The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 11

  I kept my back to him, still unable to face the rawness of what had sprung between us. For in his eyes, in his voice, I’d witnessed a hunger that went deeper than desire, an emotion of need darker and more desperate than I’d have ever thought possible. That need frightened me more than any intruder could, because that need was within me as well.

  “I had planned to search both rooms. In fact I am going to rouse Dobbs and have the entire house checked.”

  “No,” I said, biting my lip, turning to him. I focused on his neck. He’d buttoned his shirt and rolled down his sleeves, but it didn’t help. I could clearly recall what lay beneath.“I had been sleeping, and I might have imagined it. There is no need to awaken everyone.” It would be too embarrassing for the entire household to be a party to this mess.

  If I truly believed my life had been threatened and that threat had come from someone outside of the Trevelyan household, I would have run through the house awakening everyone myself. But I strongly felt that whoever had come into my room had already gone and would deny being there.

  I ruled out Benedict Trevelyan as my intruder, for I realized I would have seen the white of his shirt in the darkness or detected his scent. Besides, his concern had been too real, and at some point tonight, after I’d collided with the heat of his gaze, I knew if he’d been standing over me, I would have known it was him. His presence loomed even larger than his size.

  In fact, I felt his searching regard now, but refused to meet it. He didn’t press me.

  “Very well. I will knock after I have finished checking the nursery and the schoolroom.”

  I didn’t breathe or move until I heard the door to the schoolroom shut. He took the lamp with him, and I welcomed the darkness. I didn’t want to see my face in the mirror, didn’t want to face what I knew had to be in my eyes— an awareness of a desperate need deep inside of me that was stronger than any rule of propriety I’d ever learned.

  My father, though born a gentleman in England, had played slave to his base nature. Besides a fever for gold, he’d had a flair for seduction, which he plied without conscience. He’d eloped with my mother, supposedly saving her from the religious fervor of my fire-and-brimstone grandfather, then abandoned her a week later when gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill. The marriage license proved to be false. I hated to think that I’d inherited his wantonness.

  Not more than five minutes passed before I heard Benedict Trevelyan’s knock from the schoolroom. Walking over to the door, I barely cracked it open.“Yes,” I said, holding my breath.

  “I did not find anything amiss. Justin and Robert are still asleep, and their nurse’s door is locked.”

  “Thank you.” I shut my eyes and leaned my head against the cool wood of the door, thankful that he didn’t ask me to open it wider.

  “Miss Lovell?”

  “Yes?”

  “Might I ask why you went immediately to Justin and Robert’s room instead of screaming into the hall when you thought there was an intruder?”

  I blinked and didn’t know what to say. “I am not sure. With my door to the hall locked, all I could think about was seeing that they were unharmed.”

  “Has anything led you to believe that my sons are in danger?”

  I pulled the door open then, unable not to look into his eyes. “No. I assure you. If I ever thought anything of that nature, I would tell you immediately. You can trust me.”

  His gaze searched mine before he handed me the lamp.

  “On certain things, Miss Lovell, I am not a man to be trusted. Do not make that mistake,” he said softly and then turned, walking into the shadows.

  Shutting the door, I leaned against it, clinging to the cool wood. What could I not trust Benedict Trevelyan in? I automatically pressed my fingers to my lips and thought that I knew.

  Sleep was out of the question after he left. I spent the rest of the night trying to immerse my mind in a volume of the Encyclopædia Britannica.

  It wasn’t until I happened upon articles concerning the phenomena of electricity that I was able to remotely distract myself. Even then, my thoughts were still centered on Benedict Trevelyan. As I read suppositions on the properties of electricity from scientists connected to the Royal Institution and the Royal Society, I wondered if Benedict Trevelyan and I were afflicted with such a thing. The observations made when one received an electrical shock perfectly described what I experienced when Benedict Trevelyan touched me or even looked at me. But as the night waned to the morning, I knew that even if there was a certain awareness, a kindling of desire, between Benedict Trevelyan and me, I had to firmly put it behind me. I was a practical woman and knew without a doubt that nothing could come of such feelings. He was a man of riches and prestige. I was a woman of little means who couldn’t even call legitimacy my own. I’d never belong in his world, and I’d never trespass into the shadowy realm where a woman knew a man without the protection of marriage.

