Authors: Brenda Joyce
The Third Heiress (48 page)
Jill wished she had a copying machine. She hesitated, glancing around at the windows behind her—but the draperies remained closed. Jill could not help herself. She got up, went to them, parted them, and glanced outside. No one was peeking in and spying upon her. She tore the April twenty-second entry from the book, feeling horrible for doing so, and then she also took the entry that listed Barclay’s bonus. She hurriedly folded both items, putting them in her jeans pocket, and closed the ledger, trembling slightly.
As soon as possible, in town, she would make copies of everything and fax the pieces of the puzzle to Lucinda—with instructions that if anything happened to her, she should turn everything over to the press and the police.
She left the study, closing the door firmly behind her and pausing to listen to the house. She heard no sound of footsteps. No one, apparently, was aware of where she had been in the past hour or so. Relieved, Jill hurried back into the central wing.
Jill was poised to rush upstairs to her room. But the doors to the library were ajar. She faltered, her instincts going into overdrive. Apprehension seized her. But there was no reason for it. The house remained silent.
The hairs prickled on Jill’s nape.
Her breath felt constricted in her chest.
Suddenly Jill approached the library slowly. No. It could not be. She froze in midstride.
And her gaze settled on a canary yellow cashmere sweater, lying on the arm of an upholstered chair.
Then her gaze slammed on the small gray Libretto, on the side table beside the couch.
Alex was here.
OCTOBER 5, 1908
“I
am so glad you could come,” Anne said with a smile. As it was unseasonably warm out, the two young women were strolling on the lawns surrounding the Fairchilds’ house, where a birthday celebration for their youngest daughter was in affect. Although it was late afternoon, the women were clad in their evening gowns, the gentlemen in their tails. At the moment, a game of croquet was in progress, both men and women playing. Other ladies and gentlemen clustered in groups, chatting and sipping champagne and tasting the hors d’oeuvres being passed about by white-coated waiters. Several children ran about, one chubby boy in particular chasing three little girls. In an hour or so the party would move inside, where an early supper would be served, followed by hours and hours of dancing.
am so glad you could come,” Anne said with a smile. As it was unseasonably warm out, the two young women were strolling on the lawns surrounding the Fairchilds’ house, where a birthday celebration for their youngest daughter was in affect. Although it was late afternoon, the women were clad in their evening gowns, the gentlemen in their tails. At the moment, a game of croquet was in progress, both men and women playing. Other ladies and gentlemen clustered in groups, chatting and sipping champagne and tasting the hors d’oeuvres being passed about by white-coated waiters. Several children ran about, one chubby boy in particular chasing three little girls. In an hour or so the party would move inside, where an early supper would be served, followed by hours and hours of dancing.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Kate said quietly. She remained worried and depressed. Although she saw Edward every day, and he was as ardent and as tender as usual, she was aware of the gossip on the streets. For whenever she went out for a stroll or to do some shopping, she ran into ladies she knew. Everyone was talking about the impending engagement, and the fact that Edward’s refusal to marry the perfect bride—as Anne was a premiere heiress—had to indicate that he was smitten with his latest mistress—whoever that might be.
Kate had ceased to go out. It had become too hurtful. She found it impossible to sleep at night, and she had lost her hearty appetite. She was afraid of the worst happening—she did not know what to do.
She had begun to hate the earl of Collinsworth.
“Kate! Why are you so glum? I have never seen you this way before. And every time I have sent you a note asking you to join me for a drive or tea, you have declined.” Anne had halted and was staring at her. “Are you avoiding me? For that is almost what I must think.”
Kate forced a smile. “Dear, I would never avoid you.” But she had been avoiding her. She had been avoiding her best friend more than anyone else.
Kate was afraid she had glimpsed the handwriting on the wall. That
she had glimpsed the future—Anne as Edward’s wife. For who was she to think that the earl of Collinsworth could be defied and denied? He was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in England. Only a very foolish woman would think to go up against his very will and emerge triumphant.
she had glimpsed the future—Anne as Edward’s wife. For who was she to think that the earl of Collinsworth could be defied and denied? He was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in England. Only a very foolish woman would think to go up against his very will and emerge triumphant.
“Miss Gallagher! I had heard you were back, how good it is to see you again!” a very enthusiastic young male voice cried.
Kate turned to see a dashing red-haired man bowing before her. “Lord Weston, how nice to see you, too.” She managed to smile.
