Hunter's Prize (20 page)

She nodded. “Yes, of course.”

With a sharp inhale, Priscilla leaned forward and began. “What if I told you I suspect Mr. Foster of harming Ceddy?”

Addie’s heart lurched. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“I don’t like having these thoughts, believe me.” Priscilla fell against her chair. “But you heard Reverend Stroud. ‘Someone in our midst,’ he said. Addie, you’ve been around Mr. Foster more than I have. Do you think it’s possible?”

“To be honest, I can’t imagine it.” Addie’s first instincts were to shout down her accusations. Yet she suspected Pearson of something nearly as vile.

“How well do we really know him?”

How well indeed? Addie raised her head. “Wait, he was with me on the swing, so how could he be guilty? He didn’t have the opportunity.”

“I’m afraid he did. That’s what haunts my thoughts. I directed him to the back door and then went out to the kitchen. He was standing at the foot of the stairs when I left him. Who’s to say he went directly to the porch?”

Weakness swept over Addie’s limbs, leaving her feeling helpless. Why did the urge to defend Pearson surge so strongly through her veins? “It seems preposterous. Why would he hurt a little boy?”

“You heard him say he lost his brother in the storm. Perhaps it twisted his mind.”

Staring thoughtfully, Addie confessed the truth. “Actually, he lost his entire family that night. Pearson alone was spared.”

Priscilla’s eyes widened to deep, troubled pools. “There … you see? I’ve heard of these kinds of cases—the most charming and agreeable men living double lives, eventually found culpable of murder and mayhem. Like those two in London, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“But Priscilla … they’re a work of fiction.”

She blinked. “They are?”

“Of course.”

She waved dismissively. “Still … think about it, Addie. Both times when Ceddy grew so frightened, at the restaurant and again today, Mr. Foster was present. The boy has never acted in such a distraught manner before. It’s the only conclusion I can make.”

Addie held out one last shred of hope. “But you saw for yourself, Ceddy was totally relaxed with him. Even allowed the man to carry him to bed.”

Priscilla touched her bottom lip. “Yes, there is that. But he was drifting in and out. Perhaps he didn’t realize who held him.” She sat forward and folded her hands. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Believe me, I’ve struggled with the idea for half the night, and I hardly believe it myself.” Her lips tightened. “However, my first responsibility is to Ceddy. I won’t expose him to a dangerous man.” She sighed. “But now that I’ve befriended Mr. Foster, it does present a perplexing set of circumstances.”

Addie nodded. “To say the least.”

Priscilla curled her fingers at her temples. “It’s a dreadful failing of mine, Addie. I tend to become familiar with people entirely too soon. It’s my trusting nature, I suppose.”

Addie knew another impetuous lady with the same weakness. If her mother hadn’t allowed the two men into their lives, they wouldn’t be having this strange conversation. And Addie wouldn’t be battling an attraction that made her uncomfortable. “How can we prove that Pearson is innocent?” Addie asked, certain that he was.

Priscilla gripped her knees and stared at the darkened window. “I don’t know at present. But I assure you, I won’t let the matter rest until I uncover the truth.”

A
week had passed since Pearson last saw Addie. His reason for wanting to had drastically changed. After the accusation she made, of his improper interest in her mother, he wanted a chance to deny her charge.

The previous Sunday, Reverend Stroud accepted their offer of a ride home from the mansion, and on the way they’d waged a lively debate on the treasure of Jean Lafitte. The man seemed drawn to the legend and was quite knowledgeable of the details, a fact that forged a bond between them.

Since that day, Pearson spent hours at the bachelor’s table, breaking bread and sharing ideas on where the pirate’s bounty and the
Mittie
might be found.

As Pearson left the parsonage the day before, the reverend milked a promise from him that he would be in church, a promise he meant to keep. “Almost ready, Theo? We’re about to be late.”

Theo pulled on his boot and stood, shaking his pant leg until the cuff slid down. “Have you counted our money lately?” he asked, clearly distracted.

