Worthy Brown's Daughter (19 page)

CHAPTER 43

B
enjamin Gillette had been furious with Heather for going behind his back and asking Orville Mason to investigate Sharon Hill, but his anger dissipated quickly in light of Orville’s revelations about his mistress. Gillette had no illusions about the relationship he’d forged with Hill. It was a business arrangement. Sharon had hinted that she wanted more, but Gillette had been part of one long and exceptionally happy marriage. Marrying again at his age was not in his plans, and there was Heather’s inheritance and his empire to consider.

As soon as the meeting with Heather and Orville concluded, Ben had summoned Francis Gibney and told him to look into Hill’s background so he could find out if she was as corrupt as Orville’s evidence suggested. He was especially concerned to learn the truth behind Warren Quimby’s death. This morning, Gibney had presented his findings. Gillette could have sent Francis to the Evergreen to tell Hill that the affair was over, but he decided that he would break the news in person.

The cream-colored silk nightgown Sharon Hill was wearing clung to her body, accentuating the breasts and hips that had stoked Benjamin Gillette’s desire since he’d first seen her in Phoenix, but Gillette felt no desire for his mistress this afternoon.

“Ben,” Hill said, surprised by his unannounced visit.

Gillette walked into the sitting room without a word. Hill followed, puzzled by his cold demeanor.

“I have something to ask you,” Gillette said.

“And what might that be?” Hill asked calmly.

“Do you know a man named Warren Quimby?”

“No,” said Hill, her face betraying none of her emotions. Her rapid heartbeat, had Gillette been able to hear it, would have revealed her lie.

“You never encountered him while living in San Francisco?”

“Who is this Quimby person?”

“Someone I’ve been led to believe you knew quite well.”

“I’ve never heard of the man.”

“How well did you know Caleb Barbour?”

“Where is this going? Why are you interrogating me as if I were a criminal?”

“I have received some disturbing information about you, Quimby, and Barbour.”

“I can see you’re upset. Sit down and we’ll discuss this. I don’t know what you’ve heard, so I can’t respond. I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”

Gillette was grateful for the brief respite. He was not averse to hard bargaining, but he’d lain naked with Sharon Hill not too long ago. Even with the facts he had learned, it was not easy to accuse a lover of duplicity.

Hill returned to find Gillette waiting for her on the couch. She handed him a glass of red wine and sat opposite him on a straight-back chair.

“No more questions, Ben. If you have something to say to me, say it.”

Gillette took a healthy drink of his wine to fortify himself. “I’ve been told that Caleb Barbour has been alone with you in this suite on more than one occasion.”

“Who told you this?” Hill asked indignantly.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Hill, an excellent actress who could fake orgasms and tears with equal facility, contorted her features until they mimicked the face of a wronged and anguished paramour.

“I love you,” she said. “Why would I cheat on someone I love?”

“Why would you lie about Clyde Lukens stealing money from you? And don’t deny it. His company has confirmed that he was legitimately in possession of the money you claim he stole from you.”

“You were in Phoenix, Ben. You saw Lukens. How could you take his word over mine?”

“You still haven’t denied spending the night with Caleb.”

“There’s nothing to deny,” Hill said. “I’ve never slept with Caleb Barbour.”

Hill dipped her head to feign embarrassment. “On the evening you celebrated the arrival of the Oregon Pony, Caleb came to my room. He was intoxicated and forward, and I sent him on his way. I swear nothing happened. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want Caleb to get in trouble for something he did while he was drunk.”

Gillette knew there was something wrong with Hill’s protest, something the clerk had told him about an occasion when Barbour had stayed the night, but he felt nervous and edgy and his heart was beginning to race, making it difficult for him to collect his thoughts.

Hill watched him intently. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I’m . . . I just . . . feel dizzy.”

Gillette tried to stand, but he staggered and fell back onto the couch. He could feel his heartbeat accelerating, and his face started to swell and turn purple. Hill smiled and sipped some of her wine.

“Sharon,” Ben gasped. “I may be having a heart attack. Get a doctor.”

“A doctor won’t help, Ben,” Hill said calmly. “Nicotine is a very rapid poison. Before a doctor can get to my suite, you’ll begin convulsing. Then you’ll become unconscious, go into a coma, and die.”

“The wine,” Ben gasped, stiffening suddenly as the first convulsion started.