He was beaming at her—then he saw Anne. He bowed to her as well, but returned his avid attention to Kate. “So how have you fared this past year?” he inquired eagerly.
Kate was about to respond, instead, she noticed Anne’s almost smug condescension toward Weston. She started. It was not just her expression, but the very way she now carried herself—as if she felt herself to be far above anyone else. It was not the Anne she knew so well and loved so dearly.
Weston turned to her. “You will dance with me tonight? You do know that when you returned to New York last year you broke my heart—severely.”
“I am sure that you exaggerate, sir.” Kate smiled more genuinely this time.
“I do not exaggerate. May I call on you sometime?” he asked with a grin.
Kate froze. She realized Anne continued to watch her with a small, fixed, odd smile, but that was not the cause of her surprise. Edward stood on the other side of the crowd, staring at her, Kate.
“I am afraid I have not been well of late,” Kate said softly, her pulse quickening as it always did when he entered the same room as she. “But perhaps another time?”
His face fell. “I shall not give up, you know,” he declared. He bowed to them both and left.
Kate did not look after him. Her gaze found Edward again instantly, and this time their gazes locked.
Very slightly, he smiled at her.
Kate’s heart leaped. There was something in his eyes, she knew, a message for her alone, even though she could not decipher it at this distance. She smiled back.
And in that moment, her fears and worried vanished. She loved him
so, and she could only think how lucky she was to have found a love like theirs, no matter that she might remain forever a mere mistress.
so, and she could only think how lucky she was to have found a love like theirs, no matter that she might remain forever a mere mistress.
And then she became aware of Anne, standing at her side. As Edward turned away, she whirled to face her friend. Anne was staring after Edward out of wide, shocked eyes. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the crowd. It was only when he was no longer visible, having immersed himself among a group of gentlemen, that she turned and stared at Kate.
Her wide-eyed expression was one of disbelief—and perhaps of bitter accusation as well.
It was not pretty—and it made her eyes seem hard and cold, frighteningly so.
And then the expression was gone, replaced by a smile and, “Oh, look. There is Lady Winfrey. We have yet to say hello. Come, Kate, let us chat with her for a moment—she is always so amusing.”
Kate’s heart was pounding. Had she imagined what she thought she had just seen? Edward had forbidden her to tell Anne the truth. But Anne was about to guess—or was she? Kate wet her lips. A small voice inside of her warned her to hold her tongue. “Anne, wait.”
Anne halted, slowly turning. There was something strange and masklike about her face. She might have been a perfectly painted porcelain doll.
Kate gripped her arm. “We must talk.” She could no longer live with herself if she did not tell Anne the truth. She pulled her by the hand, making her way past the most crowded part of the lawn, until they stood beneath two shady elm trees, alone and out of earshot.
“What is this about?” Anne stepped back from her as Kate released her. Her tone was mild, unlike her stiff, set, pale face.
Kate swallowed, breathless and afraid. “I do not know how to begin.”
Anne did not smile. Her gaze was unwavering. “You have something you wish to say to me. What could it possibly be?”
“Edward is my lover. Edward is the father of my child.”
Anne stared. A silence ensued. To Kate, it was the most terrible silence she had ever endured. Then Anne smiled, a mere upward curving of her somewhat narrow mouth. “I do not believe you. You make fun.”
“I love him—I have loved him ever since I first met him, well over a year and a half ago,” Kate said hoarsely. “He loves me. He loves our son. Oh, Anne! I never dreamed you might fall in love with him, too! I have been avoiding you—for I have been heartsick!”
Anne continued to stare. But the waxlike smile was gone. A long moment passed. Her expression, although pinched, remained otherwise impossible to read. “No,” she finally said. “No.” She might have been refusing to purchase a bonnet—or refusing a dance.
“Anne, you are my dearest friend. I would never wish this circumstance on anyone, especially not you. But we are already involved. We plan to wed. I am the mother of his child,” Kate cried. “Surely you realize that you must seek another bridegroom!”
“Stop!” Anne cried. Her eyes flashed. Her tone was high. “Stop now. Go no further. You have done enough.”
Kate gasped.
“I think,” Anne said, low and intense, her nostrils flaring, “that you do not wish me happiness.”
“No!”
“I think you plot against me!”
Kate was so shocked she could not respond.