Pearson glanced at the bright sun outside the window and laid aside his coat. “Why should I? You’re the bookkeeper for this operation.”

Theo winced then met his eyes. “Not such a good one, I’m afraid. Somehow we’ve gone over our budget.”

“Meaning?”

“We won’t be able to stay in this hotel much longer and still afford to eat.”

One hand on the door, Pearson stilled. “Let me see, die of exposure or die of starvation. Those are the options you’re giving me?”

He nodded. “If you want to keep paying our help, it is.”

Drawing a deep breath, Pearson shook his head. “There are a couple more alternatives, neither one very pleasant.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“We could get part-time jobs.”

Theo frowned. “I’m so tired after dragging the bottom of the lake every day, I couldn’t do justice to an employer. What’s the other idea?”

“We find somewhere else to stay.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know yet. Reverend Stroud would take us in, but there’s barely enough room for him in that little cabin.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “The light’s beginning to dawn, brother. I know what’s brewing in that reckless head. You’re hoping to wheedle an invitation from Priscilla to stay at the mansion.”

Pushing him into the hall, Pearson laughed. “That wouldn’t be proper, would it? Not with two unmarried ladies inside.” He winked. “But there’s always the servants’ quarters.”

“Those gloomy shacks haven’t been lived in for twenty years. Braving the elements might be better.”

Pearson laughed and patted his back. “I’m surprised at you. You’ve slept in worse places, like the cot in Rosie’s storeroom, sharing a bed with rats as long as your arm.”

“I was younger then. And foolish. I’m a man now and partial to comfort.”

“Like lumpy sofas and musty quilts?”

Theo nudged him. “You’ve slept in worse places, too.”

They entered the Ginocchio’s bustling lobby, Theo beaming and raising his hat to an attractive woman at the desk. She blushed prettily, but her companion glared and moved closer, sliding his arm around her waist.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered, hurrying his steps to the door. He strolled along the boardwalk beside Pearson, quiet for a change. Just as Pearson had begun to enjoy the silence, he cleared his throat and glanced up.

“Don’t get me wrong, paisan, I’m happy we’re attending church again, but …”

“Why am I going?”

He nodded. “I’m not your judge or anything, but I’m fairly certain a desire to see a woman isn’t a scriptural reason to go.”

After the trouble with Ceddy at the Whitfield place, Pearson thought better of mentioning his skirmish with the vexing Addie McRae, who could teach a thing or two about the art of judging people.

“Though I do mean to have a word with Miss Addie at my first opportunity, I assure you I’m not going to church to see her. I promised the reverend I’d be there, and I’m bound to keep my word.”

Guilt burdened his soul as they walked from the hotel to the church. The truth was he hadn’t told Theo the whole story. His decision to attend the service had nothing to do with Addie, but there was a lot more to it than keeping a promise to Reverend Stroud.

Since the church social, Pearson couldn’t shake the desire to return. The need to feel the serenity he’d experienced consumed him, both in the service and afterward, while standing on Miss Whitfield’s back porch.

Too many years had passed since he last felt calm inside. Having stumbled onto a taste, he craved it more than food and drink. If God’s house was the source of that peace, it’s where Pearson wanted to be.

The towering walls of the Kimberley Mine threatened to close in on Denny, and the soaring blue sky above the big hole spun his head. Sweat beaded on his top lip, tickling his nose. To wipe it off would attract attention. The blighters watched always, suspected everything
.

He tried not to look at Tebogo, the big black wandering a half morgen away on a patch of weathering blue ground. The Cameroon cigars Denny used to bribe him had cost him dearly, but if the duck-footed bloke pulled off his trick, Denny could buy a passel of stogies
.

Tebogo had done it before and succeeded, risking his hide to make another man rich, and for paltry recompense. Whatever drove such shortsighted behavior, Denny was glad the foolish man was willing to take the risk
.

Without breaking his stride, Tebogo strolled into the unsorted field where Denny had spotted a brilliant flash. With the barest wrinkling of his toes, he

snatched the kimberlite rock with his foot then meandered past Denny
.