  Despite my lack of sleep and last night’s odd events, I left the manor with cheerful alacrity the next morning. The dew, still fresh upon the ground, cut the dust and washed the grass and trees to a bright sparkle. A chorus of birds sang, inviting my heart to sing with them.

  Saturday had dawned—my first official day off since beginning my employment—and an excitement bubbled inside me that nothing could dampen. Not a finger of fog reached inland from the bay to cloud the day, and a brisk northeasterly breeze joined the bright summer sun to dispel any early-morning shadows.

  I had many things I wished to accomplish on what I considered to be my first day of real freedom, ever, and I knew who I would share my excitement with first.

  I went to Holloway Park to gather a handful of bright yellow wildflowers for my mother’s grave. But just as I left the cover of a copse of shade trees, I saw Miss Ortega and Mr. Henderson. Both held the reins of their horses as they stood, clearly arguing about something, but they were too far away to hear. I was about to call out to them when I saw Miss Ortega slap Mr. Henderson’s face and mount her horse. Her reckless pace brought her my way so quickly that I didn’t have time to step back into the shadows. She glared at me as she passed, not bothering to stop and greet me. This suited me just fine. I didn’t have to get near the beast she rode.

  But I had counted my blessings too soon. Mr. Henderson headed my way, riding an even bigger horse. I backed up until a tree halted my retreat. Thankfully, when he dismounted, his horse found a patch of clover to eat, and Mr. Henderson left his horse grazing as he came to where I stood.

  “Good morning, Miss Lovell. I hope you had a good night’s rest.”

  “Well enough,” I replied, though I hadn’t slept much at all after the intruder and my encounter with Benedict Trevelyan. Mr. Henderson’s cheek was marked with a bright red handprint, and I wondered what he’d said to provoke Miss Ortega’s apparently formidable wrath. We both ignored the incident, though it stood there with us, begging for attention. Glancing at his horse to make sure it was keeping its distance, I noted full saddlebags strapped on. “Mr. Trevelyan mentioned you would be leaving today.”

  “For a short time. I am riding north on business, then I will stop back by here on my return to Kansas City.”

  “I have heard a great deal about Missouri. How long have you lived there?”

  “About a year. I won a deed to a cattle ranch in a card game and found the gold I had been looking twenty-five years for in cattle.”

  “You were a miner then?”

  “Benedict’s father and I met here in ’49. He was already a prosperous businessman in shipping, but when the gold fever hit, he made a fortune transporting people to California.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he knew of my father, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to know what had become of the man who’d abandoned my mother. Justice has a way of serving herself in life. The guilty always suffer. Stephen Trevelyan’s words from dinner last night ran through my mind. My hands clenched. I hoped so, I thought. For I knew without a doub
t that the innocent always suffered. My mother had. Justin and Robert were.

  I looked up to see Mr. Henderson studying me intently. He smiled.“Do you often walk alone in the park during the morning?”

  “No. This morning I’m after a handful of those flowers over there.”I pointed to a bright patch just ahead.“I am taking them to my mother’s grave.”

  “My condolences then. Grief has a way of touching us all, don’t you think, Miss Lovell?”

  “I suppose. Have you recently suffered a loss?”

  Mr. Henderson hesitated, and the ease on his face turned to grim lines. “No, not recently.” He cleared his throat. “Well. No doubt I will see you upon my return. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lovell.”

  “And you as well, Mr. Henderson.” He left then, and I went back to gathering flowers, wondering what Miss Ortega and Mr. Henderson had been arguing about. When I reached the cemetery and found the small wooden cross marking my mother’s grave, I put thoughts of those at Trevelyan Manor aside. One day soon I’d replace the cross with the permanency of stone; no matter how quietly my mother had lived her life, she deserved to be known even long after I was gone from this earth. I’d given a lot of thought as to what I’d have engraved on her headstone and settled for a verse of simple beauty.