“It is agreed!” Anne cried, too loudly. “Contracts are being drawn. A date for the wedding shall soon be set. He is to be—he
will
be—my husband—and you cannot take this from me, Kate!” Her tone was shrill, warning.
will
be—my husband—and you cannot take this from me, Kate!” Her tone was shrill, warning.
“Anne—I am the mother of his son!” Kate began desperately.
But Anne, tears shimmering in her eyes, gave her a look charged with anger as she turned and rushed away.
Kate collapsed against the tree.
H
is door was ajar. He was not in his room, of that Jill was certain, but she had no idea where he was. The moment she had realized he was at the house, Jill had closeted herself in her room, trying to think, to be rational. Why had Alex followed her to Stainesmore? And he had followed her, of that there was no doubt. Was it because he had failed to hurt or even kill her when he had cut the brake lines to her rental car?
is door was ajar. He was not in his room, of that Jill was certain, but she had no idea where he was. The moment she had realized he was at the house, Jill had closeted herself in her room, trying to think, to be rational. Why had Alex followed her to Stainesmore? And he had followed her, of that there was no doubt. Was it because he had failed to hurt or even kill her when he had cut the brake lines to her rental car?
Had he followed her to stop her from discovering the truth—and if so, how far would he go?
Jill could not seem to think clearly. Even when she reminded herself of all the times Alex had been kind, and that anyone in the family could have killed Lady E. and sabotaged her brakes. It did not have to be Alex. Maybe he had come north to try to protect her from whoever was out there menacing her, stalking her.
Jill continued to peer past her cracked door at his slightly open one, shaking like a leaf. She had to find out whose side Alex was really on. Just because he wanted her paid off and shut up did not mean he was a killer. She needed to thoroughly search his possessions. Maybe retrieve his voice mail. If she could, she would even try to break into his Libretto, to see if he had copied the missing letters. But the Libretto was downstairs in the library. In a way, Jill was relieved.
Her pulse rioted; she was a jumble of nerves. Sneaking into his room to
ransack it was hardly her style. She could imagine his reaction if she was caught.
ransack it was hardly her style. She could imagine his reaction if she was caught.
Jill took a gulp of air for courage and ran to his door. She pushed it slowly open. Her gaze swung around the room—taking in the made-up bed, the furniture, and, by God, the Libretto on the end table. She froze, staring at the small gray machine, unable to believe this stroke of luck—he had moved it from the library. She then noticed that the modem was hooked up to the jack on the wall, and a small black object lay on the floor by the end table where the mini-notebook sat.
Jill slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. If the modem was hooked up and he had taken the notebook upstairs, it was to send or receive E-mail—privately. Her mind raced. This was her chance—maybe her only one. But she needed a password, damn it.
Her pulse pounded so fiercely and disturbingly now that she could hardly breathe. Jill went to the Libretto, opened it, and powered on. As she waited for the tiny screen to light up, she knelt and inspected the small black object. It was a portable printer.
Her heart raced. Jill looked around, found his briefcase, and sure enough, there was a cable in it. She returned to the Libretto, and as she did, she happened to glance out the window. She was just in time to see Alex step into the pool, clad in what appeared to be a Speedo bikini, and begin to swim hard toward the other side.
Her heart careened. Hopefully he was taking a long swim. In any case, his doing a few laps was perfect for her—because now she could keep one eye on him.
Jill sat down on an ottoman. The screen was cueing her for a password. Jill gritted her teeth and thought hard. People used familiar words, words that held a significant meaning to them. Alex was clever, his wit dry. Jill tried all of the names of his family, backward as well as forward. Suddenly Jill froze. She punched in her own name—and expected to see the screen blossoming with Windows’98.
Nothing happened.
Her heart sank. She had been so certain—now she was at a loss.
Think! She gritted silently. Alex—the Collinsworth Group, Brooklyn, Princeton, cashmere, jeans, the Lamborghini …
Jill inhaled, and a second later was typing “Lamb.”
Windows’98 filled the screen.
“Yes,” she said savagely, glancing out of the window. He was cutting through the water with the sleek, precise strokes of a seasoned swimmer.
Jill went to FIND. She typed in “Gallagher” and instructed the search to be in the C drive.
Jill went to FIND. She typed in “Gallagher” and instructed the search to be in the C drive.
