In the Company of Secrets (31 page)

Footsteps clattered across the wooden porch just as she was tucking Morgan’s blanket around him. She tensed at the knock but quickly remembered Eddie’s promise.

Still, the need for caution had been imbedded in her memory, so she peeked through the window of the front door.
The
countess
. Her heart thumped so loudly she wondered if Mr. Rice might hear and bang on the wall.
Mr. Rice
. If he or his wife saw the countess, he’d be outdoors questioning her at any moment. She had best let the woman inside.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the door. ‘‘Why, Countess. To what do I owe this honor?’’

‘‘May I come in?’’

Olivia stepped aside and waved her forward. ‘‘Yes, of course.’’ She forced a feeble smile. ‘‘I hope you’ll understand that I was taken aback to see you on my porch.’’

The countess removed her kid gloves. She glanced at the cradle while she unfastened her cloak and handed it to Olivia. ‘‘I see you have an infant. I wasn’t aware you were married.’’

‘‘Oh, I’m not married,’’ Olivia quickly responded. ‘‘Won’t you please sit down?’’

The countess’s eyebrows arched as she took the seat offered. ‘‘I wouldn’t announce that fact to the world, Miss Mott. It’s certainly not something of which you should be proud.’’

‘‘Oh! He’s not my baby. He belongs to a friend.’’ Olivia sat down, as well.

‘‘I see. Well, then, let us get to the crux of why I’m here, shall we?’’

Olivia scooted back in her chair while the countess fumbled in her reticule and then removed a black velvet box. She opened the lid and dangled a necklace from two fingers.

‘‘I’m certain you will recognize this, as well as two other pieces I have in my bag.’’

Olivia wondered if she might lose her supper. She swallowed hard, her stomach churning.
Don’t lie!
The tiny voice repeated the command several times. ‘‘Yes, I do recognize them. They belong to Lady Charlotte.’’

The countess narrowed her eyes. ‘‘They belong to
me
. And I have just purchased them from Mr. Capper, a jeweler in the Arcade. I’m sure you know him quite well.’’

Olivia shook her head. ‘‘No. I’ve never met the man.’’

The countess returned the necklace to its case and snapped it shut. ‘‘Your name is on these papers as the person who sold my jewelry, Miss Mott.’’ She tapped the page but snapped it back when Olivia attempted to see exactly what had been written.

‘‘I assure you, I never sold the jewelry, Countess. There is a mistake.’’
Tell her the truth!
‘‘If you are willing to listen, I’ll explain exactly what has occurred.’’

The older woman silently listened while Olivia detailed Charlotte’s forced intrusion into Olivia’s plan to come to America and the many problems the two of them had encountered since departing London. Though the countess appeared anxious to believe her daughter was alive, she frowned and shook her head in disbelief when Olivia revealed Charlotte had stolen and sold the jewelry and that Morgan was her grandchild.

‘‘Impossible! You’ve gone too far with this story, young lady. You should be ashamed of yourself. The truth is, you worked at Lanshire Hall, you stole my jewels, and then you sold them to Mr. Capper. You’re attempting to cover your own crimes by accusing my daughter.’’ Anger shining in her eyes, the countess whacked her gloves across the arm of the settee.

Olivia flinched. ‘‘At Charlotte’s instruction, I did sell two pieces in London to cover our passage. Other than that, I’ve had nothing to do with the sale of the jewelry. I assure you that my claims can be proved.’’

The countess pursed her lips and nodded. ‘‘I’ll listen, but you had best have some convincing evidence.’’

‘‘In order to avoid revealing her true identity, Charlotte took the name of Hornsby. Any of the neighbors can tell you she was pregnant and gave birth to Morgan. If you doubt it was Charlotte, you’ll find many of her gowns hanging in the wardrobes in her bedroom. Should you still doubt my word, you could speak privately with Randolph Morgan—he’s the baby’s father. Charlotte met with him right here in Pullman. Though he’d likely deny paternity, he’d possibly falter under the earl’s questioning.’’

Suddenly Olivia remembered Charlotte’s letter. She jumped up from her chair. ‘‘I do have something tangible that will prove I’m telling the truth.’’ Without waiting for the countess to object, she hurried to the bedroom and retrieved Charlotte’s letter from the bureau drawer.

