will noticed the way he blinked his eyes. “You cared about her.”

“Of course I cared about her,” Philip snapped. “I’m not a cad.” He stared at the heap of bedraggled white on the sand then glanced out at the waves. “The tide is coming in.”

Will pointed at the island. “I was thinking about looking out there for her body. She might have been dumped on the island.”

“She was murdered, of course,” Philip said. “She’d hardly go swimming in such attire.”

“You think it was because of her involvement in the taking of
Dalton’s Fortune
?” Will asked.

“I suspect so. Her tip to my client indicated she was involved. The company president sent me a telegram to let me know he’d received a ransom demand for the
Paradox
. He got back
Dalton’s Fortune
.”

“So they haven’t sunk the ship.”

“Unless it’s a ruse to get more money.” Philip nodded toward the island. “Let’s go search.”

“We should wait for the constable,” Will said.

His brother snorted. “You know how inept local law enforcement is. Why do you think the shipping company hired me?” He set off down the beach, heading toward the pier. Will followed him. A skiff was tied up on a mooring at the end of the pier. They stepped over a smelly heap of kelp just before the pier and walked the length of the boards to the boat.

Will steadied the boat as Philip climbed into it then stepped in himself. The boat rocked in the waves and he nearly tipped, but he regained his balance and untied the rope. Philip settled onto the seat at the bow, so Will shrugged and took the seat with the oars. Putting his back into the work, he rowed out past the breakers and angled the skiff toward the small island teeming with gulls and frigate birds. Twilight was coming on fast in the low fog, and he realized he should have started the foghorn before he left. They would have to scout the island fast and get back to shore to tend to his duties.

Philip jumped out of the boat with a splash and dragged the dinghy to the rocks. “It shouldn’t take long to walk the perimeter. You go that way and I’ll go this way,” he said, gesturing to Will’s left.

Will nodded and picked his way across the driftwood and flotsam. He found no sign of Miss Bulmer, but he did spy a large footprint that had been partially erased by the surf. The heel imprint was the only clear mark. A man who rolled over on his shoe. Not much to identify but it was enough to indicate someone might have dropped her here. He patted the sand and shoved back the vegetation in search of the missing body. Though he didn’t truly expect to find Eliza so easily, he was still disappointed when he came up empty-handed.

He stood and brushed the sand from his hands. If he didn’t get moving, the twilight and fog would make it impossible to see the shore. His foot struck something as continued around the island. The gleam of yellow caused a hitch in his lungs. A pocket watch lay partially buried in the sand. He picked it up and rolled it in his fingers. It was imprinted. He squinted to make out the letters: Albert Russell. His gut said it was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

With the watch safely in his pocket, he headed toward the dinghy. Something rustled in the thin, scrubby foliage nearby. Before he had time to consider if it was the wind or an animal, he was struck hard in the back. The heavy weight of his attacker bore him to the ground and pressed his face into wet mud and decaying vegetation.

Will fought back, driving his elbow into the gut of the man atop him. Air hissed through the attacker’s mouth as the two fought silently in the fog that swirled along the shrubs and weeds. The man held a knife aloft, and Will got a glimpse of a skull on the shank of it. He managed to get his knee up then kicked out. The man rolled off him and Will leaped to his feet. His adversary did the same and Will stood poised to jump back into the battle. To his surprise, the thug turned and ran off. Will gave chase, but an exposed tree limb tripped him up and he hurtled back to the mud. He was unhurt except for a scrape on his cheek, but the man had disappeared.

Will bounded to his feet. “Philip!” he shouted. “Watch out!” He rushed back toward the dinghy. When his brother didn’t answer, he picked up his pace and reached where the boat lay beached. There was no sign of Philip. Darkness had fully descended. Will shouted for him again, and this time he heard a groan. He moved toward it and nearly tripped over his brother’s legs.

Philip groaned again. He muttered something unintelligible. Will touched his brother’s face and his fingers came away sticky. Blood poured from a huge knot on Philip’s head. “You’re going to be all right, Philip.”

Between the fog and the starless night, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Would they have to spend the night in the cold and damp? There’d be little opportunity for rest with the likelihood of an enemy lurking, and Philip needed to be warm, dry, and possibly under a doctor’s care. Without being able to see the shore, he might as easily row for the open sea as for the lighthouse, her lamps still dark. A pang of guilt ran through him. Fine lightkeeper he was turning out to be.

Then he heard a wonderful sound: the foghorn brayed from off to his right. The deep tone was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He managed to get his brother into the dinghy, then shoved it into the water. He put his palms to the oars and rowed toward the sound, rolling through the dark.