Jill was paralyzed as the screen blossomed with characters. To her shock and dismay, a series of Gallagher documents were listed in a single folder. Jill recalled that he had downloaded a few articles for her, naming them Anne’s Wedding, but that was not what she was looking at now. The first four were each labeled “JGallagher.doc” with attached dates, and oh, God, the first date was April 13, 1999—the day after Hal’s death.
Obviously she was JGallagher.
She inhaled, trembling. The last one was dated yesterday.
There were also three “KGallagher.doc” documents.
Jill began to shake. Her mind had become numb and almost blank. It refused to function. She could only think, No.
This could not be happening.
She was not going to discover what she had dreaded discovering all along.
Kate’s voice sounded, loud and clear, so much so that Jill shot to her feet, looking wildly around the room, expecting to see her.
“A nightmare
come
true …”
“A nightmare
come
true …”
But Kate was not present—Kate was dead. Betrayed. And then Jill’s vision blurred. It was a catalyst. For another moment she could not move. She found herself wishing, with all of her being, that this was not happening—that she was not seeing what was on his damned computer screen in front of her very eyes, the absolute and conclusive proof of his treachery.
He had kept files. He had files on her. He had files on Kate.
It remained hard to breathe, to move, to think. She could not seem to think clearly—unfocused, scrambled images were competing in her mind—including Alex as he made love to her, including Alex as she had seen him in her kitchen the morning after they had spent the night together, telling her he had to go, he had a meeting, but asking her to see that doctor friend of his. Yeah. She was not the sicko. He was the sicko. Jill opened the first and oldest JGallagher document, her heart sinking, her hand shaking uncontrollably. It was a report.
She was stricken anew. The letterhead was the Periopolis Investigative Agency of New York City. Jill scanned the first paragraph and realized that she had been the subject of a thorough private investigation before Alex had ever met her—the day after Hal had died.
“Oh, you bastard,” she whispered, knifelike pain stabbing through her chest.
Abruptly she stood. He was still swimming laps.
Jill reached for the cable. Her hands were shaking so badly that it took her a good minute to connect the printer to the laptop. She glanced wildly around. Paper. She needed paper.
There was sheaf on the table by the window. Jill ran over to it, watched Alex treading water. She ducked away from the window, afraid he might see her, and ran back to the printer, panting now. She shoved the paper in. She knew she didn’t really need his report on her, but she hit the PRINT button. As the printer began to print out the report she stood, gazing out of the window. Alex was standing in the pool now, adjusting his goggles. Was he getting out?
“Damn!” She tore the two pages from the printer, opened up the next file on herself, her vision oddly blurred again. She hit PRINT again and stood, looking outside.
Alex was stretching, standing waist deep in the water.
“Oh, God,” Jill whispered, squatting beside the printer. “Hurry, hurry up.” Then she stiffened, her gaze taking in the name McFee. What the hell was this?
She shifted to read the Libretto’s screen. It was a medical report, but the subject was DNA—DNA?!
Jill gripped the Libretto with both hands. “ … no possibility that Jill Gallagher is not a relative. The DNA matches taken from her hair sample and William’s blood were conclusive …”
Jill sat back on her heels. For an instant, she was so stunned she could not think.
Then it came. Edward was her great-grandfather.
Kate was her great-grandmother.
There was no elation, there was only absolute stunned confusion.
And Alex would finish his laps at any moment.
Somehow Jill hit PRINT on the next JGallagher file, ran to the window. He was hoisting himself out of the pool!
And as she turned to run back to the notebook, she thought he looked up, at his window—at her.
“No,” she gritted, tearing the next pages from the printer. She opened the first KGallagher document. And she recognized it immediately.
It was the letter Kate had written to Anne that she and Alex had discovered together on the desktop PC at the Fifth Avenue apartment. Jill could not be surprised. But the extent of her bitter dismay stunned her.
He was more than a bastard. There was no word in her vocabulary that would do justice to what he was.
He was more than a bastard. There was no word in her vocabulary that would do justice to what he was.
Jill canceled what she had done, opening the next letter. She hit the PRINT command.
Her teeth were chattering. The room seemed oddly cold. She was cold. Cold, sick, betrayed. As the printer began to whir, she ran to the door, cracking it ever so slightly, and peeked out. She saw no one. Oh, God! How long would it take Alex to come upstairs?
Jill calculated she had mere minutes left before he would discover her.
And then what?