  Her life was as finite as the earth,

  but her love reaches beyond the stars.

  I meant to save going to Talbot’s Fashion Emporium as my last errand for the day, but I found myself standing before the shop door, peering inside like a child before a confectioner’s. I’d no sooner pressed my nose to the window, looking at a beautiful lace shawl draped elegantly over a tasteful chair, when the front door popped open. A gray-haired woman whose smile and eyes twinkled as brightly as stars introduced herself as Mrs. Talbot and invited me inside. I nearly had to shield my eyes from the peacock blue of her dress. The color was so bright that I at first wondered how anyone could wear it and not feel out of place; but within seconds of following Mrs. Talbot into the shop, I knew the vibrant color suited her perfectly.

  She’d yet to even know my name or purpose but had welcomed me as if I were a lady of means.

  “Now, dear, I must tell you that gray is definitely not your color,” she said, clucking at my dress. “You have come to the right place. I have this absolutely divine blue fabric just in from New York this week.”

  “Mrs. Talbot, I am afraid I’m not here to order a new dress. I am newly in Mr. Benedict Trevelyan’s employ, and he referred me to you. I believe you have several dresses already—”

  “Why, my dear! You are perfect for them. Please, come with me.”

  She led me to a fitting room and then began bringing in armfuls of things. I tried to stop her several times, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She kept saying, Just a little more and she’d have it all.

  “There,” she said at last.“This is the lot of it.”

  “But surely there is some mistake. This is too much, Mrs. Talbot. I truly could not take all of this.” I couldn’t fathom the bounty she’d spread about the fitting room. Besides five dresses, there were undergarments, hats, gloves, parasols, handbags, nightgowns, robe, and slippers. My word, if I were to actually wear it all, I’d need my own laundress.

  “You cannot?” Mrs. Talbot’s face crumbled. “Do you not like the style of the dresses? I can possibly change them.”

  “No, please. They are beautiful. It is just that there is so much, I could not possibly allow Mr. Trevelyan to pay for all of this. Two dresses and one pair of shoes should do.”

  “Oh, dear. This leaves me in quite a quandary,” Mrs. Talbot said, sending the wrinkles between her graying brows into a deep frown. “You see, I ordered and tailored all of these things for a woman who moved back east. She left me without payment and with no forwarding address. I have not told Mr. Talbot about the situation either.” She lowered her voice. “He owns the dry goods store next to me and keeps saying that I have no business sense whatsoever. Why, if my fashion emporium does not make as much as his store this year, then he says he will close the doors to my shop!”

  My back went ramrod-stiff. “That is awful!” I said, gasping with indignation.

  Mrs. Talbot sighed. “I see you are but a chick from the egg yet, Miss Lovell. This is a man’s world, and the West is even more unbalanced than the East. I daresay it will take something on a scale as big as the war between the North and the South to set things right for women.”

  I immediately felt a kinship with her dilemma, for all too often my mother and I had suffered from this unbalance. But the only way I could consider accepting such a wealth of clothing would be to pay Benedict Trevelyan back for all of it but the two dresses and one pair of shoes I deemed necessary for my employment. I explained this to Mrs. Talbot, then asked for a detailed account of the costs.

  “Bless you, dear. In fact, I am going to give you a special price for the items. We women must help each other.”

  Nodding, I agreed with her. She promised not to mention my intentions to Benedict Trevelyan. He was not a man who liked to have his wishes altered.

  After Mrs. Talbot’s, I stopped at the Music Academy, making arrangements for several personable pianists to come to Trevelyan Hill and audition for the position of Justin and Robert’s music teacher once I confirmed a date and time with Benedict Trevelyan.

  Music would improve the dreary tone within the Trevelyan home. I also visited the Institute for the Deaf and Blind. I knew nothing of communicating with someone locked into a world of silence and thought that the boys and I would benefit from having a teacher come to us. I didn’t know what education Katherine Trevelyan had had, but I assumed it would have been nothing but the best.