“Yes, Ben, the wine,” Hill confirmed as Gillette thrashed on the sofa. She watched him without emotion as he gagged and his arms twitched spasmodically. Then he relaxed for a moment.

During his brief respite, Gillette opened his mouth to call for help. Hill sprang forward and jammed a sofa cushion over his face. Another convulsion struck before Gillette could struggle. He flailed, and Hill jumped out of reach. Then she watched dispassionately as his lips drew back in a ghastly grimace. His limbs flew in all directions in an uncontrolled frenzy. A moment later, he lay limp and unconscious and on the verge of death.

Hill checked herself in the mirror. She wanted to look a little disheveled, so she ran her hands through her hair. When she was satisfied, she concentrated on feeling sad. As soon as memories of the beatings at the hands of Warren Quimby brought tears to her eyes, she raced down to the lobby.

A startled bellboy stared at the distraught woman.

“Help, help,” she screamed. “It’s my husband. He’s dead.”

CHAPTER 44

B
enjamin Gillette was buried beside his wife in their plot in a hilltop cemetery with a view of Mount Hood. A large crowd came to pay their respects, despite the heavy rain that fell all day. Matthew Penny stood on one side of Heather, holding an umbrella to shield her from the downpour. Orville Mason stood on the other side, an arm around her shoulder, as they listened to Reverend Mason’s short but intensely personal eulogy. Matthew knew what it felt like to suffer the loss of someone you loved dearly, so it caused him great pain to see Heather’s shoulders shake with each heart-wrenching sob.

When the graveside service was over, Matthew helped Heather into her buggy. Orville Mason had the reins, and he led the mourners back to Gillette House. Matthew followed the procession on horseback. By dusk, all but Matthew, Reverend Mason, Amelia Mason, and Orville were gone.

“That was a beautiful service,” Heather told Orville’s father as the Masons prepared to leave.

“One of the saddest I’ve ever conducted,” Reverend Mason answered. “Remember, you’ll never be alone as long as we’re here.”

Matthew watched the family descend the porch steps to their carriage. Then he turned to Heather. She had tried to be strong all afternoon, but the effort had taken its toll and she looked very pale.

“How are you doing?” Matthew asked.

“He’s gone,” Heather said, breaking into the tears she’d held back during the reception for the mourners.

Matthew held her until the tears stopped. Then he helped her to a seat in the parlor. Heather leaned back and closed her eyes.

“It hit me hard at breakfast,” she said. “We started each day together, talking about our plans or the weather or—”

She stopped, too choked up to speak for a moment.

“He wasn’t there, Matthew. His chair was empty, and I knew I’d never see him in it again.”

“He was a good man, Heather, a good father. You were lucky to have a father like Ben.”

“Just as I was to have him for a husband,” Sharon Hill said from the doorway.

Hatred flashed in Heather’s eyes, and she leaped to her feet.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Heather,” the maid said from behind Hill. “I told her you weren’t seeing anyone, but she—”

“It’s all right,” Matthew said. “You may go.”

“I’ve come to pay my respects,” Hill said as the maid retreated. “Since we’ll be seeing a lot of each other I thought this might be the time to talk to you.”

“What makes you think we’ll ever see each other?” Heather snapped.

Hill smiled. “Let’s be frank. I know you don’t like me. Ben told me. It was one of the reasons we kept our marriage secret. He wanted to try to win you over before we made it public.”

“Your marriage?” Heather said. “What are you talking about?”

“We were married in San Francisco.”

“You’re a liar,” Heather said.

“I know this must come as a shock, but we were married. I have a signed marriage contract between Ben and me to prove it. And it would serve you well to accept me as your mother because this house, all of Ben’s other property, and all his assets are now mine.”

Matthew had finally had enough of Hill’s rude intrusion into Heather’s grief.

“Miss Hill—”

“Mrs. Gillette,” Sharon corrected.

“Miss Hill
, you’re upsetting Miss Gillette, and I must ask you to leave.”

“You have no right to ask me to leave my home.”

“If you’re smart,” Matthew said, “you will never mention your preposterous assertion again. Remember, there are penalties for criminal fraud.”

Hill’s composure never faltered. She flashed a dazzling smile at Matthew.

“So Miss Gillette has a champion. Well, fortunately, I have a marriage contract.”