The Land Rover was outside. The keys were left under the rubber floor mat. She would use that to escape.
But she wanted both of the last two KGallagher documents. She knew she did not have time to get them.
The printer stopped. Jill tore the page from it and jammed it into her jeans with the other pages that were already there. She ran to the printer, yanking at the cable. She thought she could detect footsteps in the hall.
Jill glanced around his room as she unscrewed the printer cable. She ran, tossed it back into his briefcase, certain she heard footsteps now. Then her gaze took in the open Libretto and the printer with a stack of paper in the feeder. Jill slammed the Libretto closed, tore the paper from the printer, closed that, and the sheaf in her hand, she ran to the door, peeking out. She could hear him coming up the stairs.
Jill dashed across the hall, into her room, slamming and locking the door behind her.
A
lex walked directly into his bathroom, turning on the shower. He fooled with the temperature until the shower was so hot that the bathroom immediately began to fill with steam. He shed the thick terry robe and skimpy Speedo, stepped inside, closed his eyes, and let the hot water pummel him. It did not, could not, ease his tension.
lex walked directly into his bathroom, turning on the shower. He fooled with the temperature until the shower was so hot that the bathroom immediately began to fill with steam. He shed the thick terry robe and skimpy Speedo, stepped inside, closed his eyes, and let the hot water pummel him. It did not, could not, ease his tension.
Which was unbearable.
Perhaps ten minutes later, he turned off the water and stepped from the stall. He toweled off, refusing to regard his reflection in the bathroom mirror, unable to look himself in the eye. Naked, he walked into the bedroom, reaching for briefs that he’d left on the bed. As he stepped into them, he felt disturbed.
With the finely attuned instincts of a hunter, Alex froze, not reaching for his jeans. He listened carefully to the sounds of silence all around him.
But his room was not absolutely silent. The faucet in the shower was dripping. He’d left one window cracked, and the cord from the Venetian blinds behind the draperies was pinging against the wall.
Alex looked around his room. Neither of those sounds interested him.
And then he heard it, a soft, faint, barely there whirring.
His gaze slammed to the Libretto, which was closed. An instant later he had reached his machine, and opened it, but it was off—and it did not whir, anyway.
His gaze fell on the portable Brother printer. The power light was ON.
His jaw flexed, hard. “God damn it,” he said.
I
n her red anorak, Jill ran across the lawn toward the Land Rover. Panting, she reached the black utility vehicle, swinging open the door and reaching beneath the seat, where she’d seen Alex leave the keys. Her hand closed over them.
n her red anorak, Jill ran across the lawn toward the Land Rover. Panting, she reached the black utility vehicle, swinging open the door and reaching beneath the seat, where she’d seen Alex leave the keys. Her hand closed over them.
She was shaking, breathless, terrified. A chant was echoing in her mind … He was the one. He had to be the one. The letters, the files, the lies. How long had he known the truth—that she was Kate and Edward’s great-granddaughter? She had to get away. She had to get away now.
Jill jammed the keys in the ignition, glancing backward over her shoulder, out of breath, her bangs in her eyes, expecting to see Alex flying down the front steps of the house at any second. She saw nothing, no one, behind her. The heavy front door remained solidly closed. The engine turned over, far too loudly. Jill prayed that Alex was still in the shower—she’d heard it running as she’d made her escape from her room—as she shifted into first and then second and took off down the drive, gravel spitting in the Rover’s wake.
And just as she reached the end of the drive, a big tan Mercedes sedan pulled into it.
Jill wrenched the wheel hard to the left to avoid a collision, careening past the sedan. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of the driver and the passenger. Even though William wore some kind of cap, there was no mistaking who he was. The woman beside him in the front seat had her hair covered with a scarf—Margaret.
Jill turned onto the narrow coastal road, burning rubber, her heart wedged unpleasantly into a hard knot high up in her chest. William and Margaret, there in Stainesmore—it made no sense. Glancing repeatedly in her rearview mirror, Jill stepped on the accelerator. She gripped the leather-bound steering wheel with both hands, which were clammy and
wet, her heart drumming in her chest, the Land Rover leaping over the road’s bumps and ruts. It was only a matter of time until Alex discovered either the violation of his files or that she was gone.
wet, her heart drumming in her chest, the Land Rover leaping over the road’s bumps and ruts. It was only a matter of time until Alex discovered either the violation of his files or that she was gone.
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