All evidence of composure vanished when the countess read the letter. Her shoulders slumped, her complexion paled, and her hand trembled as she refolded the letter. ‘‘I can’t deny this is Charlotte’s handwriting.’’ She bowed her head. ‘‘With the evidence you’ve produced, I fear I’ve misjudged you.’’

The countess glanced at the child. ‘‘Morgan? Charlotte named the infant after his father.’’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘‘I do recall that a few weeks after Mr. Morgan visited, Charlotte was ill nearly every morning, unable to partake of the morning meal.’’

Olivia leaned forward. ‘‘I believe she truly loved him, but—’’

‘‘But he is married.’’

‘‘Yes. And already has several children.’’

‘‘Where is my daughter?’’

‘‘That letter is the last I’ve heard from her. As you can see, she didn’t advise me as to where she was going, and I have no idea of her present whereabouts. If you still doubt my word about the jewelry, I’ll accompany you to the shop. The owner can’t possibly identify me as the person who sold the jewels to him. However, I do admit that I benefited from the sale of your jewelry. As I earlier mentioned, Lady Charlotte paid my passage to America, and since our arrival in Pullman she has also paid a portion of the rent and expenses.’’

The countess remained silent, staring across the room as though she couldn’t believe all she’d heard this day. The baby stirred and she looked his way again. ‘‘May I hold him?’’

‘‘Yes, of course.’’ When she hesitated, Olivia lifted Morgan from the tiny bed and placed him in her arms. ‘‘He’s quite a fine little lad, isn’t he?’’ The infant wrinkled his nose and stretched. His eyelids fluttered opened, and he looked up at the countess.

‘‘He has Charlotte’s fair complexion and her blue eyes.’’ She settled back on the divan and gently patted the infant. ‘‘What are we to do about you, Morgan? And how are we to find your mother?’’

With those few words, it seemed the countess had accepted Morgan as a member of her family. Suddenly Olivia realized she would be parted from the child. She tamped down the feeling of panic rising in her chest. ‘‘You don’t have to make a decision tonight, Countess.’’

‘‘What? Oh, but we’re leaving in the morning. Decisions must be made immediately. I want you and Morgan to accompany me back to the hotel. We’ll talk to my husband. He’ll know what should be done.’’

Olivia thought to argue against the plan, but she dared not disagree. She wondered if the woman planned to take custody of Morgan and then accuse her of thievery. Not once had she mentioned absolving Olivia of blame. Guilty or not, she might end up in jail.

‘‘Come along. It’s getting late and we haven’t much time. Where are the baby’s wraps?’’

‘‘Wraps? He doesn’t have a coat, but his cap is in my room. I bundle him with a blanket if the weather turns cool.’’ She thought it inappropriate to point out that the weather had been quite warm since the infant’s birth. And though it was October, she’d made do with his cap and a blanket when she took him outdoors during the evening. A coat hadn’t fit into her tight budget—especially since she’d been so generous with Eddie Calhoun.

‘‘No jacket? What
can
you be thinking? He might contract a case of pneumonia or the croup.’’

‘‘I haven’t had time to purchase his winter necessities, but I had planned to acquire a warm coat by the end of the month.’’ Olivia hurried off to retrieve the baby’s cap while the countess wrapped him in the blankets.

Olivia wasn’t certain what the woman expected. It wasn’t as though she’d ever been responsible for an infant before. And Morgan had certainly flourished under her attention. Mrs. DeVault had even applauded her care of the baby.

She pulled back the blankets and tied the cap on Morgan’s head. He was enclosed like sausage in a tight casing. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted his tiny upturned nose. Already he was too warm, but Olivia feared retribution should she attempt to remove even one of the layers.

Outside, pale grays and charcoal etched long lines across the horizon as nightfall blotted out the final hues of gold and orange from the sky. Olivia fought to keep pace with the countess’s long stride. Her shorter legs and the burden of carrying the baby made the process difficult. Throughout their short journey, she lagged behind.

‘‘We can go in through the kitchen. I have a key.’’ Olivia panted to catch her breath.

The countess stopped and waited until Olivia was beside her. ‘‘Why on
earth
would we go through the kitchen? I am a
guest
in the hotel.’’

‘‘Perhaps to avoid any prattle by the staff?’’ She didn’t want to be seen accompanying the countess. The questions would prove innumerable and the conjecture even worse.

‘‘I care not a whit what the staff in this hotel have to say. Do come along.’’