She turned her attention to Heather. “Think hard before fighting me. I’m a poor loser. Contest my claims, and I’ll throw you out without a cent. Do the right thing, and I’ll be generous to you.”

Heather rose and stared at Hill. Then she leaped forward and slapped Hill so hard that only Hill’s hatpin kept her hat attached to her head. Hill staggered backward, and Heather struck her again, sending her to the floor.

Matthew sprang forward and pinned Heather’s arms to her sides. “Get out quickly, Miss Hill, quickly.”

Hill struggled to her feet. Every pretense of civility was gone as she stared with pure malevolence at Heather.

“You’re going to regret that, you little bitch,” Hill said before she left, slamming the door behind her.

Heather collapsed in Matthew’s arms and wept.

“Shhh,” he said, “she’s nothing. Don’t worry. She can’t hurt you. I won’t let her.”

CHAPTER 45

S
haron Hill entered the law office of Stephen Press radiating confidence, but her self-assurance faltered when the dapper lawyer refused to stand. When Press addressed her as “Miss Hill” after his secretary had introduced her as “Mrs. Benjamin Gillette,” her confidence deserted her completely.

“Are you seeking to consult me about the so-called marriage contract?” Press asked, making no attempt to be polite.

“Yes, I—”

“Then you’re wasting your time. I cannot . . . No, I
will
not help you.”

“Won’t you even give me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say?”

“I knew Benjamin Gillette quite well, my good woman,” Press said sternly. “I knew his wife. My daughters sang in the church choir with Heather Gillette. If you are seeking an attorney who will help you defraud Benjamin Gillette’s daughter, you must go elsewhere.”

“How dare you imply that I’m involved in a swindle,” Hill said indignantly.

“Madam, your marriage contract is the talk of my profession.”

“Are you saying that my affairs are the subject of common gossip?” Hill asked, aghast. “What about the confidentiality between attorney and client?”

“Yes, yes, a regrettable lapse of professional ethics, but your lawsuit is outrageous.” Press spread his hands out at his sides and shrugged. “I’m afraid this is a risk one takes when one attempts to perpetrate a fraud on the daughter of Portland’s most distinguished citizen.”

It took all of Hill’s self-control to keep from striking the contemptuous little man. She tried to come up with a suitable parting comment, but she was so angry she couldn’t think straight, so she left without another word.

It was the same everywhere she went. The first attorneys she visited were courteous. They had reviewed the marriage contract and even consulted with Orville Mason to discuss Hill’s claim. The problem lay with Bernard Hoxie. He had employed an incompetent fool to forge Benjamin’s signature. As soon as Orville explained Sharon’s background and demonstrated that the signature on the contract was an obvious forgery, the attorneys declined to represent her. Now no lawyer would even give her the time of day.

The Evergreen Hotel was a short distance from Press’s law office, and Hill was still in a rage when she entered the lobby.

“Miss Hill,” Harvey Metcalf, the assistant manager, called out.

Hill walked toward the stairs, pretending she had not heard him. She hated the supercilious little drudge who had fawned on her while Benjamin was alive but now treated her with open contempt because Heather refused to pay the hotel’s bill.

“Miss Hill,” Metcalf shouted loudly, calling the attention of everyone in the lobby to her. Hill spun toward him, her face scarlet with anger and embarrassment.

“Yes, Mr. Metcalf?”

“Just a reminder that you must be out of your room by noon tomorrow.”

An elderly couple seated near Sharon exchanged puzzled looks, but the bellboy, who knew everything that went on in the hotel, hid a grin. Hill mustered what dignity she had left and walked up the stairs with her shoulders thrown back and her head high. Her brave front collapsed the moment she was in her suite. Clothes were strewn around the room. The sheets had not been changed in days. Dust was collecting on the furniture. Hill had complained to the management, but they no longer listened to her. She was certain that Orville Mason had instructed them to make her life as miserable as possible.

Hill walked to the window and stared down at the bustling crowd on the street below. She hated them, hated everyone who had a home and someone who cared about them. She was smarter than they were, and she was beautiful, yet she had no one and owned only the clothes on her back and the money in her purse.

Hill fought back tears. Crying was what weaklings did, and she was not weak. She wiped her eyes and breathed deeply until she was calm. She couldn’t let Heather Gillette win. She had to find a way to fight back.