To Dream Again (44 page)

He'd tried so hard to earn her trust, but it was all for naught. He wanted her love, but it was a futile desire. He never learned. Once again, he wanted too much, hoped too much, expected too much.

A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for
?

The words of Robert Browning echoed through his head, and he wondered wryly if he ought to have them carved into his headstone when he died. He'd had a fleeting glimpse of heaven a week ago—a heaven where Mara loved him and looked at him with faith in her eyes, where his dreams became reality and she stood beside him. But that brief glimpse of heaven, of desires fulfilled and sated peace, was gone now, and Nathaniel knew it was farther from his grasp than it had ever been.

The days of November went by, and the tension built. Continual delays plagued them, but Nathaniel and Michael worked nearly round the clock to keep production from falling too far behind. Nathaniel knew that Mara worked long hours as well, keeping tight control over the expenses, but he also knew she was only doing it because she had no choice.

They hardly spoke to each other. The chasm still lay between them, so deep and so wide that it seemed there was no way to cross. There was nothing that could bridge the differences between them, not even love. There was no way to take back the hurtful, angry words that had been spoken. There was no compromise.

***

Adrian watched Owen Rutherford leave the study. He took a cigar from the box on his desk and snipped the tip. He then reached for his gold lighter and leaned back in his chair, staring at the polished walnut panels of the door with unseeing eyes.

The news that the private investigator had brought him came as no surprise. Rutherford had confirmed that Nathaniel was digging himself in deeper and deeper, just as Adrian had expected he would.

It had been expensive but not difficult to persuade suppliers that his business was more vital to their interests than Nathaniel's. Styles, too, had proved to be very valuable and had been well paid for his efforts. Now, Nathaniel was scrambling, working day and night, unable to keep production on schedule, plagued by the continual delays and aggravations Adrian put in his path, laying out more and more cash just to stay afloat. Everything was happening according to plan.

A slight knock diverted his attention, and he watched the door open.

Honoria walked in, looking chubbier than ever in lemon yellow silk. "Adrian, I thought that man would never leave. Tea is waiting." When he made no move to rise, she gave him an inquiring glance. "Aren't you coming?"

He suppressed a sigh of impatience. "Of course, my dear. I just have a bit more work to do."

She circled the desk to stand beside his chair. "You work too hard. Everyone has arrived, and we are awaiting our host."

"Honoria, please occupy our guests. I'll be in shortly."

"Very well, but after we're married, I shall provide you with so many distractions, you'll find it much harder to spend all these hours at your desk."

"My dear, just your presence is distraction enough. I must say, you look lovely in yellow."

Her round blue eyes widened. "My, my. I shall have to wear it more often then."

She walked out of the study, pausing long enough to give him a smile, then departed. The moment the door closed, she vanished from his thoughts.

When Nathaniel had confronted him on the squash court, he had been a bit concerned and more than a bit surprised that his brother had actually figured out he was responsible for all the little inconveniences plaguing Chase-Elliot. That had worried him at first, but over the past few days, he'd revised his opinion on the matter.

When he had forced Nathaniel's company in America to go bankrupt, his little brother hadn't had a clue where all the bad luck was coming from. That had been satisfying because the plan had succeeded, but it was even more satisfying to destroy Nathaniel when the other man knew who was behind his destruction and why. The only thing Nathaniel had not yet figured out was that he was powerless to stop it.

Adrian knew that only a week remained before Nathaniel had to deliver his trains, and his capital was nearly gone. It was time to make his move, the last move in the game. Checkmate. He smiled and lit his cigar.

***

For the first time in his life, Calvin Styles had money. Fifty guineas were tucked in his pockets, a bloody fortune, and he planned to have a good time spending it. He bought himself a set of clothes. Dressed in his new finery, he strolled into the King's Head, enjoying the stares he received.

Matty pulled a draft of ale for him. "What ye all fancied up for?"

"Had a turn in me luck, Matty, and I'm celebratin'. Made meself a bit o'money, and there be plenty more t'come."