They entered through the ornate front doors, the ones through which Olivia had entered on her first day in Pullman. Mr. Billings was at the desk. Why was he working so late? She had hoped one of the members of the night staff would be on duty. She refused to look in his direction as she followed the countess to the stairway.

‘‘Good evening, Countess. Good evening, Miss Mott.’’ Both of them ignored his greeting. The countess was on a mission, and Olivia wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.

Fortunately, Olivia was required to climb only one flight of steps. The earl and countess were assigned to the second floor, where the rooms were of the finest quality and reserved for important guests. Going up the flight of stairs, the countess didn’t slow her pace. By the time they entered the sitting room in the suite, Olivia was gasping for breath. She didn’t even curtsy to the earl. Instead, she hastened across the room and, still clutching the baby, dropped to the settee.

‘‘Do sit down.’’ The earl’s sarcasm hung in the air like a damp fog. ‘‘What is this about, my dear?’’ he asked his wife.

Olivia didn’t attempt to rise and show proper English decorum. She was too exhausted. Though a twinge of guilt attacked, she pushed it aside and reminded herself that she was no longer employed by the Earl of Lanshire and was no longer a resident of England.

The countess sat down in the chair beside her husband. Her quiet murmuring served as a backdrop while Olivia peeled away the layered blankets and freed Morgan from his sweltering cocoon. Perspiration dotted the folds of his chubby arms, and his damp blond hair clung to his head in tiny ringlets. In spite of the heat and bouncing journey in her arms, he offered a tiny smile and cooed when she wiped his clammy face and arms with a cloth. Moments later, she recognized the anger in the earl’s voice as he argued with his wife.

‘‘Bring me the child,’’ he commanded Olivia.

She placed the baby in the earl’s arms. His features slowly softened as he looked at the child and examined him closely. ‘‘You want me to believe this is my daughter’s child, but you have no knowledge of her whereabouts. Is that correct?’’

‘‘Yes, Lord Spencer.’’ Years of training prompted her to offer a small curtsy.

Before she could offer further explanation, the countess removed Charlotte’s letter from her pocket and handed it to her husband. ‘‘Don’t say anything you’ll regret, my dear,’’ she whispered and reached for the baby. While the countess held Morgan in one arm, the earl read the document. Olivia remained transfixed. When he finished reading, he massaged his forehead, as though the simple act might eradicate the problem.

He finally looked up and waved Olivia toward the divan. She backed away and pretended she couldn’t hear as they discussed Morgan’s future and debated the veracity of all she’d told them. Olivia fidgeted with the ties of her cloak and longed to be anywhere but in this room with her former employers.

The clock on the carved mantel ticked off the minutes at a steady rate. ‘‘Perhaps I should take Morgan home and the two of you can make your decision in private. He’ll be more comfortable in his cradle.’’

The earl’s dark eyes flashed, and Olivia scooted into the corner of the divan. She’d overstepped her bounds, speaking when she’d not been asked a direct question. Nevertheless, she had chores at home needing her attention before bedtime. A matter that would be difficult for the earl and countess to understand. They had servants to perform any daily tasks.

‘‘We will take the child home with us—to London. Neither my wife nor I can refute the proof you’ve offered. I do hope you aren’t withholding information regarding Charlotte’s whereabouts.’’ One of his bushy eyebrows arched.

‘‘I would tell you if I knew anything further.’’

He nodded. ‘‘I would prefer to remain and personally take charge of a search for her, but my obligations at court forbid my delay. We must depart as scheduled.’’

‘‘Tomorrow?’’ Olivia’s voice trembled.

The couple nodded in unison. ‘‘He will remain with us tonight. My wife tells me there are shops in the Arcade where any items needed for the journey can be acquired. She’ll send one of her servants to make the necessary purchases.’’

The decision was final. Now Olivia wasn’t certain that telling the truth had been such a good thing. She hadn’t had sufficient time to adjust to parting with Morgan. And she still held out hope that Charlotte would return to claim her child.

She summoned her courage. ‘‘I wonder if it might be best for all concerned if you waited a few days. You could adjust to Morgan. See to his needs during the daytime while I’m working here in the hotel. I could answer any questions—’’

‘‘Enough! Were you not listening to what I said, girl? There will be no delay.’’

The earl’s command silenced her.

‘‘We will depart in the morning as planned. My wife and our staff can adequately care for the child.’’

Olivia knew she had no choice but to acquiesce. ‘‘I am pleased Morgan will be in good hands with a family that loves him. And if Lady Charlotte should return?’’