In a convincing show of clumsiness, Denny dropped his spade. Bending at the waist, he snatched the stone and promptly swallowed it
.

Excitement swelled his chest, and he bit the inside of his lip to hold back a smile. At last! Boundless treasure had lain in wait for luckier blokes than he, far less deserving men growing rich and powerful in droves. Now his turn had come
.

Casual as could be, he shouldered the spade and made for the huddle of shacks serving as an office. He’d turn in his tools and collect his wage, then—

A firm grip on his neck halted him in midstep. Cruel fingers dug in and spun him around
.

The guard’s leering grin shot fear to his chest, and he lost the power to breathe…
.

Denny’s eyes flew open. His heart pounded so hard, he feared for his life. Working to slow his breathing, he gazed around at the tattered rug and torn wallpaper of the rooming house.

When would he stop dreaming of that terrible day?

The attempted theft earned him a stay in the compound, bound in handcuffs, force-fed castor oil and stewed fruit until his traitorous body returned the stolen property.

His ill-fated assistant fared worse. He paid for his folly with the loss of his foot.

Denny rolled out of bed and sat on the side, holding his aching head. The bottle he’d drained the night before mocked him from the floor. Drawing back his foot, he gave it a swift kick then howled as pain shot from his toe to his throbbing temples.

Charlie reeled over and fixed him with a bleary stare. “Have you gone spare, mate? What’s the good of all that racket?”

“Shut it and go back to sleep.”

Growling, Charlie sat up instead. “Too late. Me heart’s pounding out of me chest. What’s eatin’ you?”

Denny cast a surly glance around the room. “I’m sick of this rotted slum of a flat. We should be living like kings by now. Riding a luxury liner to an island in the Pacific.”

Charlie’s mouth grew slack, and he stared dreamily. “Yeah? That sounds nice, Den. So why ain’t we?”

“‘Sounds nice, Den. Why ain’t we?’ “Denny mocked, throwing a pillow at his head. “Why do you think? We ain’t got that blooming rock yet, now, have we?”

Charlie ducked and shook his head.

“We’ve been working our fingers to nubs for those two blokes, braving snakes and gators and dragging all manner of rubbish up from the deep.” He spat on the floor. “Not a thing to show for it but short fingers and aching backs.”

Charlie shot him a sullen glare. “You said we’d follow them so’s we could find out where the boy lives, but we ain’t done it.”

Tapping his forehead, Denny grinned. “I don’t tell you everything, now, do I? We don’t need to follow them because I already know where the boy lives. It don’t take long in this town to find out who Miss Priscilla Whitfield is or where her big mansion sits.”

Confusion flashed on Charlie’s face. “Then why ain’t we gone after the diamond?”

Denny vaulted from the bed and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Pipe down, will ya? These walls are like onion peels. You want to compete with half the blokes in this seedy dive?”

Staring with frightened eyes, Charlie shook his head.

Settling to Charlie’s lumpy mattress, Denny heaved a sigh. “I got a wee bit distracted, I suppose.” Staring thoughtfully, he slipped his arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “You see, I can’t help wonderin’ why those two are dragging the bottom of a lake.” He gave Charlie a shake. “They take us for a couple of mugs. Think our accents make us stupid.” He gave a harsh laugh. “We ain’t stupid, are we, Charlie?”

The idiot shook his head. “We ain’t stupid.”

“That’s right. And as long as nobody knows what the boy has, we’ve got time to help our friends find what they’re looking for, maybe see what other trinkets there are in that big house. If my hunch is right, we’ll be leaving town with more than a big white rock.”

Charlie’s shoulders slumped. “What if the boy don’t have the stone no more? He could’ve lost it. Or chunked it away.”

Denny shoved him against the wall, bumping his head so hard the window rattled. “Don’t you say that, Charlie. You hear? He’s still got it, all right.” Squinting his eyes, he stared toward Whitfield Manor. “But he won’t keep it, you can bet on that. If I have to kill somebody to get it.”