"I'll be damned." Matty set the pint of ale in front of him, and listened as Styles explained about the rich toff who'd hired him for a job.

"Doin' what?" another voice called out. "Bein' a wanker?"

Everyone laughed, but Styles was in too good a mood to let Alfie Logan's insult bother him. He bought drinks for everybody in the pub, including Alfie. He cornered Molly for a kiss or two, and he got roaring drunk. But by the time he was ready to leave, he hadn't spent more than a tiny fraction of the fortune in his pockets.

He downed the last of his ale and tossed a guinea on the table. He winked at Matty. "Keep the change, mate. I've got plenty more where that came from."

When he turned away from the bar and headed for the door, Alfie Logan stepped in his path.

"I want the money you owe me."

Styles laughed. "C'mon, Alfie. Ye knows I paid ye weeks ago."

"You didn't. You still owe me five quid, and I want me money."

The pub quieted as the two men faced each other. Styles was drunk, but he knew perfectly well he'd paid Logan back. He set his jaw stubbornly. "I paid ye just after Michaelmas. It ain't my fault ye lost it gamblin'. I don't owe ye any more. So sod off."

"You never paid me, Cal. You're a liar."

"Nobody calls me a liar."

"I just did."

With those words, several things happened at once. Chairs scraped against the floor as people scrambled to get out of the way; Matty Fletcher yelled, "No fights in my place!"; and Styles slammed his fist into Logan's jaw.

Logan fell back and crashed into a table. Styles sensed his advantage and moved forward, ready to pound the other man into pulp. But before he could take another swing, Logan came up, a knife in his hand.

The knife sank between two of Styles's ribs. He let out a gurgle of surprise as Logan pulled out the knife, but before he could knock the weapon out of the other man's hand, the knife went in again, higher this time. Calvin Styles was dead before he hit the floor.

Matty Fletcher went out the back in search of a policeman, but by the time the officer arrived, the pub was empty, Alfie Logan had disappeared with his five quid and a bit more, and the remainder of Calvin Styles's fifty guineas had found their way into the pockets of several King's Head patrons.

***

Mara was still working in her office about nine o'clock that night when Inspector Carlisle came to see her. Percy, who was also working late that night, brought him upstairs, then went back to work, leaving them alone as the policeman explained the purpose of his call.

"I'm afraid Billy isn't here, Inspector. Nathaniel—Mr. Chase—took him home about an hour ago."

"I've been by his place, but he wasn't there, ma'am."

"I think they were stopping for ice cream first." Mara looked up at the inspector worriedly. "Is Billy in some sort of trouble?"

The policeman shook his head. "No, I wouldn't say that."

His enigmatic words made her even more concerned. "What is it?"

When he didn't answer, she went on, "Mr. Chase and I have taken an interest in the boy."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'd heard that. I'd hoped to find him here."

She gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "Perhaps you would care to sit down and tell me what this is about."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said and took a seat. He slumped forward, twirling his hat in his hands. Finally he looked at her. "The boy's father is dead."

"What?" Mara straightened in her chair. "How did this happen?"

"He was stabbed during a fight in the King's Head about two hours ago."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Are you here to tell Billy?" When the inspector nodded, she asked, "Would you like me to tell him for you?"

He seemed relieved to hand the responsibility over to her. "Thank you, Mrs. Elliot," he said and rose to his feet.

Mara also stood up. "I'll show you out."

He waved her offer aside. "Don't bother. I'll find my way. And I'll send one of the Salvation Army ladies to collect the boy tomorrow. Is there somewhere he can stay tonight?"

"He can stay with me at Mrs. O'Brien's," she answered before the rest of his words sank in. "The Salvation Army?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What will happen to Billy?"

"An orphanage, if he's lucky, but it'll probably be the workhouse, I'm afraid. He has no other relations, near as I can tell."

The workhouse. She shuddered, and everything inside her rebelled against it. She couldn't let that happen to him. "Would it be possible for me to keep the boy?" she asked, without taking time to think about it.

"What?" The policeman stared at her. "You want to adopt him?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "If that would be possible?"