  I walked into Mr. McGuire’s Bookstore a woman who’d moved into a different world in two short weeks, a world that was just as frightening as it was exciting. I found comfort in seeing that Mr. McGuire hadn’t changed in the least. As always, he was engrossed in a book and nearly buried by the mounds of tomes around him.

  “Something is rotten in the state—”

  “Why the gloom, Puck?” I said, running a finger along his tail to ruffle him.“Do you not know the sun is the master of the sky today?”

  “Squawk.” Puck inched himself away from my touch, moving to the opposite end of his wooden perch.

  “I see you are fickle with your affections as usual.”

  “Perhaps he is but trying to warn ye, lass.” Mr. McGuire’s voice rolled with gloom.

  I turned to him, concerned.“What is amiss?”

  Oddly, before answering, he glanced about the shop as if ensuring we were alone. Then when satisfied, he set the Closed sign in the window and locked the door. By the time he finished, I’d surpassed concern and moved into the dangerous ground of real fear. In all the years I’d known him, he’d only closed the shop during the day for a funeral. That had been my mother’s.“What is it? Are you ill?”

  “I have something to tell ye, lass. And I want no other ears aboot.”

  “Has harm befallen someone?”

  “Aye, but that harm happened about a year ago.” He pushed his spectacles higher, staring directly into my eyes.“I spoke to the man who used to be Francesca Trevelyan’s doctor. He swears she didn’t commit suicide, not by throwing herself from the turret window. He says he has proof that she was murdered.”

  8

  My breath caught in my throat. Since my life had been fraught with rumors, I was accustomed to easily dismissing them. But proof of murder was an entirely different matter. “What proof? Why has he not notified the authorities of this and an arrest been made?”

  Mr. McGuire shook his head, tumbling wisps of gray hair over his forehead and knocking his bifocals to the end of his nose. “Ah, lass, there’s a different set of rules when it comes to the rich. Ye’ve seen enough of the West to know that. The doctor gave his expert opinion on several occasions at official inquiries, and each time his theory didn’t hold sway against Benedict Trevelyan’s influ
ence and desire to have the death declared a suicide.”

  My heart and stomach collided, making me suddenly ill.

  “O, let me not be mad, not mad,” squawked Puck.

  I blessed Puck for the interruption, then prayed my legs would hold me upright as I moved toward a chair. My mouth felt dry, and a dizzy sensation tilted the room before me. I managed to sit rather than fall, but I had to swallow three times before I could speak.“Mr. Trevelyan has deliberately thwarted efforts to find his wife’s murderer?”

  Never was I more thankful that Mr. McGuire’s eyesight was poor at a distance. For he surely would have noted my shock, and I would have been hard-pressed to explain how deeply my emotions had already been ensnared by the Trevelyan family after only two weeks of employment.

  Mr. McGuire shrugged, his watery eyes gravely concerned.“Seems to be so, lass. Ye must take care.”

  I nodded my head, still trying to grasp what Mr. McGuire meant. “You must tell me. What exactly did the doctor say? Why is he so sure Francesca Trevelyan was murdered?”

  “It’s a good thing ye are sitting down, because the truth of it isn’t pretty. Seems that Francesca Trevelyan was a wee lass, given to vapors, and oft’ took laudanum for severe headaches. Dr. Levinworth began seeing her when she married Benedict Trevelyan and swears the lass ne’er would have chosen such a painful death. Ye ken what I mean?”

  I forced myself to breathe before I fell unconscious.“She would not have jumped from the mansion’s tower.”

  “Aye. Dr. Levinworth says she’d have overdosed on laudanum and died in her soft bed were she of the mind to do herself in.” He paused and pushed his bifocals back to the bridge of his nose then lowered his voice. “There’s more. The lass smelled heavily of laudanum at the time of her death, and her injuries indicate she fell headfirst from the tower instead of feetfirst, as you’d expect.”