Authors: Heaven
Bobbi Smith (24 page)
By late afternoon, his temper was short and his need desperate. Matt had excused himself to go down to the saloon for a while, and Winn kept careful watch, praying for a moment alone. When at last their part of the deck was deserted, he made his move.
“Come with me,” he urged, standing up and grabbing Alex’s hand.
“What are you doing? Where are we going?”
“Be quiet,” he cautioned in a low voice. He dragged her a few steps away to a small, hidden alcove that housed supplies for the crew. He’d watched crewmembers go in and out of the area all afternoon, and since there was no one nearby right now, he hoped it was safe for at least a minute.
The alcove was cool and darkly shadowed. When Winn pulled Alex in with him and kissed her, she murmured her approval. His mouth swooped down to cover hers, and their embrace was frantic and heated by the danger of discovery involved. When they broke apart, Winn crushed her against his chest.
“I’m going to make up for this one of these days.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she agreed, her breathing labored.
“Go on back to your cabin now. If I stay here with you a moment longer, the next crewmember to come in here may get a surprise he doesn’t want.”
She gave him one last look of longing and then fled their cocoon. She had only gone a few feet before someone else came down the deck. She had already disappeared into her stateroom when Winn emerged from their hiding place, looking calm and contented to head for his own cabin.
Dinner that night was delicious as usual. Winn, however, would have traded the entire, six-course meal for stale bread and water as long as he could have dined alone with Alex. Matt suggested a night of dancing, and they’d both scowled at him. Finally they decided to retire early, for the following day they would dock in New Orleans and the second part of their hunt would begin. They had to be ready. The crown was now within their reach.
Thirteen
New Orleans
The tall, slender blonde woman hurried up the walk to the mansion. The expression on her elegant features was serious, and it was obvious that she was nervous as she mounted the steps to the front door. She knocked, then stood back to wait.
A gray-haired maid in a neatly starched uniform answered her knock. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“Yes, I’m Catherine Sutherland from St. Joan’s, and I need to speak with Mr. Markham right away. It’s urgent.”
“Please, wait here.” The servant closed the door again.
Catherine stood impatiently, her nerves stretched taut by the missive she’d just received that very morning. . . the missive she still held clutched in her hand. She glanced down at the rumpled letter, finding it hard to believe that Mr. Markham had written this to her. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be! She heard footsteps coming back toward the door and her anticipation grew. Drawing a hopeful breath, she watched the door swing open again.
The maid faced her, her features schooled into a mask that betrayed no hint of emotion. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Markham is not receiving this afternoon.”
“Did you give him my message?” Catherine pressed.
“Yes, ma’am but he said to tell you that there was no point in wasting either your time or his. He’s made his decision, and that decision is final.”
“But I must speak to him. It’s urgent!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Catherine was frantic. She had to protect her children! “No! Wait! You don’t understand . . .” She stepped forward trying to stop the maid from shutting the door.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Sutherland,” the maid repeated as a burly butler came to her side.
While Catherine’s willpower might very well match the butler’s, pound for pound there was no contest. Ever the lady, she decided to fall back and regroup. There had to be a way out of this terrible dilemma. All she had to do now was think of it.
The door closed with a final sound. Catherine stared at it for a moment longer, then turned away. Markham’s refusal to see her, coupled with the terrible news in the letter, unnerved her. According to the letter, Markham, who was the landlord for St. Joan’s, had just decided to up and sell the building right out from underneath them. He was selling it without any warning, and had given her only two weeks to find another place for the thirty-five children in her care at the orphanage.
As Catherine moved down the walk toward the street, she glanced down at the single piece of paper. She didn’t know how it was possible for something so small to have the power to change her life and the lives of the children in her care so dramatically in such a short time. Revulsion and contempt filled her as she thought of Markham’s cowardice. How easy it was to ruin someone’s life when you never had to face them.
Catherine knew she had to do something, but she had no idea what. She had no power, no vast fortune of her own to buy the building herself. Somehow, though, in the next two weeks she had to find a way to save the thirty-five children in her care, all of whom were under fourteen years old. Her steps were slow as she made her way to the hired carriage waiting for her on the street.