"I don't see why not. It's most generous of you, but I'm not sure it's wise. Pardon me, ma'am, but these street urchins aren't a desirable lot. He'll give you no end of trouble."

"Thank you, Inspector," Mara answered, "but I've quite made up my mind."

"Mrs. Elliot—"

"I advise you not to argue with her, Inspector."

Both of them looked over at Nathaniel standing in the doorway. He glanced past the policeman to her.

"When Mrs. Elliot makes up her mind, she can be quite stubborn about it," he added.

The inspector put on his hat. "Ladies is like that, sir." He turned to Mara. "Good evening, ma'am. And thank you again."

He walked toward the door, and Nathaniel stepped back from the doorway to let him through. "What happened?" he asked, falling in step beside the inspector as they went down the stairs.

Carlisle told him.

"Nasty business," he commented.

"As you say, sir. But these fellows can't always think straight after a few pints, and Alfie Logan's especially mean after he's had a few."

Nathaniel fell silent for a moment. Then he paused on the stairs and asked, "Where did Styles obtain this money he was throwing around?"

The inspector also came to a halt and nodded slowly. "That's the question, isn't it, sir? He was bragging about a rich toff who had paid him for a job, but he didn't give any details, and he didn't mention the man's name. Bit of a coincidence, eh?"

Nathaniel didn't think so, and when he met Carlisle's shrewd gaze, he knew the inspector didn't think so either.

Mara had to tell Billy about his father, but when she'd volunteered for the task, she hadn't thought about how hard it would be. Nor had she thought about the responsibility she was taking on by adopting the boy. As she considered these things now, the enormity of it all engulfed her.

"Do you want me to tell him?"

She looked up as Nathaniel came back into the office and walked to her desk. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and rose. "No," she answered, circling her desk and walking past him. "I said I would do it, and I will. I'd better go now, before he hears it from somebody else."

He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around. "You won't do it alone. I'll do it with you."

Mara saw the steady determination in his blue eyes and felt an overwhelming rush of relief, gratitude, and love. Love, most of all. Never had she loved him more than she did at this moment. Impulsively, she stepped forward and walked into his arms, feeling the strength of him flow into her as he wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you," she whispered against his shirt.

He held her for a long time. When he let her go, he took her hand in his, and they made the short walk to Old Castle Street together.

Mara had not been back to Billy's flat since the first day they'd found him, but nothing had changed. The lodging house was still filthy, and she didn't need a light to know it. The smell was enough. They walked up the dark stairs silently and entered the small room at the end of the corridor.

Billy was in bed and did not awaken at the sound of the door creaking open or the sound of Nathaniel fumbling in the dark for the candle. But when Nathaniel lit the candle, he stirred.

"Dad?" he asked. He sat up, and his sleepy expression changed to one of bewilderment at the sight of the two figures in the room. "Nathaniel? Mrs. Elliot?" He raised one fist to rub his eyes, and he yawned. "What ye doin' 'ere? Me dad'll be mad if 'e sees ye."

Mara stepped forward and sat down gingerly on the edge of the cot. She took his small hands in hers. "Billy, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

He lifted his freckled face to hers and yawned again. "What?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Nathaniel, who remained motionless by the door, the candle in his hand. He nodded encouragingly, and she looked down at the boy again. "Billy, your father died tonight."

Billy stared at her, frowning in confusion. "Me dad?"

"Yes." There was no other way to say it. "He was killed during a fight in the pub a few hours ago."

Billy didn't speak, he just stared at her. She pulled one of her hands free and brushed back a lock of his hair. "I shall take you home with me. Is that all right?"

"I suppose so." His voice was indifferent, devoid of emotion. "Me dad's really dead? Ye mean 'e ain't comin' back?"

"No." She gently caressed his cheek.

Billy's eyes grew round as he tried to accept the finality of this news. He turned his head toward the wall and stared at the silhouette of the flickering candle. "Me mum died, too. She didn't come 'ome neither 'cause they took her away. Dead's forever, ain't it?"