Milly, her assistant, was an elderly lady who’d been with the home for as long as anyone could remember. She had come along on the trip with Catherine to offer moral support and had remained in the carriage while she’d gone up to speak to Mr. Markham. She was watching her anxiously as she drew near.
“What happened? Isn’t Mr. Markham home?” Milly asked as Catherine climbed back inside and gave the driver the order to take them back to St. Joan’s.
“He’s home all right, but he refused to see me. According to what he told the maid, he’s made his decision, so there’s no reason for us to meet.” Catherine lifted her troubled gaze to her faithful friend. “Milly, what am I going to do? I can’t let this happen. How am I going to take care of the children if St. Joan’s is gone?”
“I don’t know, Miss Catherine.” Milly reached out and gave her hand a reassuring pat.
“I can’t let the children down. They’re little more than babies. I can’t . . .”
The two women fell silent as they made the trip back to the orphanage. Catherine had been the director of St. Joan’s Home for Children for almost ten years now. She’d come to the orphanage to work as a volunteer after her husband and infant daughter had been killed in a tragic accident. From the first day, she’d known the home was her fate. She had so much love to give and the children were desperate for it. Catherine had dedicated herself to the work, soothing the agony of her spirit by giving of herself. Soon, the love she was giving freely was being returned full measure from the children, who’d at first been a little leery of her. They’d seen other pretty ladies come and go, so they were cautious at first about trusting her. It wasn’t long, however, before they sensed she was real and meant what she said to them. Once that barrier had been breached, they had come together as a family, caring for each other and trying to love each other—in good times and bad. It hadn’t been easy, but Catherine had done it. Now, suddenly, if Markham had his way, it was over, and she was helpless to do anything to prevent it.
Consumed with worries, Catherine rode in silence back to St. Joan’s. The building had never been in the best condition, and during the past year Markham had stopped responding to her requests for renovations or repairs. She’d made do, not wanting to anger him, but this letter now explained everything. He didn’t care about the children. He never had. The opportunity had come up, and now he was selling the building. It was as cold, businesslike, and final as that.
As they reached the home and descended from the carriage, Catherine paused to stare up at the old building. True it was rundown, but it was clean inside. She’d taught the children that cleanliness was next to Godliness, and they all did their chores every day. The sounds of happy children at play penetrated her sad musings, and she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. A part of her rejoiced at their happiness, but the part of her that faced reality and dealt with it daily, knew their carefree days were numbered. Two weeks . . . that’s all she had . . . two weeks.
Catherine went up the steps and entered the old building with Milly to find eleven-year-old Tommy Glosier waiting for her. She couldn’t help but smile. Tommy had appointed himself her protector some years before, and whenever she was away, he waited vigilantly in the hall near her office for her return.
Tommy was an attractive boy, with the potential to become a very handsome man. His hair was dark and an unruly shock of it fell across his forehead giving him a rakish look even at eleven. His eyes were blue and bright with intelligence. He was a charmer, his dimpled smile having been known to disarm even the formidable Milly on occasion. Renowned for his good humor, Tommy always had a kind word for everyone. He’d been about three years old when Catherine found him wandering the streets, abandoned by whatever family he’d had. No one had ever come to claim him, and she had taken a special interest in him. They had grown very close through the years, and Catherine would have had it no other way.
“Nothing happened while you were gone, Miss Catherine,” Tommy reported very seriously. “Everyone behaved themselves.”
“That’s good. I appreciate your keeping track of things for me.”
“Mary kept the little ones busy, so I just kinda kept an eye on the rest.” He was always willing to share any praise he might get.
“I’ll be sure to thank her when I see her later. You did a very good job, Tommy.” She patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “I’ll see you a little later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy swelled with pride at her compliment. He adored her, and would do anything for her. Miss Catherine and the other orphans at the home were the only family he’d ever known, and he was an intensely loyal person. Now that she was back, he could go join the others and play for a while.
Catherine and Milly went on into her office and closed the door. Only then did the smile she’d managed for Tommy fade.
“What do you think we should do?” Milly asked when they were alone.
“That’s what I have to figure out—and fast. Get me the list of all the people who’ve helped us in the last two years. Maybe if I ask for donations, I can raise enough money to buy the building from Mr. Markham myself. If not . . .”
“I’ll get started on it right away.” Milly didn’t know if it would work, but any plan was better than just giving up. There was too much at stake.
New Orleans spread out before Winn, Alex, and Matt in all its magnificence. When their steamer had docked, they hired a closed carriage to take them to the St. Charles Hotel. As soon as they climbed in and shut the door, Winn shed his collar for the last time. He wasn’t sure what the driver would think when they reached the hotel and he descended from the carriage no longer dressed as a priest, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be free to be himself again.
The driver did indeed glance at him askance as he alighted from the carriage and then turned to help Alex down, but he said nothing. Winn rewarded him with a very generous tip.
They registered under their own names at the front desk, and Winn actually felt like celebrating.
“Let’s go to our rooms and get settled in. Once we’re cleaned up, we’ll meet in my room and go over the next clue again,” Matt suggested.
About an hour later, Alex appeared at the door to his room. Winn was already there, and he answered her knock. As the door opened and he stood before her in his white shirt and dark pants, she was once again surprised by the power of her reaction to him. He was without a doubt the most magnificent specimen of a man she’d ever seen, and she took the time to stare at him in open appreciation for a moment.
“Yes, it really is me, and I’m planning to stay this way from now on,” he said huskily as he took her hand and drew her quickly inside.
Only then did Alex discover he was by himself in the room.
“Where’s Matt?” she asked, her pulse quickening at the thought of being alone with him.
“He went back down to the front desk for a minute, so we’re actually alone—for a little while.” As he said ‘alone’ he closed the door behind her.
She smiled dreamily and went straight into his arms. “I was beginning to think we would never be alone again.”
“Oh, no, sweet. Somehow, no matter how long it would have taken, I would have found a way,” he declared, just before his mouth claimed hers.
She molded herself against him. She could feel the hardness of him against her and reveled in the knowledge that he wanted her so badly. Winn ached to pick her up and lay her upon the bed. He longed to strip away the barriers of their clothing and kiss and touch every curve of her lush body, but he didn’t. There was no telling how soon Matt would be back, and he didn’t want to risk any embarrassment.
Winn had already made up his mind that tonight was going to be a special night for them. Innocent that she was, he was going to court her. He’d already won her love, but now he wanted to be worthy of it. The things he’d done as rote in London, he was now going to do with joy, because this was Alex. The evening was planned already. They had just to get to it. For now, he would satisfy himself with the pleasure of her kiss and know that even more delights awaited them both as soon as darkness fell.
The sound of Matt at the door drove them apart. When Matt came in, he took one look at the two of them and grinned knowingly.
“I got it,” he announced holding up a thick ledger.
“What did you get?” Alex asked, curious.
“A city register. We know we’re looking for something with St. Joan or Joan in the name, and a good bet is that it has to do with children. All we have to do is figure out what. It could be a school or an orphanage. Let’s see what we can find.”
Matt thumbed through the directory, checking the listings carefully.
“There’s nothing under Joan. Let’s try St. Joan.”
“Could it be another convent or maybe a church?”
“We’ve got to remember the last part of the clue—‘Seek here the bearer of path, whose gift will guide you on, life’s little flowers should now grow, warmed by a gentle sun. Love is the key to all that thrives, its power can conquer the curse. See the unseen, and you will find the treasure that will be yours.’ ”
“We’re getting so close . . .”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Here!” Matt said urgently. “This must be it . . . St. Joan’s Orphanage.”
“Let’s go!” Winn was ready.
They stopped at the desk only long enough to return the register and get directions. Within a few minutes, they were in a carriage on their way to the orphanage that was located in one of the poorer sections of town.
“Here it is,” the driver said as he drew the vehicle to a stop before a run-down building.
Alex, Winn, and Matt eyed each other questioningly. St. Joan’s Home for Children was a shabby-looking two-story building. There was nothing remarkable or attractive about it. The one thing they did notice, though, was that it was neat and clean. Though the paint on the building was peeling, the walk was swept. The swarm of children of all ages and sizes who played in front on the grass looked neat and well-fed, too. It was obvious that, poor though the home might be, someone there cared.
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